Issuu

JUNE 2021

AMONG WORLDS

Vol. 21 | No. 2

Code-switching

Editor’s Letter Code-switching

Contents

I used the word “y’all” the other day (Southern US English for “you all”).

Losing My Accent, Finding Connections Across Cultures Melynda Joy Schauer

Confessions of a Codeswitching Couple Rueben and Golda Amlalo

Clocktowers Andrew Ian Mobley

Spotlight Interview: Gregory Coles

A Vital Task Jemma

The Art of Code-switching Megan Norton

Switching Perspectives Alexis Chen Johnson

Book Review—Displaced: A Memoir by Esther Wiebe Reviewed by Cheryl Barkman Skupa

Being Ryo and りょう: From Code-switching to Code-meshing Ryo Adachi

June 2021 • Vol. 21 • No. 2 Cover photo by Zane Lee (Unsplash) Editor: Rachel Hicks Copy Editor: Pat Adams Graphic Designer: Kelly Pickering Digital Publishing: Bret Taylor

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My insides did a little jump. “Y’all”? I’m not a “y’all” kind of person. Why did it slip out? My family had temporarily relocated halfway across the US, to Fayetteville, Arkansas, to get our daughter some unique medical treatment she needs. I was conversing with another patient’s family in the waiting room and “y’all” just moseyed on out of my mouth. Apparently, my TCK brain just did what it’s used to doing in a new cultural situation—try to help me blend in. Now, where we live in Baltimore, Maryland, plenty of people use the term “y’all,” but most of them are African American, and my brain probably realized early on that I wasn’t going to blend in there just by throwing “y’all” around. But I found myself in this clinic in Fayetteville, surrounded entirely by white faces, many of whom spoke with a Southern accent. Down here, everyone is “y’all,” so my brain just jumped on board. Growing up in mostly Asian countries, I often heard the term “Yankee” refer to anyone from the US. It wasn’t until I was an adult living in China and found myself friends with quite a few US Southerners that I realized how much of a Yankee I really am—Yankee as in an American from the north of the country.

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The accents and rhythms of speech my friends used revealed a whole different culture than my what-Ithought-was-generic-Caucasian-American one. I came

to understand that among my Southern US friends, I stood out as a Yankee. I was not necessarily blending in—especially when I began asking why monograms, sweet tea, huge baby bows, and Greek university sororities were so important. It was a strange but somewhat fascinating phenomenon to realize that as an American who hadn’t lived in the US much at all, I still fit into a specific subcategory of American—I could be easily pegged as a real Yankee by my accent. When “y’all” slipped out of my mouth the other day, it made me wonder why I did it. Language and dialect are often one of the first means by which we identify, or place, others we meet. TCKs grow up with a heightened intuition for how to read a new acquaintance or cultural situation, and we often begin making connections by adapting our speech. One fascinating article from National Public Radio in the US delves into multiple reasons people code-switch. The author, Matt Thompson, groups those reasons this way:

1. Our “lizard brains” take over (we switch languages unaware)

2. We want to fit in 3. We want to get something 4. We want to say something in secret

We hope that you find this issue’s articles helpful in your own lives. We also hope you’ll enjoy our Spotlight feature on TCK author, speaker, and worship leader Gregory Coles! As always, we would love to hear from you, our TCK tribe! Connect with us on Instagram (amongworlds) and share your comments or questions about this issue. Please consider submitting your own stories, artwork, photography, poetry, or book/film reviews for future issues (see submission guidelines here). And finally, don’t forget to order yourself or a TCK friend a subscription to Among Worlds magazine! All the best,

Rachel

5. It helps us convey a thought In this issue, we dig a little deeper into codeswitching as a means of forming or revealing identity. Our contributors ask such questions as: Can I express my authentic self anywhere if I’m always code-switching? Is there a “shadow side” to codeswitching if it’s done for the wrong motives? Why is code-switching so exhausting?

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“I remember watching home videos…and being genuinely shocked to hear the strong Southern drawl coming out of my mouth as a child.”

Melynda Schauer - 1999 Macau: Melynda, age 11, stands in Leal Senado Square in Macau during the Chinese New Year festival in 1999.

