As to Judge the Myth of Third Culture Kids

My friend smashed my life-lie to pieces over coffee.

We were discussing whether or not we should go to University College Maastricht, and had just discovered that whereas I thought the ”international community” of the school was a plus, my friend thought it was a big minus. Being myself born and bred in this sort of ”international community” with so-called ”third culture kids” I wanted to stick a fork in her.

“Whadyamean you don’t LIKE it??”
”Well, ” she replies ”Actually you guys kind of-”
“What.”
”-Well i mean not all of you but some...just kind of..”
Prolonged coughing.
”kind of think...that…your a whole lot better than the rest of us.”

When the screaming subsided she explained: having lived in a bunch of different places and seen a big part of the world, the ”third culture kids” understandably thought themselves fairly international, having had many experiences that a ”one culture kid” has not. And with thinking of yourself as experienced and cosmopolitan there came, she explained, a certain amount of subconscious or conscious feeling of superiority, which often lead to arrogance.

But in her view this superiority was nothing but vanity, as the hideous truth was that we weren’t in fact international at all. Yeah, we’d seen some cool stuff. Yet we move from one comfy diplomat dwelling to another. We’d gone to international schools, and the international people we met were in fact other third culture kids that had experienced other but completely parallel lifestyles. We are all from the same economic class. The only thing that varies is the colour of our four wheel drives.


You might even say, she continued, that we all kind of come from the same country (which she named Crazyland but which I here will rename...NOMADIA. Population unknown, citizens called “diplomat kids and frenz” and NOT third culture kids, language: English, which all the inhabitant will insist is NOT spoken with an American accent, even though it really is),


Whatsmore, she said, in seeking out an “international community” I was in fact not looking for internationalism at all, but just seeking out what I was used to. I was going home.

I realized that once again, in the horrible period of our acquaintance, she was right.
I felt quite indignant.
Much in the same way a adolescent skinhead feels when a kid from the neighbour town tells him his town smells like fish uterus.

I struck back; “Were not aaaaaaaaall arrogant hello!...And what’s wrong with wanting to go home?? NOMADIA is the only home we have, don’t we deserve to have a home too?”

“course you do!”

Course we did.

“But it’s just a matter of the image you have of yourself. Stop thinking your international when you all actually come from the same place. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to go home and perhaps even loving your hometown, as long as you acknowledge that that is what you are doing.”
Silence.
“.......You’re a sock.”

But she was a right sock.
Having digested it a little, her argument really started to make sense. There was no reason to think yourself any cooler just for having travelled. I now think of myself as more of a smalltown girl. Who’s had her little town blown into overpriveleged pieces all over the world. And most importantly, on equal footing with the “one culture people” when it comes to value of perspective.


Only one question remains: if we’re not it, where is the “real” international community?

For that, I’m thinking you’d have to go to the low income jobs in the big city.

Flip burgers with Amani and Abdul Hassan.

But all Amani wants is his rap-tape is discovered, so that he can be an American influential capitalist like 50 cent.

Trying to see the world for what it really is, is a perplexing business, and trying to see your own position clearly is even worse.

Course this was all a big waste because I showed up on the first day of school and realized it was like 60% Germans. Or maybe it wasn't.