A TCK world

I've read a couple of interesting articles lately about being a TCK--Third Culture Kid. For those of you who haven't seen my definition previously, a TCK is someone who spent a significant portion of their childhood years living outside of their "passport culture".

I think "passport culture" is one of my favorite terms. It's not necessarily where you a "from", it's the place where your citizenship originates.

I came back to my passport culture, the US, after spending 8 years in Uganda. I certainly would not have called what I found home. A lot of people asked me if I was glad to be home, and I would smile and nod. People would ask me if I liked the US, and I would smile and nod. They would ask if I liked Uganda, and I would smile and nod. They would apologize for the fact I had to live in Africa, and I would smile and nod. They would say they were glad to have me back with all of my experiences, and I would smile and nod.
Smile and nod.
Smile and nod.
I'm very good at smiling and nodding.
Not that any one of those things are lies. I am glad to be back in the US. I did also like Uganda. But there were challenges, in both countries

I think the two biggest challenges I faced were summarized well in the two articles I have read lately. TCK Bigotry and TCK envy.

TCK Bigotry means that we judge our own culture... we think that we have so much knowledge of the world that no one can rival us. And so we look down on the people who try.
"I'm sorry, but unless you're experience can top mine, you don't know what you're talking about"
"Let me educate you on the way the world works".
These are instincts. They are basic, they are the way one reacts when confronted with what feels like a great amount of ignorance about the world. As the article says, we become that which we despise: we become narrow-minded.
I have found that the most important way for us to counteract this is to think about what we don't know. I don't know what it's like to receive government food stamps and receive free or reduced lunch, but now I'm surrounded by people who do. I don't know what it's like to have a parent deployed to Afghanistan, but if you do, will you tell me what it's like? I don't know what it's like to come from a home full of divorce and abuse. I should learn how the world looks through your eyes. This is a hard conclusion to come to, and honestly is one that I'm just reaching now.

TCK envy is probably the most gut-wrenching of them all. Someone talks about getting to travel somewhere, and my first thought is "that's not fair, it should be me". It comes from missing my country so much that I can't breathe some times, and the thought of someone getting to see something remotely like it is hard. I go to the Seatac airport and I know that if I go just a few terminals down I will be able to get on a plane to take me home. And it's hard seeing the people who get to go to the international terminal.

I really struggled in my first months back in the US. I struggled to fit in, to incorporate my memories of Uganda with what I was learning about the US. Throughout an emotionally challenging class on war--in which I will admit that I believed I was the only one with a valid point of view--my TCK bigotry was horrible. It made me feel disgusting, but I was so convinced that no one could understand my world.

So the question becomes how I can see this, how I can write a post like this. Well, it happened in a couple of anthropology courses. I started them off with a lot of bigotry, but as time went on, I noticed that we were looking at the US through an anthropological lens. It's just as important to study the US. It's just as important to know this culture.

Ah, there's the key, the secret. It's a culture. It has just as much validity as Ugandan culture. So, what if I approached it with the attitude I approached Uganda with? An open mind, and a willingness to learn? If I could do it when I was 10, why couldn't I do it at 18? And along with that, if I could study Native American culture, then I certainly could study American culture. It's just a matter of paying attention, and recognizing when you are being ethnocentric--or convinced that your culture is better than someone else's.

I'm not going to pretend that I have it under control. But this is me, 10 months and 22 days into my American cultural journey, and I am excited by what I have learned and everything that comes with this place.

A Cross to Bridge the Great Divide

"There's a bridge to cross the great divide
A way was made to reach the other side
The mercy of the Father, cost His son
His life
His love is deep, His love is wide
There's a cross to bridge the great divide 
God is faithful
On my own I'm unable
He found me hopeless, alone and 
Sent a Savior
He's provided a path and promised
To guide us
Safely past all the sin that would divide us
His love delivers me.
The cross that cost my Lord His life
Has given me mine
There's a bridge to cross the great divide
There's a cross to bridge the great divide"--The Great Divide by Point of Grace

I can't help thinking about my multiple worlds. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it has been almost since my graduation, a time of many goodbyes. This time last year marked the beginning of the end of an era.

This year I finish my first year of college. The sheer amount of things that has happened in the last twelve months is overwhelming. From saying goodbyes to processing life events, it's been chaotic.

The other night I met with a group of friends. As they talked about going "home" and seeing their friends, I couldn't help but start to tear up. Okay, okay, you got me, I all out started crying. Because I am not going "home". My friends are scattered throughout the world. 

But I'm not feeling sad about it anymore.

Why??

