Issuu

MARCH 2021

AMONG WORLDS

Vol. 21 | No. 1

Trouble I’ve Seen: Crises & Disasters

Editor’s Letter Trouble I’ve Seen: Crises & Disasters

Contents

After the year we’ve all just had, I have to admit I second-guessed our decision to make this issue’s theme about crises and disasters. Who wants to read about other people’s trauma right now? Aren’t our plates already full of crisis?

Snapshots on the Edge of Chaos Michael V. Pollock

Bullet Holes Lois Bushong

Uprooted with No RAFT Marilyn R. Gardner

Ukulele Therapy Rebecca Hopkins

Spotlight Interview: Sebastian Modak

Unstacking Your Grief Tower Lauren Wells

On Top of the World Marit Strand

Chaos in Context: Examining Childhood Crises Rachel E. Hicks

Chocolate Trauma Jessi Vance

The Heeling Process Kayla Rupp

March 2021 • Vol. 21 • No. 1 Editor: Rachel Hicks Copy Editor: Pat Adams Graphic Designer: Kelly Pickering Digital Publishing: Bret Taylor

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But as I read through the submissions collected here, I realized that perhaps we need each other’s perspectives. Learning to survive and even thrive after a crisis or disaster is not necessarily something any of us ever perfect. Some of us have never debriefed or processed childhood traumas; and as Lauren Wells reminds us in her piece, “we carry the hard with us” into adulthood. It’s never too late to begin working through events that may still be haunting us. You’ll notice that this theme comes up several times in this issue. Several contributors share insights and practices that come from deep wisdom, experience, and expertise. It is our hope that you will feel more equipped to move forward in your own healing after reading.

“Learning to survive and even thrive after a crisis or disaster is not necessarily something any of us ever perfect.” Other contributors in this issue offer stories of looking back on crises with a broader and deeper perspective. They help us to look outward beyond our own experiences and ask questions about who else was affected, perhaps even more than we were, due to poverty, vulnerability, or ethnic dynamics. This perspective is valuable in linking our own stories to the bigger human story. For example, it may help us connect in solidarity to others who have experienced displacement or injustice. Our Spotlight interviewee, travel writer and multimedia journalist Sebastian Modak, describes the posture of community service his international school

community in Indonesia adopted in order to be gracious guests in that country, particularly during large-scale disasters such as the 2004 tsunami. One thing I’ve found to be true—and that is echoed in this issue—is that it is often the small things that can help get us through to the other side of loss or grief. A ukulele or a gardening tip. Laughter over “surprises” in hoarded chocolate. As you read, consider what small things or events have kept you sane or given you hope this past year, or in another season of crisis. As always, we would love to hear from you, our TCK tribe! Connect with us on Instagram (amongworlds) or Twitter (@interactionintl) 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. And finally, don’t forget to order yourself or a TCK friend a subscription to Among Worlds magazine! (Submission guidelines and subscription information here.) May this be a year of strength and hope,

Rachel

AMONG WORLDS ©2021 (ISSN# 1538-75180) IS PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY INTERACTION INTERNATIONAL, P. O. BOX 863 WHEATON, IL 60187 USA. NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT THE PRIOR PERMISSION FROM THE PUBLISHER. WE LOVE WORKING WITH INTERNATIONAL SCHOOLS AND NGOS AND WILL NEGOTIATE A RATE THAT WORKS WITHIN YOUR BUDGET. CONTACT US AT AMONGWORLDS@ INTERACTIONINTL.ORG OR CALL +1-630-653-8780. THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN AMONG WORLDS DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEW OF AMONG WORLDS OR INTERACTION INTERNATIONAL.

Among Worlds is on Instagram! Follow us at amongworlds. The mission of Among Worlds is to encourage adult TCKs and other global nomads by addressing real needs through relevant issues, topics, and resources.

“A TCK is an individual who, having spent a significant part of the developmental years in a culture other than the parents’ cultures, does not have full ownership of any culture. Elements from each culture are incorporated into the life experience, but the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of similar experience.” - David C. Pollock

March 2021

Snapshots on the Edge of Chaos By Michael V. Pollock, Executive Director of Interaction International

“B

oys, I know this is going to be hard, but President Kenyatta has died, and for the next three days, you can’t run, shout, or ride your bikes or skateboards outside. You can be in the yard if you are quiet, but I don’t want you going to the dukas* or out with your friends. Do you understand?” It was August 1978 in Kijabe, Kenya, and my brothers and I were standing in the living room of our house which was attached to the tenth-grade dorm. We were ten, eleven, and twelve years old and wide-eyed. “Yes, Dad,” was the only correct answer. He went on to explain that a three-day period of mourning had been declared across Kenya and that no one really knew what would happen next. Jomo Kenyatta was the first president of Kenya and

