"Coming Home" and Culture Shock

Sitting smack-dab in the middle of Switzerland, on the back porch of my grandparent's farm, soaking up the fresh smells of grass after the rain, mixed with faint scents of cow manure and wood, I feel good. Usually I wouldn't feel particularly motivated to write about this particular subject. But right now, feeling the way that I do, I think I'm ready.

"Coming home." That's a strange phrase for me. 

Believe it or not, I seem to use it no matter where I go in the world - "back" to Switzerland, or "back" to Cambodia. No matter what place I "go back" to, to think that I'm "going home" seems to be the only option for me. What else would I say?

Ever since I was a little girl, Switzerland has held a special place in my heart. Even though I've never lived there, ever, in my entire life, I think there is an element about it that makes me feel, in my strange TCK way, at home.

Maybe it's the whole thought that I'll see my extended family again. Maybe it's the fact that, here, nobody stares at you because you have white skin. Maybe it's because everyone here speaks my language. Or maybe it's just the fact that, for once, I'm out of the place where nothing seems to be perfect. And I'm in this new place, where everything, even cow manure, smells good, and the streets are clean and I don't have to sweat all day long. Maybe, as a TCK, because the thought of "home" is such a foreign concept to me, the comforts that I feel here in Switzerland have automatically made me feel like it's a home. A place where I can breathe, and feel at rest.

Something that many TCKs can probably relate to is "culture shock". Ever had it? That frustrating feeling of being totally overwhelmed and confused and...different? It's not very nice, and, unfortunately, I've had numerous such "culture-shocks" this summer.

Maybe that's also because my body wasn't as "well" as it usually is when my family arrives in Switzerland. Unfortunately, on Saturday, the day of our planned departure from Phnom Penh, my entire family managed to get food poisoning. Or better yet, Salmonella. It was due to a very sketchy can of refried beans (that had probably been punctured and gone bad without our noticing it), and it was absolutely lovely. Not. I threw up my favorite number of times: seven, and thanks to the glorious medicine our family doctor managed to give us shortly before our leaving the country, I didn't get to go number-two in over four days. Yipee.

But nonetheless, that's all over now. No longer do I have to dread the thought of eating my grandmother's delicious home-cooked dinners, nor hurt her feelings by grimacing when she asks me if I want seconds. At last, I can keep my food down.

Despite Salmonella, my family did pretty well arriving in the land of cheese and chocolate. My grandparents, from both sides, were delighted to see us (as usual), and we've been spending a lot of time with them this week.

The culture-shocks came when we went shopping. Grocery shopping is where it usually starts. Walking down the aisles, where there are hundreds of types of, well, everything, to choose from, staring at the startling prices, gaping at the endless array of cheeses and chocolates... well, it's overwhelming every time. I usually end up right in the middle of the store with my mouth wide open, stuck in the decision of crying or laughing or just running straight outside.

Then, when we go clothes shopping, it's like every overwhelming feeling is magnified by about a thousand. Walking down shopping squares crowded with white people who speak your language and look at you judgementally because it's so obvious you're not from around here, strolling into H&M and realizing you have a terrible taste in fashion because you live on the other side of the moon...

Not only do you feel the same as all these people, but you feel different in a way you'd never imagined.

Being different is different in Cambodia. There, people stare at you and charge you extra, but that's the end of it. But here, being different comes with doubting your own identity. You arrive in Switzerland, expecting to be the same as everyone else, and yet you arrive, realizing you're as different as ever. If I'm different in Cambodia, and I'm different in Switzerland, what am I really? Who am I really?

That's culture-shock. However unbelievably beautiful and peaceful-making Switzerland may be, culture-shock always drains my energy. It's not very nice.

Writing about this now, I have to think about something I realized today while writing in my prayer journal. It's difficult, as a TCK, to "come home" for the summer. There's the beautiful relief, but also the overwhelming identity crisis. It's really hard. But I realized today that God is the same, no matter where I am in the world. He's always with me. If I'm in Cambodia, He's there; if I'm in Switzerland, He's there. It doesn't matter how I feel. It doesn't matter where I am in the world, or what type of culture-shock I'm struggling with. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever (Hebrews 13:8). Amen.

