I landed in Shanghai in 2015 with an overstuffed suitcase in tow and another 20 boxes of everything to my name scheduled to land portside a few weeks later – not the most conventional arrival to a country I had never once visited. From my past experiences living abroad – in Israel for a high school exchange program, and again for a gap year in Argentina – I prided myself on being a “global citizen.” I stepped off the plane in China with unfounded confidence, convinced I would acclimate within a matter of weeks. 

Wrong.

The lesson came swiftly: China does not bend its will. Instead, one learns to adapt, to alter one’s rhythm to the customs of this vast nation. The answer to most questions is merely, “because China." From only serving boiling tea at restaurants even in sweltering summer heat to every face wash including skin whitening ingredients, from banning public park picnics as the manicured lawns are just for viewing to moving into a high-rise complex “maze” with a population equivalent to my husband’s hometown, this mantra "because China" cost me many moments of frustration (and even more tears) as I attempted to navigate a culture that once defined the meaning of foreign for me. 

Adapting to Life in China

My first few years were earmarked by an endless ellipsis of highs and lows, a route that would redefine my understanding of identity itself. I lived for those rare moments when a local would compliment my nonexistent (but slowly improving) Chinese but continued to dread every child that pointed at me and shouted, “Look, mom, a laowai!” A foreigner. 

No matter how many Chinese landmarks I visited, soap operas I watched, pop culture references I learned, or times I scribbled Chinese characters on every post-it note known to mankind, I would forever be the laowai. A foreigner in unfamiliar lands. 

A Foreigner in the USA

Fast forward seven years to 2022, when I landed on American soil for the first time after a three year-COVID travel hiatus. I took part in one of my favorite end-of-summer pilgrimages to the Minnesota State Fair, an annual ritual for every ever-affable Midwesterner – myself included – filled with carnival parade antics, agricultural exhibits, fireworks and, most importantly, overconsumption of all things sugared, battered, and fried. 

Nevertheless, I weaved through the rows of American flags, snapping photos of everyone and everything like I did my first year in China, mouth agape with reverse culture shock. I didn’t fit in anymore with my football throwing, beer-chugging, farm-friendly kin. Yet again, I found myself a laowai; a foreigner, but this time in familiar lands.

So, What Makes a Person Foreign? 

Or, on the other side of the coin, what makes a person belong? It’s a big question, intertwined with values, a sense of home, and identity. As my definition of home evolved, my values and beliefs began to shift in ways I never anticipated: from perpetually drinking hot water to cure any ailment to becoming a die-hard convert of Traditional Chinese Medicine when Western remedies failed to cure nerve damage issues but a mix of acupuncture and Chinese herbs blew my western doctor’s prognosis out of the water. I would never truly be Chinese, however I realized I would also never fully fit in as an American again. So what does that make me?

This sense of alienation is a common theme for many expatriates. It’s a bittersweet realization that the more you adapt to a new culture, the more you risk losing touch with your roots. By living abroad, I had traded the notion of a house filled with 2.4 kids surrounded by a white picket fence for the freedom to microdose retirement, traveling on a whim to far-flung Andaman Sea islands.

As the world becomes increasingly multicultural, feelings of dislocation and juxtaposing belonging resonate with many. While I am technically not a “third culture kid” – a  term coined in the 1950s by sociologist Ruth Hill Useem referring to those who spend their formative years outside of their parents’ home country, resulting in a lack of belonging in both places – I find myself embodying the essence of a “third culture adult.” I blend elements of my American upbringing with experiences gained in China, forming a distinctly fluid identity that doesn’t quite fit into traditional categories.

During my tenure in China, I have navigated local nuances that draw me closer to my new home yet am still acutely aware of my foreignness (and always-looming visa expiration date). I will never fully belong to this culture just as I will never fit into the mold of my American upbringing either. I struggle to relate to friends and family back home who do not understand my yearning to hike the upper reaches of the Tibetan Autonomous Region or my unwavering fixation on black sesame desserts. These experiences feel foreign to them, just as their experiences of refurbishing their bathroom for the umpteenth time feel foreign to me.

A Familiar Foreigner

Yet, I have learned to embrace the “China moments” that arise with a sense of humor and humility. At first, being called ‘laowai’ was a marker of my otherness. Now, I wear it as a badge of honor, evidence of my journey and growth. I have transitioned from being seen solely as an outsider to someone who is embraced as a long-time friend from another nation.

As I look ahead, I recognize that my path is not just about navigating the complexities of being a foreigner in another country but also about reconciling that identity with my origins. Perhaps I’m not meant to belong entirely anywhere but instead to find solace in the spaces between cultures. After all, in a world that is rapidly changing, the most profound connections often lie beyond borders and boundaries.

So, while I cannot imagine ever going back to the USA in the same way I once knew it, I embrace my life in Shanghai and the challenges that come with it. My identity is a reflection of my experiences, and that is something I will carry with me, wherever I call home

*An adapted version of this article was originally published here on Business Insider.