My name is Melody and I am a natural-born alien.
What clued me in to this? Well, for starters…
- I grew up in southeastern Kentucky, but my parents were from Colorado and Brooklyn, NY.
- I was frequently accused of “talking proper” (i.e. without the accent of my peers).
- My last name was not Caudill, Campbell, Cornett, Melton or Miniard.
- Going to visit relatives meant a major (and not very frequent) trip.
I currently live, with my family, in a country other than my passport country. My husband and both my kids are TCKs — third-culture kids. This means they are natural-born aliens in every sense. I have learned a lot from them. (In return, I faithfully remind them of Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. They do like pumpkin pie and fireworks, so that’s something, at least.)
I have an ACR — Alien Certificate of Registration. (Why am I thinking about scenes in Men in Black right now?!) This is a constant reminder that I do not “belong” here, that my continued residence depends on someone else’s permission. And I cannot vote.
In my passport country, I can vote. And the immigration official always says “welcome home” when I return. Yet I still feel like an alien. (Sometimes more so than in my host country!)
Yes, I am an natural-born alien. But I am not Homeless. I just haven’t gotten there yet.