Being
HAPA and a Third Culture Kid
Preface:
I
remember boarding the airplane like it was yesterday. The flight attendant at
the boarding door greeted me with a colgate smile and squeezed my cheeks. My
mom scurried me along the aisle through business class, first class and into
the fairly roomy economy cabin. As we settled into our seats, another flight
attendant handed me a kid’s bag full of goodies. Rummaging through the bag, I
found one of two of my favorite items ─ a pencil and a large drawing notepad.
The Journey:
Although
I was born in Canada, I ended up moving to Singapore at age three after my
parents “took a break” from each other. Despite having a fairly good memory, I
have been unable to remember my first three years as a child that was spent in
Canada. No memories of Stanley Park, french fries, marshmallows or popsicles.
As a result, many of my childhood memories consist of events that occurred
while living abroad.
After fourteen hours on an airplane, I
landed halfway across the world in an unfamiliar place. Slung over my mom’s
shoulder, a wave of heat swept over me as I closed my eyes sleepily. Not the
kind of weather we have in Vancouver, I had thought. As we walked through the
airport luggage in tow, I smelled something that appeared to be rice. Not just
normal rice though. I tapped my mom asking her to name the aroma. She said,
“It’s chicken rice Ah Yun (my nickname). You will have it many times here in Singapore.”
I was born to a half German Dad and a
Singaporean mom. From what was told to me, both my parents had an arranged
marriage through a series of photographs exchanged between both sets of my
grandparents. To my dismay, after dating for two months, my parents were
married and had me within a year.
After
landing on Asian turf, I began my three year journey in Singapore which spanned
from age three to five. During my first year overseas, it was often that tears
brimmed in my eyes during dinner time. The unfamiliar faces, I thought. Who are
these people sitting with me anyways? Mom said something about this elderly
couple being my grandparents, but they were forcing me to eat lettuce wraps
filled with ground pork. I hated pork back then and I still do. My mom says
that the twenty three year old lady with the painted toe nails was her sister
which makes her my auntie. She was forcing me to drink the entire tetra pack of
Vitasoy (soymilk in Asia) but I insisted that I was full. Taking a bite of my
second tomato, which was the only food that comforted me, I left the dinner
table and made my way to the sofa where tears spilled over my cheeks.
In reflection, my sadness and anguish
during my time overseas was mainly attributed to the culture shock that
resulted from living a foreign climate, being exposed to different foods,
meeting new relatives and being enrolled within the local school system. At a
time when most children would love to go out and explore, I would start to
panic and cry when my Grandma announced that it was time to leave the house. Simply
put, the heat was just exhausting and painful. At age four, I was enrolled into
what they call “reception class” within the local school system. As a result,
my first experiences with school included being whacked with a ruler when I was
unable to form my “8’s” properly. I flunked math according to my first report
card but received A’s in everything else.
I never
did get use to the street food in Singapore while I was a toddler, but
developed a taste and appreciation for it in my early twenties when I returned
to visit my grandparents. Now, I miss chicken rice and noodles with chili so
much that each time I think of it, I just want to teleport myself back to
the heat entrenched island again.
As a result of living overseas, I
adopted some Singaporean culture and brought that over with me once I moved
back to Canada at age six. In a way, because of my hapa background and having
lived in another country, I belong to a group of multicultural people ─ cross
cultural kids. I am hapa not only in my ethnicity, but my likes and dislikes as
well. I like preserved black egg in my congee and fish rounds on a stick but
not bacon with sausages. I prefer my husband to be Caucasian rather than Asian.
While attending school overseas, I had the opportunity to interact with kids
from not just Singapore but all over the world. I was exposed to the languages
of English, Spanish, Vietnamese and Mandarin. In reflection, food wise, I was
also introduced to non-native Singaporean foods through my childhood
classmates. Roti, paneer, sushi and biryani rice, all from my peer’s
lunchboxes. So when someone asks me, “What are you?”, I say, I’m a hapa or a
third culture kid. Someone who has been exposed to a variety of cultures
through foods, everyday life, schooling, languages and most of all, valuing the
“importance of now”. Because I have lived in both Hong Kong and Singapore as a
child, I believe that life presents rare opportunities and such occurrences
will disappear once it was time to move back “home”. In reflection, this
thought process affected me as a child as I always wanted to “do it now”
whenever activities arose. For example, during lunar New Year while we were
living in Hong Kong, my mom and I walked past a lantern making session for
kids. I remember saying to my mom, “We have to do this. They may not have this
in Canada. Come on!”
In a
recent work trip overseas, I met a colleague from Toronto who asked me the oh
so frequent question of, “What are you?” I laughed and responded, “I’m hapa and
from East Vancouver. You?” Lianna happily responded that she was a hapa too and
told all our colleagues who surrounded the bar that, “everyone in East
Vancouver is like that (hapa)”.
The Influences of
Being Hapa and TCK
One of
the most important aspects to me of being a counsellor and teacher involves
helping students find their authentic voices and true talents. Being a third
culture kid has allowed me to relate better with my students. I ask them about
their overseas and travel experiences and encourage them to share their stories
with friends, myself and others. Last year, through a project called “What’s
Your Story?” I asked the student population to contribute their writings and
drawings through various categories such as “friends”, “favorite food”, “hobbies”
and “family” to a wall display. The response was so overwhelming that I ended
up creating a book out of the project and dedicated it to the school library.
So what was my inspiration to create such a project? The idea was born out of my
curiosity about how to foster a stronger connection within the school
community. Some questions that inspired me to make this project a reality
included, “Who were my students?” “Who were these students that us teachers
were teaching?” “What made these students become who they are today?” In
reflection, it was mostly about providing the student population with an
opportunity to write from their heart. A chance for them to express themselves
in their authentic voice without the constraints of strict teacher guidance.
