Exotic Me

It was fun, really, to grow up as the Darling of the Church.

Everywhere we went, I was greeted with hugs and exclamations of delight, missionary presidents eagerly extending presents and trips to MacDonalds like proud grandparents.

I, the ever-humble child that I was, fully believed that these legions of grandparents and aunts and uncles waiting to spoil me were there solely because I was a particularly Amazing Child.

I believed them when they told me how brave I was to grow up on the mission field (as though it was my doing in the first place).

I proudly performed my song in the foreign language they all clammored for, accepting the effusive praise as my rightful due.

I was a Missionary Kid... That was my identity, I needed no other.

Disdainful of any who could not claim this most precious of titles, I did everything in my power to point out every way I was different (and therefore better) than those we visited when "home" on furlough.

I fought so hard to make sure everyone knew I was Different.

Heaven forbid anyone think I was American.

Heaven forbid anyone not notice my accent.

My long list of languages I could speak.

My exotic experiences, far beyond what their tiny world could understand.

I was Missionary Kid.

Third Culture Kid.

Different.

Special.

I don't remember when things started to change for me.

Perhaps it was as a teenager, during one of my many performances of the same song that had begun to repeat itself in my head like a refrain reminding me of what everyone expected of me. Perhaps it was during yet another session of answering the same set of questions.

I felt like having a t-shirt made that said

Yes, I do speak that language.

The grossest thing I have ever eaten was raw sea slug.

I just love coming back on furlough.

Of course I miss There.

No I don't miss MacDonalds.

We do not have WalMart.

I never did, of course. It would never have fit on a t-shirt anyways.

Perhaps things began to change for me when, in college, I was once told to just shut. Up. about There, and all the things I had done There.

Because no one wanted to hear about it anyways,

and everyone was really sick of me rubbing my overseas childhood in their faces.

I guess it wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been my boyfriend of the time saying those hurtful words.

And if I hadn't fully believed him.

I was so anxious to make friends, to be loved, here, a world away from everything familiar.

A world away from my family,

From the place where the languages I spoke mattered.

From the place I was known.

From the place I was Special.

I began to hate who I was.

I felt like an exotic zoo animal, only here to be gawked at by those who wanted to stare at the Missionary Kid, to answer their 20 Questions, to be entertaining, and then to watch them move away together, having exhausted their interest in Exotic Me and now moving on to other entertainment.

I felt used.

I felt caged in, behind the bars of my experiences which made me different from those around me.

I felt keenly Different.

And not at all Special.

At least not in a good way.

I learned, slowly, to hide the more exotic parts of myself.

I learned to cover up my accent, until at some point I lost it completely.

I learned to say I was from "all over." Rather than from There.

People almost never inquired as to what "all over" meant.

I learned to relabel portions of my life into more acceptable categories.

What was before "when I lived on a boat in the tropics"

Became "in middle school."

What was before "when I lived in a remote Hindu neighborhood"

Became "during highschool"

My best friend from There

Became "my best friend when I was little."

Like an over zealous surgeon, I performed surgery on my Life Stories, carefully cutting out any portions that might hint toward otherness.

That might reveal that I was Different.

I skillfully removed anything remotely Special.

And with that surgery went my identity.

For my identity still relied on the compass of Missionary Kid.

Still hinged on my growing up places.

How could it not?

There was where I became much of who I am.

But now my life hinged on hiding Who I Was.

Became being ashamed of being Different,

And vaguely angry at those who had made me this way.

My parents

The church

There.

I don't know for sure when things began to change yet again.

Perhaps it was with a new group of friends who genuinely loved me for me, and wanted to know all about There, not because it was different, exotic, but because it was a part of Me.

Perhaps it was as I grew to understand and appreciate a little more Those whome I had so despised- Americans. Small town country kids. They had history, and stories, and Life too. And it was beautiful as well.

Perhaps it was with a boyfriend, then fiancé, then husband, who loved Me, and everything about Me, even, and not only, the Exotic pieces.

Or perhaps it was even later, as I began to explore and learn and venture into new pieces of Me.

New parts of identity that I had never explored or considered before,

Secondary as they had been in my mind to being an MK.

My personality.

My interests.

My hobbies.

My friends.

My life.

My husband.

My children.

And slowly I began to fit together the fractured pieces of who I am.

Who I had been.

Where I am.

Where I was.

Here.

There.

And the beautifully complex mosaic that is Me began to emerge as my Identity.

MK, yes, because that is Me and will always be a part of who I am. But not everything. I am a person. A whole, beautiful, crazy, complex person, just like every other person on this planet. And I want to embrace all of Them, and all of Me, and learn and love in my Identity as a person, not just a label.

I am a positive person.

I am a great cook.

I think tree frogs are adorable.

My favorite color is the color of new aspen leaves when the sun is shining through them.

I love music. And the piano.

My husband is my favorite person.

So is my crazy toddler son.

And my sweet infant daughter.

I am a real-live, save-the-earth, don't-clean-with-chemicals, henna-loving hippy.

I love the Colorado mountains.

And the Islands of the South Pacific.

And the vast blue sky of New Mexico.

And the deep tropical jungle of Papua New Guinea.

I hate coconut oil.

I will never eat a bug.

I love languages, and speak several.

I am intrigued by psychology.

I can read crazy fast, and frequently read a book a day.

I detest sit-ups.

I am a Missionary Kid.

I am Different from everyone else on earth, just like everyone else on earth.

I am Special.

I

Am

Me.

#identity #feelings