3rd Culture

I thought I would begin my first substack post explaining an impact of a concept - Third Culture Kid - which often raises eyebrows in disbelief. Wikipedia defines this term as: people who were raised in a culture other than their parents' or the culture of their country of nationality, and also live in a different environment during a significant part of their child development years.

While in theory the life of a third culture kid sounds exciting or exotic, it usually bears annoying, life-defining qualms. Friendships (those with rock-hard bonds) being one of them. Another - the question ‘where is home for you?’ making me pause for way too long. Then offering an unconvincing (to me) response that leaves me more confused each time. I have a memoir’s worth (WIP) of anecdotes, tales, resulting struggles, most of whose origins stem from, and share a close bond with, this entity. Yes it makes for an interesting story, but like I said to a mate a few months ago, because of the various complications that come with it, I’d rather just proclaim that I was from, say, The Cotswolds, sporting a family history with only a few unruffled feathers, dating back to B.C. eras with a penchant for Earl Grey tea. Uncomplicated. Onward.

So, who am I (and, no, not in the sense where Freud would have to be dug up to work on me full time…).

Simply put: A Persian (now Iran, so the country doesn’t even bloody exist any longer) born and complexly bred in the U.A.E., identifying as a kiwi (aka New Zealander for those inclined to ring animal rescue). One who has managed to terrorise religious parents by refusing to be ostracised by religion, and suffers a debilitating identity crisis in various ways. It is almost as complex as it sounds but I am making the most out of learning who I want to be and coming into my own - a fairly new concept in the modern world itself. Oh and if the Earl Grey ref wasn’t obvious, I have now lived in England for over eight years. Where is home, indeed.

One grain of several on the shore of my identity crises, as a possible link to my own experience of the third culture phenomenon, is never having identified with my birth name. Most people with an indigenous link who are presented to life with idiosyncratic denominations hold their titles with pride and I respect that. I suspect that, unlike me, most of these people also share a close bond with their culture, homeland and traditional values and therefore have a strong desire to uphold these with fearless loyalty in a world which inadvertently encourages widely-accepted names for the sake of ease.

There’s a lot to unpack there on a personal level; something I want to give breathing space and actually make it an enjoyable read one day.

As for my name? My Persian name (I might keep that a mystery for now, but if you know, you know) became Dillie thanks to a Year 1 teacher who found the pronunciation a mouthful. I don’t blame her; it also served as a bit of a relief as I aged into secondary school years where ease was paralleled with fitting in. But I also wonder if I might have embraced it more if she had made the effort to. Impressionable kids and all that. ‘Dillie’ stuck till August 2022, over twenty years later, when I decided that I needed to respond to a nagging in the back of my head which had gained strength ever since I embarked on a steadfast self-development journey after a crushing break-up in 2019.

The memory of ‘Dillie’s’ origins stay with me: As an educator myself now, I am observant of the emotion associated with being attached to a cultural name. The anxiety when a teacher first encounters it is painfully palpable in a classroom. I make it my mission to joyously celebrate these names, telling children just how beautiful their name is - and I always feel genuine about it. The beaming smiles and visible relief is rewarding for me, and, I hope, empowering for them.

That is not to say that I probably needed empowerment myself, but I am aware that so many do.

Della was a name coined by an aunt I adored. It always resonated with me (may have had something to do with my adoration for her, but I’m uncertain).

And it feels like I am beginning to finally come home within myself with this change.

Thank you for reading!