The Global Nomads – Larissa Nugroho

The Gobal Nomads is a spoken word poem written and performed by Larissa Nugroho. Larissa says “As someone who grew up in a multicultural setting and who is currently living abroad – I wanted to capture that feeling of belonging everywhere and nowhere at the same time.”

Text:

Where is home?
Living in a suitcase
Moving from place to place
Restless
Wondering
Trying to find rest and belonging

We are the global nomads
Fitting in everywhere and nowhere
Simultaneously
Changing SIM cards constantly
Saying hi and goodbye cyclically

Though we never do it easily

We are the global wanderers
Adapting like chameleons quickly
Getting raised eyebrows when we don’t assimilate
Asking where we’re from complicates
Things

We are the global vagabonds
Passport stamps in our hearts
Luggage tags on the baggage we carry around
Of the friendships and the losses we found
Ungodly hour calls making up for the time zones
Glad that someone is always awake
On the other end of the phone

We are the eclectic tribe
With constant identity crisis
Trying to grow where we planted
Staying rooted in heritage
While stretching out our leaves
The whole world is our stage

We are the global nomads
The world is not just our oyster
It is our playground
To romp around
And play
For here
Here is our home

In Unity We Can – bilingual spoken word poem

“In Unity We Can” is a bilingual spoken word poem written and performed by Bertha on her platform, “Being A Third Culture Kid”. The platform seeks to illuminate the experiences and significance of the third culture experience through storytelling. It aims to empower them to take up space in the world and demonstrate to those around them how to discover the beauty that is in every country, culture, and people of the world. After all, global citizenship is the single currency of the world!

Follow the platform here!

Gold Bounty – Lanterns in the Dark

Gold Bounty is a poem by Claire Hellar Adderholt. A little about me: I’m a missionary kid who grew up in Papua New Guinea and, after living in California and Colorado, now live with my husband in Birmingham, Alabama. I’m a UCLA grad and love Tolstoy, Taylor Swift, mountain hikes, peonies, and whiskey. My work can be found at The Rabbit Room, Calla Press, Wilderness House Literary Review, and Melusine. I can also be found at @claire_de_luned on Instagram or at Lanterns in the Dark on Substack.

Gold Bounty

Shucking corn:
an oldest of human traditions.

My carpenter husband says
Let’s move to the woods and grow corn
and raise a roof over land that’s ours.

I was raised in a rainforest,
on a mountain
with fields and fields of goldenrod

the color of corn,
and shucking corn, I wonder:
is the movement through fields the same –

fields of corn and goldenrod:
does the brightness of the light
burn so transparent it glows the same the world
over –

and is there anything to distinguish old farm traditions
from the bounty the hills give, miraculous and easy –
or is it all movement, walking through slender stems that rustle,
a bounty of leaves and splendor?

all light, and green leaves,
and everything spread at our feet
for labour, and appeasement of hunger,
and a richness to satisfy
the human soul?

there is a brightness to all this transcendence.

let us go then, you and I,
to the cornfields of gold on high
and harvest, beloved, all this radiant,
given glory

Read more TCK poems here!

Yvonne McArthur – Migrations

Migrations
– Yvonne McArthur

We began as a
flock of Scots, a
Glasgow-living clan
Eaters of thick oatmeal
Musical brogue speakers

Crossed the Atlantic
Nested by the Speed River
Tossed seeds from the
Heights of Black Bridge

Some took root,
Sprouted into saplings
A forest of cousins,
Great uncles, and grandnieces
A family diaspora
Populating Canada

Others kept their wings
Soared down to Chiapas
Bushwacked through
Jungle, canoed on rivers,
Ate roasted monkey

But the wind currents called.
Drew feathered creatures
South to the highlands
Land of the Maya
To live among growers of
Garlic and onion

I learned to fly here,
Beating back and forth between
The Great Lakes and the
Caribbean Plate
Drawn to stay, become
endemic to one place. But also
Lured to fly onward forever

Yvonne McArthur is a TCK poet who grew up in Guatemala. Find out more about her or read more of her poetry here!

Read more TCK poetry here.

