What Eid means to me as a second-generation migrant – and how I got my friends to understand it

My Christmas doesn’t come on December 25. It doesn’t involve a tree, stories about Santa, or Michael Buble’s renditions of the Christmas classics. My Christmas – Eid – involves decorating our hands with henna, eating a lot of food and hosting and visiting the homes of friends. While the differences between the customs are vast, the key similarities between Eid and Christmas lie in the values of the celebrations – family, peace, love, spirituality and joy.

Growing up as a second-generation migrant has its unique set of challenges when it comes to cultural identity. While I was born in Melbourne, a part of my identity comes from the Bengali heritage my parents brought with them to Australia many years ago. My identity is based upon a duality – two cultures, two languages, two types of cuisine, two different sets of societal and cultural values.

And over time, the two sides of my identity have melded together to create an entirely new culture that can feel inauthentic to the original, and rather isolating because no one blends cultures in exactly the same way.

However, celebrations like Eid, which is this weekend, are special. Not just because it’s the festival celebrating the end of Ramadan (fasting month), but because it helps me better understand, reflect on and consider who I am and what matters to me.

The Eid I celebrate is not exactly the same as the stories my parents have told me of Eid in Bangladesh – “hopping” between the homes of their relatives, trying delicacy after delicacy; or going shopping during Ramadan to find your perfect new Eid outfit.

But my Eid is no less special. My family hosts an “open house” party every year, with about 150 guests coming and going, eating and laughing – a conscious effort from my parents to help me feel connected to my culture and community. I don’t get to celebrate Eid with my extended family because mine are all overseas, but I celebrate with people who have watched me grow up with so much love, they feel like blood relatives to me.

Instead of going shopping for an Eid outfit during Ramadan, I watch my grandmas buy outfits like salwar-kameez or kurti – traditional dress for South Asian women involving trousers (salwar), tunic (kameez), and scarf (dupatta) — for me over FaceTime, or I buy enough for the next three Eids when I travel to my heritage country.

To me, Eid not only celebrates family, love and spirituality, but also celebrates the new lives my parents created in their adopted country, starting 23 years ago.