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Losing My Accent,

Finding Connections Across Cultures By Melynda Joy Schauer

y experience of becoming a third-culture kid in a missionary family and learning to code-switch are as intertwined as a kudzu vine and a pine tree; it’s hard to untangle the Asian influence from my Southern roots. I had no idea that I spoke with a thick Southern accent until I was eleven and attended an orientation with other families who were also moving overseas as missionaries. An older boy from a northern state told me I sounded “so Southern” and asked where I was from. “Alabama?” he asked with disdain when I answered. From his reaction I immediately realized there were people from other places who looked down on my home state and would judge me purely based on how I sounded or where I was from. No one had ever commented on my accent or made me feel uncomfortable about being from Alabama before then, probably because I’d lived in rural Alabama for my whole life. Somewhere in the first two and a half years that my family lived in the Southeast Asian metropolis

of Macau, my Southern accent disappeared. I attended an English-speaking school with a handful of other students, but many of them spoke fluent English as their second or third language. My first exposure to code-switching was watching my Brazilian friends speak perfect English to me, change into Portuguese with each other, then speak Cantonese to the bus driver without missing a beat. I remember sitting in our seventeenth-floor apartment in Macau, watching our treasured home videos that we carried with us from America and being genuinely shocked to hear the strong Southern drawl coming out of my mouth as a child. I could hear the difference in my own voice; not only was I removed from the purely American version of myself by distance, but also by the very way that I spoke. When I was thirteen, my family moved back to our small town in Alabama for a couple of years and I distinctly recall reconnecting with a friend whom I’d last seen waving goodbye from the church hallway. She’d said somewhat forlornly, “See you in

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two years,” on my last Sunday at church. When we met again as incoming eighth graders, she looked stunned when I opened my mouth.

as teenage slang tends to morph. If I had to define it, I’d say most of us spoke English with very neutral American accents (think broadcast news reporter), with a hint of a California coastal sound, and vocabulary from multiple cultures mixed in. Even to this day, sometimes I get odd looks for the way I describe air conditioning as the “air-con,” or ask someone to “close the lights.”

“You talk funny,” she said.

I still remember the first time I understood a sentence in Mandarin during my first semester. One day after school, a new acquaintance told me in English she was so hungry, then repeated the phrase in Mandarin to a Chinese friend: “Wo hen e,” patting her stomach. I’d just learned that phrase in class, and it clicked. Slowly, over time, I picked up more Mandarin, learning how to order my favorite teas, barter to get cheaper clothes, and find my way home in a taxi.

“You talk funny,” she said. It wasn’t said in a mean or derogatory way, but I realized my lack of a During school breaks, I’d return to my family Southern accent set me apart from my classmates in Macau, where Cantonese was the common and also from the girl I had been before I moved. language. So we’d code-switch into using Cantonese in the markets and at the bus stop. As Though I blended in on the outside as a white a family, we mainly spoke English to each other, American girl with dark blonde hair and blue but because my parents and brothers and I were eyes, on the inside I felt so different. How all studying either Cantonese or Mandarin or would I ever fit into the world of American both, we’d sometimes switch into a “Chinglish” middle school? I’d spent the last few years blend to tell stories or make jokes. on the other side of the planet, changing drastically, while my classmates had stayed in our same small hometown. I learned other forms of code-switching when I entered an international boarding school in Taiwan in the tenth grade after my family moved back overseas. At fifteen, I had to learn entirely new communication and survival strategies: how to navigate the Taiwanese airport and bus system in Mandarin, a language I’d never spoken before, simply to get to my school; the spoken and unspoken rules of dorm life; and new lingo from classmates who spoke English in class and Chinese in conversation. My international high school had its own dialect that changed slightly with each year, 5

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Melynda Schauer 2005 Macau: Melynda, age 18, in Lim Loc Garden in Macau in November 2005.

During visits back to the States in the summertime, my younger brothers and I realized that our shared (but not fluent) Mandarin allowed us a codelanguage of our own to make observations about American culture. In a way, our unique codeswitching bonded us; it was a realm that very few completely understood the way that we did. I’d never heard the term code-switching until I was probably in my early twenties, and I realized it described something I’d been doing for over a decade but had never defined. Code-switching goes beyond using different languages and dialects, however; it can include the complex nonverbal communication we use when connecting with other cultures as well. When I began college in Alabama, I had to learn just how much information to share when making new friends again. Since I didn’t understand a lot of the cultural references my peers made (I’d missed about a decade of American TV and music), I’d listen and wait for something that we had in common. When I did meet friends who had traveled or lived overseas, there was immediately a deeper connection, and our conversation moved into a more serious realm faster.

