My Life as a Third Culture Kid Grace Kim

My family faced tragedy shortly after we arrived in Afghanistan. We struggled through our first six months, but my parents were new missionaries filled with excitement for God's work. Even when we timidly bought food from strangers who spoke Dari and ran around naked in the house because of the heat, we plowed through. One terrible night, I woke up in shock as I saw six masked robbers point guns and knives at my parents. I stared at the sharp glints of the knives so dangerously close to my parents' necks. These six raggedy, armed men looked so out of place in my pink room that I did not believe they were there until my baby sisters started crying at the sight of them.

When my sisters continued to wail to high heaven, the men pointed their guns at my sisters and told my mother in Dari to shut them up. My mother bravely tried to soothe my sisters, but they took my mother and father so that they could guide them to our money. I, as a seven-year-old, was left with my sisters, but I watched everything in a dream-like state. The robbers literally carried out everything, including electronics, closets, and even our mini gas stove. Finally, they rounded up our family and locked us up in the basement. My head was in a whirl, so...