Am I Still a Third-Culture Kid?

After living abroad for the first eighteen years of my life, I moved to the States for college. It could have been considered a homecoming. I am the daughter of two American parents, a US citizen and passport holder, and was returning to a state where my dad grew up and extended family lived—returning to what my family called home.

I have lived in the Greater Philadelphia Area for almost nine years which is now the longest I have lived in one country (although I did move apartments/states/counties every one-to-two years). In moving to Philadelphia, I was set on making this place home. After an entire life abroad, I was finally going to settle down. Looking back, I was so obsessed with belonging to Philadelphia, that I forgot my childhood entirely. I wanted an easy answer to "Where are you from?"

My first day of school in South Korea

It was either here or the kaleidoscope of countries I lived in beforehand, but it couldn't be both. I wouldn't allow Philadelphia to become another pin on the map in a long list of places I once called home. Why was I denying myself my past? How could I reject the parts of myself that are so deeply intertwined with my international upbringing?

It brings me to the question: am I still a third-culture kid if I've stopped moving? Perhaps I was afraid to unpack my grief, approach the hidden losses, and start the acceptance that I may never really be from anywhere. I am a Jackson Pollock of homes, memories, cultures, values. But do I belong to any of them?