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many doubted that the transfer of power would be without violence. My father underlined that our compliance was out of respect to our community and to the nation where we were guests; we also didn’t want to give anyone with a grievance against the expat mission community a reason to accuse. Tensions were already heightened. I’ll never forget standing in line for hours in the equatorial sun outside of Nairobi to pay respects to Kenya’s courageous leader who had stood up to Britain for the sake of freedom and independence. It was the first time I’d seen a human body without life. *dukas: small shops

“MOVE to the OTHER SIDE of the CAR!” My heart was pounding in confusion as my Teen Mission teammates and I were yelled at by soldiers with red, angry faces and rifles. It was the summer of 1982 in Johannesburg, South Africa. My team of thirty-six Americans jumped a train for Durban where a truck would take us on to Port Shepstone. Our destination was a camp where we would do construction and programming for a group that—we would later learn—was working to break down the walls of the racial divide within the system of apartheid.

accompanied by hawk-eyed vigilance from our leaders. We returned to camp, and work, with a sense of relief. Considering the stress of South Africa’s sociopolitical situation, I was deeply grateful that at the end of the summer we would pass through Kenya and visit Rift Valley Academy. I was relieved and looked forward to introducing my teammates to a country I love—where “Harambe!” (pull together) was the motto and where people lived in peace with each other.

We had inadvertently made the mistake of rushing pell-mell onto a train car that was marked “Non-Whites.” (We often don’t see the things we don’t expect to see—even when we have been “prepared” to see them.) As we were herded to one side of the car, the non-white passengers were forced to the other and the soldiers created a wall with their bodies and weapons between us. Perhaps the white soldiers thought we were doing this on purpose, as protest movements were growing and the country was tense after several bombings earlier that summer. Later, as we debriefed the experience, I felt unease at the “heroic” tone some of our leaders gave to the event; as if we had struck a blow against the “evil empire”—and as if lynching, segregation, and Jim Crow laws were not a part of our own recent past. All I knew for sure as a fourteen-year-old TCK was a sickening feeling that we had caused the other passengers distress and maybe put them in danger with our carelessness. Throughout that summer news reached us from other parts of South Africa of shootings, bombs, and attacks of various kinds. I remember a “rest day” from physical labor at the beach preceded by numerous warnings and

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“W

elcome to Flight 543 from Johannesburg to Nairobi! We have confirmed that we will land at Jomo Kenyatta International airport where we will refuel, without deplaning, by orders of the government.” That Sunday, August 1, 1982, a group of Kenyan Air Force officers instigated a coup attempt. The country was on lockdown. My sense of Kenya as an “island of calm” in the midst of other, more turbulent continental stories was crushed. Worse, my friends planned to meet us at the airport and I had no way of contacting them. On the runway, I stared out the window at the tarmac dotted with military vehicles, so that my seatmates wouldn’t see my tears. I would learn later that Scott Gration, an adult missionary kid (MK) who grew up in East Africa and was then an Air Force captain training Kenyan pilots, saved lives and kept innocent pilots out of trouble that day.

“ The world is full of powerful, violent, and armed people who desire more power, more subjugation of others to their will, and for their own glory.” Our team flew on to Israel to debrief our summer experience, landing at Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion International airport, which seemed jam-packed with soldiers in mirror shades and carrying Uzis. Being in Jerusalem felt like watching a little kid play with matches next to an open gas tank. The following month forces seeking the PLO committed the Sabra and Shatila massacre. It was tense for a reason.

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and social lines. I remember Kenyan leadership dealing with a coup attempt with justice and mercy. I remember the not-unkind smiles of Israeli soldiers who teased me that my duffle bag was as big as I was. And most recently, on January 6th, I witnessed brave police officers stand in harm’s way to protect the US Congress and Constitution.

n each of these snapshots, I was exposed to the realities of social and political upheaval, aware that there were many tensions and issues under the surface, aware that something powerful could erupt and situations might become violent. My elders lessened the impact of these “little t” traumas through the examples they set and through debriefing, even if done imperfectly. I was fortunate in that regard.

My experience has taught me that those who love others with open hearts and humility— who serve others with gracious care, who protect others with sacrificial courage, who give honor and glory to a something bigger than themselves—are the ones everywhere who keep their families, communities, tribes, and nations from sliding toward the abyss of chaos. My hope for us, the tribe of TCKs, is that we would strive to be those people.