TCKs for Christ

TCKs for Christ strives to serve, encourage, and challenge teenage Christian TCKs and young adult TCKs to live victoriously with a firm identity in Jesus. TCKs for Christ considers all types of Christian TCKs such as missionary kids, business kids, diplomat kids, etc. They publish articles, interviews with TCKs, poetry and send out content via their newsletter.

Their team is made up of TCKs from around the world (five continents, to be precise) with various backgrounds, all connected by their faith, their desire to serve, and their love of writing.

Find out more by visiting their website, tcksforchrist.com

For Faraway Friends – TCK Poems

For Faraway Friends is a collection of poems. All poems were written by Chana Noeth, and originally published on TCKsforChrist.com. Find out more about Chana and read more of the For Faraway Friends collection by clicking the link!

Letter to a Friend as I Leave

No tear runs down my cheek
As I give you a last embrace
As you stand and wave
My smile remains steady
My step is confident and sure
As I turn and walk away
Do not be fooled, my friend.
I’m not so emotionless as I seem.

As I give you a last embrace
I soak up what it feels like
As you stand and wave
I commit to memory your face
As I turn and walk away
I am hyper-aware of my surroundings.
I am pensive and sentimental
At our parting, my friend.

The air is slightly cool
But not enough to bring a chill
Your eyes are so bright and clear
The sight of them makes me smile
Your embrace is strong yet gentle
Infused with the warmth of your affection
And I’m amazed at how precious you are
Though my time here was short—
The things I’ll carry with me
The memories shared
That I’ll cherish forever.

It’s moist outside and I try to place it—
I’m not sure it’s quite drizzling
But it’s not considered a fog—
Even the not-rain can’t decide
But to lightly imply precipitation
Not really enough for an umbrella
But by the time I’ve walked far away
It’s enough to leave me wet
With reality: I’ll miss you.

And I’ll miss this street
And I’ll miss that tree
And I’ll miss that shop
And I’ll miss the church
And I’ll miss this weather
That can never decide
Whether it’s coming or going
Just like me: I hope I’ll return
But I don’t know if I ever will.
And just like you say of the weather,
It’s the spice of life.

And I wonder what you’re thinking
As I leave you
I wonder if you’re wishing
I would cry or show emotion
I’m pretty sure you’re thinking
You’ll miss me too
And I’m thinking
How much I used to hate it
When people would leave me.
I know the feeling all too well.

I’m remembering how I felt
When a friend came who I grew to love
Poured herself all in (just like I have)
Explored and tried new things—
It felt like I’d known her for ages
We talked about everything—
And then she was gone.
And she left with a smile on her face
No promise of return
(And I begged her to return).

(She never did.) Now I’m in her place
And I’m reliving that parting—
I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking
But I suspect I know
And that knowing makes this parting
Very poignant for me.
I’ve always been sentimental
But it’s hard to leave a place
When I know how it feels to be left
It’s harder to enter a place
And dive all in
When I know it might hurt you to love me.

Dear friend, I don’t know why
Life is filled with partings
But it is.
And that friend I met long ago
Taught me a lesson about loving wholly
So as much as it may hurt,
I think it’s worth it
And I hope you’ll understand
That if I never see you again
It’s not because I don’t love you.
I do.
And I’m so grateful I didn’t let fear hold me back
From loving you.
I think I finally understand how she felt
When she had to leave me.
Though I’ve not seen her since,
I learned much from her
And laughed and loved
Even as I have with you.


Labor of Love

A groan of anguish seeks to escape—
I barely contain it.
Why, why, WHY
Why does it feel so broken?

This was to be a joyful reunion,
A celebration of the fruit of many years—
Yet here is heartache in the happiness.

All those years of labor and love,
Learning, laughing, making mistakes,
Working hard, patiently longsuffering.

All those tears of frustration and fear,
Not knowing if the work would last another day
Drudging through bias and politics and sickness and war
(Both the seen and the unseen)

All those years
All those tears
And for what?

After pouring our lives into these people,
This project, this purpose,
We’ve come back to visit and we find
Such heaviness and hardship.

Was it in vain?
To be put in a box and shut away
As if it never happened?

Was it a waste?
All those years
All those tears—
Gone?

I said my goodbyes years ago
And tucked the memories into my heart
As mementos of my childhood,
My home, my friends.
I thought I said goodbye.

