Home used to be a confusing word for me. I am what you call a ‘Third Culture Kid’ or TCK for short. Essentially, I spent my life in a country that is not native to my parents. Due to this fact, my cultural identity has always been in a spiral. Do I belong to the culture where I was born and raised? Do I belong to the culture of my forefathers?

The answer from an outsider would be to integrate the two. True, this is a wonderful idea and one that I have done as well. But of course, it is a different story when actively growing up in such a unique environment. For those of you unaware, and there aren’t many, my parents are from India while I was born and raised in Dubai.

There are thousands of people like me, Indian kids who grew up in Dubai. In fact, I could argue there are too many than most people would like. The interesting thing about this is that the journey we face is the same and transcends the socio-economic divide. If you come from a wealthy, middle-class, or poor family, the experiences we TCK’s go through are virtually identical.

It is this experience that brings us together. It is so uniting that, even now at 22, my closest friends are TCK’s. Only with each other can we reminisce about our home. It is a visceral experience that can only be echoed back by a niche group of people. I can never relate to Indian kids who grew up in India nor can I relate to Emirati kids who grew up in Dubai. While I identify as both, I am claimed by neither.

For many of you, this might be confusing to read and I don’t blame you, it is difficult to put into words. Having said all this, I still call Dubai my home. While I may not be recognized as a citizen of my birthplace it is the only place I feel comfortable calling home. The drives on Sheikh Zayed Road, the taste of late-night shawarma and chai , and the Dubai skyline are what I feel nostalgia for.

You can take a kid out of Dubai, but you can never take Dubai out of a kid,

~Home sweet home. This is the place to find happiness~