When the images from Washington, DC, began to flow across our screens on January 6th of this year, these snapshot memories from my mobile childhood bubbled to the surface. When I heard people asking, “How could this happen here?” I may have wondered, briefly, why it hasn’t happened sooner. The world is full of powerful, violent, and armed people who desire more power, more subjugation of others to their will, and for their own glory. The myth of American Exceptionalism is just that—a myth. Far from making me cynical or fearful, the experiences of the past give me hope. I remember Kenyans mourning and moving ahead. I see in my mind the South Africans who risked retribution by reaching across racial March 2021

“ I clearly remember tracing the bullet holes with my small finger. There were deep, small holes where bullets had exploded on the wall.” 41 7

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Bullet Holes

By Lois Bushong

he small apartment above the church, located a couple of blocks from the center of the city of Tegucigalpa, was dark. The old, unpainted wooden shutters were tightly shut. The large front door to the church property was locked with a heavy drop bar holding it securely shut. My brothers and I were strictly instructed to play inside and not open the shutters even a crack. No one was out on our street playing soccer. We were all safely locked up in our homes. I could tell by the sober demeanor of the adults who had joined my parents in the apartment that this was serious stuff. This was not the time for our typical sibling squabbles or pranks. Small fighter planes could be heard flying low over the city and our apartment. From time to time we heard the loud explosion of a bomb or the sharp pops of machine guns. When that happened, everyone in the room got really quiet. Sometimes the gunfire was on our street, just outside the door to the church property. Yet I don’t remember being afraid. I only recall it was a time of no nonsense. My main focus that morning was beating my younger brother in Sorry, our new board game. The next day, when we were finally allowed to go outside, I was amazed at all the bullet holes sprayed along the outside walls of the church March March 2021 2021

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property. I clearly remember tracing the bullet holes with my small finger. There were deep, small holes where bullets had exploded on the wall. It was clearly evident to my five-year-old mind why Dad had been so insistent we keep the wooden shutters closed and not venture outside.

After college I returned to work in Honduras. During that time we went through several periods of civil war and violence, yet again. Thanks to the resiliency skills I learned as a TCK and feeling protected by my Honduran friends, I was not overly afraid.

This was how many Latin American countries transitioned from one government to another during that era. Today, transitions are more peaceful. Not to say there aren’t still times when the military breaks into the presidential residence and either deports the current president or assassinates him or her. A civil war is declared and key government buildings are vandalized or destroyed. I recall at least three such civil uprisings during my elementary years in Honduras. Frequently I am asked if I was afraid. No, I really wasn’t afraid, because my parents did not seem afraid. I knew it wasn’t the time to push any parental boundaries, but I do not recall fear in the midst of an obviously traumatic time. After years of working and studying trauma in my training as a mental health counselor, I have thought about my own traumatic experiences growing up as a third culture kid. Some areas of trauma have taken a lot of hard work to heal, while other experiences are an exciting adventure to use as fodder for a good story.

One particular incident of mob violence stands out in my memory. The local university was protesting something—I don’t recall the exact cause—that set off the rioters. They were angry at the United States’ involvement in our small country. I accidently got caught in the middle of the chaos as I was trying to make my way back to the safety of my apartment in the suburbs from the high school where I was on staff. The high school was located in the center of the city. As I hurried down the sidewalk, I suddenly realized I was between the riotous mob and my bus station. The mob was carrying weapons, burning a United States flag, and yelling as they looted stores and broke windows on their way toward the central park. As they came in my direction, I was trapped and feared for my life. As I stopped and tried to figure out what to do, a shop owner spotted me as he was closing the metal doors to his store. He quickly waved me inside. When the mob got to our block, the owner, several customers, and I all huddled together on the floor behind the glass counters, protected by the heavily fortified metal doors to the store. Once again, I felt safe.

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When all was clear, the shop owner let us out and we each hurriedly walked to our individual homes in the suburbs of the city. It took me about an hour to walk home, as I had to continually skirt the streets where mobs were protesting. It certainly was not safe to ride the city bus home as I typically did. I was more fortunate than some of my friends who were blinded from clouds of tear gas as the military restored peace to the city streets. For them it was more of a challenge to get home, as their eyes burned and their sight blurred. They talked of fearing for their lives while they blindly stumbled home. We talked about that day for weeks, comparing our different experiences with the riotous mob. Trauma hits all of us from time to time, in all shapes and colors and in all corners of the world.

