Upon recently returning from overseas, my heart has been reflecting much on my experience of life as a Third Culture Kid. What follows below (and possibly more reflections to come on this blog) stem from those thoughts and feelings I’ve been processing as late. I share it here because perhaps there is another one of my “tribe” out there who will be encouraged to have someone else speak their language. 

The morning call to prayer wafts through the musty air of breaking dawn.

Everything in me wants to rise from my sleepless bed and stand upon the balcony, letting the heat begin to stick to my skin. I want to take it all in.

I am alive.

Adrenaline from jetlag-sleeplessness pulses through my veins and a deeper life follows suit.

Here, I am alive.

Though I know not the language, the customs, the traditions; though I don’t even possess just yet my belongings, I have arrived home. Where unfamiliarity is my home. Belonging where I don’t belong.

Like a magnet, negative and positive. Same and different. A world of contradictions, and I am home. This world of unfamiliarity is where I belong.