Everyone’s home may be different, but we all have in common the familiarity of being where we belong. In Kuwait, this concept can be difficult to understand for many. In a nation with people of all backgrounds, it can seem burdening, especially for those born here, to develop a sense of identity to their homeland while simultaneously fitting into the nation that hosts them. As a Kuwaiti national who has spent most of my life in Europe and growing up distant from my home, I’ve always found it difficult to grasp what it is to actually be Kuwaiti.

In addition, having parents from separate roots and not speaking Arabic only widens this gap between me and my fellow citizens. At the age of 11, for family reasons, I found myself moving to Europe, to a country that I had only visited once before and whose language I didn’t know. Similar to many immigrants, I was obliged to adapt and integrate into a new society and a new way of life in a place that I would end up calling home for the years to follow. Living abroad for over 17 years can definitely grant exposure to other ways and cultures, and perhaps even develop a certain amount of attachment, but the feeling of belonging is lacking.

Society will always lack a sense of familiarity, and people, regardless of their affiliations, will always look at you differently. Yet at home, things aren’t necessarily straight forward, either. Difficulties with speaking Arabic and being unfamiliar with certain notions sometimes can have a limiting effect on my interactions with others, whether it be the necessity of having a family member accompanying me for administrative procedures to help with communication, looking for employment, or having trouble understanding and staying informed about developments in Kuwait’s political sphere.

While abroad, it can even sometimes feel strange explaining how things function in Kuwait, as I often feel as if I am not the proper person to explain it. Cultural issues can also create a gap in interactions, which can sometimes seem awkward. For instance, greetings in Arabic can be so elaborate, that I sometimes find myself overwhelmed not knowing how to respond. The diwaniya is a staple in Kuwaiti culture and society, a place where topics are discussed and connections are made. But it is also foreign to me, as attending the diwaniya is something that wouldn’t occur to me and would also be very confusing due to the linguistic barriers.

Of course, for anyone arriving in a new country, the challenges of discovering a new culture and the necessity to adapt to it is evident, but less so is adapting to a place you already call home. Many aspects about our customs and social norms are unique and can be difficult to comprehend, and despite being a Kuwaiti national, I find myself doing the same, aided even by expats at times. The difficulties of this situation make it hard to relate, notably to Kuwaiti nationals, since there is less in common with my fellow citizens, so there are social impacts.

But there are professional restraints too, as many jobs in Kuwait and particularly those for Kuwaiti citizens or in the public sector require knowledge of Arabic, significantly limiting my options of employment. In essence, these estranged feelings can be alienating, and can make me feel like a foreigner in my own country, where I need to familiarize myself with notions that most of my countrymen and even non-Kuwaitis have been familiar with all their lives. As a Kuwaiti, having this experience helps to create a sense of understanding, both in Kuwait and abroad, for people who live in a host country but call somewhere else home.

I find myself somewhat in between both worlds, as someone from Kuwait who has had to integrate in a different society that will always consider him as foreign, but at the same time as someone who doesn’t feel recognized and who has trouble recognizing his own home, a feeling that perhaps many other people in Kuwait can testify to.