The Alchemy of Celebration

For many of us living in the diaspora, celebration isn’t just a moment of joy—it’s an act of remembering. It’s a way to hold onto the threads of our heritage and weave them into the fabric of our daily lives, especially when the world tries to water down our stories, erase our traditions, or silence our voices. Celebration, for me, is a refusal to forget.

Growing up as a mixed third-culture kid, my sense of identity was constantly evolving, shaped by the many places I called home—Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Texas, and London. Each move added new flavors, new rituals, and new customs to my life. But it also came with a longing to hold onto the parts of my culture that felt like they were slipping away, especially the traditions from my Uyghur heritage. These aren’t just celebrations; they are acts of cultural preservation, a way to honor the history and resilience of my people.

One of the most powerful ways I’ve connected to my roots is through reviving the celebrations that we lost amidst many migrations. When I started spending more time in London, I was surprised to see Central Asians celebrating Nowruz, a celebration which marks the arrival of spring and is strongly associated with Irani culture in the US. Living in countries where the Central Asian diaspora is either too small or assimilated with the host culture, this tradition being lost within my family felt like another string was cut from our loom. Celebrating Nowruz, then, becomes an act of preservation, a defiant joy in the face of erasure.

For many years, my experience of Eid was shaped by the dishes that magically appeared on the table, like Uyghur sangza. I never thought much about how they were made—they were simply there, a comforting presence in my grandmother's home. But as we immigrated and I grew older, I started to realize the importance of knowing how to make these dishes myself. It felt strange to celebrate Eid without sangza, like a part of the day was missing. It stung to not have my grandmother with us. So I decided to learn how to make it, to take on the labor of love that someone else had always done for me.

Learning to make sangza was a personal journey. The process itself was meditative, a way to connect with my ancestors who had made this dish for generations. It was a celebration of their resilience, their ability to carry these traditions across borders, despite the challenges they faced. How can I not celebrate that?

Not all celebrations are tied to heritage or tradition. Some are simply about honoring the people we love in our lives, creating moments that become traditions in their own right. For years, I made my best friend Alex a birthday cake every year when I lived in Austin—a ritual that became our own version of celebration. The cake of choice was usually the Milk Bar Birthday Cake, a nod to my curiosity with American childhood treats. Growing up outside the U.S., I was fascinated by the Americana I saw on TV: brightly colored cereals, birthday cakes with sprinkles, and the classic diner milkshakes. Even though I didn’t grow up with these, they became a part of my celebratory vocabulary. In an odd way, it was a way to connect with the culture that I refused to assimilate into. These personal celebrations are just as meaningful as the ones rooted in tradition. They’re about the act of showing up for someone, creating something special that says, “You’re family.”

Celebration, in its purest form, is an expression of love. It’s the way I’ve learned to pick up the small habits and preferences of the people I care about, like my parents' stories. When they share random lore from their multicultural upbringing, I rush to recreate the flavors of their memories. I’ll do this over and over again until I’ve nailed it, or, at least they’ll pretend I did.

In this way, celebration becomes a daily practice. It’s the decision to make a meal that reminds someone of home or someone they loved. It’s about acknowledging our existence, our shared history, and the incredible journey that brought us here. For me, it’s also about honoring the lineage of my family, who have moved consistently in search of better and new lives. Their stories, their sacrifices, their perseverance—it all culminates in this moment of joy when we come together and celebrate.

So we keep celebrating - in quiet moments and raucous gatherings, through recipes and rituals. Each celebration stitches together the pieces of who we are, weaving us back into the tapestry of our people. It is how we honor the past, embrace the present, and walk proudly into the future, carrying all the flavors and stories of our becoming.

In the end, celebration in diaspora is an act of alchemy, transforming loss into remembrance, distance into connection. It's how we remind ourselves that we are more than the sum of our shattered parts. That we carry within us the power to make ourselves whole.

Ayesha Erkin is an interdisciplinary creative and consultant specializing in the intersection of food, architecture, culture, and community. Born to a mixed Turkic and Arab heritage, Ayesha grew up in Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Germany, and the United States, experiences which have deeply influenced her multicultural perspective. Her work emphasizes the human experience and the concept of belonging.

She began her professional journey as an architect, trained in vernacular, regional, and sustainable design. Ayesha is also a recipe developer and writer, having authored "Date of the Day," a cookbook inspired by creating family traditions. This book features innovative date recipes reflecting her cultural heritage and culinary creativity. Additionally, she co-founded 'Brown Girls Food Club', building a global community for women of color through a shared love of food.

Her diverse portfolio includes collaborations with major brands like Bon Appétit, Participant Media, and Soho House, and she has been recognized as a Rare with Google Leader. She recently launched her culinary, design, and consulting studio "People, Places & Spaces." Ayesha splits her time between Texas and London.

Socials: @ayeshaerkin @browngirlsfoodclub @ppsstudio.co