Shamelessly eating free cake but forgetting to bring a gift at a birthday party

My parents moved country when I was just a baby, travelling from India to Italy back in the early 2000s.

We lived in a small village on a hill which was about 15 minutes away in car from the nearest town.

As I have grown up trying not to think too much about the past, I only keep the happy memories of my childhood days in my heart.

And there are many of them.

Yes, we were the only Indian family in the village and I was for a long long time the only Indian girl in my classes at school.

Of course we had a different skin colour, a different way to dress, a different cuisine. My father and mother didn’t know the language but we were a happy little family going by our business.

In the school, my differences made me special: I didn’t fit in any group but I was part of all of them.

The other children of my years would make small groups and always hang with the same people every day but I was always jumping from one group of friends to another, being a part of all of them.

I could easily speak to some people and then move on in conversation with someone else and they would happily accept me with big smiles. I was the connection in between all of them, a bubble of cheerfulness.

Not once I felt alone.

Described in this way, you would think that I was the happiest child ever. But unfortunately I wasn’t on some occasions. My worst memories are also from my childhood.

One of the times which I can recall as if it happened yesterday, occurred when I was about 9 years of age.

Still in elementary school, I was that bubble of optimism who I described up above.

As I said the nearest town to my village was a 15 mins drive and that’s where my school was so I used to take one of those yellow buses which they show in movies.

On one of my school days, I guess it was a Wednesday because we used to finish school early on Wednesdays, I came back home and saw that, along with my mom waiting for me as she sometimes did, there was also my friend Silvia’s mom. Silvia was one of the two other girls who were the only children my age who lived nearby so we had easily become friends. But once again I was the connection between us three, being friends with both Silvia and the other girl but them not being friends.

My friend’s mom, a strong middle aged lady with dark black hair, had apparently tried to say something to my mom but she couldn’t understand her due to the language barrier.

So she told me what she had come to say: it was her daughter’s birthday and she invited me and my little sister (who was aged 5 or 6 at the time) to her birthday party.

My mom happily agreed.

I was so excited also as it was going to be my first time going to a birthday party.

Of course many other of her friends came and we had a lot of fun, eating and playing around the whole afternoon.

But then came the moment.

When it happened, on the spot, it didn’t affect me much apart from the temporary embarrassment and the feeling of a fish out of water, but for the days that followed the event, it genuinely made me think about my whole existence as a human being.

It was the time to cut the cake. The candles were blown, the happy birthday song was sang cheerfully. We ate the cake. And then…it was time to open the presents.

Well, guess what?

We didn’t bring any.

In my mind’s blurred out memories I see the table as it was. Full of colourful boxes and the remains of the cake.

Now, like I said it was my first time being invited to a birthday party. I did know there were presents involved but completely forgot to bring one. And realistically looking it wasn’t entirely our fault since Silvia’s mom had literally invited us 2 hours before the actual party as far as I remember.

All of the girls present agreed to open the gifts on a first comers basis. Meaning that the first person who had arrived at the party, those person’s present was going to be opened first.

Me and my sister we were somewhere in between and obviously we knew we didn’t bring any when everyone else had.

If I had been older perhaps I would’ve made an excuse and escaped the awkward moment that I knew was about to hit us.

It was all cute stuff she received, among which I remember chocolates and a pencil-case full of stationery.

So it came me and my sister’s turn and they all looked at us.

It’s quite amusing to play this in my head all these years later.

We simply told them we didn’t bring anything, and yes it sounds very sad but to add insult to injury one of the girls present, simply stated, “oh yes, they didn’t because they’re Indians.”

It was said like a fact. A statement.

I don’t remember what the others said but they quickly moved on.

Now, as I have just turned 22, I never thought about this episode of my childhood until the moment I decided to write about it.

It almost feels like a confession too embarrassing to be told. And I don’t even understand why.

It obviously doesn’t affect me in any way today because I know that those words didn’t mean any harm, of course, they were spoken by a child.

It’s just an unfortunate memory I have to carry with me, and probably the reason why I never forgot about it was because, for a long time after it happened, I actually kept on thinking about it.

Being the only ones to not bring anything, I thought it just made me look like an idiot.

II felt so low, I remember I played a hundred images in my head of possible improvised gifts I could’ve given her and how it all could’ve gone differently.

What makes it even sadder is the fact that a few days later my mom mentioned how we didn’t even bring her any gifts. I think I just lied or something saying we were not the only ones because I felt to humiliated to tell her the truth about what really happened.

“They’re Indians.”

What did that mean anyways?

Was it an insult?

Was the girl trying to provide a reasonable justification for why we came empty handed and shamelessly ate the cake anyway?

It really sounds so silly to me now.

Did all Indians in the history of humanity never bring any gifts to the birthday parties they were invited to?

I understand we were just children at the time. The girl was only a year or two older than me. It was nothing more than just a mistake from my side which turned into an embarrassing situation. And it was nothing more than a silly comment of which I’m sure that girl would be embarrassed too if I’d told her about it.

I asked my sister if she remembers what happened at Silvia’s birthday. She said no.

I’m glad she doesn’t.