And then I came to visit.
All the memories, all the hopes and fears
And laughs and loves
All the good years
Came flooding back.

But now I must leave for good.
My heart is breaking again,
Worse this time because
This crack is on top of another
Not yet fully healed.

All those years
All those tears
And for what?
Would it have been better
To never come here?

I cherished this place as my home
I loved these people as my family
I embraced this culture as my own
And then I had to leave—
Oh, how ecstatic this return!

Every moment excitement and joy
Every interaction perfect
Like I’m home again!
But now it hits me.

I’m giving her my last hug—ever?
Will I never walk this street again?
Will I never eat fruit from that tree again?
Must I truly say goodbye
To this place I love?

Oh, the tears
Oh, the years
The pain of this loss is physical.

Why does it feel so broken?
Will it ever be okay?
And yet
There is grace through the turmoil.

Love and loss
Lament amid joy
Seeds to harvest
Unity amid division
Together and apart.

All those years
All those tears
Seeds were planted.
Bridges were built.
Love was grown.

Maybe it seems
Worthless
Useless
In vain
Or a waste
But no.
We serve a God who’s always working
Who’s bigger than space and time,
Injustice and poverty.

Our work was not in vain
Because the work was God’s.
These friends are not lost
Because they’re eternal family.
This people is not done
Because we’ll worship with them
In paradise.

All these years are in His hands
All these tears He holds in a bottle.
God is working,
Just wait and see.


Read more TCK poems about faraway friends here.

Takunda Muzondiwa – spoken word poet

Takunda Muzondiwa is a cross-cultural kid born in Zimbabwe, who performs spoken word poetry as a way to express her confusion about her cultural identity. In this video she performs a poem as part of her speech at the Race Unity Speech Awards from 2019.

“Yesterday I was African; today I am lost.” ~ Takunda Muzondiwa

Find out more about Takunda

Vaughn Thompson Jr. – I Am Third Culture

“What are you? I can’t even tell you how many times I had to answer that question in my life. And not once did ‘Vaughn Thompson Jr.’ seem like a good enough answer. Man, sometimes it didn’t even seem like ‘human’ would suffice. So now I just say, ‘I am third culture.'” ~ Vaughn Thompson Jr.

Watch more videos by Vaughn here

See other TCK poetry videos here

Ode to Africa – Collected Poetry

Ode to Africa – poems by Third Culture Kids

africa
African Adventures
by Yvette Louise Melech

Seven years seems like seventy
Each crisp breeze was glowing
Singing everything from birds in trees
To lions guarding young cubs on plains in breezes

Beating to a rhythm of a tribal drum
I danced underneath a crying sky
As we chanted our glowing style in feet
Dripping in moonlighting
Under intimacy of tribes wearing
Little other than swinging skirts
Made up of plants beads
As beady blowing glow lit lamps
All went down as the sun goes low

We rattled our cups
A malty red wine brewed as stewy smells of aromatic scents expelled
Alongside an African rice hot spicy spread
Along came the moon god
As we all stamped out our other life woes


An African I’ll Always Be
by Michelle Campbell

Africa breathes deeply inside my soul
its diversity greater than the oceans
thoughts of its soil stir up my emotions
as my memories take over control.

South Africa’s vast beauty
feelings of forever on duty
whether in the Drakensberg mountains
hiking or enjoying fountains.

My heart overflows with wishful notions
of a holiday to a game reserve
peacefully the animals we observe
’til we see some exciting commotions.

Recalling the fish eagle’s distinct cry
and giggling Malwaiian children waving goodbye
burning our feet on the sand at the great Lake
the mighty Boababs our dreams awake.

To hear a lion’s loud roar
or an elephant’s rumble
God’s creation makes you humble
experiences one will forever store.

Dearest Africa runs through my veins
on my lips she always remains,
the place i run to behind closed eyes
she is the world’s most neglected prize.

To Africa i’ll always be devoted
little melanin, yet still her daughter
daydreams of her, my soul water
her essence adored and noted.