“ Sadly, there are other traumas that are often well hidden beneath the surface and missed by some professional counselors.”

the deep, soul-jarring traumas of being left in boarding school at a very young age, or the heartbreaking stories of growing up in a home where there was emotional neglect because parents were distracted by their world or profession. In other situations, children and youth were shamed and guilted for showing natural feelings such as grief due to transitions or saying goodbye forever to a best friend. They talk about the trauma, although some do not recognize it as trauma, of leaving all that was known and moving to an unknown world. These traumas, often missed by your average mental health provider, are just as impactful as civil war. I have worked with TCKs who were silenced by family or organizational systems, unable to talk about the painful events they experienced. This is often due to the systems’ fear of looking bad, the loss of power or job, or financial repercussions. Emotions are messy, resulting in TCKs who are highly anxious, guilt ridden, or depressed. Sadly, these TCKs become emotionally frozen at the age when the trauma took place; they are not emotionally free to mature into their true potential.

As a mental health therapist, I work with many adult third culture kids. I have listened to their many stories of horrific trauma. I have listened to experiences of trauma unique to those growing up in more remote cultures or under corrupt dictatorships. I have felt pain and anger from stories of traumas due to civil wars, sexual abuse, kidnappings, rapes, natural disasters, murder, tropical disease, and armed robbery. Each trauma is unique and brings tears to my eyes as I am flooded with many emotions. I hurt with those who have had to experience these horrors. Sadly, there are other traumas that are often well hidden beneath the surface and missed by some professional counselors. Those are March 2021

How can parents help children who experience trauma move forward in a healthy manner, thus lessening its impact on them as adults? What have I learned as I reflect on my own history with traumatic events in Central America? reflect the mood of their parents. 1. Children If my parents had been highly anxious during

those times of civil war, I believe I would have been anxious, too. Some of my peers show signs of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) today, many years later, because their parents were anxious during times of civil war. The parents were unable to manage their own emotions, resulting in their children feeling unsafe. Good resiliency skills were not modeled to them. Some have developed very unhealthy coping skills such as addictions, lack of boundaries, denial, personality disorders, becoming people pleasers, or struggling with anger management, etc., in order to deal with the perpetual anxiety they experience, even during non-traumatic events. It is like they can’t turn off the “trauma” switch in their brain. Everything becomes a traumatic experience, where they are constantly hyper alert, stuck in the original traumatic event.

the trauma has taken place, let children 2. After talk, feel, draw, or play out their emotions.

Recognize this as normal and healthy. This is how children walk through their many normal emotions to healthy functioning on the other side of a traumatic event. My brothers and I often played “guerilla warfare” with fireworks, sling shots, or BB guns as we crawled through our brush forts or bombed our small metal Matchbox cars off the small dirt roads in our crudely constructed towns we carved in the dirt. We always won in our reenactment of guerrilla warfare!

When I work with TCKs who are now adults and stuck emotionally, I have to use additional techniques such as intense therapy, EMDR (eye movement desensitization reprocessing),

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or long-term therapy. If they don’t go back and deal with the trauma, they often fall into one of the following defense-coping skills: Fight (anger, controlling, bullying, critical); Flight (denial, workaholic, perfectionist, anxious); Freeze (shut down, depression, detached, can’t make decisions); or Fawn (people pleaser, no boundaries, can’t stand up for themself, conflict avoider).

Today when I watch the news of riots or mob violence taking place in my own passport country, I have to take care of myself so I don’t develop a harmful coping style. My number-one way of coping with all of the craziness is to limit the amount of time I watch the news. I have to remember I am safe. This is called “grounding.” Daily, I go outside into the world of fresh air and take a walk in nature so I can clear my head and breathe in fresh air and listen to the sounds of nature. Whenever I sense my anxiety starting to climb, I focus on my deep-breathing skills, maintaining my normal sleep schedule, and eating healthy foods. And most of all, I either journal my feelings or talk to an understanding compassionate, friend who is not over the top with their own anxieties. As I watched the news of rioters on January 6th descending on the United States Capitol building, I could not help but reflect on the

various civil wars I went through in Honduras and the many bullet holes on the side of our property walls. The news that afternoon was a real trigger for me. I was a little girl once again, putting my finger into the holes left by the bullets. Yet I know I am okay here in my small midwestern town. What trauma(s) do you trace with the fingers of your memory? After you remember, are you okay? Never forget that tomorrow you can once again pick up the soccer ball from its spot near the front door and safely play on the street in front of your home.

