Lyrics When the way come, you know we can’t stay And then blissness is calling out for me And you flashes pink and life is colour blue I’m not here, I’m gon’ never die We got love, we can still survive And what I feel’s what I gotta do But can I rest with you?
Where is home? I’m starting to believe that it is gone ‘Cause I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching Where is home? All I want is silence in my soul But I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching Yeah, I’ve been searching, searching, searching
Life is drifting so fast, I don’t sleep I’m afraid to miss a moment where I’m free With you, we’re both lost, and nothin’ we’d approved I can jump ’cause I know I land All I need is to trust your hand And like the wind, I will blow away Unless you make me stay
Where is home? I’m starting to believe that it is gone ‘Cause I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching Where is home? All I want is silence in my soul But I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching
Yeah, I’ve been searching, searching, searching (do I look so sore?) And I’ve been bursting, bursting, bursting (look at me more) My mind is rumbling, rumbling, rumbling (is right) ‘Cause I’ve been wondering, wondering, wondering
Where is home? I’m starting to believe that it is gone ‘Cause I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching Where is home? All I want is silence in my soul But I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching
Where is home? I’m starting to believe that it is gone ‘Cause I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching I need peace All I want is silence in my soul But I don’t find it Though I’m looking Keep searching Yeah, I’ve been searching, searching, searching
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
Run of the World is an original song written by Hannah Mathews and performed by Hannah and Moriah Mathews. Hannah and Moriah are TCKs, and this song is about the mobility and transition of an international lifestyle, and how it impacts an understanding of “home”.
Lyrics:
Run of the World
Will you hold on to me When my soul is giving up? Will you stay by my side When my mind slides past midnight? And I know that I am asking For more than I can give But I’ve never had enough To settle down
Cuz I’m on the run from something But I don’t know what Like a hound from hell Baying on my heels And I never get away But it never catches up I keep letting go And it keeps me moving on
Will you whisper in my ear That the world is all the same? Will you hold my love for ransom If I choose to walk away? And I know that I’ve been traveling Far and farther away But it seems now that I’ve gone Nowhere at all
Cuz I’m on the run from something But I don’t know what Like a hound from hell Baying on my heels And I never get away But it never catches up I think it’s using satellites to trace me
Maybe you could try that Maybe it might work All I ask is if you find me That you help me find myself
Cuz I’m on the run from something But I don’t know what Like a hound from hell Baying on my heels And I never get away But it never catches up I race for greener grass But all the earth’s the same garden
I never get away But it never catches up Maybe I could call this home After all
“Growing Up Global”, a short documentary made at Mont’Kiara International School.
“This documentary has been made with passion and determination to give all those who struggle with their identities hope. Hope to find themselves. Hope to better understand who they are. No matter how lonely someone feels, it’s important to know that you are not alone and that there are other people feeling what you’re feeling somewhere in the world. It’s been a dream come true working on this project and we are very grateful for those who supported us.” – Ana Hummes Ota
Where do I belong? What is my culture? Where will I end up? Where is home? These are some of the questions that weigh on the minds of our modern day ‘Third Culture Kids’ (TCKs). Students attending international schools around the world have faced the challenge of assimilating into unfamiliar environments, making new friends, and learning local customs.
All of this sounds glamorous, but being a TCK has its challenges. This short documentary film highlights some of these challenges; it also sheds some light on the fact that if you are a TCK, you are not alone. The brainchild of a Mont’Kiara International School student, Ana Hummes Ota, Growing Up Global is a wonderfully balanced documentary that takes into account the lives a handful of students who recognize themselves as TCKs. Produced in collaboration with Mont’Kiara International School and a Portuguese journalist Madalena Augusto, it is a documentary that is bound to open the eyes of many viewers to the lives that these young global citizens lead.
Growing Up Global was premiered on Friday, August 30, 2019 at Mont’Kiara International School.
Music: “Where is Home” by Elliphant feat Twin Shadow.
Special thanks to Lisbon Works and Madalena Augusto
Jonty and Tia talk about codeswitching between Singapore and UK cultures in the pilot episode of their new podcast “D’Code Switch” all about Third Culture Kids!
“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.
It’s barely dusk as we land, fireworks bursting confetti beneath us, covering over the tidy patchwork farms. He asks if the celebration is for us – no, it is a holiday you really ought to know, the celebration of your country’s independence. But you know another date for that. The child behind us wails, and her mother shushes her, murmurs soft words to say we are almost out now.
We trudge like lines of ants from the village, clutching our dusty things in tired hands, following whoever is in front of us, hoping they know the way. The line splits. We hover, indecisive. They examine our blue books and send us left with smiles like we’ve gotten passing marks on the maths test; the screaming child and her mother have green and go right.
The gate-keeper stares bored, wants to know if we have been on any farms recently. We laugh. He sprays us disinfected, showers away the disease of our arrival, sends us onward into the July night with stars too different to recognise. I pull up my trousers, re-buckle the belt we bought a week ago in the dripping heat of market, with the brightly sweating mother yelling at her toddlers while we tried to barter. The doors open like voodoo in front of us, and the wall says welcome home with the same confetti colours.
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.
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.
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.
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
