TCK: On Meeting New People

TCK (3CK), or third culture kid, is a person who grew up in different countries or societies than their native one and consequently, often has a skewed sense of belonging to any culture. That’s the Wikipedia definition of it anyway. I am a third culture kid. As our societies become more and more international, there will be more and more of people like me, and someone ought to know what life is like on our side so here I am, attempting to tell it all. Let me start by saying that it’s a wonderful  experience growing up in an international environment and I’m thankful for it . But as with everything, it brings its own, sometimes unexpected, difficulties too.

I am never more aware that I am a societal oddity than when I’m meeting new people. Having just moved to a new city (again), I’ve been going through this a lot recently. Indisputably, the question I dread most is the simple “Where are you from?”

There is an all-too-noticeable hesitation as I think of how to best answer this question. It’s not that I don’t have an answer. It’s that I have too many.  I usually start by naming one place for simplicity’s sake.  Then the conversation gets interesting depending on the person with whom I’m speaking. Some people will  take no notice or make only a silent assumption about the slightly awkward answer and carry on the conversation in another direction at which I’m slightly relieved. Others politely ask about the source of my hesitation or  they mention  something about that place to which I can’t respond the way they assumed I would. Then I’m forced to explain why that is and name the list of places that I call home to an awestruck or intimidated audience. Inevitably, the conversation takes a turn toward my travels instead of the acquainting period it was supposed to be. At this point I have either shared more than I necessarily care to with strangers or I sound like a spoiled attention-hogging show-off. Both, more often than not, unfortunately. Living an international lifestyle is interesting, let’s face it, but let’s also not forget that I’m also a person who is neither a rockstar nor a vagrant. I am what my life and everyone and everything in it shaped me to be and I wouldn’t want that to become a stumbling block in our acquaintance any more than you would want your background to be deterrent to me.

Then there are those people who are less fascinated by my history and are more concerned with why I can’t give a straight answer. “But which one do you consider ‘home’?” they ask. Now, that is a loaded question.  On the surface, all of them. Home is my native country that I, unlike many TCK’s, was fortunate enough to develop a real bond with, home is where my family lives, home is where I spent a significant amount of time especially with close friends, and ultimately home is where I rest my head at night. For me and many TCK’s, those are all different places.  But the question deals with more than that, with the most basic attributes of being a TCK. Our idea of home is fundamentally different than the norm because we can’t tie it to a geographical location. Our real homes are defined by the culture we lived in, which may or may not be the same as the culture of the country in which we reside.  For example, going to a French/International  school in the heart of Texas made me neither completely immersed in the French culture nor in the Texan culture. But the set of attitudes and values and practices that coloured by my day-to-day experiences, in other words my culture, was infused with  features assimilated from both cultures, which is why I’m very comfortable in both cultures but not fully embracing either one. This phenomenon is even more apparent when living in places like Dubai that are inherently international. Our culture becomes such a unique mix of the people around us and our own backgrounds that it’s almost impossible to replicate or find in a homogenous setting. That’s why many TCK’s are so much more at ease in an international setting even if they don’t ethnically relate to the people around them. The fact that the people around us are also on some level ill at ease is enough to make us relate to them.

The most amusing  of these conversations are when some blessed souls try to tell me how I should answer when I’m asked where I’m from. Unsurprisingly, they either judge by where I’ve lived the longest or what language I speak the best.  Thanks, but if it was that simple I would already have an answer ready. Trust me, I’m trying to reduce the awkward moments of my life, not increase them. However, because I have gained a good understanding of several cultures, I know what it entails to say “I’m so and so”, like what I’m expected to know or think about something or other because of that origin, without stereotyping.  Most of the time, I can’t relate enough to all the criteria of that place to allow myself to say that. If you were to ask me, I would say that I’m Egyptian and I only take slightly more pride in that than in being a cosmopolitan. Coincidentally, the people who are adamant about putting TCK’s in boxes are also the ones who are less likely to ask or try to understand how we view ourselves. That’s why I, the same person with the same history and the same behaviour, am considered by different people to be different things.  To some Egyptians I’m the “American girl”, to the American Copts I’m “the girl from Dubai”, for others that know me more I’m “The Egyptian”, and for those that know me least I’m “Texan.” God knows what they’ll say if I ever leave the Northwest. Yes, I’m all these and more, and I say that with no pride and no shame. But no single title is enough to encapsulate my experiences, or to describe my thoughts and opinions, or to give you any adequately reliable information about me. The same holds true for any TCK. We just don’t fit in neat little ethnicity check boxes.

