Temporary TCKid Home

All CIA kids (and other “spy kids”) will understand and appreciate the Moscow Rules. I’m sure anyone involved with any other western intelligence agency will recognize them also.

For those who are not familiar, I thought I would share one of the more unique experiences of my childhood. I am an ATCK and was raised in a CIA family abroad during the Cold War. By the time I was 10, I had heard all of these “rules”, in one form or another and had incorporated them into daily life. I have never worked in the intelligence field. I am only a humble stateside employee with a “normal life”. Yet, these ‘rules” have defined a great portion of my adult years.

From wikipedia:

The Moscow Rules is the name for rules said to have been developed by the CIA during the Cold War to be used by spies and others working in Moscow.

The Moscow Rules have been featured in spy novels by such entertaining (and interesting!) writers as John le Carré and Ian Fleming. I don’t know where these gentlemen obtained them, but I learned them at an early age, more or less, as translated below.

Here they are, first in Russian with the English translation:

Москва правил (Moscow Rules)

* Ничего не принимай на веру. — Assume nothing.
* Мерфи прав. — Murphy is correct/right.
* Если нутром чуешь – что-то не так – верь чутью, оно не обманет. — Never go against your gut; it is your operational antenna.
* Никогда не оглядывайся – ты никогда не бываешь в полном одиночестве. —-Never look back; you are never completely alone.
* Каждый может быть под наблюдением врага. —- Everyone is potentially under opposition control.
* Плыви по течению, не выделяйся. — Go with the flow, blend in.
* Действуй в рамках своей легенды, но избегай шаблонных методов. — Vary your pattern and stay within your cover.
* Любая операция может быть прервана. Если ты чувствуешь, что она идет нетак, она и в самом деле идет не так. — Any operation can be aborted. If it feels wrong, it is wrong.
* Пусть твой шаг всегда будет неспешным. — Maintain a natural pace.
* Старайся, чтобы противник всегда был доволен собой. — Instill in them a sense of complacency.
* Создавай по возможности, используй по необходимости.— Build in opportunity but use it sparingly.
* Порхай как бабочка, жаль как пчела. — Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. (this was supposedly borrowed by CIA ops who were fans of Mohammed Ali, the boxer.)
* Никогда не раздражай противника. — Never harass the opposition.
* Способность человеческого интеллекта искажать истину – безгранична. — There is no limit to a human being’s ability to rationalize the truth.
* Техника отказывает всегда. — Technology will always fail.
* Выбирай время и место для акции. — Pick the time and place for action.
* Не спеши делать выбор. — Keep your options open.
* Один раз – случайность. Два раза – совпадение. Три раза – действие
* противника. — Once is an accident. Twice is coincidence. Three times is an enemy action.

Now that I am “allowed” to look back without guilt or shame, I realize how much of my life is defined by these rules. And the truth is, I am finally at peace with the Moscow Rules. They have helped me to not only survive many amazing adventures, but they have actually enriched my life, by giving me the “freedom” to choose my responses to any situation.
What “rules” were you raised with and how have they defined, shaped and influenced your thinking, feeling and being? Are the “rules” shaped by fiction and art, or is it the other way around?

PS: to all Russian brothers and sisters, I want to say: gos po di po mileui. 😉 (For the moderators: this is Orthodox Church slavonic, a universal church language of the slavs. It means: God have mercy upon me, a sinner. But forgive my spelling of it phoentically. I am TERRIBLE at this.)

I cannot help who my parents were. I did not choose my situation. But I can choose to love you as my brothers and sisters. In a way, I have YOU and YOUR PARENTS, to thank for these life-saving rules. We are no longer enemies. That is the past. We are brothers and sisters and we must build a future together. God bless you.
Gos po di po mileui. Christos voskresi. (God have mercy on me a sinner. Christ is risen.)

From Bitter to Sweet.

Militia entrenched in the veins of war,
virus and toxins to even the score.
Denial and curses now blacken the air,
“Slaughter awaits you ‘merica, beware!”