Because in Christ we are ALWAYS connected. Tonight I got to talk with a great friend and mentor, whose voice I have not heard in over a year. It was wonderful to remember our long talks and to discover that though we have not been in great contact, we can pick up where we left off. Through Christ, we can stay in spiritual contact. I love my friends, and they know that. We may be separated, but they never have to question that.

Christ did not only die to bring healing between us and God, He came to bring healing within our world. I personally can't imagine a world where I cannot pray for my friends and know that someone will be watching out for them.

Do I grieve what I have lost? Yes. Have I lost anything permanently? No. Because I know that some day we all will cross that great divide and hang around a heavenly coffee shop with Jesus and talk like we never missed a day of each other's lives.

And that's what gets me out of bed in the mornings

Light at the end of the tunnel

So, it feels good to have good days.

This may seem like a "no, duh" statement, but it's been a long year. I'm finally getting my feet on the ground. It feels like I have been in transition for the last two years, but here's the thing:
I always dreamt when I was in Uganda about sitting in a coffee shop with friends listening to music. Possibly studying.
I always dreamt about having a youth group.
I always dreamt about having good friends close by.

So today:
I am getting ready for a final that I will kick butt on while hanging out with two friends (one who I just met today) at Northern Pacific Coffee Company, drinking way too much caffeine--they make AMAZING coffee and tea--and just hanging out.

On August 1 I will begin working with the youth. I will be in my own apartment. I will be building up a new life.

I feel like I've been in transit for the last two years. I was getting ready to leave Uganda, then I was fighting to get my footing here. And now here I am. Pieces are falling into place, and I feel like I'm getting a hang of how to do things here.

And it feels good. It feels like I've been in a never ending tunnel for so long and I'm finally seeing light. So: I'm looking forward to ending on a high note, relaxing over the summer, and starting at an awesome job soon!

So, I just wanted to say that I'm really grateful for the completely unconventional life I lead :)

Bungee Jumping for God Part 1

My last real memory of Uganda:

I climb the tower. The nice, large man binds my feet to a bungee chord. I stand on the edge of a platform 144 feet off the surface of the Nile. To my left and to my right I can see grade 5 rapids raging around me, but it is still where I am. If my rope breaks though, I will be carried through the rapids. 

I look down.

It's a long way to fall. But I am excited.

Hands up on the bar in front of me, slide my feet out to the edge. Heart pounding.

"Don't worry, we've got you. And we won't push you, unless you ask us to" a voice comes from behind me. I become conscious of a song by The Offspring being played behind me. With the music thumping in my ears, I ask him to push me.

I am suspended in the air for a second. Then I realize I am dropping, falling. A scream of terror. Then the exhilaration hits and I scream for joy. 

Now, in this scenario I get calmly lowered into the boat below, after my face hits the water and I bounce up and down a few times. It's a little different with God.

I remember leaving for Uganda. It was kind of like bungee jumping... reaching the door of the plane and realizing there is no going back. It's kind of scary, but really exciting. This is it, you're making the move.

Tonight I found out that  I will have the position of youth director/minister/personwhodoeswhatever next year. As I went in for my interview the other night, I couldn't help but feel like I was watching as my feet got tied together and clumsily shuffling to the edge. Right now, my ears are pounding with classic hard core rock like The Offspring and I feel that lurch in my stomach as something big is coming.

Can I still go back? Yes. No one will push me. But what do I say?

"Go ahead. Push me."

And so God does. With a few words of encouragement, mostly the prayer of St. Patrick's Breastplate which I carried in loaded on my phone, which I read seconds before entering the interview.

I have a while to stand here, to contemplate the jump I am about to make. And just like when I went bungee jumping, I am THRILLED. 

You see, when I came back from Uganda, I got lowered into a safety boat. I got a little love and care with some other MKs (hey Bioloa MK seminar people!) and then I started climbing a hill to go bungee jumping again.

But here's what I learned about bungee jumping with God: it doesn't end with the bungee jump. No, you do what my mom and I did right before we left you Uganda: moments after the jump you climb into a raft and brave those rapids. 

And it hurts. And it's hard. And it's a wild, brilliant ride that you wouldn't trade for the world.

What keeps it from being scary? Knowing, simply knowing, that you are proverbially still bungee corded to someone in the sky, who will make sure you make the journey safely.

And so, let's go bungee jumping again!

(I plan to use this as a theme when I'm working with the youth. Because this is kind of how I see ministry)

Poems of re-entry and remembering war

So I attached two "poems". Please don't judge them for literary style, they are more just freestyle expressions.

