Emma! Goodness, it’s been a long time since I wrote to you.
You’re now almost 2 years old.
You attend nursery school 3 mornings a week. You love it!
Your favorite song is The Wheels on the Bus, and you especially love doing all the actions.
I’m counting down the weeks until we board a flight to South Africa. I can’t explain the feelings I get as I anticipate being there. I wonder if you’ll ever know what it is to feel such an aggressive attachment to a piece of land. I wonder if you will ever know what it is to feel that your very identity is based on a life lived across a 50km radius.
I also wonder if it makes me sad that you may not identify as I do, or if it makes me happy that your attachments will instead be built on experiences and interactions.
Your first flight was at 3 months old. The first pangs of anxiety started flaring as I packed our bags. Should I throw in the special pink blanket that you sometimes rest your cheek on at tummy time? What about your bunny mobile?
Could I just flat pack your entire bed?!
Is there a smell or a sound that you’ll subconsciously long for, when in 12 hours time your whole world seems brand new?
The guilt and concern peaks again when we get ready to leave SA and return home. Is your heart quietly breaking?
Your little soul being emotionally scarred at being flown away from these faces and arms that you’ve learnt to trust while we’ve visited?
The reasonable and sensible side of me is soothed by rational thoughts. You will enjoy the fresh air and mountains that I was raised with. You will thrive and delight in the attention and company of relatives. You are being afforded a chance to build bonds with people who are of you.
I realize that motherhood is fraught with concern because it matters.
We care that our loved ones feel safe and confident and happy. And so because you matter, I have really looked at this situation and tried to figure out why I am so torn. How can a place that made me and that runs through my veins seem like a gamble?
And then it dawned on me. You are of me. But you are not me.
I will land in Cape Town with a list of places I want to see.
I will wake up in the morning and expect the salty smell in the air when the wind is blowing just so. I will estimate the time by the shade of purple staring at me off the face of the mountain.
There will be comfort in the familiar.
You, no doubt will mirror the confidence I model…
But I acknowledge that you will effectively be in foreign territory.
I recognize that you’ll be just 2 years old, and it’s safe to say that the whole world is new to anyone who has only two fingers worth of living under their belt. But, I am learning to respect and accept that as long as we reside anywhere but the land that I was raised in, you will always view it through the eyes of a much-loved visitor.
My homeland is your right.
I hope you love it as your heartland. I just don’t want you to feel that I have pressured you to love what I love or to like what I like. Especially not when I cannot possibly comprehend your experience.
I’ve been reading about the concept of The Third Culture.
You are considered a Third Culture Kid.
Someone who is raised outside of their parent’s culture for a large portion of their formative years. Some research speaks of the resilience that this kind of upbringing establishes. Others speak of instability. Some articles lament how TCK’s connect to experiences rather than places. Still more debate whether it breeds freedom rather than rootlessness.
Raised in Cape Town you are acutely aware of how small your world is.
When you’re out networking or socializing it is entirely normal to introduce yourself to a peer with a shake of the hand, while you offer your name. Then, standard practice, you participate in a series of questions and answers.
Which school did you go to?
Where did you grow up?
Where do you work?
Any one of those is usually enough to pull out old John or Suzie’s name from the hat as a common connection.
Anyone around my age from SA was watching the same TV on a Saturday morning.
Sing the first line of a school yard skipping song and every single one us can join in the chorus.
Our families went to the same kinds of markets and we all enjoyed the same birthday song, sung over a sparkler, with an upside-down ice cream cone made to look like a clown called Chico.
I’ve spent a lot of time worrying for you.
I fear that missing out on these shared experiences will leave a hole in you.
I read an article that speaks of the difficulty that expat children have amongst natural and permanent residents. How hard it is once they go back “home”.
When other children speak of their experiences it is accepted as familiar.
When expat children do the same it can be seen as showing off.
I have taken comfort in the studies that talk of the TCK being able to find a sense of belonging amongst children like themselves. I will continue to be bolstered by reading these sorts of reports; and I will read the darker content to prepare myself to support you and where you come from!
I have faith in the belief that raising confident children lies in offering them consistent love. I trust that your attachment to me will be so secure that you will grow to stand tall in any room. On any continent. I pray that with plenty love and kindness, we will raise you for the world.
So, in just over a month I will be packing our bags again.
It will be another long visit to Cape Town.
When we’re there you will get a brand new cousin.
You will play with your second cousins in the sunshine and dip your toes into the sea I know so well.
You will miss your bed and your daddy until he flies in to join on holiday.
You’ll have Christmas with Granny’s and Granddad’s and aunties and uncles.
Then, just when your skin starts to glow under that healthy African sky...
As you get accustomed to the smell of the beach whispering at your window...
As soon as you get into the swing of customarily waving at the animals on the mountain when we drive past…
I will pack up your belongings and double check your two passports.
I will look behind doors and under beds and clear out any trace of our time in my home.
And I will put you to bed with a prayer over your head. A prayer that you will always forgive me for giving you just enough time to love but never enough time to settle.
The world belongs to you sweet girl.
Home is everywhere and nowhere… And you are welcome to it all!
All of my love, in all of the places.
Mommy Xx
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