“Code-switching as a TCK

taught me to look for a common point of connection.”

Some may consider code-switching a way to enforce boundaries and establish “tribes” who speak and think the same way, but a deft codeswitcher can also use this communication skill to bridge gaps and overcome differences. Many thirdculture kids quickly realize it’s humbling to admit that you don’t fully fit in to one world or the other, but this can also open the door to knowing people who are very different from yourself. My evolving stages of code-switching encouraged curiosity and a willingness to learn from people different from me, and it’s a skill that has yielded rich fruit in friendships on both sides of the planet.

Melynda Joy Schauer is an adult TCK who grew up in Macau, Taiwan, and Alabama. She now lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with her husband and two sons. She keeps her international side alive by meeting international students in her city and finding the best bubble tea everywhere she goes! https://linktr.ee/ Melynda_joy

My code-switching skills came in handy not only for surviving college in America, but also in helping my journalism career. Code-switching as a TCK taught me to look for a common point of connection, something we instinctively do to connect with others and build trust in relationships. This skill is extremely helpful when conducting interviews and making phone calls for a story, as well as building relationships with co-workers.

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“ They say when you start dreaming in a language other than your own, it means you are on your way to mastering that language.” 747

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Confessions of a Code-switching Couple By Rueben and Golda Amlalo

y name is Rueben Amlalo. I LOVE soccer. I love to play it, watch it, I even love to read about all things soccer. My rise to “fame and fortune” is due to the fact that I am married to a speech language pathologist who told me all about code-switching when we met about ten years ago. Hi, I’m Golda! I’m proudly Ghanaian. I love spicy food—the kind that requires water during the meal and that leaves its mark on its way out of your body. I even joke that Ghanaians who don’t like spicy foods aren’t true Ghanaians. I’m fluent in two languages, English and Ga. My younger sister endured severe autism and passed away in February 2020. She is the reason I became a speech language pathologist. I am, therefore, very familiar with code-switching as I have had to work with people of varying cultures, some with disabilities and some who were trying to learn English—mainstream American English. You might wonder why you are reading this yet again in a different font—trust us, it’s intentional. We are code-switching in this article about code-switching. Welcome to our world as firstgeneration immigrants. We both migrated to Maryland, USA, from Ghana with our parents

and siblings. We knew we would experience new things: new foods, new schools, new neighbourhoods, new friends and new churches. We didn’t realize we would get so intertwined with code-switching. As a preacher in a multi-ethnic American church context I code-switch all the time when I am preaching. Sometimes it’s deliberate and often it’s subconscious. I mainly code-switch between mainstream American English and African American English (AAE)—never my native Ghanaian dialect. Come to think of it, I never code-switch to address the Africans in my congregation even though I know they are there and outside the pulpit we speak in an African dialect. I do try to preserve my “Ghanaian-ness” in the pulpit by frequently wearing traditional Ghanaian attire when I preach. I believe I code-switch because that’s how my brain works—theologically (or “preachily”) at least. They say when you start dreaming in a language other than your own, it means you are on your way to mastering that language. In the same way, I process theological information and preach both in mainstream American English and AAE because those are the only theologians and

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SPOTLIGHT INTERVIEW:

GREGO COLES

CK speaker, worship leader, and author of two books, Gregory Coles was the featured guest on Interaction’s TCK Live show in October 2020. (Treat yourself to watching that episode if you haven’t already.) Whether talking about his childhood in Indonesia, his choice to remain single, or his insights about belonging, Greg is engaging, funny, honest, and wise. We’re delighted to introduce you to Greg in this issue’s Spotlight!

Greg spent fifteen childhood years as a TCK in Indonesia, on the island of Java. He moved back to the United States for college, where he studied communication, literature, and music, and recently finished a PhD in English. He now works as an author, speaker, and worship leader in central Pennsylvania. His first book, Single, Gay, Christian, tells the story of his own journey through questions of faith and sexual identity. His second book, released in February 2021, draws heavily from his experience as a third culture kid and is called No Longer Strangers: Finding Belonging in a World of Alienation.

