On one hand, I do like this feeling of being special. I find it particularly amusing when a local tries to compartmentalize me by my appearance only to find out that he chose the wrong box when he sees me being uncharacteristically outgoing. The angst in their faces is evident. They are unable to comprehend my kind.
I have always been suspicious of culture trainings. I am quite convinced that culture can’t be taught but only tasted and understood through individual experiences. There wasn’t much cultural training besides an overdose of watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S before flying to America. But coming to Germany, I was privy to some insider tips that were generic enough to be true. During that conversation, I was labeled as a third culture kid. That after eight years, I had diluted my Indian-ness and allowed enough of American-ness to permeate through to create a special culture of the third kind. I admit that I have been always a sucker for catchy idioms and phrases. Travelling salesman anyone?
Eventually, like an artist’s palette, Germany’s colors will mix my already mixed mutt like colors. The result of this will be brushed across my canvass in due time. It might not be pretty but the complexity would be difficult to debate. In fact, it is quite possible that the resulting colors will allow me to blend in with the gorgeous vineyards and mountain top castles at them autobahn speeds.
However, at the end of this color melee, I also know there isn’t any shower to step into. No cleansing bath exists that will strip me off these colors. I know now that this is a one way thoroughfare through the painting booth. No isolation of original identity can occur. But rather, I would need to lovingly accept the hybridized identities without ever forgetting what lies beneath them all.
That behind all those splatters, there lays a simple sketch of a boy that only wants to chase cars with four wheels and a heart.
Seamus Heaney?
"Within new limits now, arrange the world
And square the circle: four walls and a ring."