My Amerikiwi Life

Walking the line between two cultures

(With my mum the morning I flew back from the States)

I’m back in New Zealand this week after over two years away and being in my homeland again after this unprecedented long gap is making it clear that I’m no longer a Kiwi.

I’m not American either, mind you, I’m sitting somewhere in between the two, a mishmash of cultural references, experience, habits, and language from both.

The last few days since I arrived back in NZ, I’ve found myself walking to the wrong side to get around people, bamboozled by the food options at the grocery store with no sense anymore of “my brand” to guide my hand, and frequently using the wrong word to ask for things.

Being an ex-pat Kiwi living long-term in another country means walking a tightrope between two cultures, and eventually, you end up with two versions of yourself, for me: the Kiwi translating to American, and the American translating to Kiwi.

Over time it becomes almost completely automatic; that split second before you order food, or mention a TV show when you think to yourself, “Is this the right word or reference for this country?”.

If I’m staying somewhere and I want to wash my face, before I ask my host for the appropriate towel I mentally cycle through the various options to determine which they will understand. Do I need a washcloth? A flannel? A face cloth?

I’ll start to bring up a famous pop culture reference from childhood and stop myself thinking, “will this person have any idea what I’m talking about or should I keep this to myself?”.

Dropping a Kiwi phrase like, “skew whiffed” gets you the same blank look in the States that saying “cattywampus” does if you say it in NZ.

When you’re in one country you learn to neatly tuck away the phrases and words that cause confused looks, saving them for the next time you’re in the other.

This process can be really tiring, and there are days when I don’t bother to explain what I’m meaning if someone questions me, preferring to let it go completely rather than have to translate myself.

The constant need to translate your thoughts is similar to the feeling I get whenever anyone says “oh wow, I love your accent - where are you from?”. I know it’s meant from a place of genuine curiosity and kindness, but part of me always hears it as “you are not from here, you will never belong”.

Because of this, I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever truly feel at home in the States. Whether people there can ever really fully know me without the common culture, backgrounds, and references from childhood.

As an ex-pat Kiwi in the US you become almost a third nationality; you’re not a Kiwi and you’re not an American, you’re something in between. Amerikiwi?

The experience of existing at the intersection of two cultures can create an instant bond when you find someone else living that same translated life. The understanding of both cultures bonds you in a deep and profound way as you liberally throw around jokes and use oodles of slang without pausing to think, will they get this?

Sometimes I ring my Kiwi bandmate who moved to Nashville with me just to tell him I randomly feel like some Chi, how much I miss pineapple lumps, or to remind him of the “do the right thing” anti-litter kiwi ad we grew up with that has unexpectedly popped into my mind.

When you’re in a relationship with someone from another culture you eventually create your own translated shared language too. I’ve started to catch my American boyfriend using words and phrases he’s learned from me, calling our cats “wallys” and saying things like “might do” and “cane it” just like a good Kiwi.

I’ve absolutely adopted Americanisms into my personal dialect as well and I hear myself frequently rolling Rs and talking about filling up with gas instead of petrol, taking vacations instead of holidays, and eating candy instead of lollies.

I believe living outside of a culture is the only way to really ever see it objectively, and the experience of living between two gives me a much deeper insight into who I am, where I’m from, why I choose to live where I do now, and how these experiences and cultural shifts impact me.

Another upside to belonging to two cultures is that spending time in each means getting to revisit people, places, and food that you’ve missed. It’s harder to take things for granted when you only get to experience them occasionally.

So now I’m off to the dairy, where I’ll probably walk the wrong way around someone coming out of the shop and say something in a slightly weird way when I buy for the pixie caramel I’ve been craving for the last 2 years, just like the good Amerikiwi that I am.