The clock reads 5:30 a.m. The first glimmers of dawn stretch across the dim horizon. The outside world is sleeping. Other than the occasional croak of frogs in the neighbor’s rice field, it is still and quiet. But despite this early morning hour, my home buzzes with excitement. A week of travel looms. The familiar sound of suitcases, zipped and rolled to the front door, fuels excitement. My family of seven delves into this comforting pre-travel routine. My four sisters and I, all Third Culture Kids, delight in our last-minute preparations. We pack the car, clear the fridge, and silently tiptoe to the car.
The term ‘Third Culture Kid’ refers to children who are raised outside of their passport country for a significant number of their developmental years. I became a TCK when my family moved from the United States to Hiroshima, Japan eight years ago.
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