A Journey Through Grief: Understanding Transition as a TCK

my heart has become a silent neighborhood

where only emptiness and your name dwell

nobody goes there; nobody gets out

because in a town where the only

thing you can breathe

are memories

nothing lives; nothing dies

-noor unnahar

This poem almost perfectly summarises my experience of transition and grief as a TCK. Trying to explain it to people who will never understand, and perhaps even don't care to, is exhausting. Where are the words to explain how moving countries is like moving worlds? Or how you can speak and read and write a country's language perfectly, yet feel completely culturally illiterate?

Our tendency upon moving to a mono-cultural community- especially in our passport country- is to shelter, to self-preserve, to put our heads down and ride the wave until we're once again surrounded by people who understand what it means to come from everywhere and nowhere. 

We grieve in the universal stages, but we set up camp in denial. 

And, with curated playlists all about being lonely & misunderstood playing on repeat, we give ourselves permission to stop growing. We stage tiny, deliberate rebellions in the clothes we wear, the language we count or pray in, the suitcases that sit atop our closets and the wall calendars with days aggressively crossed off; counted down. We roll our eyes at foreign takes on our native foods, we continue to make use of every convenient international streaming website and burned DVD copy (don't lie, we've all been there), we post reminiscent photos on social media and schedule a Skype call a day for weeks on end. We dig in our heels and refuse to be changed by such a stationary culture. We can't understand it; we don't want to. 

But, as Noor warns, when we only live on memories, our hearts become ghost towns. The consequence of freezing them in time is that, sure, nothing dies-- but nothing lives, either. And, sooner or later, we will have to pack up our tents, move out of denial, and accept that the past is, for better or worse, behind us. 

Then- and only then- can we let ourselves learn something new. Sure, if you're smart about it, some things never have to change, nor should they. We can stand by our high standards for international food (Lord knows someone has to), we can recite our parent's old phone number in another language, and we can dance more creatively than just jumping around, arms raised. 

But we can also add another place to our roster of "homes". We can build deep, meaningful friendships with people who have only ever been abroad on beach vacations, or have a bedroom wall that has marked their height since they were born. We can eat new things and wear new things and learn the cultural language. If we want, we can even settle down with somebody who has a story less than half as complex as our own, and still find deep fulfillment and joy. 

But, first, we must move through- not into- grief, and accept that joy can be found in the world's "normal". Yes, we were literally born into a tension between cultures and countries, but it doesn't have to rule us.