Cereal Overload

In 1992 my husband and I arrived in the Philippines with our three children, all under the age of 5. That reminds me, sometime I need to write about flying. But today I write about food surprises.

We lived very simply in the Philippines, especially when we were out in the village. Breakfasts were especially simple. During language school and when on the Wycliffe centre we had access to bread so we could make toast. Even then, though, there were few boxed cereals--corn flakes and maybe rice krispies. But out in the village there was nothing and I learned how to make very yummy granola in a cast iron frying pan. It became our staple.

Before going overseas, and in our first year overseas, we were required to read a certain number of book on culture, cross-cultural living and the different stages to expect when adjusting to life in a different culture, especially a third-world culture. It was good reading and helpful. However, when we returned back to Canada, we were given little to read regarding the reverse i.e. culture shock in the return.

I remember going grocery shopping for the first time upon return from the Philippines. There were changes, of course--new foods, new brand names. Nothing surprising. THEN I turned my cart into the cereal aisle. I remember freezing in my tracks. Cereal. Cereal. Cereal. A whole aisle--two rows--all devoted to cereal. I was overcome. It was a shock to my simple-lifestyle system. I cannot explain my emotions in that moment--fear, claustrophobia, sadness, shame, disdain. Just negative emotions. I just remember I was too overwhelmed to even look at it all. I quickly picked two cereals I was familiar with and got out of there.

The next time I went shopping, I prepared myself for the emotional onslaught and spent more time perusing the cereal aisle. I was okay. I could breathe. I learned to adjust to this small outcome of living in an affluent society. But even now, there are times I enter the cereal aisle and am reminded of that day and a tinge of emotion ripples at the bottom of my gut. It lingers still.

The Smell of Shrimp Paste

 Today I write because I'm homesick--not homesick for the little town I grew up in but homesick for Thailand. I've started an assignment for an English course I'm taking called, "Creative Non-Fiction." My writing prompt is to write a story about being ambushed by a smell. Think about it. This happens to all of us--you enter a room filled with a certain smell and it takes you back to a place in time. Well, the smell I am writing about is typical of a TCA because it is the smell of shrimp paste wafting into our house from the neighbour's house almost every morning like clockwork. The smell assaulted me with memories that occurred in that house for 7 years of our lives as a family--especially morning memories when the smell was pungent in the air. Mostly mornings of trying to get the kids ready for school--mornings of loud arguments with my daughter who hated mornings, mornings of hunting for school uniforms, whether skirts or pants or even sports teams, mornings of trying to get my son to eat a little something before heading out the door. 

 Admittedly, these memories make me sad because I was often so impatient, so unkind--a reminder that I was and sometimes still tend to be a control freak. I've learned much about myself in that area in the last 7 years and am thankful that God is gentle and kind and patient with me and with my relationship with my children. I was so far from being the perfect mother and yet God protected these relationships and caused them to grow and flourish in Him so that despite my past failures, I have beautiful connections with my kids. I feel so blessed.

There were also happy memories mixed with the sad ones. MANY happy memories. Our dog Rosie would almost always make us smile in the morning as she attempted to attack our cat, who wanted nothing to do with the dog. I think Rosie was a morning dog and our cat, Kitty, was a night cat. Two opposites clashing in the morning like my daughter and me. But also memories of eating together, celebrating birthdays and holidays together, playing games together. Lots of love and good times.

And so I am homesick, all from writing about the smell of shrimp paste. Nothing triggers the TCA syndrome like food. Sometime I'll have to write more about that. But not today. And now that I've written here, I feel joy instead of sadness and am thankful for the gift of memory. God is good.

In September I attended my first Inscribe Writer's Conference. I enjoyed it for a number of reasons but mostly because it spurred me on to get back to my writing and blogging. I've been writing more, mostly poetry which I am really enjoying. However, it took me until yesterday to truly figure out what to do with my blog. You see I was suddenly inundated with information on what makes a good blog, and I was almost embarrassed by my blog. So, I attempted to update it but still wasn't happy with it--there wasn't any unique perspective to it. Then last night it hit me. Well, the Holy Spirit gave me the idea while I was reading Eternity in Their Hearts by Don Richardson. I had read the book before I went overseas. Now it had a totally different meaning because I connected with his stories, his examples. Heck--I've LIVED with some of those examples. Then the idea hit me--why couldn't I write about that? About, how I see the world, especially the world I grew up in, after living away from it for 20 years. How do I see the world around me differently? In some instances, my change of viewpoint is drastic. In most instances, it's very subtle. Most of the time I don't even notice it unless I make a conscious effort to think about it.

I realized that, like my children, I also "grew up (not physically but mentally, emotionally and especially spiritually)" in a cross-cultural setting. So why is there no term for someone like me? Thus, I coined a term: TCA--Third Culture Adult. That's me. I like the term. I like who I am. I like how I see the world because what I've learned, I've learned through living a life of faith in my Father God, the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. How exciting and beautiful is that!

Here is my disclaimer: In no way am I unique in being a TCA. I know there are many of you out there. I am just simply writing about it from my perspective.