No Place Like Home
The Story of Sergey Grechishkin, the reluctant Russian.
December 25th, 1991. 7:32 pm. Moscow. The Soviet flag perched atop the Kremlin is lowered for the last time.
11:40 pm. The Russian tricolour is raised.
The end of an era. The beginning of a new one.
“I always wanted to be different from other Soviet kids around me,” muses Sergey Grechishkin, his face devoid of any obvious emotion. Having lived in France and China, the now forty-seven year old ascended the banking pantheon in London before moving to Singapore, where he lives to this day. A staunch believer of the power of words, Sergey is fresh off the release of his book, Everything is Normal: The Life and Times of a Soviet Kid. The memoir chronicles Sergey’s journey as a child through the tumultuous times that were the 1970s and 1980s in the USSR.
As a child, Sergey Grechishkin was always more conscious of his country’s nature as a propaganda-powered surveillance state than most kids his age, a direct consequence of a series of eye-opening incidents. Mind you, he wouldn’t want you referring to the now-defunct state as ‘his’ country, as he bluntly puts, “I didn’t want to be Russian. I was always more pro-Western and more anti-Soviet.”
One such incident that shaped Sergey is described in the first chapter of the memoir. Having been gifted a piece of chewing gum by a distant relative, four year old Sergey was as captivated by the piece of gum itself as he was by the picture of Mickey Mouse on the wrapper. As he puts it, “Most of my memories of that time coalesce into a sense of timeless boredom. But after my first taste of bubble gum, something new began to mix with my malaise: jealousy of the kids in faraway countries who could chew such gum every day.”
This ignited a spark within Sergey; a spark further fueled by his viewing of The Empire Strikes Back as a fourteen year old. “I walked out of the cinema with the thought- I do not want to live in this country anymore,” recalls Sergey with wry smile on his face.
“I don’t have a home anymore”
“When the Soviet Union collapsed, I was very happy,” bluntly recollects Sergey. The fall of the Iron Curtain opened the world up to him. At the age of 19, he had his first Big Mac in Macau and just the year previously, had his first taste of orange juice in China, both of which he describes as being “very memorable.” However, with all these new-found liberties came a dire cost; Sergey lost his home.
Having reluctantly called the Soviet Union ‘home’ his whole young life, Sergey found himself not belonging anywhere. He didn’t want to be Russian due to his disillusionment with Russian society, and though he has lived in multiple foreign countries since 1991, he has never really belonged to any of them. “To some extent, I have no real national identity, and no home,” reflects Sergey, making him, in essence, an adult third culture kid.
‘Where is home?’ is the question that every third culture kid dreads. Having spent most of their developmental years in a country different to that of their parents’ or to their passport, their identity is a melting point of different cultures and beliefs. UWC students will be all too familiar with the term, with the vast majority of the student population being TCKs themselves, and being able to understand what it’s truly like to be one.
Denizen, an online magazine that specializes in third culture kids, states, “The typical Third Culture Kid has moved at least once by their 5th birthday, and will move at least four times in their life. They speak at least two languages, while one in ten speak four languages. Sixty percent want to raise their kids as TCKs.”
While the ability to experience new cultures, build cultural awareness and tolerance, and cope with change are all skills third culture kids develop, there are downsides as well, with the prime example being a lack of a home. This feeling of ‘belonging everywhere yet nowhere at the same time’ encompasses all the emotions that come with being a TCK, and it can take quite an emotional toll in some. Feeling lost, suffering identity crises, and not fitting in are all sentiments third culture kids can share with each other.
Like their father, Sergey’s kids too fall under the same category as their father, each of them having been born in a different country. “My boys are probably treating the UK as home,” says Sergey, who’d had a DNA test done for himself, wanting to prove to himself that he isn’t fully Russian. “I didn’t want to be Russian. I didn’t want to find out that I’m ninety-nine percent Russian.” The desire to debunk Russia as his natural home proved somewhat fruitful as he found out that he had French, Italian, Moroccan, and Jewish blood, leading him to analogize, “Like in Europe, when you’re walking around, you naturally want to go towards the center of the city,” This begs the question: What if you don’t know where the center is?
What if you don’t have a home?
“Maybe at some point I’ll settle down and live happily, somewhere.”
The future is unpredictable for third culture kids in an increasingly mobile world of growing opportunities abroad. One TCK could spend the remainder of their lives in the very city they’re in right now, while another could undergo multiple moves a year, such is the topsy-turvy nature of TCK life. Denizen states, “But most interestingly, they have no plans on sticking around. When asked if they would stay in their current city two years from now, seventy percent of respondents said no or not sure. When we asked about five years from now, the number jumped to 92 percent.”
No stranger to moves and change, Sergey Grechishkin’s life has been a roller coaster of experiences so far. However, the lack of a ‘home in the heart’ can take its emotional toll. This of course raises the question: Is he happy or not? Be it the wandering third culture kids or those who never leave their home country, the ultimate goal is always happiness and self-fulfillment. The biggest achievement of his life being having 3 children, he says, “I’m definitely very happy about my children and the flexibility that they have.”
“As for personal happiness, it’s a long discussion. When you’re 47, every man is going through one form or another of a mid-life crisis.”
He pauses before a slight chuckle.
“I’m a generally happy person.”