How moving abroad alone has reshaped my identity

As a third culture kid growing up between worlds, this is a story about finding and building my own narrative

Up until three years ago, before I made the decision to move to the US by myself, my identify had always been defined by how I grew up moving around with my family. Every introduction I’ve made about myself, whether to a new class, in my college applications or at job interviews, it usually started with, “I grew up between Taiwan and other countries, my family moved every 3-6 years …”

That simply answered almost every question about me — why I spoke and wrote both English and Chinese fluently but still had “a slight accent” to the native ear, why my mannerism was western yet Taiwanese, why I didn’t know every celebrity people thought of as house-hold names or had few long-term childhood friends.

I remember at my first house warming party in San Francisco, people asked where I had moved from? I said “Taiwan” and then there was the pause I was all too familiar with — “But why is your English so good?” Sometimes I felt defensive of my people, why can’t someone born and raised in Taiwan speak fluent English too? But I would still obediently give my life story, usually the executive summary version and hope for the best.

Then at some point, I got tired of telling the same story over and over again and realized I wasn’t obligated to answer even if it’s just the executive summary. And over time, I met more people who had similarly confusing stories and I for one felt relieved, for another realize I wasn’t so special anymore and maybe this shouldn’t be my only identity.

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For a while, I didn’t think much about my identity, I just did what I enjoyed and spent time with people that made me happy. It wasn’t until yesterday during a leadership class, “identity” was brought up and examined through the lens of race, ethnicity, gender, age, and language.

The facilitator asked us to reflect if we’ve ever been commented on our language or tone? If we’ve met generalization about us as individuals because of aspects of our identity? And more importantly, if we’ve taken ownership of our identity — taken pride in specific aspects of our identity, celebrated our differences and articulated what makes “you uniquely you.”

My mom had always encouraged me to write about being a “third culture kid” but I’ve resisted for years, I thought I was over-it long time ago.

But during the leadership class, I had this feeling of something bubbling up in my chest, that heavy feeling of suppressed emotions in my throat and unwelcome tears forming in my eyes. And even as I write now, those feelings have reemerged again.

The facilitators’ questions brought back memories — I’ve never pitted myself because I believe my childhood enriched my experiences and has shaped my adaptability but also never thought of it as easy.

I thought about all the times I felt embarrassed by my parents’ English and impatiently corrected them at every opportunity. How I’d listen carefully to the way my classmates spoke, the phrases they used and rehearsed conversations in my head. How I all too often nodded to words I did not understand and hope it went unnoticed so we could continue the conversation without interruption. Then how I had secretly taken westernized as a compliment and wished no one would ask me where my parents were from or worse where I was from.

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When I studied college in Taiwan, I found friends that shared similar experiences and for the first time I felt like I found my people. We all spoke more than two languages, our conversations were mixed with different tones and references. And we made fun of each other for mispronouncing Chinese words that looked all too alike. Even tho we were the minority in school, it still felt nice to belong.

But when I started working in Taipei, I was once again “the one from abroad” (國外回來的). Sometimes, it worked in my favor. I landed internships and later jobs because of my English fluency. Yet other times, I found myself as the de facto translator and English teacher for my co-workers despite my degree in business and expertise in other subjects.

Then when I started my job in New York I found out most of my co-workers were from or had lived somewhere else. Almost everyone spoke more than two languages, some had moved from Delhi to study their Masters and stayed to work, others have relocated within the company from Mexico City and even Tokyo. Some moved straight from Singapore like myself from Taiwan, without prior work experiences in the US.

People understood what it was like to be away from family for most of the year and almost everyone went home during the Christmas holidays for a month. For the first time, I wasn’t the odd one out, if anything, the norm. No one asked me to translate or explain my culture. I could focus on what I was hired to do and not worry about anything else.

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With this new found liberty (and unlimited PTO), I began to travel extensively which sparked my interest in architecture, then spent two summers living in Paris by myself and even cycled South of France. And as I began documenting my stories on Substack, I noticed I have been building my own narrative for the last few years without knowing.

My original motive to move abroad was simply to see the world and see what I could make of myself. But consequently, it also gave me the opportunity to reshape my identity — not defined by the circumstances I was born into and grew up in — but by the decisions I’ve made as an adult.

I’m still a third culture kid, I still grew up between worlds. But I’ve also moved to San Francisco and New York without really knowing anyone.

I can take you on a bike tour in San Francisco and show you where the best climbing gyms are.

I can teach you how to jaywalk in New York without getting hit by a e-bike or how to advocate for yourself in corporate America.

I can tell you all about my favorites places in Paris and how to order coffee in French.

And if you visit Taipei, I can show you the stinkiest stinky tofu (臭豆腐) night market stand and how to eat xiao long bao (小籠包) properly at Din Tai Fung (鼎泰豐).

And if you really wanted to know, I’ll tell you where I’m from. I’m not afraid of that conversation anymore.

I’m from Taiwan because that’s the only place I’d call home but I’ve lived in many different places and will continue to make home of where ever I go.