Among Worlds - Code-switching - June 2021

JUNE 2021

AMONG WORLDS

Vol. 21 | No. 2

Code-switching

Editor’s Letter Code-switching

Contents

I used the word “y’all” the other day (Southern US English for “you all”).

Losing My Accent, Finding Connections Across Cultures Melynda Joy Schauer

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Confessions of a Codeswitching Couple Rueben and Golda Amlalo

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Clocktowers Andrew Ian Mobley

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Spotlight Interview: Gregory Coles

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A Vital Task Jemma

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The Art of Code-switching Megan Norton

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Switching Perspectives Alexis Chen Johnson

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Book Review—Displaced: A Memoir by Esther Wiebe Reviewed by Cheryl Barkman Skupa

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Being Ryo and りょう: From Code-switching to Code-meshing Ryo Adachi

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June 2021 • Vol. 21 • No. 2 Cover photo by Zane Lee (Unsplash) Editor: Rachel Hicks Copy Editor: Pat Adams Graphic Designer: Kelly Pickering Digital Publishing: Bret Taylor

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My insides did a little jump. “Y’all”? I’m not a “y’all” kind of person. Why did it slip out? My family had temporarily relocated halfway across the US, to Fayetteville, Arkansas, to get our daughter some unique medical treatment she needs. I was conversing with another patient’s family in the waiting room and “y’all” just moseyed on out of my mouth.

Apparently, my TCK brain just did what it’s used to doing in a new cultural situation—try to help me blend in. Now, where we live in Baltimore, Maryland, plenty of people use the term “y’all,” but most of them are African American, and my brain probably realized early on that I wasn’t going to blend in there just by throwing “y’all” around.

But I found myself in this clinic in Fayetteville, surrounded entirely by white faces, many of whom spoke with a Southern accent. Down here, everyone is “y’all,” so my brain just jumped on board.

Growing up in mostly Asian countries, I often heard the term “Yankee” refer to anyone from the US. It wasn’t until I was an adult living in China and found myself friends with quite a few US Southerners that I realized how much of a Yankee I really am—Yankee as in an American from the north of the country.

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The accents and rhythms of speech my friends used revealed a whole different culture than my what-Ithought-was-generic-Caucasian-American one. I came

to understand that among my Southern US friends, I stood out as a Yankee. I was not necessarily blending in—especially when I began asking why monograms, sweet tea, huge baby bows, and Greek university sororities were so important.

It was a strange but somewhat fascinating phenomenon to realize that as an American who hadn’t lived in the US much at all, I still fit into a specific subcategory of American—I could be easily pegged as a real Yankee by my accent. When “y’all” slipped out of my mouth the other day, it made me wonder why I did it.

Language and dialect are often one of the first means by which we identify, or place, others we meet. TCKs grow up with a heightened intuition for how to read a new acquaintance or cultural situation, and we often begin making connections by adapting our speech. One fascinating article from National Public Radio in the US delves into multiple reasons people code-switch. The author, Matt Thompson, groups those reasons this way:

1. Our “lizard brains” take over (we switch languages unaware)

2. We want to fit in 3. We want to get something 4. We want to say something in secret

We hope that you find this issue’s articles helpful in your own lives. We also hope you’ll enjoy our Spotlight feature on TCK author, speaker, and worship leader Gregory Coles!

As always, we would love to hear from you, our TCK tribe! Connect with us on Instagram (amongworlds) and share your comments or questions about this issue. Please consider submitting your own stories, artwork, photography, poetry, or book/film reviews for future issues (see submission guidelines here). And finally, don’t forget to order yourself or a TCK friend a subscription to Among Worlds magazine!

All the best,

Rachel

5. It helps us convey a thought In this issue, we dig a little deeper into codeswitching as a means of forming or revealing identity.

Our contributors ask such questions as: Can I express my authentic self anywhere if I’m always code-switching? Is there a “shadow side” to codeswitching if it’s done for the wrong motives? Why is code-switching so exhausting?

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“I remember watching home videos…and being genuinely shocked to hear the strong Southern drawl coming out of my mouth as a child.”

Melynda Schauer - 1999 Macau: Melynda, age 11, stands in Leal Senado Square in Macau during the Chinese New Year festival in 1999.

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Losing My Accent,

Finding Connections Across Cultures

By Melynda Joy Schauer

M

y experience of becoming a third-culture kid in a missionary family and learning to code-switch are as intertwined as a kudzu vine and a pine tree; it’s hard to untangle the Asian influence from my Southern roots.

I had no idea that I spoke with a thick Southern accent until I was eleven and attended an orientation with other families who were also moving overseas as missionaries. An older boy from a northern state told me I sounded “so Southern” and asked where I was from.

“Alabama?” he asked with disdain when I answered. From his reaction I immediately realized there were people from other places who looked down on my home state and would judge me purely based on how I sounded or where I was from. No one had ever commented on my accent or made me feel uncomfortable about being from Alabama before then, probably because I’d lived in rural Alabama for my whole life.

Somewhere in the first two and a half years that my family lived in the Southeast Asian metropolis

of Macau, my Southern accent disappeared.

I attended an English-speaking school with a handful of other students, but many of them spoke fluent English as their second or third language. My first exposure to code-switching was watching my Brazilian friends speak perfect English to me, change into Portuguese with each other, then speak Cantonese to the bus driver without missing a beat.

I remember sitting in our seventeenth-floor apartment in Macau, watching our treasured home videos that we carried with us from America and being genuinely shocked to hear the strong Southern drawl coming out of my mouth as a child. I could hear the difference in my own voice; not only was I removed from the purely American version of myself by distance, but also by the very way that I spoke.

When I was thirteen, my family moved back to our small town in Alabama for a couple of years and I distinctly recall reconnecting with a friend whom I’d last seen waving goodbye from the church hallway. She’d said somewhat forlornly, “See you in

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two years,” on my last Sunday at church. When we met again as incoming eighth graders, she looked stunned when I opened my mouth.

as teenage slang tends to morph. If I had to define it, I’d say most of us spoke English with very neutral American accents (think broadcast news reporter), with a hint of a California coastal sound, and vocabulary from multiple cultures mixed in. Even to this day, sometimes I get odd looks for the way I describe air conditioning as the “air-con,” or ask someone to “close the lights.”

“You talk funny,” she said.

I still remember the first time I understood a sentence in Mandarin during my first semester.

One day after school, a new acquaintance told me in English she was so hungry, then repeated the phrase in Mandarin to a Chinese friend: “Wo hen e,” patting her stomach. I’d just learned that phrase in class, and it clicked. Slowly, over time, I picked up more Mandarin, learning how to order my favorite teas, barter to get cheaper clothes, and find my way home in a taxi.