Lois Bushong is a third culture kid who grew up in Latin America. She is the author of the book Belonging Everywhere & Nowhere: Insights into Counseling the Globally Mobile. She is available for speaking and writing engagements on TCKs, expatriates and navigating transitions. Recently Lois retired as a licensed marriage and family therapist and is now working on a limited basis in her own practice in Indiana. Her clients have been internationals, TCKs, and families in the midst of transition. Website: www.LoisBushong.com. Find her by name on LinkedIn and Instagram.

Uprooted with No RAFT By Marilyn R. Gardner

Note: This essay was originally published in September 2020 on the blog A Life Overseas. We felt that it would be especially helpful to our TCK community right now, and Marilyn was gracious enough to share it in this issue.

t is mid-September and six months since borders closed, masks became mandatory, and life changed for people around the globe. While fall is always a time of movement and change for expats and third culture kids, for TCKs transitioning to college, and for those who have tried to make transitions during the summer from their lives overseas, the tools many of us have used and used well in the past are not necessarily helpful in this new world. Many of us have seen and used the RAFT acronym (Reconciliation, Affirmation, Farewell, and Think Transition) developed by David Pollock and Ruth Van Reken, our iconic leaders on all things TCK related. In fact, I wrote an essay on transition

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a few years ago, citing their acronym and connecting the dots to my own experiences. As I think about the acronym in the year 2020 and the unexpected chaos and uprootedness that a worldwide pandemic has caused, I think we may need another acronym that gives us a different tool for unexpected departures, virtual goodbyes, and long periods of waiting in the in-between. With this in mind, I offer a few tips with an acronym that I’m calling CRAFT, because a Crisis before the RAFT changes everything! A full disclaimer is that I have been uprooted unexpectedly myself a couple of times, but never in a worldwide crisis like the one we have faced these past six months. I come at this from a public health nurse perspective and as a writer, a TCK, and three-times-over expat. Though I have been through several difficult transitions, they were far different than what I know many of you are experiencing. So, keep what is worth keeping and blow the rest away.

“Crisis Management. Response & Resilience. Aftershocks. Forging Ahead. Time.”

Crisis Management. Response & Resilience. Aftershocks. Forging Ahead. Time.

risis Management – First and foremost, COVID-19 has been a worldwide crisis with a domino effect. There are three stages to crisis management: Pre-crisis—or creating a crisis management plan; mid-crisis— the point where all hell breaks loose and you respond to what’s happening in the moment while trying to put the plan into place; and post-crisis—where you evaluate how you, your family, and the team responded to the crisis and whether your plan was effective. This is the point where you refine and change your crisis management plan based on what you’ve learned. Perhaps your organization never even had a plan to begin with and you were left trying to craft your own crisis plan with little support. Perhaps your organization had a well-defined crisis management plan, but it hadn’t been fully

tested. This was the first test and it has left leadership reeling. Or perhaps your organization’s plan was comprehensive and well done, but hadn’t ever considered that there may be a worldwide crisis at the same time as the company crisis. There are all kinds of scenarios. But it is important to recognize that a crisis changes everything. The general guidelines for phases of crisis management are to: • Understand the three phases of a crisis • Prepare as best as you can to handle each stage • Identify and focus on the most critical phase.* By now, most of us are in the post-crisis phase, but perhaps not. Perhaps a whole new crisis has come along in addition to COVID-19. Perhaps you are like my friend Mariam, who has had multiple crises along with a pending international move. Very few of us really understand crisis management, and it feels critical to have more information and understanding on this.

March 2021

Ukulele Therapy

I picked up the ukulele. It helped me lay down my trauma.

By Rebecca Hopkins

got it for free from another American expat friend who was moving away from our shared town of Palangkaraya, Indonesia. It was in her pile of faded clothes and no-longer-used DUPLOs—things that weren’t worth packing up and moving. I thought it was just a small toy guitar for kids. I brought it home and it mostly sat against a wall, plucked at occasionally by one of my kids or their friends, its strings sounding off-key and rude. Then a few months later, when I had just a little breather from homeschooling my kids and hosting house guests, I picked it up. I had my reasons to try something new. Actually, I had quite a long list. In the past handful of years, we’d been through crisis after crisis: an airplane accident, an evacuation, life-threatening emergency surgery for our three-year-old son, and the death of a close friend in my husband’s arms. While the various moments of trauma were over, I was on edge and couldn’t sleep. Some days I could barely breathe. Somehow, I figured out it was a real instrument, that it had a name—that it was actually a ukulele, and that it could be tuned and learned. 19

