Longing (reprint)

This poem was published in the December 2015 issue of Among Worlds (first published on my blog in 2014).

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I long for something,

Without knowing what.

I long for somewhere,

without knowing where.

 

I long for change,

For that next adventure…

I’m restless and bored,

Ready to start somewhere new.

 

And yet I long to settle,

To put down roots.

To call some place home

And know it’s my own.

 

But where is that illusive home?

That place where I belong,

Where I am neither other

Nor outsider?

 

I am homesick,

But I don’t know for where…

For which country, which place,

Which home?

 

My heart aches,

Without knowing for what.

It longs for something

That I cannot define.

 

Such is the path

Of my third culture kid journey:

Sometimes confusing, often contradictory…

And forever longing.

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I’m From…

I’m from the warm Mediterranean Sea,

And the smell of fresh pines in the mountain.

 

I’m from lavender fields and vineyards,

And the ochre colored house.

 

I’m from bahebak, je t’aime,

I love you, te quiero and ti amo.

 

I’m from islands and continents,

From north to south and east to west.

 

I’m from all these places that hold my heart,

And from a home that’s rooted in love.

 


This post is inspired by a beautiful poem written by 10th grader and TCK Adelaide, shared by Marilyn at Communicating Across Boundaries. “The Language Arts teacher wanted them to write a poem introducing themselves to her and to the class. It was a simple assignment. Five short stanzas. Two lines each. Begin each stanza with, “I’m from…” (Click to see the entire post and read Adelaide’s touching poem about growing up between worlds)

If you liked Adelaide’s poem and my poem, here’s another one for you, courtesy of Tayo Rockson, who was also inspired by Marilyn’s post!

Feeling inspired? Please feel free to share your own I’m From poem in the comments, or if you write one on your own blog, I would love to link to it here!

Who I Am

I am a third culture kid.

Of that I will never be rid.

 

I’ve grown up among worlds,

Like many other boys and girls.

 

I am made up of one travelling heart,

Which is often spread worlds apart.

 

I am internationally grown,

But I have a hard time defining home.

 

I am made up of many places,

Like a dice of six faces.

 

The places I’ve lived and loved,

And those that run through my blood;

 

Each of them is a part of me,

Part of my story and my journey.

 

Much of it is yet to be told,

But to one thing I will always hold:

 

I’m an adult third culture kid,

Of that I never wish to be rid.

First Day

Heart palpitating, palms sweating…

Actually, everything sweating.

 

Do I look all right,

Or is this shirt too bright?

 

I wonder if they’ll talk to me,

Or simply let me be…

 

I’m not really sure which I’d prefer.

 

Will I be able to find my way,

Or will my nerves lead me astray?

 

Trying to hold back the tears

And not let them see all my fears.

 

As always there’s a complication,

My name isn’t there or there’s a mispronunciation.

 

Here we go again.

 

I raise my hand up in the air,

Trying to ignore all those eyes that stare.

 

I tell the teacher about my name,

Thinking how many times must I do the same?

 

The day finally draws to a close,

And the relief inside me grows.

 

At least I made it through today.

The Month of Change

When September comes around, with schools starting and autumn just around the corner, I can’t help but think about all of my Septembers as a TCK. Obviously the first thoughts that come to mind are all those times I was a new kid – like I mentioned in an earlier post. But then there are all sorts of other things that September was synonymous with, and I thought I would share some here…

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Lazy summer days roll into cool autumn nights,

As flocks of birds begin their migrating flights.

 

Notebooks, pens, pencils and other school supplies

Line the shelves all along the supermarket aisles.

 

Excitement, trepidation, laughter and tears…

Depending on whether the new year means facing friends or fears.

 

Leaves changing on the trees,

Fluttering in the early autumn breeze.

 

Red, orange, yellow and gold,

With autumn officially taking hold.

 

September is a month of change, of beginnings and ends,

In school, seasons and friends.

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