Here comes a post out of guilt. I haven’t blogged since early May, for a lot of reasons, most importantly the play, “Fools” (for a long description, check Ed’s blog, yet again). So I’ll ramble until I find something to talk about, eh?
Things are weird in my life right now. Firstly, I’ve realized that I use the word “weird” too much. But other than that, I’m stuck in what feels like the longest week of my life. With a Biology test, the Matura trip, followed quickly by prom, it was already packed. Now, however, it’s become worse, because I stayed home sick today. I’m not all that sick, actually, it’s just that my white blood cells were slacking, causing my (adrenal glands to oversec–HA, just kidding) Kleenex box (phew!) to empty faster than my house of plants. A little explanation: we can’t take any of our 5 billion plants to Cyanadia, so we’re selling them all tonight and over the next few days.
On the topic of the moving process, I’ve decided to take my blog in a new direction, and this is the post to announce it. After making my and James’ radio documentary (entitled “LOL”), and chatting about it at Spaghetti Night, I realized that a blog is not a diary, like I’ve been (sort of) treating mine. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still keep my personal voice going, but talk about more the events in my life than just my random thoughts. Plus, now that I’m moving to Winterpeg, my blog will be a good source for my friends to know what’s ACTUALLY happening during the move and once we get there, rather than the “BEBEE! MOMMAAA! I MISS YOUUU! I LOVE YOUUU! HOW’S CANADA?!? GOOOOD! COOOLLDD!” MSN conversation Jamie and I will have (but I’ll love those too, Bebe
). So, on that note:
Technically, by definiton, I’m what you call a “Third Culture Kid”. I’ve figured out that since one parent can have Culture A (say, Latina), and the other can have Culture B (say, Russian), if you grow up with a mix of these cultures, plus all the other ones, you have Culture C, or are a Third Culture Child. Since my ‘rents are American and English, and I only sort of identify with these, I get to be in the C group. It’s a relatively small collection of kids, from what I’ve seen, but who knows, maybe they all hang out somewhere I’ve never been.
Long story short, I’m terrified of going to a local school in Canada, my first non-international one in eight years. In those schools (ASW – American School of Warsaw; AISD – American International School of Dhaka; and ISPS – International School of Port of Spain), kids coming and going every two or three years was common and expected. Getting five to ten new kids at the start of a new year wasn’t a big surprise. But in American public schools, getting a new kid (god forbid in the middle of the year) is like an alien coming. I told my cousin’s friend that I lived in Dhaka, and she asked a) “Where’s Duckland?” and b) “Do they wear underwear there?”. Case in point. Now, I’ve never been to Canada, so I wouldn’t know, but being a private, non-international school, I wonder what exactlyt those Kanucks’ll think of me? Will they, like small-town Michiganers, alienate me because I’ve lived abroad my whole life?
My mom and I were talking yesterday about using the public library in her hometown of Marysville, Michigan. I confessed how I feel so awkward going there, because everyone is cold and not all too friendly. She responded that all Marysville residents are like that if they don’t know your family three generations back. But they do. My mom was born and raised in Marysville, just like her mom, and her mom, and her mom. They’re like one of those old Southern families with a plantation, except they live in the North (and don’t have a plantation). But because my mom is the scandalous one who lives in all these far-off places, her kids are like unknown travelers to the rest of the town. At Christmas, I was standing in my cousin’s (whose name is Shayleigh, or Shay, to make this story easier) driveway with one of her friends (whose name escapes me, but who I’ll call Ashley (since they all seem to be called that)). They were chatting it up, blah blah, boys and makeup, when Ashley said to Shay, “How long is your family here?”. I had no clue what she meant, so assuming she meant Shay’s OTHER family (as in, her dad’s side (since her mom and my mom are sisters)), I stayed quiet. Shay then said, “I dunno”, turned to me, and said, “How long are you here?” I told her, and she turned back to her friend and repeated my answer. Her friend “ohh”-ed, and the conversation continued. It was one of the most odd experiences of that trip – it was if the friend thought Shay would have to translate for me. Like, just because I live somewhere else, means I speak a different language too.
But I guess the majority of my mom’s family plain doesn’t get our lifestyle. Take my grandma, for instance, who knew we lived in Warsaw, but never said what country it was in, thought Bangladesh and India were the same thing, and now has given up on remembering the name “Trinidad” and instead asks how life is on “your island”.
Kay, I’m now realizing this is a pretty epic post, but I wanted to make up for my month of absence. To concluuuude my rambling about my life: it’s a weird (SEE? SAID IT AGAIN) way to live, but it’s my way of living, and I’m okay with it, for now. As for the theory that we Thirdies (heh. hehe.) will have issues with staying in one place for more than 3 years, we’ll have to see, eh? See – already talking like a Canadian.
PS: Thought I should add this. The title for this post came from a Spag Night conversation, when we were definining Thirdies and how I, apparently, am one. I said how weird this name was, and how it’s such a label, when Mr. Kaster turned to me and said, “Oh, and you’re lost, too, did you know?”. “Shucks.” I replied. “That sucks.”