Migraine starts with the throb of the bomb,
Smart seeks silently Saddam and Son.
Invasion revisits, drama unfolds,
stories of battle heroics soon told.

Water in waiting for cracked lips and souls;
freedom drips heavy ‘midst empty foxholes.
Food for the hungry, the battered, the lame,
supporting civilian, part of end game.

“My mother and father, brother and son,
Why has it happened, why not be undone?
We sat here talking; when down from above,
came spiralling downwards, freedom’s sweet glove.”

Media digs deep in entrails of regime,
reporters like vultures litter the scene;
dead or the living, the faces tell tale,
how it was ended as in went the nail.

‘midst burning towns the retreat of disgrace,
desperation shaping fear in the face,
as steadily creeping, tank and the gun,
war fog descends on the land in the sun.

Pull on the neck of dictatorship grip,
polish with flag as it breaks at the hip,
The dream lies shattered with foot in the face,
of Saddam’s own nightmare, nose out of place.

The end now signals a new beginning,
flowers at the feet of those now winning.
Watching and waving, people once oppressed,
beside them soldiers with bullet proof vests.

A heart bleeding inside: times soon to leave,
an imprint of sadness, torture, and grief.
Shackles of bondage lie broken by feet,
walking t’wards sunrise from bitter to sweet.

A twist of the knife, victor now victim;
terror, revenge intent on eviction.
Sure way to heaven reaps murderous hell,
on human life by Saddam’s splinter cell.

The cards of fate are now shuffled once more,
pack of lies sought by a knock on the door.
Bets that were made on the ace in his hand,
Lost with each capture from leadership band.

Seekers of poison now scour the land,
Threats of destruction look empty and bland,
Nations now foolish for hailing a war,
Now echo “Freedom and justice for all!”

Blows from the roadside on unity’s cheek,
faithful to cause are now loose on the streets.
‘though party bathes in the blood of the free,
Leader once ‘godly’ calls taxi to flee.

Shock and awe present, as dragged from a well,
Bedraggled unshaven, secrets to tell;
Front page news in festivity season,
Will he sing to the rhyme for a reason?

War is civil as it bathes in despair,
“God’s on our side!” the oath we swear,
Sacrifice of martyr in the market of arms,
Vengeful hatred now weaves it’s charms.

A sentence for guilty, the court hold’s it’s breath.
The hammer now falls to the judgment of “Death!”
Defiant man shouts “God is Great!”
Despite the murder of 148

Final stand with necklace of rope,
All that is left is afterlife hope.
Jeered to the drop as camera recalls,
Death sweeps his sickle as dictatorship falls.

The mate now stale as the struggle goes on,
To continue a purpose from victory once won,
The brave and courageous fight on in that land,
For freedom, for justice, for peace… on quick sand.

I just realized why I always “hate” christmas. It’s not because I don’t love Christmas. I do! I’m Eastern Orthodox (long story but I converted to that and this is apparently “typical” TCK behaviour, so ….)

Anyway…I just realized why, every year, for 20 years I “hate” Christmas. It’s not because it’s “commercial” and there’s no “Christ” in “Christmas”. All that is for shallow American nut-jobs who have no lives. ( GRIN—just kidding!)

It’s not even because where I’m am, it’s very cold, snowing and wet, dreary, with lots of clouds. I like clouds! I paint them very well in landscapes, seascapes, city scapes. I mean, the snow…that’s supposed to make me HAPPY isn’t it? “White Christmas”??? We have beautiful, tall pine trees here, that we can even cut ourselves, if we want a “real Christmas tree”. (O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum, Wie treu sind deine Blaetter!…. Stille Nacht, heilige nacht! …okay I’ll stop … but trust me, you would like my singing. My mother taught me and she was an opera singer before she married my crazy, wandering father! 🙂 )

Anyway, here’s why I “hate” Christmas. I “hate” it because:
it’s not hot, sweaty and damp. You can’t see ANY humidity where I am. Here it’s dry, sometimes snows, but DRY as a bone! And it’s COLD!!!!