Gregory Coles 13

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Spotlight Interview Tell us a bit about your experience as a TCK. My family moved from upstate New York to Bandung, Indonesia, when I was three years old. We had already spent the better part of my toddler years driving around the contiguous United States in a van, sleeping on the living room floors of my parents’ old college friends. I don’t think I felt particularly uprooted by the overseas move to Indonesia, then, because my toddler feet had never stood still long enough to put down roots in the first place. I lived in Bandung for the next fifteen years, and in the same house for fourteen of those years—more than enough time for the roots to grow deep. Once every three years, my family returned to the US for a summer and left behind one of my older siblings to start college. In 2008, when I turned eighteen, it was my turn to be left behind in the US, which is where I’ve lived ever since.

When did you discover that you were a TCK? When did you apply that label to yourself? “TCK” is one of those labels that snuck into my psyche pretty early on. By the time I remember having any self-awareness of my hybrid, definitely-not-American-but-not-quiteIndonesian identity, I remember relying on (and being comforted by) the existence of a category like “TCK.” It gave me a sense that I wasn’t alone. A bunch of my parents’ coworkers’ kids and I decided to embrace our TCK weirdness by wearing tee shirts that declared “W.A.C.K.O.: We Are Cool Kids Overseas.”

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When I first moved back to the United States for college, the Indonesian influences that felt most obvious were related to etiquette: I pointed with my thumb instead of my index finger. I never gave or received things with my left hand; even driving through toll booths, I reached my right arm all the way across my body. I refused to wear shorts in public, sweltering sweaty calves notwithstanding. I wouldn’t be caught dead blowing my nose in view of someone else. And so on.

“ The Indonesian part of my

Eight-year-old Greg recites Hamlet’s soliloquy at a homeschool co-op event in Bandung, Indonesia, providing early evidence for both his love of language and his general nerdiness.

What aspects of Indonesian life or culture have stayed with you? Gregory Coles 15

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cultural identity helps me embrace the value of thinking communally…as a way of honoring those around me.”

As I’ve relaxed some of these etiquette habits, I’m coming more and more to appreciate the subtler and longer-lasting impact of my Indonesian cultural formation. The Indonesian people group I lived among, the Sundanese, are known for being highly deferential and conflict-avoidant. Public politeness is among their most celebrated virtues. These instincts are deeply ingrained within me. Though I’ve sometimes needed to battle against my Sundanese impulses (when, for instance, a bit of healthy conflict is necessary for growth), I’m largely grateful that my upbringing taught me to highly prioritize the needs and wants of others. Speaking in a way that avoids unnecessary offense is an art I’ve been practicing since the age of three, and it quite frequently comes in handy. I’m also grateful for how Indonesian culture predisposed me to think outside the paradigm of Western individualism. While I do believe that it’s healthy for people to develop a sense

Spotlight Interview of individual identity and purpose distinct from their commitments to biological family or local community, Western individualism often frames self-fulfillment and self-actualization as the highest goods, missing the important ways in which communal identity and belonging can and should exceed our own self-understanding. The Indonesian part of my cultural identity helps me embrace the value of thinking communally, not as a way of giving up my own individual agency, but as a way of honoring those around me.

Have you struggled with or embraced the idea of “settling down” in one location? What does that look like for you? When I was in high school, I once told my parents with a happy sigh, “Airports are so homey.” We were in the Jakarta airport at the time, which was not an airport that inspired gladness in the average traveler. My parents gave each other meaningful looks that said, What have we done to this child? Is the damage permanent? Do we have enough in savings to cover his future counseling fees? Airports, for me, have become a metaphor for life as a whole. None of us is really here to stay. We’re all just passing through. We put “permanent addresses” on our driver’s licenses and tax returns, yes, but we know they’re not necessarily permanent. They might be exchanged for a smaller model, a larger model, something in a different city or state or country. Every home on Planet Earth is a temporary home. Believing this truth has helped me escape from the notion that human beings can be divided among those who “settle down” and those whose lives are transient. We’re all transient, to one degree or another; and we

all settle down, to one degree or another. It’s just a matter of where precisely we fall on the spectrum in relation to one another. I like to say that home is where you keep your toothbrush. My toothbrush has been situated mostly in Pennsylvania for the last eight years, and I’ve savored the feeling of being settled here. But I’ve also found temporary homes in so many other places, among various dear friends old and new. As long as my toothbrush is along for the journey, I plan to find a home in every place I love and am loved by others.

