Let me give you a rundown of the last three weeks: First, I sang (terribly) at my Taylor Swift-themed karaoke birthday party in honor of “1989 (Taylor’s Version)” releasing that same day. Then, I rocked a Wednesday Addams costume at a Halloween party. Finally, I stuffed myself with sweets (and had a terrible stomach ache the next day but it was totally worth it) for Diwali, one of India’s biggest festivals.

On paper, these past few weeks sound amazing — because to some extent, they actually were. But, when you peel back the layers and dig a bit deeper, you find out that these were my first big celebrations away from home. All the happiness I showed on the surface was tinged with sadness and the overwhelming feeling of something being amiss. 

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On both my birthday and Diwali, I woke up feeling anxious with this pit in my stomach that just seems to be growing with every passing second. Usually, I (with my mom’s help) am good at pinpointing what’s wrong, but on both these occasions, I couldn’t figure it out. In hindsight, I know why — there was actually nothing “wrong” with those days, but I just knew in my gut that they wouldn’t follow the same traditions that I had grown up with. 

Coming from a birthday-obsessed family, I am used to being treated like a princess (literally, my fifth, sixth and seventh birthdays were princess themed). But, as my birthday edged closer this year, the stress of planning everything on my own got to me and at one point, I just wanted to get done with the day. 

I remember cutting the cake at midnight and explaining to my American friends that in India, the person whose birthday it is feeds everyone cake. While they were more than happy to comply, there was this sense of distance. This physical distance between my friends and I fed into my insecurities about being emotionally distant from them, too. 

You may say “Edhita, it’s cake — it’s really not that deep,” but all I could do in that moment is compare the relationships I have here to those I cultivated back home with my family and friends. I wondered if my college friends cared about me as much as my home friends and if they truly wanted to make my birthday special, or rather, it was just another social obligation they needed to fulfill. 

Two weeks later when Diwali rolled around, the lack of rangolis, card parties and my extended family’s laughs was jarringly obvious. I celebrated the festival with my friends in the cutest way possible — a puja and delicious Indian food — and while that made me happy, it wasn’t the pure, undiluted happiness I am used to feeling on Diwali. 

And I know that, instead of complaining about this, I need to make the best of the situation, but a part of me just doesn’t want to do that. I am constantly wondering if I am being unfaithful to my roots and my past memories by enjoying these new unorthodox ones. Or am I being unfaithful to these current memories by always reminiscing about the past? How do I determine when to let go of my past and when to let it shape my future? 

To be honest, I wrote this piece today hoping that I would find the answers to the deep philosophical questions that I just asked. (Also, why should I be the only one being miserable while contemplating my existence when I know that you, the reader, can also relate?) Alas, I don’t have an answer and I am still grappling with the reality that I can’t expect college in another country to be exactly like home. 

Maybe special occasions are never going to be completely filled with the childish happiness that I am used to. Maybe Diwali isn’t going to be a whole day of quality family time. And maybe my birthday isn’t just about celebrating me, but also a reminder of me being one step closer to being independent and adulting. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but I have to accept that special occasions are going to be different. Instead of mourning the loss of what was, perhaps I should celebrate the possibility of what is and what could be. 

Edhita Singhal is a sophomore from India writing about her experiences as an international student in her column, “Foreign Footprints,” which runs every other Tuesday.