“You talk funny,” she said. It wasn’t said in a mean or derogatory way, but I realized my lack of a During school breaks, I’d return to my family Southern accent set me apart from my classmates in Macau, where Cantonese was the common and also from the girl I had been before I moved. language. So we’d code-switch into using Cantonese in the markets and at the bus stop. As Though I blended in on the outside as a white a family, we mainly spoke English to each other, American girl with dark blonde hair and blue but because my parents and brothers and I were eyes, on the inside I felt so different. How all studying either Cantonese or Mandarin or would I ever fit into the world of American both, we’d sometimes switch into a “Chinglish” middle school? I’d spent the last few years blend to tell stories or make jokes. on the other side of the planet, changing drastically, while my classmates had stayed in our same small hometown.

I learned other forms of code-switching when I entered an international boarding school in Taiwan in the tenth grade after my family moved back overseas. At fifteen, I had to learn entirely new communication and survival strategies: how to navigate the Taiwanese airport and bus system in Mandarin, a language I’d never spoken before, simply to get to my school; the spoken and unspoken rules of dorm life; and new lingo from classmates who spoke English in class and Chinese in conversation.

My international high school had its own dialect that changed slightly with each year, 5

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Melynda Schauer 2005 Macau: Melynda, age 18, in Lim Loc Garden in Macau in November 2005.

During visits back to the States in the summertime, my younger brothers and I realized that our shared (but not fluent) Mandarin allowed us a codelanguage of our own to make observations about American culture. In a way, our unique codeswitching bonded us; it was a realm that very few completely understood the way that we did.

I’d never heard the term code-switching until I was probably in my early twenties, and I realized it described something I’d been doing for over a decade but had never defined.

Code-switching goes beyond using different languages and dialects, however; it can include the complex nonverbal communication we use when connecting with other cultures as well.

When I began college in Alabama, I had to learn just how much information to share when making new friends again. Since I didn’t understand a lot of the cultural references my peers made (I’d missed about a decade of American TV and music), I’d listen and wait for something that we had in common. When I did meet friends who had traveled or lived overseas, there was immediately a deeper connection, and our conversation moved into a more serious realm faster.

“Code-switching as a TCK

taught me to look for a common point of connection.”

Some may consider code-switching a way to enforce boundaries and establish “tribes” who speak and think the same way, but a deft codeswitcher can also use this communication skill to bridge gaps and overcome differences. Many thirdculture kids quickly realize it’s humbling to admit that you don’t fully fit in to one world or the other, but this can also open the door to knowing people who are very different from yourself.

My evolving stages of code-switching encouraged curiosity and a willingness to learn from people different from me, and it’s a skill that has yielded rich fruit in friendships on both sides of the planet.

Melynda Joy Schauer is an adult TCK who grew up in Macau, Taiwan, and Alabama. She now lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with her husband and two sons. She keeps her international side alive by meeting international students in her city and finding the best bubble tea everywhere she goes! https://linktr.ee/ Melynda_joy

My code-switching skills came in handy not only for surviving college in America, but also in helping my journalism career. Code-switching as a TCK taught me to look for a common point of connection, something we instinctively do to connect with others and build trust in relationships. This skill is extremely helpful when conducting interviews and making phone calls for a story, as well as building relationships with co-workers.

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“ They say when you start dreaming in a language other than your own, it means you are on your way to mastering that language.”

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Confessions of a Code-switching Couple

By Rueben and Golda Amlalo

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y name is Rueben Amlalo. I LOVE soccer. I love to play it, watch it, I even love to read about all things soccer. My rise to “fame and fortune” is due to the fact that I am married to a speech language pathologist who told me all about code-switching when we met about ten years ago.

Hi, I’m Golda! I’m proudly Ghanaian. I love spicy food—the kind that requires water during the meal and that leaves its mark on its way out of your body. I even joke that Ghanaians who don’t like spicy foods aren’t true Ghanaians. I’m fluent in two languages, English and Ga. My younger sister endured severe autism and passed away in February 2020. She is the reason I became a speech language pathologist. I am, therefore, very familiar with code-switching as I have had to work with people of varying cultures, some with disabilities and some who were trying to learn English—mainstream American English.

You might wonder why you are reading this yet again in a different font—trust us, it’s intentional.

We are code-switching in this article about code-switching. Welcome to our world as firstgeneration immigrants. We both migrated to Maryland, USA, from Ghana with our parents

and siblings. We knew we would experience new things: new foods, new schools, new neighbourhoods, new friends and new churches.

We didn’t realize we would get so intertwined with code-switching.

As a preacher in a multi-ethnic American church context I code-switch all the time when I am preaching. Sometimes it’s deliberate and often it’s subconscious. I mainly code-switch between mainstream American English and African American English (AAE)—never my native Ghanaian dialect. Come to think of it, I never code-switch to address the Africans in my congregation even though I know they are there and outside the pulpit we speak in an African dialect. I do try to preserve my “Ghanaian-ness” in the pulpit by frequently wearing traditional Ghanaian attire when I preach.

I believe I code-switch because that’s how my brain works—theologically (or “preachily”) at least. They say when you start dreaming in a language other than your own, it means you are on your way to mastering that language. In the same way, I process theological information and preach both in mainstream American English and AAE because those are the only theologians and

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preachers I listen to. And those are the preachers I sound like. I don’t think it’s so much about the people I am speaking to—whether I aim to make them feel more comfortable or not—as it is how I think about what I am talking about. I think even if you put me in a context of all Ghanaians I won’t preach in a Ghanaian dialect. I am not familiar with doing it. The times when I preached in majority African American churches I still spoke mainstream American English with some sprinkling of AAE.

career—I needed to learn to speak like Americans.

I needed to spell like Americans, writing words like “favorite” instead of “favourite” and stressing and unstressing syllables within words in the manner that Americans do. If not, people may think I don’t know the opposite of “verdical.” I code-switch with my accent the minute I step out of my home. I codeswitch with my vocabulary when I’m speaking with Americans, using words like “clothespin” instead of “peg,” and I code-switch depending on whether I’m working with African Americans or white Americans.

I don’t find code-switching difficult because I don’t have to translate it across continents, as it were. The ideas and concepts I am talking about in my preaching are ideas and concepts I only think about in mainstream American English and AAE. I don’t process it or “have” to preach it in a Ghanaian context. So in that sense it is not difficult.

To be honest, I find myself code-switching every time I’m not with fellow Africans. I learned very early—a few days after I moved to the US from Ghana at the age of fifteen—that I was out of place. I went for an interview to determine my school placement when I arrived in Baltimore. The white lady who interviewed me asked me, “What is the opposite of vertical?” I didn’t understand her accent. I heard her ask me what the opposite of “verdical” was. I had never heard the word “verdical” before. I asked her to repeat herself several times…and then I realized, based on the fact that Americans speak with a different accent, that she meant “ver-ti-cal.” I responded, “horizon-tal,” speaking with the British English dialect I was accustomed to. She responded, “Yes, horizo-nal,” dropping the “t.”

