95 Hundred Miles Several Times Over: From Home to Home – Where do I belong?
They say home is where the heart is. That sounds simple enough. But how do I know where home is if I don’t know where my heart is? Or how do I know where my heart is if I don’t even know where to call home? And so begins the dilemma of one very confused Malaysian girl. While one part of me goes “I have been uprooted, I don’t have a home, and I don’t even know who I am anymore,” another part goes, “I chose to leave the only home I knew, and because of that I now have many homes! So what if I can’t describe myself in a sentence? I have been blessed with the best of several worlds!”
At seventeen, I decided I was going to pursue my childhood dreams of coming to America. My parents told me that if I really wanted to come, I better do something about it. So I registered for SAT, started looking at colleges, and put up a sign in my bedroom that said “I can plan; God decides.” Sure enough, He held me to my word and continues to do so. Through a series of events that the Lord undoubtedly had a hand in, I prepared to leave the only home I had ever known and in January of 2010, I set off for Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia, ready for a fresh start with absolutely no notion of what to expect.
The first couple of months flew by. I soaked everything in with wide-eyed fascination and simply let things happen. With the exception of the unexplainably huge hinge-caused gaps in bathroom stalls that still make me squirm, I guess I can say I didn’t go through much of a culture shock since there wasn’t very much to be shocked about. That being said, it didn’t take me very long to figure out that being shy and timid in this country doesn’t fly so well. Sandwich bars were a nightmare. I had to verbalize (not to mention yell above the noise) to them every ingredient I wanted in my sandwich? I couldn’t even pronounce “lettuce” right, let alone know the names of the different cheeses! Needless to say, I stayed far away from them and gravitated to the self-served lines where I could keep my mouth comfortably shut.
Eventually, I learned to speak without first being spoken to and to say “yes, please” when I actually did want something. I learned that for the most part, people are nice and generally only get annoyed with you when they still can’t hear you after you repeat yourself for the fifth time. As I continued to assimilate into the American culture and learn Americanese, one thing became extremely clear to me. Although cultural habits draw some distinctions between us, people are the same everywhere. In every country, there are the crazy people, the boring people, the obnoxious troublemakers and the problem solvers. The problem of sin is universal and so is the sense of morality we all have.
Ironically enough, as I grew more comfortable with my new life and became more familiar with my surroundings, I also became increasingly alienated. As my sense of belonging deepened, so did my awareness that I was different. Like it or not, I stood out. And for some reason, people avoided me. Or at least, I thought they did. As a result, I developed a strong dislike for Asians. I blamed their behavior, and I blamed my face. I couldn’t stand the fact that I looked like them or that they did nothing to counter the stigmas we carry with our features.
This alienation stuck with me wherever I went and my theory made sense as long as I was in America. But when I returned to Malaysia after two years of being in the States, it became evident that I was not the same person who left, and that the alienation had nothing to do with my ethnicity and everything to do with me and how I saw myself. As much as people told me I had not changed one bit, I knew that their observations went only as far as my accent. Here I was in my own hometown where I didn’t stick out, and yet I found I had the same problem. I didn’t fit in.
So what changed? I think it goes two ways. A Facebook status I once posted comes to mind: “I will never be American and I will never again be completely Malaysian. But I will always be a citizen of Heaven.” I believe that answers it all.
On a more tangible level, culture does play a part. When I came to America, I brought a piece of Malaysia with me. When I went back to Malaysia, I brought a piece of America with me. Nothing can change that. I will never be the same again. At the same time, I do not see this as a particularly bad thing. As much as it feels strange to be in either place, it is also a priceless experience that I wouldn’t have any other way. I am different, and may always be alienated to an extent, but I am also always home. In many ways, this ties in nicely with the fact that this world is not our home. As long as we have Jesus in our hearts, we are different, and we will always be alienated. In a sense, we are home, but we are also on our way Home.
The other level to look at is a little more abstract. From my early teenage years, I struggled with the question of identity. Coming from a solid home where my parents did nothing to withhold their affections for me or my sister, I never really had to question my place in their lives. However, mom saw right through my insecurities and always emphasized finding my significance in Christ. Although I knew it was important, I never realized how crucial it was until I got a taste of independence and because I was not grounded as deeply in the Lord as I thought I was, I constantly doubted myself and finally had to go through a season where I was alone, hurt, rejected, filled with self-hate, and ready to give up on life.
It was a long, painful process to get back up on my feet again, and it started with accepting that Jesus loves me. No strings attached, He loves me. I knew it all along, but still I wanted to qualify myself to deserve that love. I failed. And it was in recognition of my failure that I began to see the miracle of the Gospel. When I look at how my physical journey lines up with the chapters in my spiritual life, I can only smile and thank God. My last four years have been lived in varying lengths of 1 to 4 month segments – each one in a different geographical location, and in each place, the Lord has taught me some ground shattering truths about Himself and how different things can be when I know who I am to Him. It just makes me wonder …what’s next? The uncertainty is altogether exciting yet terrifying!
Often, I feel like I live several different lives, depending on where I am. In each place, I have a different community, each disconnected from the other. But while I want to be able to stitch them all together in hopes that they would somehow make coherent sense if they could all meet, I also know that even if they never do, it’s okay because God has been my constant; He holds my heart. It doesn’t matter if I am uprooted or if I will ever place roots somewhere. No matter how many physical homes I make on this earth, as long as I remain rooted in my Heavenly Father, that’s where my heart is, and I am home.