Third Culture Conversations is a talk show about third culture kids: people who are raised in a culture that is different than the one their parents grew up in. We will explore identity, rejecting and embracing parts of our culture, and the struggle to fit in when you don’t feel like you belong. Hosted by Esteban Gast, Leslie Ambriz, and Manolo Lopez, on the SoulPancake channel.
Are you a TCK? A third culture kid (TCK) is “a person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside the parents’ culture” (Pollock, 1999). This video explores how TCKs feel about home and where they belong.
Josh Gibson Media – “I think the hardest part is not the memories themselves, but it’s searching for the box of memories and realising how far under the bed it is hidden, and how far away that world has become. But Sometimes it’s important to remember, even if it hurts. It’s learning to let go, whilst not forgetting. Its learning that there was a time for that, and there is now a time for this. Holding on to the memories of a place once called home, and knowing things have changed since. And when no one else can understand, because no one else has seen. Its remembering that God understands, God has seen, he was there. He’s collected those memories, the good ones and the tough. And that…that’s more than ok, that is enough.”
Josh Gibson is a London-based content creator with an eye for detail and a passion to create. Check him out at his website –https://joshgibsonmedia.com/
Let us speak of daytime dreams And those forbidden things That you dare not tell one another They will say it can’t be done But you’ve already won Put your shoulder to the wheel and start walking
If you can dream it up it’s yours to keep These walls are made of sand Wasted all my time being not enough And I hardly know where I have been Traveling on a second wind
Come and paint your name in frost When the sun comes all is lost As it slips and drips through your fingers Callous minds now don’t be shy You’re afraid and so am I Of the fire that burns just beneath us
If you can dream it up it’s yours to keep These walls are made of sand Wasted all my time being not enough And I hardly know where I have been Traveling on a second wind
Woah, woah Wasted all my time being not enough And I hardly know where I have been
Woah, woah Wasted all my time being not enough And I hardly know where I have been Traveling on a second wind
Boxed up in cars All memories of ours are on the go Like footprints in snow
Autumn leaves change But I stay the same Green highways signs Just wave goodbye
I’m tired of living on the road I’m tired of leaving what I know
When will I find somewhere to call home Is it a place or someone I don’t know Where will I get my last set of keys Tell me to stay without without always leaving
My hearts content lies Left in cement It was permanent Or so you said
Same stars, same sky Same moon at night But its different ‘Cause you’re not in it.
I’m tired of leaving what I know I’m tired but now I gotta go
When will I find somewhere to call home Is it a place or someone I don’t know Where will I get my last set of keys Tell me to stay without without always leaving
Wishing on shooting stars To know, to stay, to be just where you are Am I close or are you far ‘Cause miles are like galaxies apart
Right now I have no where to call home It may be a place or someone I hope These will not be my last set of keys Wish I could stay but now Now I’m leaving
You had spent your entire life in one home:
your mom’s run-down condo in sleepy Antrim, New Hampshire where you
grew up eating inauthentic General Tso’s chicken at Ginger House and
picking up sesame bagels with cream cheese at Audrey’s
on Wednesdays,
knowing
everything
about your town,
your home, which step
in your staircase creaked,
the exact shape of the burn
mark on the left side of your fridge.
The mahogany closet in your basement where you used to curl up at age
4 to play hide-and-seek with your three sisters, the bookshelf you broke
then repaired at age 10, the army green quilt you received from your
grandma at age 13 that covers the twinbed in your room, in your home, in
your town.
By the time I met you I had lived in over 25 places in
Korea England
Tanzania
South Africa
Kenya
Lithuania
Chile U.S.A.
Some homes, some houses,
never
knowing
the houses
I lived
I was packing unpacking,
readjusting new places.
thrill of leaving Cockroach House,
bittersweet goodbye Mango Tree House,
Jacaranda House, the comings goings
formings memories, never feeling
rootedness.
And maybe that’s why we had to end our relationship:
I was a home to you, but you were just a house to me.
By Melanie Han, an avid traveler and a poet who was born in Korea, grew up in East Africa, and is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing in Boston. She has won awards from Boston in 100 Words and Lyric, and her poetry has appeared in several magazines and online publications, such as Fathom, Ruminate, and Among Worlds. During her free time, she can be found eating different ethnic foods or visiting new countries.
I came home from school one day and you were gone. Mom said it was because you missed Grandpa and you missed Korea and you didn’t wait for me because you were bad at saying goodbyes, but I knew better. You left because you were fed up with me, fed up with trying to teach Korean to a granddaughter who kept refusing. So you went back to your homeland, a land I didn’t feel was my home, with nothing but 6,381 miles, 12 hours on the plane, and hurt between us.
“My Dear Yeast, You know I grow up in Korea while Japan abuse forbid speak our language as child force learn Japanese language of oppress and change my name to other country. Yoshiko, they call me. Many word gone when release from Japan. Japan burn thousand and thousand book force study Japan forbid our language prison for people who wrote our words. Release from Japan regain our language miracle. I proud of my people my movement regain history country culture. Yeast, grow up in foregin country no use our language. And what do you know about war for our country? Last wish for Yeast. Learn language. Love, Halmoni”
By Melanie Han, an avid traveler and a poet who was born in Korea, grew up in East Africa, and is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing in Boston. She has won awards from Boston in 100 Words and Lyric, and her poetry has appeared in several magazines and online publications, such as Fathom, Ruminate, and Among Worlds. During her free time, she can be found eating different ethnic foods or visiting new countries.
Nose pressed up against the window, I wait for pitter-patters to turn to pelting poundings as hundreds of flying ants rise upward, dizzying my eyes and swarming my head.
So predictable: Tanzanian rainy seasons.
“Dad! Come on!” and he brings them as always: bright yellow boots and clashing pink raincoat with words on them I can’t yet read, words that Mom says I’ll learn in school next year.
Tupperware in hand, I rush out, dancing to a chorus of wings: a flapping frenzy. Within minutes, I have plenty of the squirming creatures, my prized possessions, enough to make Mom proud.
Back at home, the three of us busy ourselves. Dad hangs up my dripping raincoat while I tug away at endless wings while Mom heats up the stove and readies
a drizzle of oil, a handful of flying ants, a pinch of salt; sizzling in the pan, they fry quickly. Then, around the table, Mom, Dad, and I sit, munching and crunching our seasonal snack.
So predictable: Tanzanian rainy seasons.
And even though I lived through many of them, I can no longer recall whether the flying ants tasted more like bacon bits or burnt popcorn. So I wait, nose pressed up against the window.
By Melanie Han, an avid traveler and a poet who was born in Korea, grew up in East Africa, and is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing in Boston. She has won awards from Boston in 100 Words and Lyric, and her poetry has appeared in several magazines and online publications, such as Fathom, Ruminate, and Among Worlds. During her free time, she can be found eating different ethnic foods or visiting new countries.
A TCK documentary exploring the world of seven siblings in Ghana, as they adjust to a new culture and wrestle with the questions about home and belonging that all third culture kids can relate to.
Featuring the Gelatt family, missionaries through ABWE. Filmed in November of 2018. No profit is being made from this film.
Soundtrack created by Spencer Parkhurst – check him out on SoundCloud here.
Filmed and edited by Hannah Mathews – check her blog out here.
