"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.
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