It’s “supposed” to be 120 degrees Fahrenheit, IN THE SHADE. And the humidity should be at 120 percent. (and rising!) You should be able to see the humidity in layers over the tops of the trees…at the edge of the Liberian jungle. There’s no evergreens or pine trees in Liberian jungle!!! Get serious! By the way: it’s mamba season….they LOVE this time of year. And so do I. And we don’t have any mambas here. Just rattlesnakes. Puppy dogs of the reptile world, here.

“Do they know it’s Christmas time in Africa????” (Bob Geldof, “Band Aid”)

Yeah, they really do, you colonialist jerk.

(PS : forgive my teenage angst. I’m working through it. I’m sure Geldof really isn’t a colonialist. At least, I’m sure he doesn’t “intend” to be one. His ex wife would probably agree he’s a jerk, but I’m sorry I said it. I don’t even know him. But you get me right??? Also not all Americans are shallow nut-jobs. Just the ones in charge of our media.)

Allright, so I’ve had an overnight to think about this.

Christmas with : Liberian jungle full of pine trees, hot and humid in daytime, cold and snowing at night, with little drummer boys wearing Liberian shirts, and gluhwein served in coconut bowls. Easy right???
ROFL!

Carried up to skies of cobalt blue,
Midst ivory white where the sun sits
Bowing lower in the sky
Until it stretches forth its brush
To paint out the colours of day with sunset hue
and rest its head beyond the horizon.

The fluorescent moon greets me
Snuggled up in its blanket of stars
It lights a path on the cloud tops
Whispering of a new day to come
buried under the ivory canopy,
awaiting our slow descent
into the radiant veins of the city below.

Grey clouds greet me with their tears,
And the wind sucks out the warmth of the past.
The earth plays a different tune here,
Its rhythm sad and slow, twelve bar blues,
clashing to the offbeat throb of reggae within me.
The sun raises its head only so far
Ashamed of my strange dancing
to the song of this new land.

Midst the city streets or fields of green,
The minor chords of sadness turn to major,
I dance a new dance midst the cornfield and streetlight,
Though the offbeat of my heart still throbs to remind me
that the past beckons through the rainbows in the clouds.
A reminder of what was and is no more
while summer winds blend me into the maelstrom
That was and is… myself.

[Warning: This may be a depressing post. I just feel like I need to let it out and I figure this will be a good place to do that because I think the emotions I am expressing stems from my TCK lifestyle. Thanks for understanding.]

It’s that time of the year in the US – the holiday season bringing friends and families together.

I don’t celebrate Christmas but I celebrate the spirit of getting together with families and friends that one haven’t seen for an entire year.

This year has been exceptionally lonely because the holiday season also falls on my birthday. But this year it happened with me and my boyfriend.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed a wonderful day shared with my boyfriend. It was a wonderful day spent with good food, a good movie and quality time with the one I love, but time flies when you’re having fun, before you know it it’s over.

In previous years I shared it with my friends – but this year, is the first year that I don’t have my friends with me. Ever since I’ve been back in CT I haven’t really been sociable and because of a busy life this past year just haven’t been able to do much aside for my own stuff.

I miss my friends tremendously and this year has just been a tad bit depressing.

I have received warm wishes from my friends from far away via Facebook but in the end it’s just not the same as being together physically. I’m not saying it’s not good enough, I was happy, it made my day, but it’s not the same.

As much as Facebook has helped me reconnect with friends from long ago, in the end it’s still not the same when you are not physically there together. I guess at this day and age people are embracing technology for convenience and have no problems with just sending an ecard or an electronic greeting to someone far away.

For me, I’ve spent all my life sending greetings to someone who isn’t with me physically, I yearn for that close proximity. I think it’s also because I am getting older.

I miss the surprise get-together; I miss planning parties with friends; I miss opening up presents with friends; I miss just goofing off and making jokes about getting old; I’m tired of being away from others; I’m tired of not seeing my friends when I want to; I’m tired of being lonely.

I hate loneliness.

(I just a surprise gift from my brother – he lives with me now – because he wasn’t around at my birthday and I had thought he didn’t want to be there. But now I don’t want to open it because I don’t want that feeling to be over so soon.)