There and then, I realized that if I wanted to succeed in America—in school, college, my 9

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I don’t think code-switching either augments or erases my identity. The reality is that since I became a Christian, most, if not all, of the people who influenced me speak a certain way, so that in a way became my new “birth” experience— which came with its own language. There are so many other things like food, clothing, and entertainment about which I don’t have to codeswitch and I think that helps me not worry so much about losing my identity.

“When I am with my kin, the

pressure is off.”

In the Bible, 1 Corinthians 9:19 says, “Though I am free and belong to no one, I have made myself a slave to everyone to win as many as possible.” I don’t feel burdened by the expectations of Americans for me to sound a certain way. I have come to understand that in order to enjoy the things that are American, I have to sound the part. I have to sound like African Americans when I am in their company, and sound like

white Americans when they are the majority around me—even when there are other cultures represented. When I am with my kin, the pressure is off. I speak with the accent that my people know, understand, and cherish. I can say things like, “This kind God oo,” “Everything na double double oo,” and “See your life” without having to explain myself. I know who I am and love my heritage. However, I have learned that in the same way that doctors have to wear white coats, fire fighters have to wear their gear, and police officers have their uniforms, I, too, have to know when to put on certain linguistic attire.

Ponder over how easy or difficult it was to figure out who was speaking in the varying paragraphs.

Do it enough times and you’ll become a pro at code-switching like us if you aren’t already!

Rueben and Golda Amlalo are both originally from Ghana, but moved to the US as teenagers. They met at a Bible study session in college and have been married since May 2014. They have been blessed with their two-year-old son, Benedict, and nine-month-old daughter, Hazel. They enjoy cooking together, watching movies, and enjoying quality time with their kids.

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Andrew Ian Mobley has spent the better part of his life in Asia, where he lived in China, Indonesia, Taiwan, and Laos. He is a particularly confused TCK, as he is not only the child of parents from different nationalities but the transient breed of TCK, never having lived in a single place more than three years. He also doesn’t know how he feels about the term “TCK,” as it reads like “tick.” http://advocate.jbu.edu/author/mobleyai/ https://www.youtube.com/channel/ UCl4mHP4CjNhM5mM3ot5TpTQ/videos

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Clocktowers

By Andrew Ian Mobley

Time reaches down here from the evening sky And my neon reflecting eyes beg why oh why Why must my mortal hands fail to grasp Why must my heart’s song be barely uttered gasp Eternity offers me the ocean And I am afraid of vast water Afraid to drown and be servant to blue motion Afraid to dissolve In either emptiness or infinity I am surrounded by mountains of peril or beauty How is it that this dust bears grace given duty?

I’ve seen your eyes before Lifetimes ago another countenance they wore Now, washed up on this foreign home’s shore After lifetimes of drift and sway I still don’t know what my heart is looking for Looking into those eyes I still don’t know what to say I cast my spirit above between a thousand clocktowers Rising and piercing clouds wishing they could weep the Flood Oh God the gift, the curse of timeless hours The tick tock the drip drops of a Lamb’s blood This dust yearns for its solemn dissolution This fading ghost yearns for its final absolution Oh Life, where is your sting?

Oh World, who unravels my heart of string I am not your plaything The cords that bind are the very threads between the pages Of my volume of centuries and a thousand dusty stages Tonight under a star neon boundlessness I dare cry For and against the never-ending goodbye The silent tick tock of a thousand clocktowers rising high around me Oh God, the dusts of time.

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SPOTLIGHT INTERVIEW:

T

GREGO COLES

CK speaker, worship leader, and author of two books, Gregory Coles was the featured guest on Interaction’s TCK Live show in October 2020. (Treat yourself to watching that episode if you haven’t already.) Whether talking about his childhood in Indonesia, his choice to remain single, or his insights about belonging, Greg is engaging, funny, honest, and wise. We’re delighted to introduce you to Greg in this issue’s Spotlight!

Greg spent fifteen childhood years as a TCK in Indonesia, on the island of Java. He moved back to the United States for college, where he studied communication, literature, and music, and recently finished a PhD in English. He now works as an author, speaker, and worship leader in central Pennsylvania. His first book, Single, Gay, Christian, tells the story of his own journey through questions of faith and sexual identity.

His second book, released in February 2021, draws heavily from his experience as a third culture kid and is called No Longer Strangers: Finding Belonging in a World of Alienation.

Gregory Coles 13

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Spotlight Interview Tell us a bit about your experience as a TCK. My family moved from upstate New York to Bandung, Indonesia, when I was three years old. We had already spent the better part of my toddler years driving around the contiguous United States in a van, sleeping on the living room floors of my parents’ old college friends.

I don’t think I felt particularly uprooted by the overseas move to Indonesia, then, because my toddler feet had never stood still long enough to put down roots in the first place.

I lived in Bandung for the next fifteen years, and in the same house for fourteen of those years—more than enough time for the roots to grow deep. Once every three years, my family returned to the US for a summer and left behind one of my older siblings to start college. In 2008, when I turned eighteen, it was my turn to be left behind in the US, which is where I’ve lived ever since.

When did you discover that you were a TCK? When did you apply that label to yourself?

“TCK” is one of those labels that snuck into my psyche pretty early on. By the time I remember having any self-awareness of my hybrid, definitely-not-American-but-not-quiteIndonesian identity, I remember relying on (and being comforted by) the existence of a category like “TCK.” It gave me a sense that I wasn’t alone. A bunch of my parents’ coworkers’ kids and I decided to embrace our TCK weirdness by wearing tee shirts that declared “W.A.C.K.O.: We Are Cool Kids Overseas.”

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When I first moved back to the United States for college, the Indonesian influences that felt most obvious were related to etiquette: I pointed with my thumb instead of my index finger. I never gave or received things with my left hand; even driving through toll booths, I reached my right arm all the way across my body. I refused to wear shorts in public, sweltering sweaty calves notwithstanding.

I wouldn’t be caught dead blowing my nose in view of someone else. And so on.

“ The Indonesian part of my

Eight-year-old Greg recites Hamlet’s soliloquy at a homeschool co-op event in Bandung, Indonesia, providing early evidence for both his love of language and his general nerdiness.

What aspects of Indonesian life or culture have stayed with you?

Gregory Coles 15

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cultural identity helps me embrace the value of thinking communally…as a way of honoring those around me.”

As I’ve relaxed some of these etiquette habits, I’m coming more and more to appreciate the subtler and longer-lasting impact of my Indonesian cultural formation. The Indonesian people group I lived among, the Sundanese, are known for being highly deferential and conflict-avoidant. Public politeness is among their most celebrated virtues.

These instincts are deeply ingrained within me.

Though I’ve sometimes needed to battle against my Sundanese impulses (when, for instance, a bit of healthy conflict is necessary for growth), I’m largely grateful that my upbringing taught me to highly prioritize the needs and wants of others.

