Where are you from?

The more you travel, the more likely you’ll be asked where you’re from.

And the answer to that question is often complicated. Our son usually answers “America and Japan” because of his dual nationalities, but he’s actually lived over 9 of his 10 years in countries other than the US and Japan. In this way Kai is what’s known as a “third culture kid,” a child who spends a significant time growing up in a culture or cultures different than his or her parents. Kai was born a decade ago on a beautiful spring day in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and we would learn that he was born in the same hospital as the late King Bhumibol the Great of Thailand. I’ve told Kai on more than one occasion that Mt. Auburn Hospital is a stone’s throw away from Harvard University where the beloved Thai King’s father studied and just down the street from MIT where I worked, so surely some of those smarts (or ‘wicked smaahhts’) have rubbed off on him. Cambridge will always be Kai’s hometown, but since we left when he was 8 months old, saying that he’s from either Cambridge or Massachusetts doesn’t actually say much about the nomadic life he’s lived so far.

There are many people for whom the same is true. This simple question of where you’re from isn’t always straight forward when you move around a lot or aren’t “rooted” in one place. Then there’s also the issue of not wanting where you’re from to necessarily define who you are. As I’ve lived abroad for many years, I know I should just say I’m from the US when people ask where I’m from. But the problem with this is that I know I’ll be judged by that label of “American” and whatever thoughts or experiences that person has of Americans. I know I shouldn’t care as these first impressions are made in both directions and the reality is that we all have a tendency even unconsciously to paint certain people certain ways (French are this, Chinese are that, etc.). Americans in general are known as very patriotic, but I’ve found over the years that many ex-pat Americans prefer to be quiet about their nationality in the hopes of lessening their connection to the actions and policies of the US government (which you often become more aware of on a personal level when you live abroad). There’s also a hope of ex-pat Americans to distance themselves from those unflattering stereotypes such as being loud, uncultured, uninformed and ridiculously geographically illiterate. (Very difficult to argue against the last one!)

There’s no doubt that asssumptions and stereotypes abound irrespective of where you’re from, but “Where are you from?” can also be a springboard to further connection and friendship as well. When you meet someone who knows about the city, state, province or prefecture you’re from or have lived in, the conversation often builds and blossoms from there. I’ve met many people abroad who know about or know someone from Ohio, and it’s always brought a huge smile to my face when I realize that the person was actually confusing Ohio for Iowa or Idaho! But who cares, it still connected us. Actually one of my favorite memories of geographic confusion happened years ago when I met someone sitting next to me on a plane who told me he had a pen friend from the US who he exchanged letters with on a regular basis. I asked where his American friend was from and he replied “Troy Me.” I told him I had never heard of that city and after he described the place as his friend described it in his letters, I still had no clue in which state or which part of the country “Troy Me” was. He then remembered that he had the most recent letter from his friend in his bag in the overhead bin and went to get it. When he showed me the envelope it all suddenly made sense: the address was Troy, MI… the MI being the state abbreviation of Michigan! 😂 We both had a good laugh at our discovery.

It’s interesting to note that the smaller size of scale of a place, usually the deeper our connection is to it. When someone knows your favorite restaurant down the street or understands how the neighborhood has changed over time, we can’t help but be closer to that person. In the same way, the intimacy of really understanding a particular place outside of your hometown or homeland is one of the great benefits of travel. Not only do you know the place, but you also understand the people of that place– what motivates them, what makes them happy, what makes them tick. As my dear friend Karina has beautifully said, it is then you realize that there are no foreign lands.

So this brings me to where this post started, with the picture of our son. As part of his homework assignments at school, Kai is tasked to read a book every week and make an online report which includes a picture of him with the book. Last week Kai read “Planet Earth: Which planet are you on?” and I couldn’t help but think it’s a perfect picture for my blog post today.

Over the years I’ve been a teacher of English, humanities, geography and globalization, and with every group of students I work with, I dedicate one lesson to the topic of “Where are you from?” When I’ve asked students to answer this question, I usually get the names of countries or cities, although once a young man replied “from my mother!” 😃 There’s no doubt that we expect an answer that pinpoints a certain place, a certain somewhere. But I ask my students to answer the question in a different way and proudly declare, “I’m from Planet Earth!” We are indeed all from the same place, but there’s a strong tendency for us to seek differentiation and also to notice our differences before our similarities. So as I have asked my students, today I ask you to reflect deeper on this:

Where are you from?

I’m from here, the same place as you!  This home we call Earth.

Like you, I didn’t choose to be born, or when to be born, but I am here.

And just like you, I didn’t choose where I was going to be born either. Nobody asked me what passport I wanted.

I also didn’t choose my name. 

I have the same biological needs as you and probably many of the same emotional needs as well.

At times I feel vulnerable, at other times completely content.

I smile and scowl, laugh and cry.

Sometimes everything seems to be going wrong and at other times, everything is going just right.

Just like you, I don’t know how long I’ll be here, and someday will be my last too.

But I usually live this day without thinking that there may be no tomorrow.

Yes I plan, but I also want to live in the moment.

I breathe in, breathe out.  Just like you.

On the outside I may seem nothing like you.  Or maybe somewhat like you. 

But on the inside, I might be a lot like you.

Even just like you.