Where to begin? Being a TCK is having a restless monster inside of you, waiting to leap out and devour your happiness whenever it pleases. It’s unpredictable, and completely crushing, every time. The number of times I’ve settled into a new environment, a new culture, a new lifestyle; felt confident and happy. Yet there’s always that day or two where nothing can prepare you for the lonely and painful truth: you belong to absolutely nowhere. Your culture is a non-existent one; a jumble of different ideologies and traditions. My dad’s from Zimbabwe and my mum from Belgium. I’m 18 and I’ve moved seven times between the US, Europe and China. I was always put in a French International school.
Yet the French International Schools differed. In London, the school was filled with international French students who had never moved during their adolescence, and if they had, it was from France to the French neighborhoods in London. Not that big a transition. And they were all extremely happy to have had the experience; they were naturally inquisitive and more open to different cultures. Clearly, the move helped them grow.
What shocked me most was when I lived in Hong Kong when I was 14 years old. Most of the people in my year had travelled as much as I had, and I remember going to a party one day where we had a competition on “who has the most scars on their bodies”. One girl even tried to commit suicide that year. They would then proceed in taking ample amounts of drugs and alcohol. Many of my schoolmates suffered from memory loss because of it, and their parents never noticed, because they were too busy devoting themselves to their bank instead of their family. Although I am very close to my family, it wasn’t always that way. When we moved to Hong Kong, my siblings and I waged war against our parents, as we were tired of leaving our friends. But what could they do? Moving around was part of their career. So when that didn’t work, we turned against each other. My sister almost died of anorexia that year, but after a year in the hospital, she recovered. My brother didn’t spend a day without drinking.
Forcing teenagers to move excessively can be exceedingly dangerous. Children can handle it, I think, but teenagers after the second, third, forth or fifth move, can feel extreme anxiety. Although we are all now accomplished, tolerant and educated, I can’t help but ask myself: at what cost?
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