Speaking in a way that avoids unnecessary offense is an art I’ve been practicing since the age of three, and it quite frequently comes in handy.

I’m also grateful for how Indonesian culture predisposed me to think outside the paradigm of Western individualism. While I do believe that it’s healthy for people to develop a sense

Spotlight Interview of individual identity and purpose distinct from their commitments to biological family or local community, Western individualism often frames self-fulfillment and self-actualization as the highest goods, missing the important ways in which communal identity and belonging can and should exceed our own self-understanding. The Indonesian part of my cultural identity helps me embrace the value of thinking communally, not as a way of giving up my own individual agency, but as a way of honoring those around me.

Have you struggled with or embraced the idea of “settling down” in one location? What does that look like for you?

When I was in high school, I once told my parents with a happy sigh, “Airports are so homey.” We were in the Jakarta airport at the time, which was not an airport that inspired gladness in the average traveler. My parents gave each other meaningful looks that said, What have we done to this child? Is the damage permanent? Do we have enough in savings to cover his future counseling fees?

Airports, for me, have become a metaphor for life as a whole. None of us is really here to stay. We’re all just passing through. We put “permanent addresses” on our driver’s licenses and tax returns, yes, but we know they’re not necessarily permanent. They might be exchanged for a smaller model, a larger model, something in a different city or state or country. Every home on Planet Earth is a temporary home. Believing this truth has helped me escape from the notion that human beings can be divided among those who “settle down” and those whose lives are transient. We’re all transient, to one degree or another; and we

all settle down, to one degree or another. It’s just a matter of where precisely we fall on the spectrum in relation to one another.

I like to say that home is where you keep your toothbrush. My toothbrush has been situated mostly in Pennsylvania for the last eight years, and I’ve savored the feeling of being settled here. But I’ve also found temporary homes in so many other places, among various dear friends old and new. As long as my toothbrush is along for the journey, I plan to find a home in every place I love and am loved by others.

Your first book—Single, Gay, Christian: A Personal Journey of Faith and Sexual Identity— explored your journey toward better understanding your sexual and faith identity. How was that journey complicated by your life as a TCK in Indonesia?

Conversations about sexual identity—especially as it overlaps with religious faith identity— tend to be strongly rooted in the language and cultural assumptions of the communities in which they take place. That is, when we’re evaluating the truth of a phrase like “I’m gay” or “I’m a Christian,” we usually weigh our own experience against the way we know those words will be understood by the people around us. This gets much trickier when we try to evaluate our experience as members of multiple communities simultaneously. What happens, for instance, when the words “I’m gay” are understood differently by a religious subcommunity than they are by the broader culture outside of that subcommunity? Or

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what happens when a religious faith marker like “Christian” or “Muslim” or “Buddhist” is interpreted differently by adherents of that faith than by non-adherents?

Growing up as a TCK gave me yet another layer of cultural and linguistic differences to weigh my experience against as I grappled with my own experience of sexual attraction and my faith commitments. In particular, the conversation about sexual identity and the prevalence of certain kinds of LGBTQ experiences was importantly different in the United States (where much of the media I consumed was produced) than in Indonesia (where most of the people I knew lived). Some actions that would have been seen as stereotypically “gay” in the US (such as affectionate physical touch between men) were much more common in Indonesia. If I evaluated my observations of Indonesia according to US cultural categories, every pair of Indonesian male friends holding hands might have seemed “gay.” Making sense of my own experience within both of these cultures, and then figuring out how to describe that experience, required some patient disentangling.

A summer hike through the wooded hills of central Pennsylvania, where Greg has lived since 2013.

Gregory Coles 17

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Can you share with us one or two experiences when you have code-switched as a way of either connecting with others or of keeping your identity hidden?

There’s a lot of debate right now in my own Christian circles about what terms are helpful or unhelpful to use when describing non-normative experiences of sexuality. If, for example, a person is exclusively attracted to the same sex, should that person describe themselves as “gay”? Would it be better to use a term like “same-sex attracted,” which doesn’t have as many cultural associations but carries a historic connection to the ex-gay movement and sexual orientation change efforts?

What about “queer”—is that an empowering term, or is it offensive? For some listeners, the terms you choose to use mark you as part of a particular camp; and if you use the wrong language, you’re probably not worth listening to.

Since I’m the author of a book called Single, Gay, Christian, both my choice to remain single and my preference for the term “gay” are clearly on display. But when I talk with people who I know might react negatively to the word “gay,” I often make a point of telling my own story in descriptive terms at first (“then I realized I was attracted to other guys…”), waiting to use the word “gay” until the people I’m talking with know me well enough to understand what I mean by the term. If they still object to my use of the word “gay” at that point, so be it; I have no misapprehension that I can (or should) try to please everyone. But if a bit of patient code-switching at first can help create room for others to be understood in the future without needing to code-switch, I count that shift as a linguistic success story.

Spotlight Interview At every stage of my life, I’ve had quite a few reasons to feel like an outsider. I used to assume that this feeling of alienation, this struggle to belong, was unique to me. Everyone else had found the secret to being understood and included, and I alone had missed that day of second grade. (Because I was homeschooled, probably.) But the more I study people and get to know them, the more I’ve come to realize that we’re all still trying to figure out how to belong.

(Or if not ALL of us, at least way more of us than I used to believe.) None of us is immune to loneliness, to misunderstanding, to the creeping suspicion that perhaps we don’t fit.

Greg holds the first print copy of his new book, No Longer Strangers, which released in February of this year.

What is the premise of your most recent book, No Longer Strangers: Finding Belonging in a World of Alienation?

“I propose that the best way to respond to our alienness isn’t by trying to make it go away, but by learning to embrace its beauty.”

In No Longer Strangers, I propose that the best way to respond to our alienness isn’t by trying to make it go away, but by learning to embrace its beauty. We belong best once we lean into the reality that we’re not made to “belong” in some archetypal Hallmark-card kind of way.

Toward this end, I tell lots of TCK-related stories from my own life. I also draw heavily from the example of Jesus, who found his place in the world not by carving out a place for himself but by opening up space for those who had been overlooked. The path into this kind of belonging lies on the other side of radical selflessness: we are best poised to receive the gift of belonging as we turn ourselves outward and give that gift to others.

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Identity and belonging are closely related concepts. Can you share what you’ve experienced or learned with regard to living out the interplay of those ideas?

Gregory Coles 19

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Spotlight Interview When I first moved back to the United States, I made a point of trying not to talk about my Indonesian upbringing. Occasionally I displayed my TCK identity openly, hanging it like a college orientation nametag around my neck. But more often than not, I kept it (along with the orientation nametag) hidden in my pocket, in an attempt to blend in with the rest of the crowd. People assumed I had always lived in the US—and most of the time, I was happy to let them assume. It seemed to me at the time that the best way to belong with other people must be to make sure that my identity matched theirs in as many ways as possible. I figured that similarity would be the key to fitting somewhere, and difference would inevitably become a source of division. I figured I needed to manipulate my own identity in order to become more identical to others.