Maybe we TCK’s over think this. Maybe nowadays we’re not so uncommon as before.  If we do overly agonize about the issue of “home” though , it’s  probably be because this disparity between our passports and our pasts is so acutely apparent to us while completely undetected by most others, sometimes including our own parents.

Anyway, next time you meet a TCK, remember: when we say we’re from “everywhere” we’re not being bratty or aloof, we just don’t know how else to explain ourselves. And please, for all our sakes, stop telling us where we’re from :).

More TCK-life-related posts to come,

KRP

Insta-rant

I like to think of myself as an even-tempered woman. There are few things* that will rustle my jimmies enough to get a rant out of me. Instagram is one of them. It’s simple, really: good pictures don’t need a filter and bad pictures don’t need to exist.

Why do we take photographs? To capture and commemorate sights and moments we experience, of course. It stands to reason that those sights and moments would hold some sort of personal significance or possess some special artistic quality. It would appear that Instagram users are absolved of such excessive use of common sense when uploading their pictures. Every other post is someone’s lunch, coffee, or pet. While not necessarily ugly, just the fact that they are yours does not justify broadcasting them on the public forum of the internet.  Your panini is well-toasted. Your barista can draw a leaf on your latte.  Your life must be fraught with thrills.

But fine, I’ll be fair. This epidemic of mundane picture-taking is not unique to Instagram. I’ve succumbed to it on occasion too. The really inexcusable bit is the self-satisfaction people seem to get from “Instagramming” their photos and choosing the right filter and accompanying caption. The entire arts of photography and digital editing, among others, are dedicated to explore and extend the ways we capture and convey ideas and emotion through images. They are the reflection of years of brilliant study and expression of hundreds of people past and undoubtedly of other hundreds to come.  The entire Impressionist movement revolved around expressing the essence ordinary subjects and still doesn’t cover everything. Yet, somehow, we act as if we can encapsulate the entire range of human emotion through one of twenty pre-canned Instagram filters. Now every John or Jane with a smartphone can upload a picture of something pretty commonplace, apply some shade or other of blurry nostalgia, add a tumblr-wise caption to it of the “Live-Laugh-Love” persuasion, and achieve a sense of gratification from appearing “interesting” or “artsy” in front of friends. That’s a billion Instagram users retroactively redefining their captured moments through the lenses of whatever colour saturation suits their fancy that day.  It defies the whole point of photography! It’s a sham, and a shame.

Let it not be said that I cannot give credit where it’s due. There are plenty of people that use Instagram and other apps like it well: interesting subject matter, appealing photo composition, whatever else makes a picture beautiful. But they are definitely the minority. The path of least resistance is photographed with the gratuitous use of “Sierra” and “Nashville.”

End of rant,

KRP

*Other such sore points include, but are not limited to: Haagen Dazs being an American company, the entire premise of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and excessively cynical people 😉

Why I love Jane Austen

I’ve heard so much unfounded hate for my favourite authoress and her genre lately that I felt compelled to write a rebuttal.

I won’t bore you with a spiel about her work’s literary merits: Jane Austen’s wit, her more than brilliant character portrayals, the charm of that era and its language, the mere fact that they’re not written by a Meyer or a James. I’ll leave that to your discretion and the scholars’.

The aspect of her writing that I admire most  – which incidentally is the one people unwarrantedly criticize the most – is that it revolves around almost ordinary people in pretty common situations pursuing the clichéd ending of every average story. Anybody else writing about this would make it as blasé as that implies, but Jane Austen’s talent is at its finest and most refined in these apparently commonplace events.

