Hey, you. You, clutching your passport in sweaty palms; you with a stomach in knots and a forced grin. You with the conflicted definition of “home.” You with the countless friends in countless countries. You with the awful sinking sensation in your heart.
College is hard. But it’s not as miserable as you might think.
You’ve moved before, perhaps half a dozen times, and this time is no different. Certainly, your new circumstances introduce novel challenges. Yet you’re more than prepared. You’ve uprooted before; you’ve adjusted to new surroundings before; you’ve made new friends before. You’ve done this frequently and with excellence. You’ve honed these skills to such a precision even professional businesspeople are envious.
Your eyes and mind are open to the unusual, excited for the “new.” Life is an adventure, and boy, have you enjoyed it. You’ll encounter a lot of “new” in your new ‘home,’ some of which is absurdly ordinary to your peers. This contrast is awkward and palpable, but only to you.
“Fitting in” is important, I won’t lie to you. Be yourself, first, but don’t suppress the urge to find who you are in this context. It’s a shame so many articles perpetuate the notion of “only being yourself.” Expatriates understand that that “self” is comprised of myriad versions. One version is not more authentic than another, merely more applicable to that context. I hope and pray you find the version of yourself you wish to propagate.
If the version you settle on begins to see a little too distinct from that of your first 20 years, be encouraged. This identity isn’t set in stone. College is a place of growth and maturation, and you’re free to adjust as you wish.
At the end of my freshman year, I was hired to serve on campus as a Community Leader (like a Resident Assistant, for you non-Baylor folks). When prompted to select a “hometown” that would feature prominently on my official name tag I paused. I felt the weight of this decision. Picturing my 30-some residents moving into the residence hall that fall, I was apprehensive about standing out. I wanted to relate to my residents, and for them to reciprocate. I settled on Houston, TX as my “hometown,” fully aware I hadn’t visited the city in almost a decade.
By the end of the first semester of my sophomore year, however, I was tired of fitting into the standard from-Texas-Baylor-student mold. The auto-erasure of my story and history bothered me greatly. My boss, the lovely Hall Director of Collins Hall, graciously passed along my request for a new nametag that proclaimed my true home: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Now I proudly wear my tag which tells of my story, and I’m looking forward to the conversations it may instigate.