This first one is something I wrote over a couple of class periods when I was in a class that centered on a discussion of war. I think it reflects what I was feeling as I first came back to the US.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever fit in

Sometimes my knowledge makes me want to scream

Sometimes your ignorance makes me want to scream

Why does it have to be this way?

Am I ever going to fit in?

Do I want to fit in?

Am I ever going to feel at home?

I just want to scream

I just want to scream

Your ways are offensive to me

My ways are offensive to you.

This is a culture I don't understand or want to accept

This is a culture that doesn't understand or want to accept me

Why am I here again?

Why am I here?

I don't understand what you understand

you don't understand what I understand

You talk about economic bail out, and relate to it in your culture

I talk about security guards with bows and arrows and warcraft with spears. That's what I relate to

Don't trap me into this life. I have to break free

You talk about presidents

I talk about tyrants

You talk about elections

I talk about coups

This second poem is one I wrote just today. Similarly, I was in a class talking very theoretically about Algeria's war for independence. It kind of got me that everyone was so... distant.

It’s a story to you

The terrorist attacks

It’s something from history

Something to which you cannot relate.

I sit here silently

I zone out and breathe

Images filling my mind on and on

While you talk about possible interpretations.

How do you interpret

The images of mangled bodies in my country

How do you interpret

The months of terror and fear

How do you interpret

The constant fear of riots

How do you interpret

The history of the country I love?

You see it’s not a story to me.

I have sat, and I have listened.

As tales of charred children and forced cannibalism

Tales of rebel attacks and of internally displaced persons

I have listened

As our family friends talk about running from a dictator

And I have prayed,

As our friends have left the country for safety.

It is a story now.

But when the gun shots go off, I snap to attention

When a car backfires, I feel the pain in my chest.

Images fill my mind.

You talk in hypothetical ways.

Sometimes the ignorance makes me want to scream

Sometimes the things I know make me want to scream

And yet I do not.

You laugh at me

When I bring up things that do not relate to the US.

You are frustrated

When I do not respond in class.

It goes on and on.

Around and around

Over and over

And so

I sit here silently,

While you compare this to Greek Tragedy.

I sit here silently

And try to not blow up.

I am a bomb like the ones you are discussing

I am a gunshot flying around the room

I am ticking, and my frustration is coming.

And yet I sit here silently.

Well, that's re-entry for you I guess. Ups and downs, and feeling misunderstood. 

Ripping, tearing, rejoining: A TCK story of goodbyes

"Once again I said my goodbyes to those I love most. My heart feels that familiar pain as I long for home. 'Cause this road is hard, when I feel so far. And God I'm crying out tonight, 'cause I'm giving you my life, but I'm tired and I'm missing what's behind, so once more, here's my life."

Goodbyes are never easy. As a TCK and MK, I have said a lot of them. I said goodbyes when my family uprooted from Virginia. Over the next eight years, I said goodbye to all of my friends who came into my life. There was Grace, who moved to Rwanda, then came back to Uganda, but I only saw her every once in a while. Others came and left... eventually it was easier to just isolate myself a little bit... To stop feeling the hurt of saying goodbye. I remember when I said goodbye to a friend in tenth grade and I cried a few tears. After that, I swore to myself that I would not cry about saying goodbyes. So I bottled it up. Until Cariel came into my life, and then within a few months I had to say a permanent goodbye to someone who had become one of the best friends I had ever had.

I cried that night.

Then just under a year ago, the ultimate heart break came: leaving Uganda. I was more aware of leaving Uganda than leaving the US. As my dad put it, it was like "tearing": I had these bonds and they were not meant to be ripped away so casually. Of course it hurt.

The goodbye process in Uganda was about six months of heart break. From saying goodbye to one of my closest Ugandan friends, Bridget, to leaving my youth group, it hurt. I remember all of the farewells we went through... my dad's staff, our Uganda Christian University friends, everyone. I want to honor four of these good byes.

Bridget: she doesn't have access to internet, so she will never know how often I think of her and her smile. She lit up my life for 8 years. Even when she was in boarding school I counted months until I would hear my mom say "Bridget should be coming home this weekend". Now I'm the one who is gone. I will always miss her.

Abi: what can I say about our hyperness? We were hysterical together. We never really said goodbye. It was too hard of a thing. And thankfully we can stay in touch through skype (we talked for an hour today!) and it is such a relief. But as close as we can feel, she is in a different country, leading a different life. It makes me sad for her to be in England and for me to be here. We can't be hyper together anymore.