(Fun fact: Our English words identity and identical both come from the Latin word idem, which means “the same.” In its etymological sense, identity is about “sameness,” about the components of our experience that are similar to someone else’s experience and give us common ground with them. After all, if you found a person who shared every possible identity marker with you, you and that person would be identical.)

What are you working on these days? What is next for you?

I’ve got a few possible future book projects in mind. The one I’m most excited about right now is a piece of speculative fiction loosely inspired by the Tower of Babel narrative: a thriller-style meditation on the power of language to shape the thoughts we’re capable of thinking. But I’d like to think there are still some more works of memoir left within me as well. Maybe I’ll come up with an excuse someday to write more stories about my years in Indonesia. Or maybe it’s time (once COVID eases up) to get a few more stamps in my passport and collect some new stories!

Greg curates most of his creative activities at gregorycoles.com, but you can also find him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

As it happened, my theory of belonging was all wrong. The people from whom I successfully hid my Indonesian-ness were pleasant acquaintances, but we never developed deep friendships. And the people to whom I “outed” myself as a TCK became my dearest friends, even despite the significant differences in our experiences and identities. The secret to belonging, as it turned out, was that belonging couldn’t be found by living in secret.

The people who knew me best were the ones with whom I belonged most deeply, no matter how different we turned out to be. Go figure.

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“Broadly, code-switching involves adjusting one’s style of speech, appearance, behavior, and expression in ways that will optimize the comfort of others in exchange for fair treatment, quality service, and employment opportunities.”

(Harvard Business Review) 21

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A Vital Task

By Jemma

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very day I have a task to do. It is vital that I perform it correctly, taking note of circumstances and meeting them with appropriate adjustments. If I fail to do this, I will be met with confusion at best and ridicule at worst. Sounds difficult, right? Actually, I rarely even notice that I’m doing it.

The task is code-switching, and as a third culture kid, it is a big part of my life whether I notice it or not. It ranges from small things, such as pronouncing “bag” as /bejg/ around Midwestern family members and as /bæg/ around my friends from everywhere else, to large things, such as chatting in Spanish to my Latin American friends and texting my mom in English what time I’ll be home. I do it to blend more naturally into whatever situation I’m in and to signal that I’m part of a group or to make those around me more comfortable.

Not all of the code-switching present in my life is my own. Growing up in Southeast Asia, I often noticed that my Asian friends would speak to me in Standard English and then to each other in their mother tongue, a local variety of English.

I understood the local variety, but I wasn’t from there, and thus my friends speaking it to me would not have served the same purpose of reinforcing common identity as it did when they spoke it to each other. People also code-switch

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around me to accommodate me; when I was first learning French, native speakers would use a slower, simpler version of the language to help me understand.

Everyone code-switches, even people in the most strictly monolingual and monocultural communities.

However, for people who regularly interact with multiple cultures, such as third culture kids, this behavior takes on a heightened level of importance.

Due to the highly intertwined nature of language and culture, navigating between codes is vital to navigating between cultures. The stakes of codeswitching may be high at times, but the rewards of being better understood and feeling a stronger sense of belonging among the cultures we traverse are well worth it.

Jemma is an American who was raised in Southeast Asia and who now considers herself to be a global citizen. She hopes to go into translation and interpretation to use her language skills for the greater good.

“ Due to the highly intertwined nature of language and culture, navigating between codes is vital to navigating between cultures.”

“

A TCK is an individual who, having spent a significant part of the developmental years in a culture other than the parents’ cultures, does not have full ownership of any culture.

Elements from each culture are incorporated into the life experience, but the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of similar experience.”

- David C. Pollock

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Code-switching Nomad Photo Submission

This photo of my motorcycle’s rear fender encapsulates something of the codeswitching I often engage in as an adult TCK when I’m in my passport country, the USA. The license plate is from the state of Ohio and the bumper sticker is from the Czech Republic. The bike is, significantly, a Kawasaki Vulcan “Nomad”—an ideally named bike for a traveling TCK! - John Evans June 2021

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The Art of Code-switching

By Megan Norton

I

recently found out that several actors and actresses whom I’ve admired in various international films are in some form or fashion third culture kids. In an interview with Crazy Rich Asians cast members, one actor explained his ability to take on different film roles was learned from his practicing “code-switching” in different countries growing up. He said he learned to “act” appropriately and effectively in different contexts and that has now proven a valuable skill in his acting career.

As a third culture kid myself, I can relate to his explanation. Throughout my childhood, I enjoyed taking on different roles and personalities in plays and in theater class. I enjoyed the freedom and permission to “escape” into another world, persona, and culture. And yet, quite frankly, I was learning how to codeswitch effectively from doing it subconsciously throughout my own childhood moves and in everyday real life.

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When I moved back to the US after having completed my entire formal education in seven different international schools in six different countries, I felt like I wasn’t on a stage I had either practiced or performed on previously— this was an experience in which I had to learn the art of code-switching in real life. I had to reconcile my authentic and adaptive self in my different identity roles as student, US citizen, friend, neighbor, daughter, and third culture kid. Code-switching as an art in “real life” is a skill TCKs continue to craft our entire lives with authenticity, finesse, and care.

How can the art of code-switching be helpful for TCKs? TCKs have had both exposure to and practice in building their cultural agility through our global travels and interactions with different people across cultures. We have experienced first-hand how communication can look different in various

“Constant codeswitching can be exhausting.”

cultural contexts and how meaning attached to certain messages or pictures can be different as well. In their art of code-switching, TCKs have the unique ability to be cultural translators and mediators between people in cultural contexts.

Because of this learned skill, TCKs have the ability to know what is appropriate or inappropriate in terms of behavior and speech in different contexts. From an early age we have learned to access our curiosity and practice moving into discomfort to learn about a new perspective or way of doing something. We have learned to recognize and diagnose what is appropriate in a context and adapt to it authentically ourselves. We have a heightened awareness of how to self-regulate and to establish boundaries or preferences based on what is expected in a cultural context.

Lastly, the art of code-switching is more than being culturally dexterous on a behavioral level.

It is the ability to know which intelligence to

use in a given situation (cognitive intelligence, emotional intelligence, cultural intelligence, etc.). The ability to identify how to show up in a situation authentically and appropriately stems from our having a situational and mindful awareness. It’s about being conscientious of what kind of action or non-action is needed.

How can the art of code-switching be harmful for TCKs? Constant code-switching can be exhausting.

