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The third culture kid

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  • Published 20250204
  • ISBN: 978-1-923213-04-3
  • Extent: 196 pp
  • Paperback, ebook. PDF

THE VERY FIRST homecoming I ever had, I fell into myself. What an odd thing it was. Homecomings usually have fanfare and expectation. Mine was a quiet slipping in and a bare whisper. I was aged four, on my fourth house and second continent in my short life thus far.

I remember that I was looking into the mirror and brushing my hair, and suddenly realised with a start that I was Ahona. This feels self-evident and something I wouldn’t think to question now – my name folded so closely into my identity and being; but this realisation at the age of four – this person, this strange name, this odd human-made label ‘Ahona’, it was me! This was my future, to be this person. I was me. I was separate from other people, and I had my own flicker of life, my own history and my own unfolding new story.

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Almost twenty years ago, before I left my parents’ house – my home, my country, my continent – to adventure into a new world, I did the maths. If I visited my parents every week for the rest of their lives, I might be able to spend another year with them.

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FictionWhen I wake up from being a dishwasher, curled on the floor of my apartment, it’s like I have woken from the perfect slumber. I don’t think I have felt like this since the womb. Imagine being able to temporarily kill yourself. The world, the body, weighs heavy. Being a dishwasher is the closest I have ever felt to bliss. Before this, the closest I got to bliss, true bliss, was getting high with my dad and eating a cream corn and cheddar toastie at the Murchison Tea Rooms.

Painting behind bars

In ConversationEvery time I grab a toothbrush, it makes me smile that [this all began] at Manus. I mean, this technique comes from suffering. This is not from university. I am forbidden from studying or getting a qualification here, but sometimes we can learn from suffering. I am managing to heal my trauma [with] painting. Whenever I feel sad, I paint. Whenever I feel happy, I paint. It’s like a treasure, how can I explain it? It’s invention, it’s something that hasn’t happened before. Everyone uses a toothbrush, but when I paint with a toothbrush I feel it helps me understand that my work, the marks I make, are very unique. It brings the story back. I don’t want people to forget about the story because I don’t want to escape from who I was, who I am. I would like to share the truth that this happened to me.

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