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Twenty-three-year-old Aaron James has always called the UAE home. Born to Filipino parents in Sharjah, he has spent almost his entire life in the country, shaping his identity through both his Filipino heritage and the UAE’s multicultural environment. “I feel like I relate to people not only on the level of nationality or ethnicity, but for me it is more about similar cultural upbringing,” James told Khaleej Times, noting this sentiment reflects a shift among the younger generation of expats in the UAE, who are forming identities that transcend the boundaries of their parents’ traditions.

His father’s move to the UAE mirrored the journeys of many who have made the country their home. Initially, his parents knew no one, so finding other Filipinos who were in the same boat was crucial. Victory Church in Sharjah, predominantly Filipino, played a significant role. They would host potlucks at their apartment, organize community picnics at the park, and help new Filipino residents adjust to life in the UAE. While James acknowledges that this is a natural phenomenon and there is a sense of comfort in having people like you around, his own experience is different. His sense of belonging is found solely in the UAE, and nowhere else.

Along with James, Lana Amini, 23, and Nidhi Kothari, 21, feel similarly. As third-culture kids, their sense of self and home is deeply rooted in the UAE. For James, this means savouring the taste of a freshly made shawarma or manoushe, riding bikes with his family through the greenery of Al Majaz Park, or making friends of various nationalities.

Amini, who has lived her entire life in the Garhoud area since her parents moved to the UAE in 2002, recalls her childhood fondly. Her favourite places were on the swings at a nearby park or in the long aisles of a Toys R Us store. She went to an internationally oriented school, where almost everyone spoke English all the time. In some cases, the Arab students in her class did not know Arabic at all. “It was very diverse and multi-cultural, but to be honest, I would hide the Arab parts of myself,” Amini admitted. This disconnect she faced in her early teenage years often made her feel not Syrian enough when visiting Damascus during summer.

As she grew older, moved to university, and found her ground as a Syrian in the UAE, her feelings evolved. “I am now so proud to be Arab here. Because we are in the Gulf, my Syrian values are also prevalent and overlap, which is why it is not that hard to fit in,” Amini added.

Kothari, also brought up in Dubai and considering it home, spent the first few years of her life in Deira. Her childhood was filled with the taste of sweet brain freeze from Mini Melts, the sounds of music and laughter at Modesh Fun City, and the sensation of a seaside breeze roller-skating down Jumeirah Beach. “When I think of growing up here, I think of the Al Nasr ice rink and Aroos Damascus and watching the yellow clown climb up and down and up and down in Lamcy Plaza,” Nidhi recalled.

Kothari’s parents migrated to the UAE 29 years ago, spending most of this time in residential areas of Old Dubai, like Deira and Bur Dubai. Therefore, Kothari has made lifelong connections and built a sense of community around that. “We would celebrate Diwali and Holi with my building friends. And even in school, they put in the effort to make sure all desi people felt represented because we would actually get to dress up for Diwali just like we would for UAE national holidays,” she said.

However, Kothari’s identity is still characterized by the feeling of being ‘not fully here, not fully there.’ “I was born in Dubai, and it will always be home, but I will never be an Emirati,” she said. She doesn’t feel completely Indian either because she believes living away from India naturally makes her broader-minded and more modern.

James echoes this sentiment, highlighting that there was a point where he felt like an outsider among Filipinos. “When I was younger, I would sometimes struggle to connect with other Filipinos, especially those who had recently moved here,” he said, adding: “There was even a time when someone asked if I was ashamed to be Filipino just because I didn’t speak Tagalog perfectly.”

Yet, instead of feeling pressure to conform, James has embraced a more fluid sense of self. “Culture isn’t static,” he said. “It changes with time, and that’s okay. My family, for example, has its own twists on traditions, like my mom making chicken adobo pasta instead of serving it with rice. Some might say it’s not authentic, but to me, it’s still Filipino, just in a new way,” James added.

Amini, too, admits that her Syrian identity has inevitably taken on a new shape, one that feels unique to her experience in the UAE. “I do have a fear that I am going to pass down a diluted version of my Syrian identity and I feel like that is inevitable being a third culture kid. But that is okay because I will take pieces of my culture that I love,” said Amini, adding: “Treating guests with such kindness, having good manners, valuing family. Social etiquette and responsibility are so important to us.”

Another crucial part of her culture that she wishes to keep is the value of humility and always being charitable. Meanwhile, James said he used to joke with his mom saying that there is an 80 per cent chance he would not marry a kabayan (fellow Filipino), simply because of how multicultural it is here. For James, the beauty lies in finding ways to integrate traditions into a broader, more inclusive framework. He noted: “The concept of Bayanihan (fostering love, togetherness, and family) doesn’t have to be exclusive to Filipinos. It’s about helping one another, and sticking up for each other.”

Therefore, the issue of cultural preservation that this generation faces will result in an evolution of traditions that transcend the bounds of one’s nationality.

reporters@khaleejtimes.com

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