It’s already October? I can barely believe it, I hardly feel like someone who has been through half a term of university, let alone someone that has already written some midterms! As we progressed in our ASTU class, we moved on to one of the most famous Canadian authors of our generation; Michael Ondaatje. “Running in the Family”, the title of the book we read, is a memoire recounting the stories of Ondaatje’s wild family and his search for his father through fragmented memory and identity. It is wonderfully written and I thoroughly enjoyed the read. As I read, the theme of identity struck a particular chord with me. Michael writes of his struggles as a second generation immigrant to Canada. His family, hailing from Sri Lanka, or as it is referred to in the book ‘Ceylon’, moved to England when he was a small boy, only to relocate again to the Toronto area where Michael attended University. While Ondaatje is Sri Lankan born, he spent the majority of his life elsewhere. This is what sparks his desire to write and visit Ceylon, to be a tourist and explore where he came from. Naturally, this creates a feeling that I can personally identify with quite well; a sense of being an outsider in your own home. As a child, I rarely stayed in the same area for more than 3 to 4 years at a time. My father’s work caused my family to relocate to places all over the world. While I was born in Montreal, I spent less than 3 of my childhood years there, instead moving to places such as Singapore, Korea, Nashville(Southern United States and on two separate occasions), and finally Vancouver.

Many would say I am extremely lucky to have had a nomadic lifestyle, able to explore all different kinds of cultures and environments. I without a doubt agree, I believe I am extremely blessed to have been able to explore like I did at such a young age. However, reading “Running in the Family” sparked a thought that I hadn’t fully considered until now. Much like Michael, I emigrated from my home country at a young age. I did not grow up in a quiet neighbourhood surrounded by lifelong friends and neighbours. I didn’t make the transition from elementary to high school with the same friend groups, nor did I become engrained in a community as an essential and long lasting member. My passport says I am Canadian, My parents are fully Canadian, yet I do not feel Canadian. It is difficult to put into words what it does feel like to me. Do I deceive others, and even myself, by having Canadian pride? Am I pseudo-Canadian? Do I even hold Canadian morals and values? Frankly, at this point in my life I can not truly find an answer.

But maybe I am looking at this all wrong. Perhaps identity does not come from ancestral roots and nationalistic ties. While I may lack in the identity that comes from a strong patriarchal connection to my country, my travels around the world have offered me a chance to build my very own identity. We are a product of our environment, as many say, and to a large degree I agree with the statement. My identity comes not from a single place, such as a country like Canada, but is instead a mosaic of influences from places and cultures that vary greatly. I am, subconsciously, a culmination of events and experiences from my times abroad, and much like the many spices of a curry come together to make a finished dish, these experiences have come together to create… well, me.