I Know Who I Am… Don’t I?

We have all had to face this question at one point or another in our lives: Who am I? Why is this happening to me? We search for a point of reference in a glossary of childhood heroes - such as Dan Aykroyd, Charles Bronson or BarryManilow - some antagonist on the opposite spectrum or a family member we admire to give birth to our personal identity. We are all working toward the same goal: to become the best of the best and this (or these) idols conform to our image of success – even though when we are young, “success” tends to rhyme with “cool”. This form of self-perception is key to our world and without it, we are not much more than a hamster on a wheel. Each of these power figures possess their own set of behavioural patterns based on their ethno-cultural origin, nationality, religion and challenges. These factors help in deciding why we admire and feel a connection with them. Not many Japanese identify with mariachis. We are one of the few living species on this green earth desperately yearning for explanations. I don’t think we ever truly find answers we are willing to accept. The closest ones you can get to your comfort zone are good enough for most of us.

Dan Aykroyd: A Living Legend

The importance of the teen years is not to be taken lightly in forging this personal identity. It’s like a foundation to an iconic building. The CN Tower would not be the same should its foundations be on a swamp. Some youth become “rebels without a cause” and in fact, there is a driving discontent explaining their behaviour. Something is not sitting right and they can’t quite put a finger on it. I believe that nobody acts out when everything is kosher. If you crave attention, you will not rest until you get enough of it. In the words of Ace of Base: “Nobody is going to drag you up to get into the light where you belong.” The best examples of individuals feeding on attention are celebrities and socialites. They prefer to be an integral ingredient to a bad headline than not talked about at all. Whether this is all a big deal or not is all in the eye of the beholder. Some of us prefer a low-key existence. I did not become a thug, vandal or bully – although I was huge on heavy metal fashion and music - during my high school days. I chose to be selective, making a closely-knit group of buddies yet you can easily notice the opposite scenario among kids seeking to befriend every living, breathing being. The problem in the latter approach is that these popularity seekers tend to end up with more acquaintances than true friends. Real friends stay by your side through thick and thin. Maybe I am wrong – this is a frightening consideration - but time has proven that few friends make good friends. You have heard me use enough times the expression “friends are the family we can hand pick.” Luckily enough, the family I was born with worked out mighty nice as well.

In my time overseas, my parents encouraged every opportunity to beef up our Canadian-ness. Eventually, the clock was going to run out and we had to go back to home base. We needed to know more than just what our flag looked like. This is much easier nowadays with the facilitated access to Internet and cheap long distance telephone plans. Now, you can actually live in a foreign country without adapting to it as you can find live streaming of your favourite television channels back home and waste your entire day on programs like Skype. This is quite counter-productive and can lead to depression. The sooner you face reality, you can actually enjoy this new experience gifted to you. Today is your present tense. It is torturous to surrender to those triggers that remind you of back home when you cannot live there at this current moment in time. You will end up neither be from here nor there. I know what I’m talking about. The world is at our fingertips but only we hold the power to use technology to our advantage. I am convinced that my parents’ balanced approach to mold both my brother and I into Canadians was not in vain. My Dad provided us with daily news clippings containing headlines from Jean Chretien’s “Shawiningan handshake” – a former Prime Minister who briefly strangled a reporter to force him get out of his way (classic old school Canadian politics) – to the performance of the Toronto Stock Exchange and NHL hockey scores. We were hardly left in the dark – just in a more shadowy place - regarding hot topics back in the Frozen North. We were also regularly aware of groundbreaking news developments where we currently lived regardless of the fact it was a temporary living arrangement.