The other day I was asked to go and get food for some friends.

After collecting the cash I headed over to Mc Donalds and carried on through the drive through. I ordered the food and paid for it and drove over to the second window where a rather obese lady with greasy skin asked me to wait while she got the order together.
A minute later she came to the window with the order and said “Sorry about your wait.” Of course all I heard her say was “Sorry about your weight”.
Glad I was able to not take the comment personally but it took some effort not to reply sarcastically!

As a TCK don’t you feel like you are always struggling or striving for something? Sometimes you feel like you need to get somewhere so that someday someone will understand…and then that day did come…now what?

Before fall of 2006 I was pretty much a “struggler” I guess I can call myself that LOL I realized later that the fact that I had to struggle to become someone, to be understood has eventually become a part of me – that it seems to be I will always be searching for that “identity” for the rest of my life.

And then I discovered “Third Culture Kid”…then it all made sense. Then I spent the next couple of years coming in to terms with myself, discovering who I am, exploring my own thoughts and for the first time be very very comfortable with myself. And then I had my closure.

And then one day I sat there and thought…I don’t need to struggle any more? I can just be who I am? Oh what fun is that?

When you get so used to something, even though it was painful, you seem to want to hold on to it. Ironically TCK don’t really hold on to something do they? Or is it the getting-used-to things that will always be a part of us (i.e. adaptability)?

I guess I can say right now I am pretty happy with myself. I have finally discovered who I am and now I can do whatever I want…and yet I feel like there is a void. It may sound odd but I kind of miss those days where I couldn’t figure myself out but then again I do not wish to return to those days.

Now, I have just recently discovered that my newly obtained independence hasopened up a lot of things for me. I am actually thinking of taking photography seriously. I realized that that has been my favorite form of expression and didn’t know it until now. I do not know where I am going from here but then again as a TCK things change everyday.

Well, here it is! A poem with the intention of painting a picture of
commercialisation taking over the festive season.

Santa’s Dying!

Santa’s dying his time is nearly up,
too much coke, cookies and sweets,
too much stress in his old age!
Dodging planes and sliding from steeply pitched roves,
too many small chimneys filled with smoke
his asthma and bronchitis would wake the children.

Santa’s dying, his eyesight failing,
Reading letters of greed and innocence,
Breaking his back with ever bigger loads,
his reindeer struggling under the weight.
Having to wear thick clothes and dodge snowballs,
then suffering from heatstroke in the tropics.

“Santa’s dead!” the obituary read,
He was no longer politically correct,
Overweight and old, his last days spent,
Reminiscing of younger days:
When his charity brought a sigh and a smile,
to young children’s dreaming faces,
and a gentle kiss goodnight
kept their hearts warm.

As some of you know I like to write poetry. The power of poetry is that you can get people to look at something, compare it to something else and get an understanding of the experiences involved.
Here are a few examples of writing poetry to help others or myself understand certain issues.

The issue of age….

Little Man

In the days when childhood was me,
when my little legs grew tired
and your shoulders supported me,
held me above the world of adults.
You were my father,
I was proud to be your little man.

Since then the adult world has shrunk
and your old legs now grow tired.
You are the burden on my shoulders.
In this strange world of adults,
which your mind denies for childhood.
And when you remember,
I live now in your memories,
where I am still … your little man.

When your childhood seems too much,
I remember the times you carried me,
When my legs could hold me no more,
And with pride I hold you aloft,
Above the world of adults,
To be my father, and I your little man.

The issue of miscarriage

Stolen Dreams

I look back now to the days when I dreamed
of the bundle of laughter and innocence
that would soon be rocked to sleep within my arms.

A child growing up in a father’s love…
The joy and happiness of the first word,
counting the candles on the cake for the first time,
the first step……
but then…

Suddenly, the curtain of fantasy is closed!
Darkness descends.
The spare room is empty.
The clothes now worn by someone else’s baby,
the congratulatory cards never received.
The dreams turned to nightmares.
A longing still remains.