Why I Love Coffee

Living in Cambodia only a few years ago was difficult. There were no places to escape to other than your own house or a completely different country altogether. My family used to spend our summers and Christmas holidays either in Switzerland, or travelling around southeast Asia. I remember one of my favorite treats was going to Bangkok, a city I came to really fall in love with when I was younger, and going to Starbucks. It was like a dream, going to big, westernized coffee shop, ordering a superb coffee that, although overpriced, was totally delicious, and sipping it. It was like a relief, after all that terrible stuff we witnessed and experienced in Cambodia. Coffee was a part of my moment of peace, outside the country where there didn't seem to be anyplace to calm down and relieve my senses.

Nowadays, I'm so blessed with the abundance of coffee shops Cambodia has to offer now. We have literally hundreds of them now, dotting the street corners, especially in the more tourist-packed areas of the city. Phnom Penh has come a long way these past few years, and the arrival of these coffee shops is one of my favorite aspects of it. Now, I no longer have to travel by plane for an hour and a half to get to Starbucks; I have a lot wonderful, not-as-overpriced coffee shops right in my neighborhood!

I'm not saying that Phnom Penh doesn't still have the stressful aspects of it that it had many years ago - there are still times when I feel like I just need to go home, or get out of the country for a while. But usually that isn't possible. And that's when coffee is yet another part of my "escape", a way that I can "get away" from the stress and hubbub of everyday life in Asia, settle into a comfy chair in my air-conditioned bedroom and sip coffee from my favorite mug. Coffee makes me feel like everything's going to be okay, starting with the wonderful taste of it on my tongue.

I absolutely adore coffee. I drink mine fairly simply: only a generous dash of semi-skimmed milk in a mug of fresh, steaming black coffee is enough to satisfy me. It's how I start off every day.

Another glorious invention that entered the more-developed Phnom Penh was this: decaffeinated coffee. For some of you, this may not make sense. Many people around the world drink coffee for the caffeinated buzz it brings to keep you awake or help you stay alert at work. For me, I just drink coffee because it tastes good. That's the only reason I need. Which is why the decaffeinated stuff doesn't bother me. Same taste, and I can drink it at night. Doesn't that sound great?

Almost every night ever since my mom discovered this stuff first at the supermarket, she brews a small pot full of decaffeinated coffee at night, just for the two of us. It's our solution of how to calm ourselves down at night to escape from the stress of the day and think of more beautiful things. Some people like a glass of wine, or a hot bath. I drink decaffeinated coffee, and it's superb.

So yeah. Coffee. Caffeinated or not, it's definitely my favorite drink on this planet, and I love it.

About Airports and Flying: From the TCK Perspective

For people growing up in other countries, travelling sounds pretty exotic and colorful. I'm sure you people vividly remember your first plane trip to Spain, or your first road trip across Europe, or whatever. You remember exactly what it felt like to buckle those weird silver seat-belts for the first time and recall the fear that came with the rattling and whining of a plane speeding down the runway ready for takeoff.

Fortunately for me, travelling is something I've grown up with. I don't remember my first plane flight, because it happened when I was only a few months old. I don't remember the first time I crossed into a new continent, because it happened then too. For me, airports and planes are the norm. Or at least, it's something that doesn't scare me. In fact, I find take-offs and landings exhilarating. I love the feeling I get in my stomach when the plane lifts off the ground for the first time, like my stomach is still on the ground but the rest of my body is being carried away by the plane. It sounds gross, but I absolutely love it.

My entire life has been like a cycle of being in one place and then being transferred to another by an airplane. Like going through puberty, flying must have been something that freaked my parents out at the beginning, but now has just become something that is normal, and still mysterious, bizarre and awesome at the same time. But for me, having been flying regularly for as long as I can remember, airplanes aren't on my list of things that scare me.

I'm not sure exactly what makes me love airports and flying so much. But I think part of it is that I'm just sort of used to it. I'm used to the anxiety and fear of it all, and I think that growing up with it has helped me to push past that, into a realm where I feel at home at an airport, and I feel so excited and happy in a plane that I feel like I'm about to explode.

As a third culture kid, you tend to not associate your "home" with anything specific. 

For me, I feel "homesick" for both Switzerland and Cambodia, depending where I am. I don't know where my "home" is. In fact, "home" seems like a metaphysical word to me, something that I've never experienced or known in my life.

And I think that's another thing that makes me love planes so much. I love the idea of not being in a specific place. I love the thought that, when I'm in a plane, I'm not in Switzerland, or Cambodia, or anywhere else for that matter.

I'm just in a plane, thousands of meters above sea level, in no particular place. And I love to think that that's how I feel about my home - not being in a particular place, just with particular people, or at a certain time.

