Less of a rolling stone, more like a cucumber

Where are you from?

It’s a simple phrase, and it should be answered easily. We’ve all got to be from somewhere, haven’t we?

But as more and more of us move around the world, we find we are no longer anchored to one place. As a result, the question becomes complex. Do we identify with where we were born? Or the place we were raised? Or even where we matured and discovered ourselves?

However, the people who ask, ‘Where are you from?’ are generally looking for a simple answer. So should we say we are ‘from’ our birthplace, or should we opt for the place that enhanced our life?

I have no answer. Instead, I’d like to make a plea that no one should expect any single soul to come from any solo location. Like rolling stones, we roam. We might not gather any moss, but we pick up other things – patterns of life, foods, traditions, language, voice. And, like cucumbers stewed in flavoured vinegar, we acquire a different essence. We keep the original contour, but we are changed, enhanced, no longer the original.

I was born in England, but no one who hears me speak believes me – especially the English. I identify as Scottish because that’s where I grew up, learned the humour, the warmth, the cultural aspects of the nation and, most obviously, the accent.

While we were visiting my husband’s hometown, a woman asked him where he was from. He said he was from that very town. The woman shook her head and told him that he was no longer “from” there. I had to intervene at that point, I couldn’t help it. “So should we say he is ‘from’ England?” She looked at me and then back to my American husband, his Pacific Northwest roots as defined as the circles in a Redwood tree trunk. Clearly, we were hiccupping over the word ‘from’.

My children were born in the United States but most of their education was in the UK. People frequently ask them where they are from, and the answer requires a potted autobiography.

I guess the question to ask is: Does living in different parts of the world change us? Of course it does. Just like those cucumbers stewing in a different flavours of vinegar.

Comments

We're all foreigners somewhere

Most of us don’t think of ourselves as foreigners, even when we’re overseas. We believe that we are one with the wider group. After all, foreigners are something else, they are the people who don’t belong. I remember the first time I realised I was be an outsider. My British Caledonian flight to Zambia had landed in Lusaka and, when I looked out onto the tarmac, none of the ground staff looked like me. It gave me a thrill but also a sense of vulnerability. These people were not my people and I wondered if I would be safe among them. That thought prompted another – this is how visitors to my own country must feel. They are outnumbered, and their dress, skin colour, hair, any number of things, mark them out and perhaps leave them open to hostility. I have to say that I met no hostility in Zambia. Instead, my social skills grew as I learned to reach out to the people I lived among. Perhaps I did it to fit in, to ensure that I was less of a foreigner. I didn’t anticipate feeling ...

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Travel now not tomorrow

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