Coconut
By Hirunaka Ekanayake, Melbourne Grammar School
Our culture shapes who we are. Whether it be the values that we hold, the food that we eat or the festivals that we celebrate, we all have a culture that we can identify with. But what if I told you, for some time, I did not know my culture. For one word, one description, had me questioning it all.
Imagine a budding 6-year-old boy, with the chubbiest of cheeks, going to his first day of school in Australia. He knows very little English. He has no friends. He does not know anything about Australian culture. He gets up in front of the class. The teacher asks him. ‘What is your name.’ He replies timidly in a thick Sri-Lankan accent. ‘Hirunaka.’ The class repeats, ‘Hirunaka?’ He corrects them. ‘Hirunaka.’ The class yet again goes: ‘Hirunaka.’ And this chubby 6-year-old boy slowly nods his head up and down.
‘Yes. Hirunaka’.
11 years later, here I am again, speaking in front of an audience. But now, I can formulate eloquent phrases of English, I have made valuable friendships, and I’ve picked up the Australian slang. And now, people call me just ‘Hiro’.
As you can see ever since, I stepped off that Sri-Lankan airlines flight onto the land of golden soil and wealth for toil, my culture has changed. That’s the beauty about it. Culture is fluid. However sometimes when you try to mix two fluids together, instead of combining to create a solution, they layer on top of each other, creating this mess. That was my problem. The fact that my Sri-Lankan culture and Australian culture were having a never-ending tug of war with each other. The tension in the rope growing every day. About to snap.
A coconut. That was the word. Brown on the outside. White on the inside. This description was not racist. It was not offensive. It was the truth. Because one of my feet was planted in the tropical jungle country of Sri-Lanka. With its golden beaches and friendly people. With my cousins and grandparents, and Sri-Lankan chicken curry. Every time I visit, its home to me. But at the same time my other foot was planted in the metropolis coffee loving city of Melbourne. With its cold winter air, and close friends. With its vibrant night life and juicy steaks topped off with mushroom sauce. Every day I wake up, its home to me. Having my feet in two separate places, two homes, over 8000 kilometres away from each other created this conflict. I did not know where I belonged. And I am very inflexible. So doing the splits over 8000 kilometres is quite tough.
And that was when I made one realisation. All my life, I had been wondering whether I was Sri-Lankan or Australian. Australian or Sri-Lankan. But the reality is, I am neither. I am what is called a third culture kid. Someone who was raised during my schooling years in a country that I nor my parents were born in. And that is my greatest gift. I speak untranslatable Sri-Lankan words: ‘Wasthuwa’, a term of endearment that’s closest translation is ‘my everything’. I embody Australian values: mateship, showing equality, loyalty, and friendship to others. I practise Sri-Lankan beliefs, meditation, the art of calming the mind.
And I savour Australian dishes, a sweet Tim tam with that signature crunch.
As a third culture kid, I am a mix of both my Australian and Sri-Lankan cultures. And I am not the only one. According to the Australian human rights commission, 1 in 4 Australians were born overseas, and 1 in 2 have a parent born overseas. This rich cultural diversity is one of our greatest strengths and is central to not just our own identities, but also our nation’s.
Being a third culture kid has had a profound impact on my personal growth. Navigating between two cultures hasn’t always been easy. But it has taught me to be appreciative and open, understanding diverse perspectives. There is a term- ethnocentrism- which means viewing an aspect of another culture based on your own culture. Ethnocentrism is the usual worldview of most people. On my second week of school in Australia, I bought a delicious Sri-Lankan chicken curry with rice. And so, at lunch, I dug in with my hands, scooping the meal into one bite sized ball of goodness. But after a while, I noticed weird looks. Whispers. ‘Why is he eating it like that?’. ‘That’s odd!’. ‘Does he not have a spoon?’. ‘What a wierdo’. My classmates looked down on me, judging my actions as ‘weird’ and ‘odd’ simply because they were viewing my choices through their cultural lense. Through their ethnocentric perspective. But instead of looking down we should accept that there are different of ways of doing things across the globe and even right here in Australia. That instead of weird, its simply different. And as a third culture kid, these different ideas, different ways of thinking, different ways of doing, helped me to overcome seeing culture as black and white. Seeing it as wrong, and right. Having this perspective improved me, and it can certainly improve you too.
But it’s not just me who’s benefited from being a third culture kid.
Barack Obama, born from a Kenyan father and American mother, spent his formative years in both the US and Indonesia. The combination of experiences from 3 distinct and equally influential cultures certainly birthed his leadership style. As he put it: ‘As a Third Culture Kid, I learned that true strength lies in embracing our diverse backgrounds and finding common ground to build a better world. It's a perspective we need more of in our world.’
Perspective. It’s funny how perspective can change.
Because returning to that moment when I was 6, I realise now that the issue wasn’t that these two cultures were like a separated solution. It was the fact that I didn’t even stir hard enough to mix them both together. And I also learnt that I am more flexible than I once thought. For I can stride the world and call Sri-Lanka and Australia, these two places over 8000 kilometres away from each other, my homes.