A Third Culture Birthday Party

Harry, Shelly, and I parted ways about two months ago. Their reason for taking language classes was to get into the university. My goal was simply to learn to speak better. Since the classes weren’t helping them achieve their goals, they stopped coming and spent time preparing for the university entrance exams. I had been missing them a lot and had been meaning to send them a message saying so for weeks. Then on Friday, Shelly beat me to the punch and sent me a message. It warmed my heart. I told her I’d like to see her so she invited me to her birthday party. 

Myself, Shelly, and Harry

I met up with the two of them in the city center. A few of Shelly’s friends joined us as well and we walked to her aunt’s house. I forgot that her family speaks Arabic rather than the local language. I hadn’t been expecting other locals or additional family members to be there either. I would guess there were about 20 people total. For some reason, it also never occurred to me that there would be dancing. I forget that people in this part of the world love to dance. That’s all they do at social gatherings but it’s not my cup of tea. I only dance when forced. When they weren’t making me dance, I pondered why we dance so little in the States. They seem to do it for fun and it brings them joy. We have so much to rejoice about and yet we rarely dance. Later when I told Harry that I only danced maybe once a year in America, he was shocked. He asked what we do for fun if we don’t dance. I told him we play board games or watch movies. Later I thought about how I would much rather have a conversation with someone than to spend an hour dancing with them. I didn’t come to a conclusion about our lack of dancing but would like to think on it a little more.

Myself, Shelly, and her guests

We spent the first 45 minutes or so dancing and then we ate. There were some sandwiches and a pasta dish along with 3 cakes. I didn’t taste the sandwich but the pasta was great. 

The food table

Candle time!

They had decorated with balloons and had
written each guest's name on one balloon.

I made some observations as I sat there trying to figure out which language to operate in. The house was old and the furnishings were old and worn. The home was small. I noticed an older looking picture of a graduate on the wall. I laughed to myself that they must be proud of him. I learned they had a male family member in the States in Tennessee. I mused that it was probably the successful and favored uncle. I later found out the graduate had been killed by a bomb in the war in their home country. They had all fled that country because it was no longer safe. It seemed ridiculous when they were asking me why I live here. To travel and learn a new language, to have fun. They were here to survive. I later wondered if the worn furnishings were for lack of money or rather if it’s because this is a transition home to them. They’re hoping to go to either Europe or America. 

With what ease have I lived my life. I felt like crying as I took it all in. I imagined my family being forced to move to a nearby country because of war. They would have to pool together all their resources to make the trip and set up a very meager home. Would they be able to speak the language? I know they would miss the former glory days of Tennessee. I had a hard time not feeling guilty about what an easy and safe life I have had. 

In the midst of it, Harry mouthed to me and asked if I was doing ok. He really is like a big brother to me. He’s 14 years younger than me but I feel like he watches out for me. I know he has feelings for Shelly so it leaves our friendship to be purely platonic. I eventually got up to tell Shelly that I would need to leave soon. I said all of this in English before realizing she doesn’t really speak English. I was so confused about the languages. Harry and I left together and he walked me to the bus stop. I was grateful for the insight into their lives and even more grateful for their friendship. 

The women in Shelly's family