It can be taxing not only emotionally but also mentally and physically to navigate different behaviors, languages, and even values in different cultural contexts. To avoid burnout in constantly shifting in and out of contexts, it’s important to have personal downtime and solitude. Taken to the extreme, we TCKs could lose our sense of appropriate boundaries if we are constantly shifting to accommodate others and different cultural contexts. The art of code-

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switching becomes harmful to TCKs when they live primarily in a state of resilience instead of also incorporating rest, restoration, and growth.

Another way code-switching can be taken out of context and may be harmful for TCKs is when and how we express empathy for and to others. Empathy is a tremendous affective skill to have, and when paired with the behavioral skills to speak and act appropriately in different contexts, TCKs often have the gift to encourage, affirm, hear, and appreciate in culturally desired and acceptable ways. However, if TCKs don’t distance themselves and create personal and psychological space in their empathy, they may run the risk of becoming enmeshed in the situation and not be able to distance themselves emotionally or mentally from it. This can lead to mental health issues.

Finally, when code-switching is not consciously acknowledged as a skill, it may result in TCKs not feeling authentic or having a sense of belonging. In and through our travels and cross-cultural experiences, TCKs need to be consciously and proactively aware of our core values, convictions, and beliefs. This is distinct from flex values, preferences, and opinions.

When TCKs code-switch everything from their values to worldview, they may feel inauthentic and lose their sense of personal identity.

“ When TCKs code-switch everything from their values to worldview, they may feel inauthentic and lose their sense of personal identity.”

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How can the art of code-switching be hope-full for TCKs? Not everyone has the ability to code-switch as seamlessly and as confidently as TCKs. Because TCKs typically value curiosity, openness, and diversity, we have the ability to understand, appreciate, and adapt to different ideas, cultures, and customs. TCKs who practice the art of code-switching are modeling how others can respect cultural diversity and collaborate effectively across differences.

Not only is code-switching helpful for valuing and respecting other cultures, it is also helpful for understanding different perspectives. TCKs often value inclusion, justice, and responsibility. These core values and attitudes guide us to challenge discrimination, racism, injustice, and ignorance.

Code-switching is the ability to make room for

multiple perspectives by filtering or framing them in a way that creates a safe space for unpopular answers or perspectives.

In sum, code-switching is a hope-full skill that allows TCKs to mediate in creative ways, problem solve through respect, and address issues like inequality, injustice, and environmental challenges by connecting through structures and systems.

Code-switching is not about what TCKs want to be when we grow up or in our professional, cultural, or socio-economic settings. It’s about how we want to be. Code-switching helps us to be effective and appropriate in cognitive, behavioral, and affective competencies across cultures.

And finally, it’s not a skill exclusive to TCKs. Anyone can and should learn code-switching by having a growth mindset. Code-switching is foundationally about lifelong learning through authenticity, humility, curiosity, and agility.

Megan Norton is an intercultural training consultant, facilitator, and researcher focused on supporting cross-cultural families. Growing up as a US diplomat dependent, she lived in six countries and has lived in four more as an adult TCK. Megan is a writer, speaker, podcaster, and TCK trainer/mentor. Her website is www.adultthirdculturekid.com and her Instagram handle is adult_third_culture_kid.

“Many of us subtly, reflexively change the way we express ourselves all the time. We’re hop-scotching between different cultural and linguistic spaces and different parts of our own identities — sometimes within a single interaction.”

(Gene Demby, on NPR’s blog Code Switch) 41 31

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Switching Perspectives

By Alexis Chen Johnson

“M

om, you’re doing it again,” my daughter teased. “You’re talking with an Indian accent.”

My kids noticed the code-switch before I did. For me, code-switching is something that happens instantaneously and unconsciously. As soon as our plane touched down in India, the desh of my childhood, a key turned inside of me and a door opened. Behind the door was a part of me just waiting to light up again. This part doesn’t need dusting off or warming up or a rehearsal to incarnate. She’s ready. It’s this part my kids recognized as I negotiated our taxi ride outside of Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi. Head bobbling side to side in a gentle, rocking motion, voice speaking with a sing-song quality, and wrists dancing in circular gestures, it felt natural to embody this part of who I am. Of course, I probably still sounded quite American to the Indian gentleman at the taxi stand, but that’s okay. Through code-switching, an important part of me that only makes sense in India, one of the host countries of my TCK childhood, had the chance to come alive again.

As a half Chinese-American, half EuropeanAmerican TCK raised in Bangladesh and India, I grew up code-switching between multiple cultures. It was normal for me to go from eating March 2021 June 2021

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with my hands to chopsticks to a fork and knife depending on where I was in the world and who I was with. Like many TCKs, I have several keys to several doors inside of me.

Each unlocks a different, yet essential part of who I am. Behind each door is more than a set of mannerisms. Each door opens to a distinct and multifaceted world—a vast expanse we call culture, with its blend of values, customs, languages, expressions, beliefs, traditions, unspoken expectations and more of a particular people and place. During a TCK childhood, we are imprinted by a variety of cultures and each of them takes root, sometimes at the surface and sometimes quite deep within us.

In midlife, as an adult TCK living in the United States, I signed up for a course called, “The Integrity Cleanse.” This course gave me an opportunity to do a life audit and examine where I was in and where I was out of my integrity. Part of me was nervous about what I would discover with everything (my relationships, my work, my locality) under a microscope, and part of me couldn’t wait to roll up my sleeves, dive in, and do the cleanse. I knew there were areas of my life that needed to shift, and I hoped the course would give me the insight and inspiration to make these important changes.

The course defined integrity as related to the root word integer, or being “a thing complete in itself.” The teacher of the course, Martha Beck, asserted that we each have an essential self, or true nature, that is unified, whole, and intact. She went on to say that as we grow, we face pressure from the social demands of culture that can compromise or block our integrity. The opposite of integrity, she stated, is duplicity, or betraying our true nature in order to appease culture.

Uh oh, I thought to myself. Knowing my lifelong habit of code-switching, I wondered, Have I been out of integrity my whole life, shifting from one cultural sensibility to another? I began to assume integrity meant presenting a consistent and uniform self no matter the cultural context.

I was confusing singularity for wholeness and forgetting that there can be unity in diversity.

I was also falling into a recurrent trap in my life.

Countless times, I have analyzed my life choices through the prism of the monoculture. When people grow up in fixed and rooted cultural contexts, showing up as oneself (a Kenyan, an Aussie, an Italian) also has fixed and rooted qualities. But for TCKs, people whose identity formation happens cross-culturally, codeswitching can be a way of life. I had quickly slipped into monocultural normative thinking.

Thankfully, an assistant teacher in the course

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was also a fellow adult TCK. When I reached out to her to ask about code-switching, she offered a more nuanced perspective. Given my internationally mobile childhood, she hypothesized that code-switching is actually part of my integrity. “Ask yourself,” she said.

“Am I embodying my true nature or abandoning it by code-switching?” I had to agree with her hypothesis. Most of the time, code-switching is in my integrity.

But not always.