The years and stress have also caught and held,
squeezed the life from a future that can be no more.
The heartache of seeing someone else’s dreams fulfilled,
playing laughing … and living.
________________________________
I have mourned long enough, I now let it all go…
To dream new dreams of other things together.
Dreams of love and friendship.
Dreams of you,
of your smile and your laughter.
I dream now of us … and happiness.

Exploring your ancestry…

Genealogy

You hung on to the years with every wasting muscle,
grim determination, pulling back every stray minute.
And during your breaks you chill,
drinking coffee with snowmen.

Now your bookend of a tombstone holds a summary
in stone etched grooves, reminding the generations.
Those who never knew your humanity, your kinship;
of the one now dust on the soles of their feet.

The fond memories of the past reside
in fading photos of your gentle smile.
Till all that remains is the birth name you were given
on the outstretched limb of our family tree.

The issue of Divorce…

Divorce
Songs of love now flat
No longer tuned to you
the rhythm of your heartbeat … gone.
Rhyme echoes hollow
In the space between us.

Memories of us rewritten
In your bitter mind,
Acts of kindness
Unnoticed.

Gone are the days of romance
Replaced by the whispers of another
Fate sits, deciding the future
Moses touching the waters,
We divide.

Dry land awaits me
Carries me onwards
While the waters rage around me,
‘till I am safe again
On the other side.

Archaeology…

The after-life

Resting, in hallowed halls they wait,
midst their crumbling earthly goods,
empty eyes gazing into the darkness
hollow shells of former selves.

Finally, dried orbs see the light!
The eternal breaks through from above,
only to dust and scrape them from slumber,
flicking away hope to uncover their past.

Now their naked bones lie for all to see,
entombed in sarcophagus of glass.
An afterlife of fluorescent-lit shame,
midst hallowed halls of learning.

Well, I hope I inspire some of you to write some poetry.
You can express so much with it.
Hope you enjoyed reading some of mine!
Paul

So You’ve Just Discovered You’re A Third Culture Kid

For the longest time, I was shunned by other people, whose (mis-)judgment of me destroyed any confidence, self-respect, and self-love that I had. From being accused of lying about where I’m from (the mind-killer question), being weird, or stupid for not doing things “normal” people do within their society and community’s value system, I was a pariah, I was ostracized, I was alienated, but worst of all, I felt there was something terribly wrong with me, and I was all alone. What could I do to be “normal” like everyone else so that I could feel some love or acceptance and belonging? If I did “normal things normal people did” then I wouldn’t be different and I could make good friends who would understand me and be happier.

After changing my behavior, I still couldn’t fit in. So I tried to do this with a different group of people who didn’t know me before I made these changes. Still, I was shunned because they thought I was trying too hard. Repeat this a few times, and eventually, being myself or trying to be what they wanted didn’t get me what I wanted.

My next phase was to assume that there was nothing wrong with me, everyone else was just rotten except for a few people like me. I grew up in the Third World, and I knew what it was like to see people dying on the streets, terrorists, bombings, and extreme poverty. They probably didn’t even see that on TV because they are all too shallow and uneducated, unworldly, and therefore, undeserving of my attention. I am better than all of them, and I don’t need to associate myself with lesser people, I’ll find a small group of people who are like me and know what the world is really like.

I never met like-minded people with this approach. There may have been others who had similar upbringings traveling the world, but we didn’t connect because something kept us apart no matter how much we shared in common. Then I realized the problem wasn’t other people, and the problem wasn’t me: it was the questions I was asking and the attitude I was carrying.

Long before I learned the term that best describes me, my upbringing, my social group, and attitude, I thought there was something seriously wrong with me. The end result was that I tried to please other people to accept me and I ended up being even more unhappy because I felt a different isolation since I wasn’t myself. The next approach of blaming other people instead of myself was that I couldn’t foster quality relationships, and I alienated more people than before, furthering the negative image of myself. When I later realized that it was the questions and attitude, I saw the proverbial light and finally understood.

