Confessions of A Fourth Culture Kid
“Where are you from?” is the dreaded question I always seem to be asked.
I’m Filipino — born and raised in the Philippines. My formative years as a teenager and young adult were spent in Singapore and Australia, respectively. I moved back to the Philippines in 2021 to be with my parents, but now I’m in Canada to be with my husband. What a mouthful, and probably far too convoluted a story to share upon meeting someone for the first time. Talking about the intricacies of my migration history is too heavy of a topic to bring up during small talk, after all.
So, I default to answering with my nationality.
But my nationality doesn’t exactly describe my identity, not really no. Reconciling all the different identities I have is such a strange experience. Crossing countries in search of a new home is an incredibly familiar feeling. Growing up, I often found myself thinking about my next adventure, the next place I would call home. The thought of meeting new people, exploring new cultures, and trying out different cuisines was — and still is — exhilarating.
Where am I from, really? The Philippines? I was born there and speak the language, but I could never fully assimilate, even when I moved back. Singapore? Sure, I can throw in the (very) occasional “la” and declare that Chicken Rice is one of my favourite dishes, but I still branded myself a foreigner. Australia? This was the country where I really grew and thrived, but I was an international student, so I can’t equate my experience to that of a native.
The question of where I’m from often leads me to the next: Who am I, really?
It’s a question that doesn’t have a simple answer. This journey of self-discovery is not without its struggles. Each country I’ve lived in has shaped me in different ways, contributing to a multifaceted identity that can’t be easily categorized. Each place has added layers to my identity, making it complex and sometimes overwhelming. The journey of finding oneself in all these places I once (and often still do) called home is filled with emotional turbulence — confusion, grief, and heartache are constant companions.
In the Philippines, I learned the values of family and community. In Singapore, I was exposed to a fast-paced, multicultural environment that broadened my perspectives. Australia taught me independence and the importance of finding my own path. And now, in Canada, I’m discovering new aspects of myself through the lens of yet another diverse and welcoming society. As I’m building a life with my husband, the echoes of my past experiences continue to shape and challenge my sense of self. There are times I muse to myself if this is the place where I’ll finally feel secure and settled.
The grief of leaving each place and the people I grew close to is something that lingers. It’s a silent sorrow that accompanies the excitement of new beginnings. The heartache comes from the constant need to adapt, to prove myself, and to grapple with the fear that I might never truly belong anywhere.
This identity crisis can be isolating. The question “Where are you from?” feels like a spotlight on my fragmented sense of belonging. It feels like drifting without an anchor, unsure of where I truly belong. This uncertainty breeds a sense of loss — grieving for the parts of each place I’ve left behind and the people who remain there. The heartache of perpetual adaptation, of always being the newcomer, is a heavy burden to bear.
Through this struggle, I’ve also learned to navigate the complexities of my identity, to embrace the confusion, and to allow myself the grace to grieve the losses along the way. In fact, I don’t know if I can ever see departure as a loss. If anything, I have gained so much more that I can carry with me to the next place I go. I’ve learned to embrace the fluidity of my identity, to find solace in the fact that I don’t need to fit neatly into one category. It’s a privilege to have had such a wild adventure thus far, to understand and appreciate the nuances of different cultures.
I know that despite the heartache, there is beauty in this journey. There is stark fear… but there is also an overwhelming sense of bubbling excitement and understanding that this is where I’m meant to be. My identity is a patchwork tapestry of all these experiences, woven together by the threads of every place I’ve called home. I don’t need to fit neatly into a single category; I can be a mosaic of many different pieces.
I’ve come to embrace this complexity.
So, when someone asks me, “Where are you from?” I take a deep breath and smile. I know my story in all its richness and goodness is also uniquely my own.