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And now that it had a name, it seemed like this tiny instrument deserved a chance to be heard. YouTube could teach me how to tune it. It showed me chords and songs. And with softer and fewer strings, YouTube argued, it’s easier to learn than a guitar. Softer and fewer. Just what I needed. Music had been a childhood friend of mine. As a kid in America, I learned piano from nearly a dozen different teachers because I moved a lot. And I lived in an Army community that moved a lot—my piano teachers moved, too, even during the years when I didn’t. Thankfully, my piano went with us, bouncing in huge moving trucks that knocked its notes out of tune as it crossed state lines. I could play that piano loud and hard, or soft and smooth, and these methods all had gorgeous Italian names. I couldn’t have put this into words as a kid, but I was trying to make sense of a transitory life by playing the orderly Bach inventions. And I was grieving lost friends and homes by leaning into the dramatic arabesques. And I was figuring out who I was by connecting to something beyond myself and something deep within myself.

“ It took all my courage to live my life well. I didn’t have enough left to put it into words.” (Rebecca Hopkins’s picture of her ukulele.)

March 2021

SPOTLIGHT INTERVIEW:

SEBASTIAN MODAK Sebastian Modak 23

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Spotlight Interview

hat is the most times you’ve traveled in one year? My guess is our Spotlight feature TCK has you beat—by a long shot. Freelance travel writer and multimedia journalist Sebastian Modak spent 2019 circling the globe as the New York Times’ “52 Places Traveler,” reporting from every destination on the NYT’s “52 Places to Go” list. That project won him the Bronze Grand Award for Travel Journalist of the Year by the Society of American Travel Writers (SATW) in its annual Lowell Thomas Travel Journalism Awards. Sometime last year I stumbled upon Sebastian’s Condé Nast Traveler essay, “For Third Culture Kids, Travel Is Home.” In it, he describes how “a TCK’s roots, flimsy and widespread as they may be, cover large distances and bridge divergent cultures”—and as such, “the TCK is a test-case of a more connected, less nationally-focused world.” That essay, along with his “52 Places” experience in 2019 and its exact opposite—being stuck at home in 2020 due to the COVID pandemic— sparked my curiosity and an invitation to interview him for this issue. Sebastian has lived in six countries on four continents and is of mixed Colombian and Indian heritage. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, Afar, and Condé Nast Traveler, where he was an editor and staff writer. When he’s not traveling the world, he can usually be found in New York City.

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As I looked at some of your work and your website, I realized that besides a New Delhi connection (American Embassy School), we have both also lived in New Jersey and Hong Kong, so I thought that was kind of cool!

Graduated from high school there; went to the States for college. I’ve been in the States mostly since then, although I did live in Botswana twice in the past ten years or so. Then I had a crazy 2019 where I was in a different place around the world every week! That’s the abbreviated story.

Really? That’s cool. I was born in NJ, so “pregrades;” I left when I was two years old and then went to Hong Kong from there.

I read that one of your first memories was in Hong Kong. Yeah, and it’s interesting, too, because I lived in Hong Kong from when I was two years old to about five, and then I moved to Australia after that, and I lived there for two years. But I hardly remember anything about Australia, while my memories from Hong Kong are really vivid. It’s very interesting what had an effect on me, what stuck with me in my memories.

Can you tell us a little about your parents and their cultural backgrounds? My mother is from Colombia, from Medellín, and my father is from Mumbai, India. They met in the US in university and moved to New Jersey, and that’s where they had my two brothers and myself. My dad worked in telecommunications, which is what sent him around the world. We left New Jersey and then were in Hong Kong for three years; then Sydney, Australia, for two years. After that we were in Delhi for five and a half years, and then finally we moved to Jakarta, Indonesia, for five years. That’s where I spent high school.

Sebastian Modak 25

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With some new friends at Tung Po Kitchen in Hong Kong.

Do you have an affinity for either of your parents’ ethnic or cultural backgrounds, or do you feel you’re just a great blend of the two (plus others)? I think it’s a blend of the two, but also neither, which I think is a pretty common story among people who grew up the way I did. When I’m in a neutral ground—let’s say, like the US—it’s easy to talk about it, or to own it, in a way. But when I’m in India or Colombia I feel like an imposter.

Spotlight Interview And here, honestly, in the US I feel like an imposter, too, despite my American citizenship from birth. So, it’s just what so many people like us have to get used to: that sense of “imposter syndrome,” that lack of full ownership that comes with this kind of upbringing.

