If you've just returned from studying abroad, how are you? No, really. How are you doing?
The Culture We Carry: How Our Inner Worlds Shape Life Abroad
What happens when we step outside the culture we were raised in? Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part series exploring how life abroad reshapes our sense of self, belonging, and how we relate to others.
Welcome to the first post of this five part series.
The Culture We Carry: How Our Inner Worlds Shape Life Abroad
We all carry culture, whether we're conscious of it or not. It's in the way we introduce ourselves, how we respond to authority, what we believe is "polite," and what we assume is "normal." But often, we don't fully see it until we step outside of it.
When I left Australia in my early twenties and landed in Asia, I thought I was simply moving through geography. What I didn't expect was to confront my own values, assumptions, and even discomforts — especially around masculinity, status, and respect.
In Australia, I had absorbed a post-colonial inferiority complex — a sense that I had to prove myself. That to be a man meant taking up space, commanding attention, being someone worth noticing. I was taught to crack jokes in rooms full of strangers, to earn respect through presence and performance. Yet, beneath that was the belief that respect wasn't freely given — it had to be earned, or even demanded.
Then came Singapore — a culture that didn't respond to bravado with admiration. There, I saw a different model of masculinity: one defined by reliability, duty, and relational responsibility. It wasn't about being the loudest voice in the room. It was about being someone others could count on. Status was earned through contribution, not charisma.
These differences weren't just intellectual; they were personal. They challenged how I saw myself. Had I been performing a version of masculinity that never really fit? Was I seeking validation in ways that didn't serve me — or others?
Over time, I stopped seeing these differences as opposing truths and started seeing them as choices. New ways of being. I wasn't abandoning where I'd come from — but I was gaining new options for who I might become.
Reflection Questions
- What are some cultural values or assumptions you've carried that you only recognised once you were outside your home environment?
- Has your understanding of masculinity, femininity, or adulthood shifted after living or travelling abroad?
- Are there parts of your cultural upbringing that you've since chosen to leave behind — or embrace more fully?
Invisible Baggage Inventory
Take a moment to jot down 3–5 "truths" you grew up believing (e.g., "a good friend always…" or "you should never…"). Then ask yourself:
- Where did this idea come from?
- Does it still feel true?
- How might someone from another culture see this differently?
Next week:
How does masculinity shift when you're no longer in the culture that taught it to you?
In the next post, Masc 2.0 — Rethinking Masculinity Abroad, I explore how living abroad reshaped my understanding of manhood — and how that change made space for something more human.
About this series: Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part blog series exploring the often-unseen emotional and psychological layers of life between cultures. Drawing from my own experiences living abroad and working as a therapist with international clients, these posts explore how identity, communication, belonging, and values shift when we step outside the familiar. Each piece blends personal reflection with questions and exercises to help you explore your own journey — whether you're a seasoned expat, a newcomer, or simply curious about the complexities of cultural life.
What happens when we step outside the culture we were raised in? Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part series exploring how life abroad reshapes our sense of self, belonging, and how we relate to others.
There's a day it happens. You ride your bike to work and realize, with a sudden, stinging shock, that you needed gloves. You find yourself pulling on jackets and closing windows, knowing you won't feel the sun on your bare arms for another six months.