Blaise Pascal said ,“The strength of a man’s virtue is not measured by the efforts he makes under pressure but by his ordinary conduct.” Jane Austen understood that and I couldn’t agree more.  I am thoroughly against the idea that what happens in a living room while sipping tea is any less significant than some big cataclysmic event. Sure, those might be more forceful if you measure consequence in units of impact/hour. However, while one major event can change your life, it takes the of your life to show the change. It’s all the other minutes of the days when your guard is down and your real character shows itself. It’s the little pieces of conversation, carelessly thrown about, that can build or destroy our friendships, maybe without our even noticing it happening. It’s the little jealousies and annoyances that strain our relationships. It’s our idiosyncrasies that define us  Say what you will, these little minutiae are our lives. Treating them with any less respect than any blood-pumping confrontation is denying our own importance.

People are so infinitely fascinating, with all their different personalities and trivialities, their aspirations and inclinations, their habits, their prejudices. Some of these traits are so inherent to us that we don’t even realize they exist but conversation and human interaction make it all available for study.  But it’s no easy task to make observations of this sort about people without sounding petty or judgmental. Jane Austen manages to do this so well, that the infinitesimal remarks that would be snide gossip in another’s words, are with her treated with grace, value, and humour – because honestly, if we can’t make fun at what a silly species we are, we’re not going to survive very well with each other. It is so rare in life and in print to find someone who tells the truth about people without the accompanying dramatics of a sixth grade girl, someone who has high standards for conduct and civility but without condescension for those who don’t meet them. That Jane Austen has a talent to convey this in her writing makes her even more praise-worthy.

As to the inevitable love story, they do not by any means rival Disney’s impracticalities as some assume. The characters are imperfect, and their relationships are imperfect.  Their only crime is to aspire for relationships that combine sense and affection, but that’s a crime I’m not bitter enough to condemn.

Read on,

KRP

Do’s & Don’ts of Living x Yourself: Part 2

Here goes part deux of me imparting all the wisdom of 5 months’  solitary sojourn.  Hope it helps!

Do:

1. Shower at night. That’s a no-brainer. Why would you wake up earlier than you need to?  But also if you like to moisturize, there’s no better opportunity.
2. Take pictures. Exploring new territory like that new snowfall is great but pics or it didn’t happen.
3. Have at least one social engagement per weekend. I don’t care if it’s church, jazzercise or book club but make sure you see and interact with people in a casual social setting at least once a week. It gives you a reason to continue looking decent, to maintain your sanity and maybe, just maybe, foster a few friendships.
4. Chop your veggies when you get them. I owe this one to my mom who knows me far too well. The first step to healthy living is buying healthy food. The second is eating it. But if you’re, like me, often lazy and your veggies aren’t in quick removable chunks you’ll think twice before washing/cutting/dressing them before you gobble down your dinner. So instead, take the slight overhead of washing and chopping your veggies then storing them in convenient Tupperware for easy access and guilt-free gluttony.
5. Get a wire hanger. Wearing a tight dress and no one to zip you up?  A thin wire hanger, the handle looped through the zipper so that you easily tug on it will do the job.

Don’t:

1. Make entire cup of rice. It’s just too much. Even I got bored eating it for a week.
2. Cut garlic with your hands. One clove on your bare hands and a day’s worth of washing and bathing won’t be enough to get rid of the stench. Save your cuticles the embarrassment and wear gloves.
3. Let things get too messy.  The bane of my existence is housework and the longer I keep it off the more miserable doing it becomes. One sink-full of dishes, two unfiled papers, and three days’ worth of clean unfolded clothes is the absolute maximum of unkempt-ness to keep around on a daily basis unless you really want to waste a weekend de-hoarding your household
4. Leave your phone at home. Also a no-brainer, but definitely don’t do it when the worst snowstorm in three decades has decided to hit and the next time a person will realize you’re missing could reasonably be in a week.
5. Let work overshadow you hobbies. I’m all for working hard but the fastest way to workaholics anonymous is not giving yourself enough time to do the things you enjoy outside the 9-5. Maybe it’ll cost you a couple of hours of sleep or a few bucks of gas but your quality of life will jump a couple of notches. As with everything else, if you don’t lose it you lose it.

Practice and preach,

KRP

A Use for Floppy Disks

My generation caught the tail end of the floppy disk era so if you don’t know what they are, here’s a photo. They were used for data storage, much like USB’s do now except they held an embarrassingly small amount of data.