So, where is your family living right now? Is everybody spread out everywhere? Yes—my parents are in Dubai; they’ve been there for a few years. They continued to move, even after I was the last one to leave the nest. I’ve got one brother who is currently in Florida and another one who is in northern California. So, the three of us have ended up in the US for now. Like so many other people, I haven’t been able to see them for a while because of COVID.

You’ve written that it was when you were in New Delhi at the American Embassy School where you first learned about the concept of TCK—where you first heard the term used. Can you talk a little about that? Yeah, I remember very well the first time I heard the term and started understanding what it meant. The school had some kind of event in the auditorium where they had a speaker come in who was talking about the concept of third culture kids—I don’t remember who it was or what their background was—perhaps a child psychologist or author. But I remember them talking about third culture kids, and this lightbulb went off in my brain as I thought, This describes me perfectly!

Thinking about it now, though, I wonder if they would frame it in the same terms today, because I think there is a level of privilege that wasn’t quite acknowledged in the same way at the time. I remember the talk addressing identity and belonging, but not really addressing the fact that we were also the one percent in most of these places in which we were living, you know? I see how the understanding of TCK has changed and become more nuanced with time, but back then I was just a nine-year-old boy hearing this for the first time and thinking, Yeah, cool! That’s what we are—my Japanese friend and my Finnish friend sitting next to me in this auditorium, we’re all part of the same belonging. I remember feeling some comfort in that.

Do you speak any other languages, either fluently or passably? Yeah, I speak Spanish close to fluently—not quite as fluently as I should, being halfColombian, but almost there. In many families of multiple languages, kids end up speaking one language with one parent and another language with the other parent. I wish that had been the case for me, and I think they tried to make that the rule, but by the time the third kid (me) came around, the rules had sort of fallen by the wayside. My dad didn’t speak Spanish, so at the dinner table it was always English. I’ve also never lived in a Spanish-speaking country, so that’s a big part that’s missing for me. I could get by in Bahasa Indonesia, back in the day, but most of that is gone. I went back to Jakarta a few years ago on assignment and it was like my tongue was weighed down—words that used to come out so fluently were just gone. I was saying Spanish words when I meant to say Indonesian words…

March 2021

This could be interpreted as either good or bad, but it definitely informs my choice of profession and why I ended up traveling for a living, and writing and speaking about travel. The obvious side of it is that I was brought up traveling and it’s what is normal for me. I wrote about this in that (TCK) piece, but there’s a familiarity to the whole process of traveling. But I also think, as a travel writer, it gives me—I don’t want to say an edge—but a unique perspective on issues that come up around travel writing, around authority, around writing about a place—you want a local’s perspective, but do we really have the right to be writing about other places around the world while pretending we have this kind of authority?

Visiting a sculpture by Dasha Namdakov on Olkhon Island in Siberia’s Lake Baikal.

What are one or two areas in which you see your TCKness impacting your life, either positively or negatively? Sebastian Modak 27

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And I think I was basically raised to never think I had that authority. I was never an authority on anywhere—including those places where I was ostensibly from. There’s a kind of global outlook and humility that comes from that of just being, like, I don’t know anything about any of these places. I just lived a surface-level existence in all of them— or at least a surface-level understanding. So, I think that does help me in my work in a way, from going into every place with a clean slate, without preconceptions that I might otherwise bring, or without thinking I already have some sort of authority to say certain things about a place. Beyond that, I have—like many TCKs—an inherent restlessness about staying in a certain place for too long. It drives my partner crazy. I’ve been with her for over a decade, and she was born and raised in one town in New Jersey mostly. There’s a constant conversation that happens: “So where else do you want to live? Where else could we go?”; and she’s like, “Well, where do you want to go, and how can we make it happen?” and I’m like, “I don’t care—let’s go

Spotlight Interview anywhere! It doesn’t matter—you name it, I’m down. We’ll try it out for a couple of years…” That carries over to other areas of life, too, in terms of a lack of maturity, kind of, regarding putting down roots. It’s a weird way to put it perhaps, but it’s just not necessarily something on my priority list. Or hasn’t been until recently for me, when for a lot of people that comes earlier in life. I’ve just been more restless. So, those are just two ways my TCK background affects me, but I know there are multiple ways that I probably don’t even fully realize.