Beatrice: our lovely house helper. We had a love-hate relationship at first, but I hold on to all of the memories of our water fights and us yelling out to my mom that we were "beating" each other. I talked to her in October, and we just sobbed on opposite sides of the world as she pleaded with me to come home. Ouch. I love her and miss her, but with no connection to internet, she will never know that either.

Olivia: my trusted big sister. She was there for everything. I was crushed when it was time to say goodbye to her... BUT little did I know that this amazing person was going to move to South Africa and have good internet! We video call each other every few weeks now. It hurt to be ripped away from her, but I can always count on her advice!

So now here I am, ripped away. It feels like everyone I said goodbye to (including everyone in my youth group!) has a little piece of me. I feel pretty disjointed.

But there is light at the end of the tunnel, and God is faithful. I feel like Job: everything gets torn away and time is spent mourning, but then God reveals his power, and rebuilds. I am getting involved with the youth at my new church, and after meeting them once I can't believe what joy they brought me! I've got several good friends, and a special friend. I feel like a quilt, as I take little pieces of all of them and patch up all of my holes with them.

I know more goodbyes will come, but for now, I mourn the ones I said and celebrate my new joys.

The mourning lasts a night-time but joy comes with the morning.

In Christ and in memory of all of my friends I have lost, God Bless!

Late Night Theological Musings

So I had coffee with a friend from. It was really restorative... this was a friend that I had before some very hard personal issues came up for both of us, and it was nice to come back at the end and realize that we were both reaching the other side.
My conversation with the youth to figure out if they like me happens tomorrow. I was nervous, so I came back and decided to read the Bible and pray before bed. I flipped open and ended up at the end of Job (bearing in mind that a behemoth is either a hippo or an elephant and the leviathan is a crocodile).

It amazed me that God is so much bigger than our storms. It felt like he was speaking to me with his mention of the hippo/elephant and the crocodile. Those are some incredible animals. The pure beauty and power, which I am blessed to have seen in first person, are incomparable.I am so grateful that God has shown us bits of his power. We cannot capture his raw power. Every time we try, he just laughs. He laughs because he can show us just how much he is stronger and yet he bends down and shows us love through the storm. Even though it lasts for a while, our questions do not remain unanswered. God is just waiting for us to quiet down a little so he can show us the beauty through the storm.

God reaches out through our storms and lets us know that he is in control. We don't have to doubt because we can sleep in peace knowing that God is SO much bigger than our storms, whether they are issues with friends or hopes for jobs.

Just some thoughts.

Also, I came back and my computer started playing music. Look up the song Africa. I like the version by the Clef Hangers.

Well, these are my musings. 

God bless, and remember he is reaching through the storm!

Teargas, bullets, and water canons or free speech?

 I went to a rally on Wednesday--partly out of curiosity and partly because I needed to write an essay about it--protesting unfair labor laws. They were also protesting the fact that the contingent faculty have been told to not form a union... it's all a complicated mess, but I came away from the rally with a few things. I couldn't help but think about what this rally would have looked like in Uganda.

As people began to carry a red banner and chant about justice, I started to get nervous. You see, in my world, if you see a group of people, run the other way. If you hear a group of people yelling, get in your car ASAP and get to another part of town. Try and go the opposite direction of the trucks full of riot police and water canons. If all else fails, stick close to the riot police because if you're white they will look out for you.

Meanwhile, be prepared that the group of people is about to suffer.
Teargas canons will be fired. Water cannons will be used to dye people pink so that they can be associated with the riot and arrested. Rubber bullets will start to fly.

The police begin a hunt for anyone and everyone involved. My strongest recollection of this is when the police tear-gassed a pre-school. A lot of kids had to go to the hospital.

What happens so that things devolve so quickly?

In 2011 the government decided that the opposition was not allowed to walk to work to protest rising gas prices. As crowds followed them, the police arrested anyone and everyone. This angered people. We ended up with three weeks of riots. My mom had to drive through a burning barricade to get me from school, and I had to help a family navigate our way home through back roads.

According to the Ugandan government, a group of more than 20 people has to be approved by the police or be subject to arrest. Imagine how much that angers people.

In 2009 I remember hearing the first gunshots from my house. Followed by yelling, screaming, chanting. We didn't believe what it was at first. But as the night went on, it became more and more clear: things were becoming dangerous.
The next day at school we all swapped stories.
"I had to drive past burned out trucks at 6:00 this morning to make it to school before the riots started again. The road was still smoking. I heard gunshots for three hours... did you hear gunshots?"was my summary.
"Our car got stones thrown at it from the rioters. I had to duck down to keep from getting hit" my friend Sabine said.
My friend Lea won with a picture of her dad's car in flames. Thankfully, her dad had gotten safely into hiding.