Since their obsolescence, people haven’t been able to find a use for them. Unlike typewriters or record players, you can’t make a case that they’re vintage because no one can even use them. So instead of the recycle bin (because of course you’re recycling them, right?), I propose making them into coasters!

Here’s how:

1. Dig up some old floppy disks. If you don’t have any, fine a garage sale or some friends who do. Ten to one they won’t mind donating them to you at all. You can even buy used ones on Amazon if you’re that zealous about it. The good thing is that they come in many colours. I picked ones that matched my furniture.

2. Get some sort of laminating spray or other laminating mechanism. Otherwise, as one very wise person advised me, they start to bend from the warmth or coldness of the beverages. I used DecoArt Triple Thick Gloss Glaze for a whopping $5 from the neighborhood craft store.

3. Spray the glaze about twice on every side in a well-ventilated area on a piece of cardboard or newspaper and let completely dry. When they’re done they should be firmer and shinier!

Optionally you could glue some cork rounds on the bottom, but the thinnest ones are about as thick as the disk anyway so it’s your call if you want to give up economy for extra padding.

This is about the easiest how-to ever 😀

Cheers!

KRP

Do’s & Don’ts of Living x Yourself: Part 1

This will probably be one of a series of posts I will be making as I discover the ins and outs of living by my lonesome. This is what I learned from the first month or so.

Don’t:

1. Over furnish. You can 86 the dining table idea. A bar stool and a coffee table beat table for one. Or if you’re me, for your mail.

2. Over grocery shop. Unless you’re a cook, you only need a few (3) onions at most. The rest will go unused and I hate very few things more than handling fruits and veggies that have gone bad. Also lettuce tastes much better and keeps much better fresh than in one of those salad bags.

3. Make brownies. Just because you get a chocolate craving, it doesn’t mean you should make a whole box of brownies because you will be the only one eating it. It’ll put a damper on your relationship with Betty Crocker.

4. Decorate everything. It’s so tempting to buy something to fill every square inch of blank wall that you now have but resist. Wait until you find something that actually means something to you. Those make the best memories. I’m currently waiting on a funky clock.

5. Leave work upset. Make your peace about whatever happened or didn’t happen at the office before you leave. Going home upset will suck your motivation to do anything useful and no amount of Community episodes will cheer you up.

Do:

1. Make projects. You need something to keep yourself busy after work/during weekends and the charm of housework will wear off soon enough. I found that initiating exploratory excursions is a good way to get to know your environment and that starting a project will help give meaning to your wanderings.

2. Get night-lights. It’s not that you’re afraid of the dark. It’s just that showing up to work with bruises from when you walked into the bathroom doorknob at 3am will win you some weird looks.

3. Make food for several days. That way you can prepare and get the ingredients to make more than just  mac and cheese and it gives you more time after work to work out, have a life, or fully make use of your cable subscription.

4. Double-dip. Come on, live a little. It’s kind of invigorating actually.

5. Get ice cream. It’s the best way I’ve found so far to satisfy those instant sweet cravings without having to deal with more sugar than you need. I highly recommend Ben& Jerry’s Half-baked.

Grab a spoon,

KRP

Flights of Class

Air travel is uncomfortable. That’s a given. But if you’ve ever flown internationally, you know that the degree of discomfort varies significantly between domestic and international flights, even in economy. After 15 years, I think I finally found the root cause.

The relationship between international airlines and their passengers is essentially one of a service provider to a client.  Although the price is hefty and your trip probably longer, you get more than just transportation for your airfare. You get treated as a guest, not just as a consumer. The beverages and snacks, and meals if the flight is long enough, you’re served are complimentary, served on trays with silverware and cups not made of Styrofoam. Your flight attendants are usually younger. When working the aisles, their focus is primarily on the passengers, addressing each other only when necessary. As with any professional service provider, international airlines get to set some restrictions on the service they provide. They set behavior guidelines that transcend any one culture or country, and by getting on their aircraft you agree to abide by their rules.  They are prepared to enforce them if necessary, but first they will appeal to your decency and courtesy until you show a complete lack thereof. That being said, they’re still more than willing to negotiate their services with clients who need special accommodations or at least to explain why they cannot. In short, in every dealing with an international airline, you are made to feel that the company respects you and your business, that you are their responsibility while in the air and that your responsibility is to be compliant in return, that they take to heart getting you to your destination in as much comfort as you can afford.

