My Life as a Third Culture Kid
Megh Bindra
MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES—I feel like a lot of people take their homes for granted.
The feeling of a greater belonging, knowing that you truly exist in your community, a kinship with the people around you, being truly from a place. Visiting your grandparents on the weekends and the gut feeling of knowing every twist and turn of your hometown like the back of your hand.
Can’t relate.
Most people would tell you they have a home. Me? I have homes. Yep, that’s right, plural.
My story tends to confuse a lot of people. The truth is, when someone pegs the classic, “Where are you from?” question, the answer is longer than a couple of sentences. At this point, I’ve almost memorized a speil that plays like a loop in my head:
My name is Megh Bindra. I was born into a family with a Punjabi Canadian dad, and my mom -- well that’s where it gets more complicated. My nani (mom’s mom) and nanu’s (mom’s dad) ancestors stretch back to the frontier of Pakistan on the Afghan border, a place now known as one of the most dangerous areas on earth. My nanu comes from Lahore, Pakistan, my dadi (dad’s mom) hails from Rawalpindi, in Pakistan, and my dadu (dad’s dad) from Peshawar, also on the Afghan border in Pakistan. However, they were all forced to flee into India during the ‘Partition’ in 1947. It’s funny in a way, because just as I feel I have lost many of my homes, they did too, but in the worst way imaginable. My dadi and dadu stayed in India, where my dad grew up, while my Nanu chose to venture to Michigan to attend college, later starting a family in the Bay Area, where my mom grew up. She grew up in a time of assimilation, as an all-American teenager. I was born in San Francisco, my only permanent home, and have since then moved to Kenya, New York, and now, The Philippines.
Since then, I have regarded homes as less of a physical thing and more of a mental one, a state of mind in which you feel truly comforted. I guess I’m grateful for all of this at the end of the day. It’s kind of a bittersweet feeling.
San Francisco city, however, is the only permanent place that I’ve felt at home in. I feel like the city is where I belong. No matter how chaotic it gets, I find a sense of calm wherever I go. It’s the only place I know like the back of my hand, the only sense of permanence in a life full of changes.
Since I’ve moved to The Philippines, I’ve attended an International school. It’s safe to say I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. It’s crazy how many people you can meet under one roof that are from all corners of the Earth. My best friend, for example, is from Bhutan, a country of which I literally had no idea existed before I came here. Now, after being here for almost 6 years, I feel as though I am a melting pot of all of my friends' cultures.
It suffices to say that my school here and a normal American one are binary opposites. Everything from the way people talk, to the overall culture of the school, threw me through a loop when I first started in 5th grade. For starters, most people I know have drivers that bring them to and from school, which is definitely something that took me a while to get accustomed to. The school itself is more strict and everyone’s pretty bent on academics, also something I had never experienced before. But despite all of these differences, my overall time here has been life-changing. Filipino culture and the people here are one of the coolest I’ve met in my life. It feels like I’ve been adopted the culture of my host country, and I’ve never been prouder.
It’s been a trip, honestly. I’ve come from being so scared of the question, “where are you from?” To embracing it. I’m proud to carry the stories of my ancestors and my friends on my back. I’m happy to be a mish-mash of cultures and traditions.
I’ve never been more excited to share my experiences than ever before, and for that, I’m glad to not have a home. I find comfort in knowing that anywhere could be home for me and that I have friendly faces waiting for me on all corners of the Earth.