Where Are You From?

I met a guy at a bar last night. Abdullah. He had a dark complexion, but I couldn't place his ethnicity. I asked him where he was from, and with a vacant look he said flatly, "I don't know."

First, let me say that I've met some strange characters during my travels. The expat life in particular seems to attract some real wackos. I could tell you stories. But this guy seemed perfectly sane and reasonable.

"What do you mean, 'You don't know?'" I asked. He insisted he didn't know where he was from. He looked me straight in the eye. No bullshit. He didn't know.

I got wise. "OK, where were you born?" He burst out laughing. I had cracked his code. Then he told me his story. "I was born in Cambodia. I studied overseas. I live in Vietnam. My mother is Vietnamese, but my father is Somalian. So you tell me: where am I from?" I confessed that I didn't know. Abdullah is clearly frustrated with not having a simple answer for such a simple question. Around and around he goes with every new person he meets. Sounds exhausting.

I should have wised up sooner. After all, I have the same problem with the seemingly simple notion of "home". I like Abdullah's style. He wasn't afraid to directly expose my false assumption. And like in some Socratic dialog, he let me figure it out for myself so the point would really sink in: "Some people don't fit in your neat little boxes."

Point taken.