What’s wrong with me? Nothing! Why do other people not like me or understand me? Because they don’t understand, and if they don’t understand something, usually they don’t have a good reason to like it! What can I do to make them like me? Nothing, because if I have to do something to make someone like me, that’s not being true to myself. “Don’t sell yourself, only prostitutes sell themselves, just be yourself,” as my old professor once said.

So am I better than everyone else? Nope. I’m different, not better. Should I be with a good crowd of people who understand me? Well, it’s a two-way street. I didn’t understand why they found me so strange, and I always jumped to the conclusion that something was definitely wrong with me–or them. Actually, the key there is to try to understand what makes them think that way, which involves compassion and empathy–imagining myself in their position as part of a community and society with a defined identity as American or Asian-American, then they meet some guy who is an American citizen who grew up in several different countries but still doesn’t say he’s American when he clearly has a passport, so that’s where he’s from. If I try to understand what they’re thinking even if I know it’s very limited compared to what I know, I then know that it’s difficult for them to fathom my situation.

As I realized it’s difficult to meet others or make them understand, my expectations of others changed, as well as my interaction with them. No longer was I trying to change to please everyone, nor was I trying to use my nomadic life as a badge of merit to flash in people’s faces while demanding their respect for my self-elevated importance. Instead, I was asking them questions about themselves to understand them, and if a conversation went well, I’d be careful of how I shared myself because I was self-aware of how talking about riding elephants and surviving mall bombings could make them see me as a boastful and arrogant rich kid; in their eyes, only those with money can afford to do all those strange things and travel a lot. And I didn’t look down upon them either, I saw them as people who grew up under very different circumstances. From this interaction, I could connect to fellow Third Culture People and non-Third Culture People. Some I could connect with better than I could with others too. Then I began to be more comfortable with myself, because my self-awareness increased.

Struggling with identity and loneliness, it’s easy to default to blaming yourself, then blaming others, before realizing that it’s not about being weird or being better, but about how well you know yourself. And if you know yourself, you are aware of your actions, thoughts, and words; how you see yourself, how others see you, and most importantly, what you want. It doesn’t take growing up in a dozen countries by the time we hit adulthood to teach us that, but it definitely makes it easier.

Why then do I believe that it is our responsibility to understand before making others understand us? Because we’ve been through many things others haven’t, and it’s quite different growing up in countries some people never even heard of, let alone people who think they understand us and the countries we’ve lived in because they’ve learned it all in high school or saw it on television. Don’t be the colonialist who forces ideals down people’s throats and gets angry at them for not understanding them, then pulls a gun and shoots them for not understanding. Don’t be the tragic artist who drinks hemlock to die because nobody can understand him or her. Be the self-aware, educated, patient, open-minded individual who doesn’t elevate oneself or please everyone. Be the individual who listens and tries to understand first, which we had to learn growing up amongst different people and different cultures.

I believe that even before I knew I was a Third Culture Kid, that I could do great things with it because of what I knew. I believe when I finally learned I was a Third Culture Kid, I realized that I was different and that’s why I got so overwhelmed by other people and my identity. I believe after applying the lessons I learned which asked me to understand and be tolerant of the cultures and countries I was in, I stopped being a Third Culture Kid. Why? Because I became a young man who, in spite of different circumstances growing up, developed the right attitude to live amongst others; race, religion, age, gender, nationality, TCK or non-TCK–we are all human beings in the end.

There’s no need to share my life story unless someone actually wants to hear it. There’s also no need to get frustrated that very few can understand it. Not everyone will like me, but I can limit the number of enemies I make by being careful of how I talk about myself. I may not be boasting, but speaking about growing up overseas and how I fit the label of a TCK might sound boastful to others, and won’t win me any respect. It’s not about them being closed-minded, it’s about me having no self-awareness or patience and understanding for others.

So don’t try to be the Third Culture Kid who is proud of being a self-professed open-minded individual for your upbringing; strive for being the Third Culture Kid whose heart is open to understanding others and being patient instead. I guarantee you’ll feel better connected instead of limiting yourself to just other TCKs because you believe they are the only ones who understand you. After all: we don’t build the bridge of understanding by building a fortress of isolation when dealing with others and making friends.