When I returned to Canada after having spent 12 of my 18 years of my young life in South America, there was no doubt in my mind that I was still William from the block: no matter where I go I still know where I came from. However, I did not manage to make a deep connection with my compatriots who had the privilege of growing up their entire lives under the maple leaf. That stability becomes a source of envy to TCKs. Canadians do tend to travel outside of their country but it is much different to reside abroad than go on week-long vacations to all-inclusive beach resorts. When you are on vacation, everything seems magical because you have no real obligations. Brian and I diagnosed those vacationers as carriers of the “Club Med Mentality.” Some go to Rome for a day and come back the following day, tilting their entire head back, sticking their nose out and tighten their lips as if suffering prolonged constipation and declare they know everything there is to know about Europe. Coming back to the student population I encountered, I would not say that my fellow students were snobby, ignorant or heartless because we could not connect. On the contrary, it was unavoidable that following such a lengthy sabbatical from my homeland, my personal identity was more Latino-French-Canadian: I enjoyed loud salsa parties but in a punctual and organized fashion. Any chaos could exist as long as it was contained. I was the type of Canadian that instead of breaking out in more vulgar variations of the word “darn!”, I shared my exclamations through “¡rayos!” or “zut alors!” When Canadians were wild about the Stanley Cup playoffs, I prayed for divine intervention switching the satellite feed to the Copa Libertadores or the Champions League. I found little in common with my people. As they embarked on their booze-filled Frosh Week festivities celebrating their emancipation - no more mommy or daddy limiting their rights and freedoms or alcohol intake -, I was more inclined to build meaningful relationships. In Latin America, clubbing starts as soon as you can look over the counter to order a drink in a bar - and maybe have a little bit of facial hair – so this debut into the North American college scene was more invigorating for them.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner in one aisle

To those very patriotic parents living abroad with small children, you can try everything possible to transfer your nationalist passion onto your children. It is inevitable, however, that there will be some cross-contamination – one of the perks of TCKs. You can decide whether to embrace this or reject it although I consider this a privilege. It is also unavoidable your kids will go through an identity crisis at some point - probably more once you think you are finally home and all is well. Their concept of home is now completely different from your own. Once I was back in Canada, if I would hear “suavemente, besame… yo quiero sentir tus labios besandome otra vez” (the musical version by Elvis Crespo sounds much better than the written one), I felt some comfort and an unexplainable homesickness. Not much salsa in Canada except for the red paste you consume on tortilla chips. Those once annoyingly repetitive melodies form part of a familiar repertoire, morphing the obnoxious into something heartwarming. Here, we notice again the power of the familiar against the evil tides of the unknown. It can take years to overcome an identity crisis although some never do. A simple question to most like, “Where are you from?” becomes a minefield for TCKs. The answers can be anything you can relate to like: where you were born, what predominant culture surrounded you or even a place you have never been but feel a strong affinity towards. No answer is really wrong. What we are comfortable with is usual adequate so if you were born in Zimbabwe to Australian parents, grew up in India and feel Russian in your heart of hearts… power to you my dear Russian friend. Either way, we are now citizen of the world!

How To Be A Canadian

As we returned to Chile after our Christmas - New Year vacations, we were only a few months away from our six year anniversary of having left Ottawa. As a child, the concept of time takes on  much different importance than it does when you are an adult. Canada felt like a past life. After two and a half years, to the untrained eye, my brother and I had become Chilean. The adaptation process was so successful, we shared our hobbies, our passion for cuisine, our expressions and our socio-political concerns were the same as the locals. We were no longer the Canadian strangers arriving from Venezuela. My parents were proud of the overall result and how comfortable we had become with every aspect of our lives in transit. They did however share a concern that would eventually affect us, which was our inevitable departure in the not too distant future. The fear was interrupting once more our stability and sense of belonging and whether the new transition entailed negative repercussions on their children. Some diplomatic children cannot manage dramatic changes positively once they reach a certain age and value their stability, an important operational parameter in a child's programming. Being Canadian was, in fact, a foreign concept for my brother and I as we possessed an artificial understanding of our country.

Maman, Brian and I at Salto Laja, VII Region, Chile.

Canada played a major role in terms of my identity and was a synonym for home. I was “The Canadian” in school. Usually home is a place one returns after school, work or hanging out with friends. I had not lived at home in fact for almost six years, enough to have forgotten what life in suburban Ottawa was about. Every year included a brief visit to the family in Ontario during the holiday season. Toronto had generally served as our point of entry, which included a short stay at my Uncle John and Aunt Amy's house in Etobicoke. This was a special time for me to reconnect with them as I began to associate Canada with them. The magic of the white Christmas further contributed to a feeling of living in a dream. Canada was spending time with Uncle John and Aunt Amy in my perspective. I loved crossing the large automatic doors leading out of customs and immigration anxious to see my uncle waiting to greet us. My grandparents lived in Kingston, about 3 hours northeast of Toronto and the drive up to see them seemed eternal but had a great payoff. Generally, Christmas Day was where we all gathered at my Aunt Margaret and Uncle Rick's home in Grimsby, approximately one hour south of Toronto. There Brian and I had our annual opportunity to spend time with our cousins, Emily, Stef and Katie. They were younger but the age gap never was an obstacle for playing together and being a family for a quick moment. We always welcomed the season together with perhaps the biggest turkeys available on the market. I still remember that moist, fresh taste of an oven cooked turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy. I always loved that unique flavour, but being all together for the festive season made the meal taste even better.

