In an international environment nationality has greater significance than elsewhere. Knowing where someone is from is often an aid to communication. It helps us to understand others, or find a point of conversation, "Oh yes, I've heard that Malaysia is very beautiful" or "I was in London last year. I like the way they tell you to look right or left at the crosswalks"

What could be more natural, therefore, than to start the year at an international school by asking students where they are from. But cast an eye around your classroom when you make such a request. Some students may start to fidget. When it gets to her turn Birgit stands up and hesitantly says, "I'm not sure where I'm from". Rohan, never at loss for words, goes into a long explanation about how he comes from Sri Lanka but he's adopted and his parents are British so he's that too and he lived in Turkey for four years so maybe he's Turkish as well. In kindergarten half your class may say they are from Oman, or Vienna, or Nicosia because for developmental reasons young children interpret the question concretely. Nationality, though they may have learned to parrot the 'correct' answer, is a notion with little meaning.

Older children are likely to have already found a socially acceptable answer. They will name the most logical place (for others). But Rami hastens to qualify his Indonesian citizenship with, "I've never lived there," afraid that he will be expected to know something about his country that he does not. Some choose the most unlikely of their geographical associations. "I'm from the Ivory Coast," says blond Sarah, fully aware that her answer will raise eyebrows or questions.

The significance of nationality is not the same the world over. Being American is an important part of most citizens' identities. Not so in some countries in which national feeling is diffuse and nationality considered a relatively unimportant part of identity. In some cases other allegiances are more important than nationality. Not a few British people describe themselves as Scots or Welsh and the average Catalonian will add this to the description of being from Spain.

A lot of students at international schools have complex identities. Many have spent their whole lives outside their 'home' country. Some have more than one passport. Many are genuinely bicultural or multicultural and Korean, Indian, British or American does not begin to describe who they are -- or the way they behave, or who they feel themselves to be.

At the same time, nationality and culture is a critical theme for expatriate children. Most will eventually go 'home' but many know pitifully little about their own countries. Opportunities to learn about their countries and to explore their national as well as their international identities are vital. However, belonging is very subjective and the process must be student-generated. Caroline should not have to tell her mother, "I don't think I'm from anywhere" because at school she has been told she is not from Belgium but from Britain. Sascha should be free to do a project on Zaire as 'his' country. 

Reconciling their national and international identities is a major task for expatriate children. Children are not trying to be annoying when they give a different answer to where they are from two days in a row -- or at least not usually. Acceptance of all their identities is a critical step to being from 'everywhere' rather than 'nowhere. And a healthy identity incorporates all of the past, not only the pieces that others acknowledge. Teachers can be important agents in this process. "You're from Borneo. Would you like to tell us about it?" "Do you have another place you feel you're from as well." "Your mother is French. Do you feel you're from there too?" "What did you like most about&ldots;?" Finding who they are and a vision for the future is a journey expatriate children ultimately make alone, but we can encourage them to discover, accept and experiment with their patchwork backgrounds.

It's that time of year again in the expatriate community. When spring comes so many of our friends, like migratory birds, are fluffing their feathers ready to fly at the first hint of summer.  Many have already left us, in their thoughts. They don't call so often anymore and conversations, when we do talk to them, revolve around moving companies and the worry work of how to manage when they get home -- far away from us.

Losing friends is part of the price we pay for an interesting lifestyle, a bitter item on the bill. And it never gets easier. Each friend who leaves is another hole in our lives, a source of grief. Some expatriates solve the problem by surrounding themselves with acquaintances, avoiding the steps to real friendship, but for most of us friendship is too rare and valuable a gift to be without, though it may be fleeting.

What do we lose when friends leave? We can no longer pick up the phone and call them to suggest a walk up Beethovengang or to talk about a child's problems but have we lost the friendship? Over the years, I have said goodbye to many friends. Despite moves, including some precipitous ones out of Africa, there are very few close friends that I have lost touch with. We are not always great communicators but I know that if I send out an 'I need an echo' e-mail I can be sure of a barrage of support whether by return mail, telephone or letter.

Expatriate goodbyes start almost with the first 'Hello'. They begin with the awareness that time together is a precious commodity, that we must seize the day. There are many ways to give each other pieces of ourselves to take when we part; the photos of lunch in the Palm house, those plates we bought together in Italy, the piece of jewellery she brought you back from Greece, the music shared and copied.

When it is time to leave, you don't need to let friends slip away. If they don't call, take the telephone and invite them back to 'the day'. Ask how they would like to say goodbye and help them take the steps they may be reluctant to make alone. Whether your farewell is a coffee together, a long walk in the shade of the Vienna Woods make it personal. Don't hesitate to mend bridges. It is never too late to re-build. Let your friends know that you are willing to walk on into the future with them. Make sure you have their addresses and they yours.

We all have different ways of expressing grief and sadness. Some of us cry, others don't or can't, or cover sadness with laughter. There are those of us who side step the issue, "Well, we'll see each other before long, for sure&ldots;" Or the procrastinators who leave some of their grieving until later when the loneliness starts to bite. One way or the other it comes to us all.

Then it is time to start writing, to send the odd card. Those of us left behind must usually take the burden of communicating while our friends re-establish their lives. We must be patient while they integrate the new into the old and find a balance. There are friendships that do not survive the test of time and space. Some find long distance friendships untenable and there is a time to let go - but never forget how you have warmed yourself on friendship while you had it. As the saying above expresses, there is comfort even in having had a friend.