What makes these two worlds so different? How is it that in one place a peaceful college protest wraps up within an hour and the school responds by peacefully explaining things to students, while in another part of the world people die and riots continue for three weeks?

There are so many explanations, from "Uganda is a dictatorship. It won't allow freedom of speech" to "Go America, we can do whatever we want" to my least favorite "Why is Uganda so violent?".

I don't really want to adress any of these ideas. It is what it is. In one part of the world, a walk to work results in death and teargas. In another part, a loud protest leads to an apologetic email from a school. You can't really explain away the difference. They are different worlds. Different mentalities.

I would almost hesitate to say that we should judge Uganda. It is such a different world, a world where instability must be crushed in order to avoid years of instability while at the same time instability is becoming an inevitability.

My intent in writing this was not to propose a solution or to examine what's wrong with one system. It was simply to say the following: the world is diverse; the world is not free; what we think is freedom is often the opposite; and we live in a broken world.

I'll become even more undignified than this

I can't remember the exact verse, but it seems to be one everyone knows. It's in almost every song. "Though weeping may last for the night, joy comes with the morning".

If you had told me this even a few weeks ago I might have slapped you. "How long is the night?" and "What does the morning concept mean?"

Let me give you some background.

 I am a missionary kid, an MK, a third culture kid, a TCK, and overall, a young woman of God. A Jesus Freak. That's who I am.
But a lot has happened to make me who I am .I moved to Uganda, a small country in East Africa, when I was ten years old. I had some amazing--and not so amazing--times there, and overall I loved it. July 2012 I packed up and moved back to the US, my passport culture, to come to college at Pacific Lutheran University.
Leaving Uganda felt like dying. And coming back to life in a bizarre new world.
This was the second time I had left a "home". The second time that I had said all of my goodbyes. And it was not easy.
The last two years have not been easy. 2 years ago in February I got sick with three tropical illnesses. I lost my dog--my one stable companion--followed by two bunny rabbits. I injured my foot and spent ten weeks on crutches.
Let me say now that I struggle with anxiety and depression disorders. Yeah, those got pretty bad at around the same time.
But I bandaged myself together, with a lot of love and help, and I got through. I got accepted to PLU and I finished my International Baccalaureate diploma program and passed with flying colors. For those of you who don't know IB, let's just say it's not an easy thing.
This brings us to July, when I hopped on an airplane and flew back to the US.
Goodbyes are not easy. They are not meant to be easy. But I said a lot of them. With a very broken yet excited heart I started school at PLU. So far it has been a roller coaster ride. Transitioning to a new culture, even if it is my passport culture, is not easy. It means a lot of mistakes, a lot of "oops, I didn't know I should/shouldn't say that."
And it brings about a lot of heart ache.
From personal to relationship issues, the last months have been hard. And that's an understatement.

So why the title? Obviously I'm not going to depress you all the time. Because joy does come.
I am finding myself at the foot of the Cross, looking into God's eyes and asking Him to show me where to go. And you know what he says? Follow me. For I know the plans I have for you.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. My church is may hire me on as a youth minister and giving me an apartment in the church. I am really excited about this. It's like a glimmer of hope.
I have great friends who love me, and whom I love. My parents are behind me all the way.

Joy comes in the morning.

But it's more complicated than that. Let me explain the mourning aspect.

In July I went to a Missionary Kid re-entry seminar. They talked to us there about grief. About grieving our homes, and all that is lost in a transition.
And it is grief. It is a time of mourning. I am still mourning what I have lost. But the more I mourn, the more I realize that there is joy on the other side. Joy comes with the mourning.

And so here I am. I hope to be a youth leader soon. I am an anthropology major, and I hope to continue with that.

I was sitting outside in the rare Pacific Northwest sunshine today playing guitar, and I wanted to write. So I'm writing. And I will keep writing. My hope is that this blog will allow me to write about the ups and downs, the joy and the mourning, the night and the morning.

By the way, I have an old blog where I wrote a lot of deep reflections on Uganda. You can find that at ugandamkstyle.blogspot.com and I will write in this blog about Uganda, but the main focus of this one is the journey.

Care to follow my journey as I mourn and celebrate? A verse comes to mind. David re-enters Jerusalem dancing with the tabernacle after tragedies in retrieving it. When questioned, he states "I will be even more undignified than this." And that's my story right now. I am mourning, but I am celebrating. I am close to God, and so I dance. I dance with my words and with my guitar. and I will become even more undignified than this. Some may say it's foolishness but I'll become even more undignified than this.

Feel free to follow me!
Alyssa