Your first book—Single, Gay, Christian: A Personal Journey of Faith and Sexual Identity— explored your journey toward better understanding your sexual and faith identity. How was that journey complicated by your life as a TCK in Indonesia? Conversations about sexual identity—especially as it overlaps with religious faith identity— tend to be strongly rooted in the language and cultural assumptions of the communities in which they take place. That is, when we’re evaluating the truth of a phrase like “I’m gay” or “I’m a Christian,” we usually weigh our own experience against the way we know those words will be understood by the people around us. This gets much trickier when we try to evaluate our experience as members of multiple communities simultaneously. What happens, for instance, when the words “I’m gay” are understood differently by a religious subcommunity than they are by the broader culture outside of that subcommunity? Or

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what happens when a religious faith marker like “Christian” or “Muslim” or “Buddhist” is interpreted differently by adherents of that faith than by non-adherents? Growing up as a TCK gave me yet another layer of cultural and linguistic differences to weigh my experience against as I grappled with my own experience of sexual attraction and my faith commitments. In particular, the conversation about sexual identity and the prevalence of certain kinds of LGBTQ experiences was importantly different in the United States (where much of the media I consumed was produced) than in Indonesia (where most of the people I knew lived). Some actions that would have been seen as stereotypically “gay” in the US (such as affectionate physical touch between men) were much more common in Indonesia. If I evaluated my observations of Indonesia according to US cultural categories, every pair of Indonesian male friends holding hands might have seemed “gay.” Making sense of my own experience within both of these cultures, and then figuring out how to describe that experience, required some patient disentangling.

A summer hike through the wooded hills of central Pennsylvania, where Greg has lived since 2013.

Gregory Coles 17

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Can you share with us one or two experiences when you have code-switched as a way of either connecting with others or of keeping your identity hidden? There’s a lot of debate right now in my own Christian circles about what terms are helpful or unhelpful to use when describing non-normative experiences of sexuality. If, for example, a person is exclusively attracted to the same sex, should that person describe themselves as “gay”? Would it be better to use a term like “same-sex attracted,” which doesn’t have as many cultural associations but carries a historic connection to the ex-gay movement and sexual orientation change efforts? What about “queer”—is that an empowering term, or is it offensive? For some listeners, the terms you choose to use mark you as part of a particular camp; and if you use the wrong language, you’re probably not worth listening to. Since I’m the author of a book called Single, Gay, Christian, both my choice to remain single and my preference for the term “gay” are clearly on display. But when I talk with people who I know might react negatively to the word “gay,” I often make a point of telling my own story in descriptive terms at first (“then I realized I was attracted to other guys…”), waiting to use the word “gay” until the people I’m talking with know me well enough to understand what I mean by the term. If they still object to my use of the word “gay” at that point, so be it; I have no misapprehension that I can (or should) try to please everyone. But if a bit of patient code-switching at first can help create room for others to be understood in the future without needing to code-switch, I count that shift as a linguistic success story.

Spotlight Interview At every stage of my life, I’ve had quite a few reasons to feel like an outsider. I used to assume that this feeling of alienation, this struggle to belong, was unique to me. Everyone else had found the secret to being understood and included, and I alone had missed that day of second grade. (Because I was homeschooled, probably.) But the more I study people and get to know them, the more I’ve come to realize that we’re all still trying to figure out how to belong. (Or if not ALL of us, at least way more of us than I used to believe.) None of us is immune to loneliness, to misunderstanding, to the creeping suspicion that perhaps we don’t fit.

Greg holds the first print copy of his new book, No Longer Strangers, which released in February of this year.

What is the premise of your most recent book, No Longer Strangers: Finding Belonging in a World of Alienation?

