Growing Up as a Tck

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Growing up a Third Culture Kid
A Sociological Approach

Who am I?Even though I had reason enough to ask myself this question during my adolescence years, I only recall reflecting and identifying personal characteristic personality traits intensely in the recent years.I am about three neighborhoods away from where I used to live 17 years ago.It is the fourth month now, that I would have had the opportunity to pass by the house I used to live in with my parents, my sister, my dog, Swami, Prema and their three children of which I only remember Sangitas name. I have not even come close enough to the neighborhood to see the flower shop next to the big sign where it was written "West End".The first days after my arrival in Delhi I was struggling with sleepless nights yet fully enjoying the extreme heatwave of India´s July month. In many nostalgic moments I had longed for such high temperatures and the sound of buzzing mosquitos keeping me awake.Moments, in which I could almost feel waterfloods streaming through my chapals, tickeling my toes as monsoon rains were reflected in the Delhi-ites´ smiles of relief from the suffocating heat drained in pollution.Now I was here, once again to experience all in realia, what had just been a long lost memory from a time lived in a different life it seems.Thus my new environment, as inviting as it seemed for all senses, was not exactly absorbed as raw meat would be devoured by a starving lion. Rather, they opened only in a snails motion, bathing in unbelief as illusions needed time to manifest. Also I needed time to level out my high frequency pounding emotions as cultural familiarities hit me at every angle of the road.I knew I would need time to arrive. Time to be someone new and strong in a world once so mine and where I was now to be foreign.Who I was then and who I am now are worlds apart. If only one would be given some little hints in those early years on the course of the later life, one could maybe have had more sense of direction. I would have maybe been more in charge, more responsible, more aware, more conscious and more docile and more affectionate towards my friends whom I were to lose eventually. Due to oceans of separation from my former identity defining me as a 14 year old girl leading a well established teenage life in a community I called home and family crises then to follow up, the second half of my adolescence was scarred with losing rather than finding and thus defining oneself. The house I called home for the past four years had closed its´ doors for good.I remember the last night at the hotel. All close friends came by to drop us at the airport. A moment lost to ignorance. If I had known the importance of loss, of farewell, of a new beginning, of bondage and finally of home, maybe I would have been more alert and more attentive the months and years before and those to follow which I drowned in unconsciousness fearing to awaken to the full realization of the biggest and final loss I would ever experience in my life.Such was that of a home. A home is defined by..., as....:In my case, it included all those attributes and characteristics of the community I roamed in extending the radius of identity while feeling attached to them.This was me as a teenager. I identified with all of this.I remember feeling special moving from Delhi to London. It was exciting not knowing what was to come and at the same time I kept my cool by holding on to all I knew and had lived in those years I became that someone with a well formed teenage identity which was reflected in my familiar surrounding.My sister and I reminded each other of who we were, what we were going through and how we changed. Until this day, we remind each other of who we are as no one else would ever be able to see nor really understand, as we moved a back to Germany a year afterwards and moved again a year after that year from south Germany to West Germany, where I eventually found roots. These roots are defined...
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