“ There can be a shadow side to code-switching when it is used to people-please and gain approval. This is the aspect of code-switching I now watch out for.”

Integrity is fluid and dynamic, shifting with the complex landscape of life. The exact same choice can be in our integrity on one day and not on another. I came away from the course realizing that, for the most part, it is natural and healthy for me to flow with code-switching.

Code-switching helps me connect with people I care about. It is a way I show respect and acceptance of another culture. But there can be a shadow side to code-switching when it is used to people-please and gain approval. This is the aspect of code-switching I now watch out for.

Since taking the course, I have code-switched with greater awareness. What I notice is that as I move between cultures, I am not necessarily disconnecting or cutting off parts of myself.

Rather, all of me can be present even as codeswitching ignites one part and brings it to the fore. I can remain unified, whole, and intact with my other parts present, but in the background.

This realization has been comforting.

It has also been important for me to realize how often I place monocultural normative paradigms onto my cross-cultural reality. If there is a bad habit for me to work on, it’s not code-switching. It’s this: throughout my adult life, I have pushed myself in a multitude of ways to measure up to monocultural standards.

I have felt guilty for not knowing more about Chinese culture, for example. And yet, it was hard to connect with China while growing up in South Asia. I have been reluctant to claim my roots in Bangladesh because I’m not a citizen.

And yet, how can I deny the influence of the Bangladesh War of Liberation on my family’s life? I have pressured myself to “get over India” and adapt to the United States. And I have done the opposite—pressured myself to speak fluent Hindi to become more Indian. Trying to attain monocultural levels of proficiency in Bangladesh, China, India, and the United States (all four of the countries that shape who I am) would run me ragged.

Again and again, I remind myself to return to what’s in my integrity, no matter how awkward or puzzling it may seem. And, whenever I do, it feels liberating.

“ But for TCKs, people

whose identity formation happens cross-culturally, code-switching can be a way of life.”

Alexis Chen Johnson is a third-generation adult TCK following in the nomadic footsteps of her mother and grandfather. She grew up in Bangladesh and India, but now lives near Boston with her husband, three children, and little dog, Tess. Alexis is writing a memoir of her TCK story.

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Book Review Displaced: A Memoir

by Esther Wiebe

Reviewed by Cheryl Barkman Skupa

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sther Wiebe begins her memoir in the middle of the story—the last few days before she and three of her siblings escape their restrictive Mennonite colony in Bolivia.

Eleven-year-old Esther is the youngest in a family of fourteen children whose parents have died. The black-clad elders of the colony church have made their somber visit and pronounced without any trace of compassion that the four youngest children will be raised in different families. The father of the family which Esther is destined for is known to beat his children.

Together with help from older siblings and a cousin, Esther’s remaining family hastily plans to leave for Canada where many of their relatives and one of their older sisters live. On this last day, some of the children have gone to church to avoid any suspicions. Young Esther stays at home to pack and watch for any neighbors who might drop in and see their suitcases, since any unusual activity would undoubtedly be reported to the elders. Esther touches the table and the chairs; she walks around the yard absorbing all the details of home.

She explains, “This was my home, where I was born. Living on this farm in Bolivia, within this Mennonite Colony, was all I’d ever known. But in a few short hours, it would be over. Forever.

Never to come back. Our family was shattered and bruised, and the church was planning to take us children away.” (3) Esther comments on the scent of the citrus trees, the warm dirt of the road, the rough cement of the cistern, the worn table where countless meals were eaten, bread was made, quilts were pieced, and around which conversation upon conversation lasted into the night. But this day, after church and a hasty lunch, the children flatten their bags into the bottom of the horse drawn cart and slowly leave the colony. Esther describes the final sights of her home:

“I felt desperate to seal each detail into my memory and wished we were driving slower. My eyes and nose began to sting. I blinked hard; nothing could blur my vision. The story of Lot’s wife turning into a pillar of salt for looking back as the pair fled passed through my mind. What if I turn into salt? I craned my neck as long and as hard as I could. As it receded from view, our farm looked small. I could barely see the house and trees at its side. It was completely out of sight as we crossed the small bridge we’d nicknamed ‘Donkey Bridge’ and made the final turn out of the village and into ‘the world.’ The sun went down, and darkness fell as we rode the open wagon through the countryside.” (13) The excitement of their airplane flights first to Brazil, then Miami, Toronto, and finally Calgary are only temporary. When they arrive at Calgary, the feelings of abandonment return with the cold wind as they realize their older sister and her husband (who had previously immigrated) were nowhere to be seen. In a complicated mix-up, the young family grapples with a closing airport, inadequate clothing, and limited knowledge of the language and customs of this strange world.

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In one poignant scene, the group of children find a taxi driver, obviously a recent immigrant himself, who agrees in his broken English to take them to Lethbridge, the town where their sister Tina and her husband Corny live. The trip will take hours and involve a flat tire and the admission that they don’t know their sister’s phone number. After the taxi driver patiently gives them a coin and shows them how to use the telephone book, their brother-in-law finally arrives in his car. Esther comments, “Out came the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. What he remembers is the most frightened, wide eyes he’d ever seen. He smiled wide as he opened the car doors for us all to get in. I hope he thanked the taxi driver, as I never so much as glanced back at the man who had held the fragility of our lives so graciously the last few hours.” (25)

“

Much of these first chapters concern the delight of all the new experiences: the surprisingly clean, well-stocked grocery story, the fun at the swimming pool, the deliciousness of their first pizza, the unusually modern and informal church services. Life in the modern world, outside the colony, is so completely different that the young Esther is easily overwhelmed.

And she becomes homesick.

Only in chapter four does the narrative flash back to the events which led up to their flight from home. The family is beset by a series of tragedies—the untimely death of her father in a farm accident, a brother’s growing rebellion followed by beatings (discipline from the church 39

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elders), her mother’s descent into despair, and finally, the accidental explosion which leads to both her mother’s and sister’s deaths.

There is much more in the book about the struggles both before and after they leave Bolivia, since they are strangers in every place where they live. In some deep sense, however, the book reveals Esther’s struggle for faith in the midst of overwhelming circumstances and deep emotional and spiritual trauma. At one point she prays, “God, couldn’t you have maybe, just once, moved in our favor? Was this what the rest of my life would look like, surviving from one prayer to the next?” (24) These cries reach a crisis as they often do in adulthood. Esther describes the time when as an adult with children of her own she receives word that her sister Martha (who has gone back to Bolivia as a missionary) has been attacked by wild dogs and has not survived.

Esther explains, “When Martha died, I became completely honest with God for the first time. I held nothing back and told Him exactly what I thought. I had always thoroughly believed that you must never question God, revering Him with fear and trembling. Now, I figured that since He already knew all my thoughts, doubts, and fears, I may as well spit them out.” (259) There is much in this book for TCKs to identify with. Esther asks Where is a good God in the world of the displaced, in the lives of the fragile people who face dizzying changes, navigate new languages and customs, often while being judged, even abused in the name of religion? And while readers may tremble when Esther and her siblings are faced with the black-clad elders or bow with the harsh words of elderly relatives, they can also rejoice with the unexpected kindness of taxi drivers and stories of children who face trauma and still learn to thrive.