Domestic airlines, on the other hand,  regard their passengers purely as customers. They know that you have several other options for your domestic air travel needs. They know that they are all easily substitutable and that you have little to no loyalty to any of them to prevent you from hunting down the absolute best deal. Therefore, they don’t waste their time or money trying to make your relatively short flight into a an exceptional experience because you don’t care anyway. All you want is a good price and to get there safely. From the flight crew perspective, the passenger is much like the customer at their retail counter who comes and goes as quick episodes throughout their day, who might try to cheat the system, who may be a pleasant fellow or may be lawsuit waiting to happen. They even try to forewarn the passenger about any role they might have to play in an emergency so that no one can come back in a rainy day and say that they were harmed as a result of their ignorance. That quite clearly puts the passenger on equal footing with the flight crew, at least in the former’s eyes. The lasting impression is that your flight was no more than a means to an end both for  you, the passenger, and for the airline, and that the flight attendants are just exulted passengers whose job is to marshal the crowd into safe belt-buckling, electronic-device-avoiding practices.

Almost every visible aspect in the domestic and international travel flight experiences that I can think of can be traced to their respective and fundamentally different relationship styles. I believe this is one of those situations where having too much choice actually lowers the overall standards.

In retrospect, this probably shouldn’t have taken 15 years to figure out.

KRP

The Art of the Appliance

Furnishing a new apartment in 10 days is a shopping triathlon. First there’s the actual apartment hunt, after a day of which your mind will feel water-logged. Then there’s the furniture hunt where you calf-muscles get a great workout in the labyrinth that is IKEA. Finally, there’s the essential hunt for all those machines that whir in some octave or another. It’s the last of these that I want to address today.

No one can doubt that technology has made some humongous leaps in the past century. A blessed day came when design met that technology and retailers and consumers alike must have sang praises. Finally having the latest technology in home appliance didn’t want to make you gouge your eyes out. Manufacturers found ways to make almost every appliance beautiful.

Behold, the toaster!

Neat

Tasty nerdiness

Or the kettle.

Can you say chic?

And the ever-terrifying scale.

You know you want to step on that.

They even thought of adding colour so it doesn’t stick our like an eye-sore in your kitchen.

Oooh, choices

But I have yet to see a vacuum cleaner I don’t despise. Years later, they still look like big hulking machines. If you think these two dirt-sucking devils are from the 50’s, think again. This is the new “cyclone technology.” Impressed?

It's like they're not even trying.

And when they don’t look like they belong in an antique store, they look like gigantic metallic beetles.

Wall-Ew

Even anthropomorphism wouldn’t help on this one. I can’t tell if it’s a grill or a gigantic Lego head.

And that's just creepy.

After a much disappointing search, I settled on this bad boy.

Oh, baby.

Is a sexy vacuum cleaner really too much to ask?

Oh and if you’re thinking, “What about the Roomba? That’s as cute as a button”: that’s a robot. Not an appliance. It doesn’t count.

KRP

(Cat) Lady on the Move

As the days toward the big move approached, I got several pieces of advice from what I think are my well-wishing friends and family. Sometimes I’m not so sure. My grandmothers gave me advice on choosing a guy…much amusement there. My mother gave me lists of kitchen appliances to buy for the new apartment. My brother told me to get a popcorn machine and a jukebox. But the most humorous suggestions has got to be to get a cat. Please allow me to explain why this is a terrible idea. *Cracks knuckles*

1. I’m not an animal person. Now before you get some horrendous image, let me say that I didn’t really grow up with animals. Living in the middle east doesn’t exactly facilitate having pets. The dog we adopted in Dubai was given away after a week when we realized we’d have to walk it outside at 6am in 100 degree weather. The chicks we had as children were more successful. They only died after 3 whole weeks of our leg-crippling, over-watering care. To be fair, my brother was but a toddler at the time but the signs were there. Clearly, I wouldn’t know the first thing about raising a pet. I’m still figuring out how to take care of myself. I’m not even emotionally prepared for a pet. I never did and will never in my God-given lifetime accept licking and kissing a creature that just as easily puts its snout in feces. No, thank you. And that’s when they’re happy. God forbid that they be upset. We used to lock our dog in its cage at night while we slept. More like tried to sleep. the poor thing cried. CRIED. I couldn’t sleep for a week. Why would I go hunting for that kind of misery?

