Welcome to the Center’s ongoing exploration of the Third-Culture experience! “Third Culture” refers to a person shaped by the culture of their parents, the culture(s) of the places they’ve lived, and the unique blend that forms as a result. Many members of our international community in Taiwan navigate this multicultural identity, and it’s this shared experience that connects them.
If you’re interested in contributing your own story as a Third-Culture individual, we’d love to hear from you! Email us at program@communitycenter.org.tw
By Annabelle Hsu
I never thought of myself as a Third Culture Kid. I always assumed the title was reserved for the children of military expats or those with intensely multinational identities. From my perspective, my identity was simpler. My parents were both Taiwanese, as was I. My father was American, as was I. Yet, despite the literal ties that tethered me to both countries, I found it hard to balance on the tightrope between them.
My father, born and raised in the United States (US), was the epitome of the 1970s pan-ethnic second-generation American. Before him, my grandfather was part of the mass exodus out of China in 1949. He took refuge in Taiwan for the majority of his childhood until he eventually ventured out to the Americas at 15 years old.
I remember how my grandfather would go on and on about his time in Taiwan; how he and the other neighborhood boys would drag a chair to the outdoor screenings of whatever movie the American soldiers were watching, how he’d traverse the hilly crests of Taipei and eat papayas directly from the trees, how he and his friends would split a single bottle of 黑松汽水, each chipping in five coins.
Now retired in his 80s, he spends his days lounging in the suburbs of New York. He cooks, spends time with his grandchildren, and has contentious rounds of Bridge. He tends to his cherry tree and watches his C-dramas. If he ever craves the taste of Asian food, he takes a brisk stroll to Flushing.
For him, Taiwanese and American cultures don’t clash, but work in harmony to form the person that he is.
My connection to either country, however, is quite different.
Despite growing up in Taiwan, I lived in what some call an “international bubble.” My education was an American education. The entertainment I was raised on was all Western. The language I spoke at home was English. I belonged in the bubble; there, all was easy and safe. But the moment I’d venture out, the vast schism separating me and the “locals” was strikingly apparent.
I found it shameful to have lived in a country my whole life without being able to speak the language fluently. Every time I’d speak Mandarin with a tinge of an accent or forgot a common word, I’d feel a clawing need to justify myself.
“I went to an American school my whole life!”
“I swear I used to be so good at Mandarin.”
And every time a shop clerk would switch to speaking English or ask which country I was visiting from, that bubble would feel suffocating.
My ties to the US felt equally detached. Rather than a place of residence, the US has always felt like a vacation spot to me. The seemingly never-ending aisles of Target and the sweet melody of the ice cream truck weren’t staples of my daily life, but adventures that arrived and departed with summer. I never considered America as my own; it was being “rented” at best, and I was merely a tenant, occupying the space temporarily.
Once, I asked my grandpa what he considered his home. Was it China, the country he was born in? Or Taiwan, the country he was raised in? Or maybe Peru, the country where he met my grandmother? Or the US, the country he built his life and settled in?
His response came as a single word, “All.”
How did he belong to so many homes when I barely had one?
As I reflect on my own relationships with both my nationalities, I realize the only person invalidating my “Taiwaneseness” or “Americanness” was myself. A “Third Culture Kid” is just that, a kid. I’ve lived for less than two decades; how would I have the answers to questions about my identity, of which I still haven’t fully grown into?
With time, I trust that I will find myself and the sense of belonging that comes with it. Eventually, my hesitancy to speak Mandarin will fade. Eventually, I’ll know how to navigate the New York City subway without a map. Eventually, “all” will be my home; it’s only a matter of time.