The more frequent exposure to my country came through events organized for the Canadian community, where children were invited and occasional appearances at the Embassy downtown on Av. Bernardo O’Higgins and Ahumada. When Brian and I had time off school, my Maman would bring us along to visit Dad at the office, something we always looked forward to. Great places to eat downtown Santiago. Every time we went to his workplace, our presence was acknowledged and we were received in a courteous environment. My father's colleagues noticed we were in the premises and came around to have a quick chat with Brian and I, asking how school was going. They were lovely people and our family away from home. My father's boss, the Ambassador Michael Mace, was an extremely gracious man and he and his wife developed a strong relationship with my parents during the posting. They included us in many of their get-togethers and enjoyed having us around as we reminded them of their children when they were younger. Their son and daughter were residing in Canada, probably attending university at the time. Outside of that world, I met Canadian aid workers involved in development projects, business executives from Scotiabank engaged in acquisitions with Banco Sud Americano and mining professionals all hailing from the Great White North. I was proud to see the role my fellow nationals were undertaking in Chile, especially through development aid projects to improve the quality of life for underprivileged members of society. My Maman insisted the exposure to these events helped develop excellent social skills and early awareness of our country in an international setting. I admit, this upbringing is an excellent advantage as these skills cannot be mastered in a classroom where topics are restricted to theoretical discussions. Brian and I received a Social Science Degree and an MBA through early first hand experience. 

One quiet summer weekend shortly after our Polynesian adventure, Brian and I were called in to the family room while we were playing in the backyard. Dad was sitting on the couch in front of the television and my first reaction was wondering what movie we were going to watch together. My parents decided it was important to enrich our knowledge of Canada, as our school curriculum did not include the basics. They figured that upon our eventual return to Ottawa, this would facilitate yet again another transition. I am not sure what my brother thought, but I could not imagine myself leaving Santiago. Dad brought out a large book he had stashed away among his LP records and began to explain the content. I remember the book contained many images and seemed similar to an encyclopedia but with more illustrations. This was particularly useful to me, especially as I had undergone several years of language immersion yet I had never written or read English at this pivotal point in my life. There were numerous depictions of key moments in Canadian history. Events included the discovery of Newfoundland by the Vikings, early European explorers, French and English settlers, major battles such as the war of 1812 and one of my favourites, the flags of each province and their respective capital. After a few of these weekends, we would be sufficiently versed to pass a citizenship exam with flying colours, if the case were to apply. It was deeply interesting and motivating for me to learn more about my country..

Visiting a Canadian aid development project in Chiloé, Chile

It can be a difficult task for parents when living abroad temporarily to create a stable long-term environment for their children. Kids tend to become self-involved and dependant on the familiar. Kids being kids. Change usually is accompanied by a sense of overwhelming fear due to the unknown road ahead. As they experience new events on a daily basis, a complete overhaul of life can be scary and in some cases traumatic. Some expatriate children I met down the road of life become bitter, and even myself, had gone on strike when I first moved to Ottawa from Brasilia. It is a challenge to adapt to a new setting especially when you live here and now without considering tomorrow could be a far different story. Even the past, Venezuela, seemed far away. I enjoyed variety, encountering different cultures, languages, traditions, customs, and I responded to these rich differences with outmost respect. I also valued my sense of belonging. My parents managed to do an outstanding job ensuring we adapted through their love and support. I knew I was Canadian but I had developed a strong Chilean identity, leading me to think Chile was my permanent home. If life was good, why did we need to change that? The idea of leaving felt absurd and could not understand it. Although Brian and I were told we would return to Ottawa eventually, there was a bittersweet feeling of seeing yet another chapter coming to a close.