“I propose that the best way to respond to our alienness isn’t by trying to make it go away, but by learning to embrace its beauty.” In No Longer Strangers, I propose that the best way to respond to our alienness isn’t by trying to make it go away, but by learning to embrace its beauty. We belong best once we lean into the reality that we’re not made to “belong” in some archetypal Hallmark-card kind of way. Toward this end, I tell lots of TCK-related stories from my own life. I also draw heavily from the example of Jesus, who found his place in the world not by carving out a place for himself but by opening up space for those who had been overlooked. The path into this kind of belonging lies on the other side of radical selflessness: we are best poised to receive the gift of belonging as we turn ourselves outward and give that gift to others.

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Identity and belonging are closely related concepts. Can you share what you’ve experienced or learned with regard to living out the interplay of those ideas?

Gregory Coles 19

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Spotlight Interview When I first moved back to the United States, I made a point of trying not to talk about my Indonesian upbringing. Occasionally I displayed my TCK identity openly, hanging it like a college orientation nametag around my neck. But more often than not, I kept it (along with the orientation nametag) hidden in my pocket, in an attempt to blend in with the rest of the crowd. People assumed I had always lived in the US—and most of the time, I was happy to let them assume. It seemed to me at the time that the best way to belong with other people must be to make sure that my identity matched theirs in as many ways as possible. I figured that similarity would be the key to fitting somewhere, and difference would inevitably become a source of division. I figured I needed to manipulate my own identity in order to become more identical to others. (Fun fact: Our English words identity and identical both come from the Latin word idem, which means “the same.” In its etymological sense, identity is about “sameness,” about the components of our experience that are similar to someone else’s experience and give us common ground with them. After all, if you found a person who shared every possible identity marker with you, you and that person would be identical.)

What are you working on these days? What is next for you? I’ve got a few possible future book projects in mind. The one I’m most excited about right now is a piece of speculative fiction loosely inspired by the Tower of Babel narrative: a thriller-style meditation on the power of language to shape the thoughts we’re capable of thinking. But I’d like to think there are still some more works of memoir left within me as well. Maybe I’ll come up with an excuse someday to write more stories about my years in Indonesia. Or maybe it’s time (once COVID eases up) to get a few more stamps in my passport and collect some new stories! Greg curates most of his creative activities at gregorycoles.com, but you can also find him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

As it happened, my theory of belonging was all wrong. The people from whom I successfully hid my Indonesian-ness were pleasant acquaintances, but we never developed deep friendships. And the people to whom I “outed” myself as a TCK became my dearest friends, even despite the significant differences in our experiences and identities. The secret to belonging, as it turned out, was that belonging couldn’t be found by living in secret. The people who knew me best were the ones with whom I belonged most deeply, no matter how different we turned out to be. Go figure.

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“Broadly, code-switching involves adjusting one’s style of speech, appearance, behavior, and expression in ways that will optimize the comfort of others in exchange for fair treatment, quality service, and employment opportunities.” (Harvard Business Review) 21

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The Art of Code-switching By Megan Norton

recently found out that several actors and actresses whom I’ve admired in various international films are in some form or fashion third culture kids. In an interview with Crazy Rich Asians cast members, one actor explained his ability to take on different film roles was learned from his practicing “code-switching” in different countries growing up. He said he learned to “act” appropriately and effectively in different contexts and that has now proven a valuable skill in his acting career. As a third culture kid myself, I can relate to his explanation. Throughout my childhood, I enjoyed taking on different roles and personalities in plays and in theater class. I enjoyed the freedom and permission to “escape” into another world, persona, and culture. And yet, quite frankly, I was learning how to codeswitch effectively from doing it subconsciously throughout my own childhood moves and in everyday real life.

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When I moved back to the US after having completed my entire formal education in seven different international schools in six different countries, I felt like I wasn’t on a stage I had either practiced or performed on previously— this was an experience in which I had to learn the art of code-switching in real life. I had to reconcile my authentic and adaptive self in my different identity roles as student, US citizen, friend, neighbor, daughter, and third culture kid. Code-switching as an art in “real life” is a skill TCKs continue to craft our entire lives with authenticity, finesse, and care.