I find both of those answers fascinating. The first, because you understand that you’re going in (to a new place) not knowing anything, and knowing that you don’t know anything. I would say that although I’ve seen some TCKs have the same outlook regarding travel, I’ve also seen the reverse, which is, “I know everything…” Some people never do break out of that place of privilege and staying on the surface, so it’s cool hearing you speak about it that way. And secondly, regarding relationships, I’m always curious about who TCKs end up with in terms of significant others. Some end up with someone who’s

totally from the same place and has never been anywhere, and others have to be with someone who’s also a TCK or from another culture. It’s interesting. Yeah, and I think no matter what kind of background or upbringing, people end up different—they channel those influences in different ways. I have high school friends who, after living in five different countries and attending international schools, have ended up married at the age of twenty and settled in a small town in Oklahoma. They have two kids by the age of thirty and they’re very happy with that life. Then I have friends who are still living like they’re eighteen and bouncing all over the world. Those are two extremes, but I think it can manifest in very different ways. I feel the pull of all those ways—on the one hand, I see that friend in Oklahoma and I think, This is what I’ve missed my whole life, because I’ve never had that stability. But then on the opposite side, there’s the pull to just keep moving and keep seeing new things because you’re addicted to all that newness. I feel both those forces at work, and it’s a matter of navigating it all.

Searching for ice caves on the shore of Lake Superior in Ontario, Canada.

March 2021

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By Lauren Wells

he TCK life is an ampersand (&)—both good and hard. Both joy filled and grief filled. While it is good to talk, think, and dwell on the good, we can’t disregard the hard and the impact that has on our lives as kids, teens, and adults. Unfortunately, the hard and its impact doesn’t go away when we turn eighteen. We don’t get to begin adulthood with a clean slate. Instead, we carry the hard with us. Throughout our growing-up years, all of the losses and grief-inducing experiences have stacked up like blocks, building a tower higher and higher throughout our developmental years. Because of our unique lifestyle, we didn’t often have opportunities to unstack our growing Grief Tower, or, when we did, the processing only touched on the “key” moments. In my years of work with TCKs of all ages, I’ve found that most TCKs enter their adult years with a Grief Tower over twenty blocks tall. At that point, it takes only a relatively small stressor (i.e. a difficult first year of university, a conflict with a friend, or a challenging job situation) to tip the tower over. It is common for this collapse to occur between the ages of eighteen to twenty-five. My Grief Tower crashed down during my sophomore year of university. I had not processed any of the many grief-inducing experiences that March 2021

“Hope begins in the dark. The stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.” – Anne Lamott, Novelist

L’Evacuation du Zaire 1991 By Rachel E. Hicks

The morning sun is reflected in our teary eyes The wind slips through the jungle leaves My eyes, for the last time, take in the beauty of an African morning I wonder if the birds know, as they chirp their usual tunes Shouldn’t they be singing a sorrowful melody? I wonder if our cat knows his family is not coming back today I feel the worn handle of my suitcase Containing what’s left of my life As I slowly sink into the backseat, my heart starts to break I see the locals watching from outside, and it scares me I pray that if they come to the house, the attic will not be found Our car joins the white train as it glides slowly down the road and my heart and mind are heavy with memories We pass the field, the office, the high school, the new middle school All of it is lost in me; the sadness is surreal It occurs to me that the farther we go on more of me is left behind with the places I love I realize that someone will find my budding new plant and not even think of the one who planted it More and more white cars join the train and sorrow is easily read on everyone’s face As we leave the gate I silently say goodbye and try unsuccessfully to turn my heart to stone I’m not even aware of my tears as we drive through town seeing places we had known broken and destroyed The little boys selling flowers aren’t there today I wonder what will become of them Despair and hopelessness are etched in the faces of the Zairois Their eyes seem to cry out, “Il ny’a pas de l’argent, de l’aliment, de travail, d’espérance!” I can’t begin to imagine their situation of hopelessness At the docks, I walk to the railing and look out to the horizon The great Congo River swirls and tumbles, all big and brown The country across the river blends into the gray sky and the cool wind blows my hair all around I can’t stop the tears as I take my last step on my beloved Zairian soil and as the ferry takes me away from my home whatever is left of my soul is left behind My friend and I tightly clutch each other’s hand and out tear-filled eyes look back with longing The only thought I can grab hold of at this moment is that this is the end of my life Whatever spark there was in my spirit has been snuffed out and I cease to live hereafter

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June 2021

Code-switching Submission deadline: April 30, 2021

September 2021 Relationships Submission deadline: July 30, 2021

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“ As much as we want to keep ourselves

safe, we can’t protect ourselves from everything. If we want to embrace life, we also have to embrace chaos.” - Susan Elizabeth Phillips