What Thanksgiving feels like as an international student 

This time every year, I long for yellow-orange leaves that crunch under my Doc Martens, the sight of ripening pumpkins sitting on a barrow, and the fragrant taste of seasonal spiced lattes that never seem to hit the same in sunny, tropical Malaysia where I now live. 

It’s the fifth year that I’m not spending Thanksgiving in the USA. I don’t wake up checking my phone to wonder what the fickle Missourian weather would be up to. I don’t pull on layers of clothes and contemplate putting on gloves and a scarf. I don’t trudge my way to the student centre, careful to sidestep any black ice along the way. And yet, I still remember those little moments like it was yesterday. I only spent three autumns in the Midwest as an international student, but each one of those felt extremely precious, and ever-so impactful. 

For those who might wonder — what is Thanksgiving like for someone who had never celebrated it? Here is my recount of the experience. 

My friends and I cooked some tried-and-true Thanksgiving staples, ingredients courtesy of the university. Source: Claudia Khaw

What my three Thanksgivings was like as an international student 

For the most part, Thanksgiving in the US is rooted in family traditions. Most local students will travel home to see their family, leaving the campus empty and slightly eerie for a few days. I remember it used to coincide with Reading Week, allowing students to have an extended break while “studying” for the upcoming finals. 

To me, Thanksgiving seemed like an American version of Chinese New Year. It was a lot about reunion and visiting family, but instead of celebrating prosperity, it seemed to be more rooted in gratitude for what you already have. 

That concept — even if performative and just an excuse to gather together and stuff our faces full — was nice. While Thanksgiving has complicated roots that downplay the colonisation and violence against Native Americans, I felt like its ethos, and eventual reckoning of American forefathers’ complicit past, made for a unique celebration. 

I spent my first Thanksgiving with a friend from Illinois. Her family was kind enough to house me and my friend, who was another international student. I also got a taste of suburban life, visiting local marts as well as Costco and H Mart. That first Thanksgiving showed me the essence of the holiday, and the bittersweet feeling of staying “home” while being some 30,000 miles away.  

For my second Thanksgiving, I travelled all the way to Oregon to celebrate it with my friends and former classmates from Malaysia. We prepared an assortment of foods that we couldn’t really place in terms of cuisine. It was just whatever we could get our hands on. I remember feeling especially touched this Thanksgiving. There we were, so far away from home. But together. And grateful. 

The third year was quite a different picture. The pandemic was raging on, and many students were not able to return home for Thanksgiving. Our university actually prepared care packages of ingredients for students to pick up and cook on their own. It came with some instructional videos prepared by campus chefs as well, which was actually a thoughtful touch. I remember prepping brussel sprouts, turkey breast, and some potato croquettes with my friends (the ones I spent my first Thanksgiving with). My Chinese friend also cooked up some lotus root with minced meat, giving it that true international inclusion. 

Three thanksgivings — all different, but rooted in the same warm feelings. In my mind, these moments are coloured gold, scored by the sound of crunching leaves and the scent of pumpkin spiced latte. 

Embracing old traditions and creating new ones 

What surprised me most about Thanksgiving wasn’t the strangeness but how quickly the strange became familiar. 

This is what international students learn, I think — not to abandon where we’re from, but to practice a code-switching that goes beyond language. We learn to appreciate performative gratitude while holding onto our own versions. We learn to make casserole and curry in the same kitchen. We learn that home isn’t just one place or one set of traditions, but something more portable and improvisational.

There’s a particular skill international students develop, though we rarely name it: the ability to build belonging anywhere, with anyone, out of whatever ingredients we have on hand. We become fluent in adaptation without losing our mother tongue. We learn that tradition doesn’t have to be inherited to be celebrated. And sometimes, it can be re-invented on a Thursday in November with friends of all sorts of backgrounds. 

It’s a holiday about gathering, about choosing who you sit down with, and how that choice can shape your experiences. Because for international students, that choice is more deliberate. We’re not just showing up to the table we were born at. We’re building new ones, setting them with borrowed and invented traditions, and learning to call that home too. 

I’m not trying to overly romanticise Thanksgiving. I know that the consumeristic Black Friday (and now even Cyber Monday) that follows can be pretty problematic, too. But having that quiet Thursday before the rush of Christmas and New Year actually helped me slow down as an international student who just wanted to make the most of every second. It helped me realise what I already had, instead of focusing on what was yet to be achieved. It helped me reflect. It helped me be thankful. 

Although I will not be celebrating Thanksgiving to its full capacity this year, I hope to carry on its message of gratitude in me. I am grateful for the friends who helped me create a home while abroad — and I hope every international student can experience that, too.