It was 2:30pm on a steamy Singapore winter’s day. The bell to return to class at some international school or another had rung, but no one was in any hurry to get back to class. It was the last day of school before the winter holidays, and the hallways smelled of excitement. One more period, everyone thought, and then we’re free.
Eventually, the students trickled into their classes. The frigid air conditioning in a certain Teacher’s classroom was welcomed after the sweaty heat outside.
“Okay,” the Teacher began once most of the students had finally taken a seat, “I know you’re all probably way too excited to get much work done today, so I figured we could spend this lesson doing some creative writing.”
There was a mumble of relief among the clammy students.
“Since everyone will be going back home for the winter holidays, I thought I’d give you all an opportunity to write me a story about your home.”
A small Chinese girl raised her hand, “what if you aren’t going home?”
Before the Teacher could reply, a large Swedish boy chimed in, “what do you mean by home?”
“Yeah,” said a girl who was so unique looking, it was difficult to say where she was from. “What if you have several homes?”
“Or none at all?” A boy in the back added.
The Teacher looked at the boy disbelievingly, “you must have a home.”
“No, I don’t believe I do,” he said stubbornly.
“Me neither,” A few other students whispered.
“Your home is where you come from,” the Teacher explained.
“Define ‘come from,’” an Indian boy called.
“Well, I mean the country where your parents are from.”
“What if your parents are from like five different places each?” A unique looking girl asked.
“Yeah. Or what if they left those places when they were really young, and you’ve never even been to them,” a redheaded Irish girl challenged.
“Now, listen,” the Teacher commanded exasperatedly, “I know it’s the last period before the winter break, but you aren’t going to get out of doing the assignment!”
“We’re not trying to get out of it,” the Chinese girl explained, “we just don’t know how.”
“It’s a very simple assignment!” The Teacher almost yelled, starting to get irritated. “Just write me a story about the place you call home.”
“But it’s not simple for us,” the Indian boy argued. “Some of us have never even been to the place our passports say we come from.”
“Some of us have like three passports,” said a darker skinned boy with unusually light eyes.
“Some of us have moved to a different ‘home’ every year since we were born,” said the Swedish boy.
“But there must be some place you feel most connected to,” the Teacher insisted.
“Nope,” said an African girl. “I get extremely stressed out whenever a form asks me to identify a ‘permanent address.’”
“Me too!” Yelled the Chinese girl, and several other students called out signs of agreement.
“Enough!” The Teacher called in exasperation, “Just… write me a story about the place where you feel the most at home.”
“Why does it have to be a place?” Asked an Iraqi boy. “Maybe it’s wherever our families happen to be.”
“Well, then write the story on where your family is right now.”
“That’s going to be very boring,” said an American boy, “since all of our families live here in Singapore.”
“Or what if you don’t have a family?” Asked an Australian girl.
“What did I do to deserve such a stressful last period?” The Teacher asked desperately.
“Well,” Said the unique looking girl, “your first mistake was to give us a shallow definition of ‘home’. How can you expect kids like us, who have been moving around since birth, if not before birth, through our parents, to have a physical place that we call home? Even if we do have a specific country that we claim to be tied to, most of us just say we are from that country when we are here in order to keep things simple, and then when we are there we say we are from here… but we don’t truly feel like either place is our home.”
“I like the idea that our home is wherever our family is,” a Mexican boy said.
“Or maybe home is wherever we feel like there are people like… us.” Suggested a Korean girl.
“So then in that case,” a Turkish boy said thoughtfully, “this school would probably be my home. It’s the only place where there are other people like me… people who know what it’s like not to have a home.”
There was a low murmur of assent.
“That’s depressing though,” an English girl said, “I mean I love you all, but I don’t want to write some cheesy story about how my school is my home.”
There was a much louder murmur of agreement.
“Maybe it’s not the school,” said the unique looking girl. “Maybe it’s each other. Maybe we are each other’s homes.”
“Or maybe we actually don’t have any homes at all,” insisted the Swedish boy.
“That sounds a little sad,” said the Indian boy, “maybe we could look at it a different way. Maybe we’re from everywhere.”
“No where… and everywhere,” the Chinese girl said thoughtfully.
“This is getting ridiculous!” The Teacher yelled over the students, “Just write me a story about your first pet, ok?”
There was a slight pause, then the American boy asked, “what if you’ve never had a pet?”
WORKS CITED
Gabrielle Aplin. “Gabrielle Aplin-Home.” Online video clip. Youtube. Youtube, 9th June, 2013. 30th Jan, 2014.
“26 Decisions That Are Incredibly Difficult For Third Culture Kids.” Buzzfeed. N.d. Web. 30th Jan 2014.