You can find Esther Wiebe’s book on Amazon and listen to her being interviewed on the Mennonite Girls in a Modern World Podcast of April 13, 2021.

“Life in the modern world, outside the colony, is so completely different.”

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Being Ryo and りょう: From Code-switching to Code-meshing

By Ryo Adachi

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“So how do you pronounce your name?”

“It’s Ryo in English, and りょう in Japanese.”

T

his is a conversation I have almost every time I meet someone new. My name, while spelled Ryo, actually reads as “Rio” in English. And it has such a totally different pronunciation in Japanese that I cannot even spell it out with the Roman alphabet. Ever since I moved to Tunisia at age three, I have had the two different pronunciations of my name, one in English and one in Japanese.

Growing up, the two different pronunciations of my name have been a symbol of the two language worlds I live in. Born in Japan, I moved to Tunisia and started attending an American school at age three. At school, I was “Ryo,” the quiet and shy student who cried often. At home, I was “りょう,” the talkative girl, living in her imagination and fantasies. On weekdays, going to school, I would not only switch to English, but I would switch into “Ryo.” On weekends, as I spent time with my family or Japanese friends who attended other schools, I would become “りょう.” The two names not only separated my two language worlds, but they also created two different personalities. And growing up, I kept developing two separate and very different personalities. Or I believed so.

I repatriated to Japan after three years in Tunisia, and my daily life got filled with Japanese. “りょう” was trying hard to navigate the expectations in Japan, speaking Japanese and trying to match her Japanese peers. With the emotional labor to fit in, I obsessed over my “Ryo” self to establish something I was different from others. “Ryo” was the reason why I didn’t fit in. I adjusted “りょう” so I could be accepted. But internally, I relied on the fact that “Ryo” was always there, so I could be unique, and I had an excuse for not fitting in.

So as I led a globally mobile childhood, codeswitching has played a huge role both in my day-to-day life, as well as in major transitions.

It helped me navigate different school systems, from an American school in Tunisia, to a public school in Japan, to an international school in Vietnam. I not only spoke different languages but switched my personality accordingly.

Linguistically, code-switching is defined as “the ability on the part of bilinguals to alternate effortlessly between their two languages” (Bullock and Toribio 1). In our everyday life, codeswitching is often referred to as the ability to switch between different codes, behaviors, ways of talking, etc., to match the situation.

From home to school, to friend groups and different countries, I would switch back and forth between Japanese and English, as well as my “Ryo” self and my “りょう” self. While I absolutely loved my life as a TCK growing up in different countries, there was always a part of me thinking, I’m never showing my full self anywhere. No matter where I was, I felt like I was having to “create” another version of myself. In an English context, I would develop my “Ryo” self to match the community. Same goes for Japanese contexts with “りょう.”

“ So who am I? Am I “Ryo”?

Or “りょう”? The question constantly came up in my mind.

I have gotten very good at code-switching and navigating different language worlds, but where can I express myself as a whole? Is that even possible?”

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These questions intensified as I started attending college in the US. For the first time, the lines between my language worlds got blurred. I met people who spoke both Japanese and English.

I was often in groups where some knew me as “Ryo” and others knew me as “りょう.” Living on campus, my “home” and “school” were no longer separated either. Before college, the different codes I was navigating were very obvious. The clear boundaries of my language worlds meant that I could maintain “Ryo” and “りょう” pretty much separately, with ease. But now, I was in spaces where some people knew both sides of me. I struggled with my new situation, getting more and more confused about who I was.

This was when I encountered the term “codemeshing” in my rhetoric class. Coined by Vershawn Ashanti Young, code-meshing is an act of blending “dialects, international languages, local idioms, that-room lingo, and the rhetorical styles of various ethnic and cultural groups in both formal and informal speech acts” (Young 67). While the definition closely aligns with the definition of code-switching, code-meshing puts emphasis on the mixing of codes, instead of seeing them as distinct things that you need to switch between. Learning the concept and seeing it in practice through his paper liberated me. My professor who introduced me to this term was open to me writing in Japanese and English at the same time. My languages were embraced as assets, and I had a platform to experiment with them. For the first time, I saw my language worlds merging in a positive way.

“For the first time, the lines between my language worlds got blurred.”

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Through this experience, I also started to come in terms with my identity. I’m not either Ryo or りょう, but I am both. Even after realizing this, I went through phases where I considered just using one of the pronunciations, so that I have a clear answer to the question, “What is your name?” But in the end, I realized that it does not matter. Some people can call me Ryo and others can call me りょう. I might even discover other pronunciations when I learn new languages. And that is OK. I can choose to code-mesh when I want to. But altogether, I am one person.

The more I learned about code-meshing, the more comfortable I got speaking with people around me. I started embracing dialects and accents I have as well. I speak two dialects in Japanese, but I almost never revealed it to others for fear of breaking the image that others have of me. One dialect was only used within my family, since I only lived in the area that uses that dialect for a year in my life. Now, I use it all the time, and I sometimes mesh it with other dialects and languages I speak.

Code-switching remains an important part of my life, but now I can see that the different codes I am navigating are all parts of me. And I can choose to mesh them fluidly as well. I have code-meshed in papers and presentations at college, and received overwhelmingly positive comments that I never anticipated. Through my transition from code-switching to code-meshing, I have found my voice. I found a way to be both Ryo and りょう.

Ryo Adachi is a TCK currently attending college in the United States. She grew up in Japan, Vietnam, and Tunisia.

References: Bullock, Barbara E. and Almeida Jacqueline Toribio. “Themes in the Study of Codeswitching.” The Cambridge Handbook of Linguistic Code-switching, edited by Barbara E. Bullock and Almeida Jacqueline Toribio, Cambridge University Press, 2009, pp. 1-18.

Young, Vershawn Ashanti. “Should Writers Use They Own English?” Writing Centers and the New Racism: A Call for Sustainable Dialogue and Change, edited by Laura Greenfield and Karen Rowan, Utah State University Press, 2011, pp.

61-72.

“ Code-meshing puts emphasis on the mixing of codes, instead of seeing them as distinct things that you need to switch between.”

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Journey with us!

Among Worlds magazine is accepting submissions for upcoming issues. We are looking for original, high-quality writing, poetry, photography, and visual pieces. We invite you to share your stories and talents with us! Click here for submission details.

September 2021 Relationships Submission deadline: July 30, 2021

December 2021 TCKs & the Arts Submission deadline: October 30, 2021

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“ There is nothing like returning to

a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

- Nelson Mandela