See more of Michelle Campbell’s poetry


The Harvesters
by ndzedzeni etienne fondzefe

Dry season has come to Nkor at last,
the smiles on our faces
says it all.
Early, before the sun wakes up and yawns,
and wonder what day it is.
We drag our dusty feet,
deeply smeared by oil from last nights meal,
through the wet waiting dew,
into grandma Beri’s cornfield.
everybody is present,
everybody is singing,
the birds are whispering,
the children are dancing,
Their cane baskets waiting to lift
the days harvest.
A sight of joy and singing.
Our women wrap their fingers round the maize plants
Snatching and Ripping,
Our men fill their basket,
lifting and carrying,
running like warriors home and back.
Before you know it its twilight,
its time for feasting,
the harvesters grind the goat meat
between their Molars,
Flushing it down with kegs of palm wine.

See more poems by etimaximum


we carry our lives around in these memories
by Shiloh Phoenix

Grey-blue air sweeps the porch clean
with the force of a continent behind it;
Africa’s breath, green and wild and wet
and I am small standing here, cold
in my soaked skin, embracing the weight
of this whole world against my heart.

My days here are numbered, just a small
handful left to drip out of my fists and
then I will be gone; gone like the dust
of the harmattan in July or the mangoes
in January, and the rain will wash away
every footprint I left as if it never was.

Clean bird-song rings out to welcome
the sunshine, whistles of hopes that
never died, and I huddle into my hoodie
with every moment burned onto my skin
so that I will never forget the taste of the
wind, the power of the water, anything.

Three weeks later when I touch
down to vivid grass and cold white air,
the droplets on the window pane will
resound lost echoes as loud as thunder,
and I will trace my own handprint
searching for the map of what I’ve lost.

Kuma calls across the rain-drop dust
overlayed on tarmac predictions, and
Pafode answers sharp lightning bolt facts; I
speak this language quiet in my whole
breath as loyal as a continent, but we all know
that in the end no village could ever be mine.

See more poems by Shiloh Phoenix

See more TCK poems about Africa

My Own Car – Spoken Word

by Ghanaperu

My Own Car – Spoken Word
by Ghanaperu

When I was in the village
Somebody asked me, and I don’t remember
Who they were
They asked me
If I had a car.
And I said yes.
Then they asked me if my sister
Had a car.
And I said yes.

And I saw on their face
That it didn’t make sense
And I started to explain
In America, if you don’t have a car
You can’t have a job
And if you don’t have a job
You can’t make money to live.

And they looked at me.
And I looked at them.
And they said
Does your mom have a car.
And I said yes.
And they said
Does your dad have a car.
And I said yes.
And they said
Does every person in your house
Have their own car.
And I thought of all seven of us
And I said yes.

And I wanted to give some explanation
I wanted to say that
This is just normal here
And
Everybody has their own car
I wanted to say
I worked hard for what I have
And I wanted to say
There are people
Who live in this country
Who don’t have a car
People who are poorer
Even than I am
And you know I’m poor
Because I qualify for five different types
Of government assistance but
There are people who have less
Than I do
Who do not have any cars

But I said none of that
I just looked at him
And he looked at me

And I wanted to say
I’m sorry
If I could give you my car I would
If I could trade places with you
I would
If there was some way I could share
All my privilege and benefits
I would
And if there was some way I could trade
My birthright with you
I would
But I can’t

But I said none of that
I just looked at him
And he looked at me
And we didn’t say anything
But I know
The same look I saw in his eyes
That nothing made sense
That he could not imagine
What I was saying
That same look in his eyes
I know is the same look
That people see in my eyes here
Because it doesn’t
It just doesn’t make sense

So I tried to imagine having a car
My car
In the village
I tried to imagine
Driving it to Makeni and going to market
I tried to imagine coming out of market
And putting my groceries in the car
And driving back home
I tried to imagine my sister
Living in the same
House as me
And having her own car
And it just made no sense

It made no sense

And I’m not
Confused
Exactly
I just don’t get how
These worlds can be so different
And how
I can be in both of them
And yet not either

And I just don’t get
What answer I was supposed
To give him
That would ever make sense
Or any answer
I could give him
That he could understand
Because
I couldn’t even find an answer
That I could understand

Yes
I have my own car
And yes
Every person in my house
Has their own car
And no
I don’t know why


Another spoken word poem by Ghanaperu

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