Being in a plane helps me to sort of make sense, for a short while, of what my real home is like, right there, above the clouds, not anywhere, but still a thing that I feel in my heart when I'm with my family or friends.

You might not understand. But it's something that I feel, up there, in a plane above the clouds. When I'm in a plane, it doesn't matter what I'm leaving behind or where I'm going, even though that thought does excite me a lot. What matters is that in that moment, I don't have to worry about whether the place I'm in is worthy to be called my home. And I love that.

Airports. Back on track here. Why do I love airports? Well, I love a lot of things about them. I love the little things: the way they can be stress-filled and relaxing to me at the same time, the variety of faces to see, the international environment I'm so addicted to...

But the main thing I love about airport is this:

I love the idea of thousands of people from all around the world coming together in one place. 

My entire life I've grown up in places like that. My school, for instance. We have 32 nationalities total. Ergo, we come from pretty much all around the world. And I love how that is similar too, in an airport. There are thousands of people there, each person with their own story - where they've come from, where they're heading - and they're all coming together in one place, at that airport. And I'm a part of that. It's also fascinating for me to think that they're also only there for a short time, just like my friends and I are only at my school for a short time each day, and about to embark on another journey, each person a different one for themselves, spreading out into different places again, all over the world.

Call me a culture nerd. But hey, that's how I feel. And it totally fascinates me!

So yeah. Airports, airplanes, flying across the world... in only a few days, I'll be doing just that. And I'm really excited, because it's one of the things I love most in the world. And as a "culture princess", I'm so blessed to be able to experience it over and over again.

When Your Older Sister Graduates from High School

This morning I woke up to the usual 30-plus degree-Celsius Cambodian weather and thought, 'In less than a week, I'll be elsewhere.' The thought hit me: I'm flying to Switzerland in five days. It was a totally bizarre thought. Time has been going by way too fast this year, but I think part of the issue lies with the fact that my sister is graduating. And I'm beginning to realize it.

Today was a day spent doing pretty much the usual since we moved into our new house less than two weeks ago: helping my mom with whatever she needs to get done before the summer. But then she asked me to pack for Switzerland. And reality kicked in.

As I was packing, I realized how normal the thought of 13-hour plane rides is to me. 

If I had grown up in a "western" country, I would probably be nervous, excited and probably a little stressed out as well, to be flying the long distance between Bangkok and Zurich. And yet, I'm only the excited part of the package. Why? Well, honestly, I love planes. I love travelling. And I love airports. And even though I do, it's still something that is strangely normal for me, to be heading back to my home country in the summer.

Other years I would have counted back the days since the school semester started in January. But this year, things are strangely different. The excitement is different. It's tweaked with a bit of anxiety, and a whole lot of sadness. Not because I'm afraid to fly, or because I'm going to miss Cambodia. It's because my older sis is graduating on Thursday. And I don't think I'm quite ready for it yet.

It feels like only yesterday we were little girls in Phnom Penh, happily playing with our huge collection of Barbies, barely aware of the fact that we were going to grow up eventually! And yet, the time that's passed since then has flown by so fast! It's so mind-blowing to think that I only have two years left of high school, and that I started high school that same amount of time ago. And yet it feels like only yesterday.

Time just goes by too fast. 

That's all there is to it. I wish that there was some button I could press to make it slow down when I want it to, and speed up when I want it to. But no. Time just goes by the way that it does - usually not the way I want it to. But it's all in God's plan.

It's true that it's only a matter of time before Jael graduates, and she's out the door. But I also know equally well that there is a lot to look forward to in the days to come - in the near future, and the not-so-near future. God's got a lot in store for my older sis, and for me. There are days when I'm not so sure why God's put me here, where a lot things I wish I had are not within my reach. But at the same time, I know that it's my sisters that God has put right beside me that I should be really, really thankful for. I would be a totally different person were it not for their love, honesty, and inspiration throughout my life.

Jael has been such a unique example for what I want to be like when I'm older. She's shown me what it's like to be a really, really great older sister, and I hope than once she's gone, I'll be able to be that same comfort to Maria, my "baby" sister. It's still a little scary to think that in a matter of days, I'll be the "older sister", the "leader", the one who is supposed to experience the world first. And yet, I've had someone who experienced it before me, helped me to see the challenges before I've had to face them myself. And I'm so blessed to know that that someone is in good hands now - in God's hands. She'll be just fine. And so will I.