How can the art of code-switching be helpful for TCKs? TCKs have had both exposure to and practice in building their cultural agility through our global travels and interactions with different people across cultures. We have experienced first-hand how communication can look different in various

“Constant codeswitching can be exhausting.”

cultural contexts and how meaning attached to certain messages or pictures can be different as well. In their art of code-switching, TCKs have the unique ability to be cultural translators and mediators between people in cultural contexts. Because of this learned skill, TCKs have the ability to know what is appropriate or inappropriate in terms of behavior and speech in different contexts. From an early age we have learned to access our curiosity and practice moving into discomfort to learn about a new perspective or way of doing something. We have learned to recognize and diagnose what is appropriate in a context and adapt to it authentically ourselves. We have a heightened awareness of how to self-regulate and to establish boundaries or preferences based on what is expected in a cultural context. Lastly, the art of code-switching is more than being culturally dexterous on a behavioral level. It is the ability to know which intelligence to

use in a given situation (cognitive intelligence, emotional intelligence, cultural intelligence, etc.). The ability to identify how to show up in a situation authentically and appropriately stems from our having a situational and mindful awareness. It’s about being conscientious of what kind of action or non-action is needed.

How can the art of code-switching be harmful for TCKs? Constant code-switching can be exhausting. It can be taxing not only emotionally but also mentally and physically to navigate different behaviors, languages, and even values in different cultural contexts. To avoid burnout in constantly shifting in and out of contexts, it’s important to have personal downtime and solitude. Taken to the extreme, we TCKs could lose our sense of appropriate boundaries if we are constantly shifting to accommodate others and different cultural contexts. The art of code-

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“Many of us subtly, reflexively change the way we express ourselves all the time. We’re hop-scotching between different cultural and linguistic spaces and different parts of our own identities — sometimes within a single interaction.” (Gene Demby, on NPR’s blog Code Switch) 41 31

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Switching Perspectives

By Alexis Chen Johnson

“M

om, you’re doing it again,” my daughter teased. “You’re talking with an Indian accent.”

My kids noticed the code-switch before I did. For me, code-switching is something that happens instantaneously and unconsciously. As soon as our plane touched down in India, the desh of my childhood, a key turned inside of me and a door opened. Behind the door was a part of me just waiting to light up again. This part doesn’t need dusting off or warming up or a rehearsal to incarnate. She’s ready. It’s this part my kids recognized as I negotiated our taxi ride outside of Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi. Head bobbling side to side in a gentle, rocking motion, voice speaking with a sing-song quality, and wrists dancing in circular gestures, it felt natural to embody this part of who I am. Of course, I probably still sounded quite American to the Indian gentleman at the taxi stand, but that’s okay. Through code-switching, an important part of me that only makes sense in India, one of the host countries of my TCK childhood, had the chance to come alive again. As a half Chinese-American, half EuropeanAmerican TCK raised in Bangladesh and India, I grew up code-switching between multiple cultures. It was normal for me to go from eating March 2021 June 2021

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Book Review Displaced: A Memoir by Esther Wiebe

Reviewed by Cheryl Barkman Skupa

sther Wiebe begins her memoir in the middle of the story—the last few days before she and three of her siblings escape their restrictive Mennonite colony in Bolivia. Eleven-year-old Esther is the youngest in a family of fourteen children whose parents have died. The black-clad elders of the colony church have made their somber visit and pronounced without any trace of compassion that the four youngest children will be raised in different families. The father of the family which Esther is destined for is known to beat his children. Together with help from older siblings and a cousin, Esther’s remaining family hastily plans to leave for Canada where many of their relatives and one of their older sisters live. On this last day, some of the children have gone to church to avoid any suspicions. Young Esther stays at home to pack and watch for any neighbors who might drop in and see their suitcases, since any unusual activity would undoubtedly be reported to the elders. Esther touches the table and the chairs; she walks around the yard absorbing all the details of home. She explains, “This was my home, where I was born. Living on this farm in Bolivia, within this Mennonite Colony, was all I’d ever known. But in a few short hours, it would be over. Forever. Never to come back. Our family was shattered and bruised, and the church was planning to take us children away.” (3) Esther comments on the scent of the citrus trees, the warm dirt of the road, the rough cement of the cistern, the worn table where countless meals were eaten, bread was made, quilts were pieced, and around which conversation upon conversation lasted into the night. But this day, after church and a hasty lunch, the children flatten their bags into the bottom of the horse drawn cart and slowly leave the colony. Esther describes the final sights of her home:

“I felt desperate to seal each detail into my memory and wished we were driving slower. My eyes and nose began to sting. I blinked hard; nothing could blur my vision. The story of Lot’s wife turning into a pillar of salt for looking back as the pair fled passed through my mind. What if I turn into salt? I craned my neck as long and as hard as I could. As it receded from view, our farm looked small. I could barely see the house and trees at its side. It was completely out of sight as we crossed the small bridge we’d nicknamed ‘Donkey Bridge’ and made the final turn out of the village and into ‘the world.’ The sun went down, and darkness fell as we rode the open wagon through the countryside.” (13) The excitement of their airplane flights first to Brazil, then Miami, Toronto, and finally Calgary are only temporary. When they arrive at Calgary, the feelings of abandonment return with the cold wind as they realize their older sister and her husband (who had previously immigrated) were nowhere to be seen. In a complicated mix-up, the young family grapples with a closing airport, inadequate clothing, and limited knowledge of the language and customs of this strange world. June 2021

Being Ryo and りょう: From Code-switching to Code-meshing By Ryo Adachi

Among Worlds

“So how do you pronounce your name?” “It’s Ryo in English, and りょう in Japanese.”

his is a conversation I have almost every time I meet someone new. My name, while spelled Ryo, actually reads as “Rio” in English. And it has such a totally different pronunciation in Japanese that I cannot even spell it out with the Roman alphabet. Ever since I moved to Tunisia at age three, I have had the two different pronunciations of my name, one in English and one in Japanese. Growing up, the two different pronunciations of my name have been a symbol of the two language worlds I live in. Born in Japan, I moved to Tunisia and started attending an American school at age three. At school, I was “Ryo,” the quiet and shy student who cried often. At home, I was “りょう,” the talkative girl, living in her imagination and fantasies. On weekdays, going to school, I would not only switch to English, but I would switch into “Ryo.” On weekends, as I spent time with my family or Japanese friends who attended other schools, I would become “りょう.” The two names not only separated my two language worlds, but they also created two different personalities. And growing up, I kept developing two separate and very different personalities. Or I believed so.

I repatriated to Japan after three years in Tunisia, and my daily life got filled with Japanese. “りょう” was trying hard to navigate the expectations in Japan, speaking Japanese and trying to match her Japanese peers. With the emotional labor to fit in, I obsessed over my “Ryo” self to establish something I was different from others. “Ryo” was the reason why I didn’t fit in. I adjusted “りょう” so I could be accepted. But internally, I relied on the fact that “Ryo” was always there, so I could be unique, and I had an excuse for not fitting in.

So as I led a globally mobile childhood, codeswitching has played a huge role both in my day-to-day life, as well as in major transitions. It helped me navigate different school systems, from an American school in Tunisia, to a public school in Japan, to an international school in Vietnam. I not only spoke different languages but switched my personality accordingly. Linguistically, code-switching is defined as “the ability on the part of bilinguals to alternate effortlessly between their two languages” (Bullock and Toribio 1). In our everyday life, codeswitching is often referred to as the ability to switch between different codes, behaviors, ways of talking, etc., to match the situation. From home to school, to friend groups and different countries, I would switch back and forth between Japanese and English, as well as my “Ryo” self and my “りょう” self. While I absolutely loved my life as a TCK growing up in different countries, there was always a part of me thinking, I’m never showing my full self anywhere. No matter where I was, I felt like I was having to “create” another version of myself. In an English context, I would develop my “Ryo” self to match the community. Same goes for Japanese contexts with “りょう.”

“ So who am I? Am I “Ryo”? Or “りょう”? The question constantly came up in my mind. I have gotten very good at code-switching and navigating different language worlds, but where can I express myself as a whole? Is that even possible?” June 2021

Journey with us! Among Worlds magazine is accepting submissions for upcoming issues. We are looking for original, high-quality writing, poetry, photography, and visual pieces. We invite you to share your stories and talents with us! Click here for submission details.

September 2021 Relationships Submission deadline: July 30, 2021

December 2021 TCKs & the Arts Submission deadline: October 30, 2021

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“ There is nothing like returning to

a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” - Nelson Mandela