2.  Animals are expensive. Try searching for any apartment and you’ll find that having a pet both reduces your housing choices and instantly hikes up your rent. Not to mention their food, meds, toys, and the amount of attention they require. Oh and if you ever want to travel, pet hotels will bleed your bank account dry. Call me selfish, but I’d rather spend that money on me and vacations and that time not cleaning up after something with minimal bladder control. I barely clean up after myself. Yes, cats can groom themselves and have litter boxes and they don’t need copious amounts of play time like dogs but they make up for it but shedding their hair on every piece of clothing you own. The time I would spend playing with a puppy I would otherwise waste with a lint-roller and a mirror.

3. Being a single woman living alone with cats is not good for my social life. I could maybe, potentially, under some kind of influence, be persuaded to do all the above but the prospect of being a cat lady is the definitive deal-breaker.  I’d like to go on record for saying that I know some cat ladies and they are charming people so no hate there. But for someone who’s moving for a new city, it’s not exactly a ticket into the hearts and minds of your new acquaintances. And it’s a slippery slope, too. First you think it’s a great idea to get a kitten. They’re adorable, they’re good company. It’s a win-win. Then you feel sorry for how long you leave her alone at home so you get her a pal. Next thing you know you’re Sarah McLaughlin and adopting every cat with a sob story. You get to know them and their personalities and are as eager to share their stories to everyone you meet as a new parent. You never suspect that other people may not care. Come on, yours aren’t normal cats. They’re just much funnier/smarter/dumber/all-round more interesting than all other cats. Who wouldn’t want to hear their stories, right? Wrong.  Inevitably, you become branded as a “cat person”, a term that is fascinatingly more unpopular than it should be. This is all different when you have a roommate/significant other and then have a cat or two.  Then you just “have pets” which in the eyes of the world means there’s a chance you could be a balanced individual.

Which first impression would you want to make?

Homo sapiens for me, please.

KRP

And they shall be called “Alumni”

I’ve been to no less than six graduation ceremonies in the past month, including a couple of my own. Everywhere and by everyone, the title “alum” is thrown around with the annoying alacrity of a champagne cork. Not that it isn’t a privilege to be an alum of these fine institutions and maybe the title’s rewards will become more apparent with time, but for now it feels like poor consolation for the loss of the momentous and worthy thing you just were.

You spend four (plus) years invested in being  a “student” in this place. Your life is defined by your endless hours of schoolwork, classes, and other activities. You always look weather beaten, especially around finals time, and you’re practically venerated for it. And yet, minutes after you graduate people think of your struggles as a thing of the past. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been alum for five days or five decades, you’re suddenly about as relevant as a Civil War veteran. You are no longer considered an authority regarding classes or school events or anything pertaining to the private workings of your school . Increasingly, you’re forced to qualify every piece of information you give with a phrase like “when I was there..”.

It’s not just credibility that you lose either. You thought your student privileges were like a birthright. You came  and went as you please. But alumni can’t do that. In fact, alumni can’t do much more than haunt the grounds they trod on as their own hours earlier. Alumni are destined to forever visit their former campuses, having no real business there but to resurrect shadows of their former glory, yet expecting a red carpet and fanfare to await their return. Heck, you’d even settle for a smile and a “Welcome back!”. Instead, you stand there reminiscing at your favourite places, silently begging for someone to acknowledge and celebrate with you those memories that you made there but no one does. Then you get elbowed by students running to get to class, who may or may not be visibly peeved at the “visitors” in their way.

So yes, I’m pleased and proud to have been a part of my schools for any length of time, to be sure. But this awkward period between a student and being whatever else this next stage will be is both humiliating and exhilarating. I’m not a big fan of labels, but not knowing what to say or do with myself this summer is weighing on me and my fellow graduates. And being constantly reminded that we are now alumni is doing nothing to help.

Movin’ on,

KRP