How a search for fun for our teens taught us about community, integration, and the modern magic of libraries.
I’ve always tried to make the festivals of my homeland a big deal in our house. For Eid, I’d stitch their clothes myself, my hands guiding the fabric that would become their festive best. For Pakistan’s Independence Day, our home would be draped in paper chains my kids made and green-and-white buntings we’d spent days crafting. I poured my love and nostalgia into these celebrations, hoping to see the same spark in my children’s eyes that I felt growing up.
But the truth is, for our teenagers, what was monumental ‘fun’ to us has become their ‘normal.’ Where I remember the electric excitement of all my cousins gathering in one of the family homes, for them, a trip to the mall before Eid is enough as they live in a joint family, so probably there’s no fun of seeing your cousins. The special, slow-cooked food I associated with celebration is often overshadowed by the easy thrill of a Dominos Wacky Wednesday deal. The patriotic fervor of August 14th that once set my heart racing didn’t quite translate through my homemade decorations.
And I’ll admit it. I felt a pang of jealousy. I looked at the global cultural exports of Christmas and Halloween. The parades, the street performances, the sheer, unadulterated fun that seemed designed to make a child’s eyes widen, and I wondered, why can’t we have that?
Moving from Pakistan meant deciding to embrace the role of a global citizen on a much larger canvas. It meant stepping out of our own cultural comfort zone and stepping into the rhythm of our new home. So, when we learned that our Junta de Freguesia do Parque das Nações (JFPN) Cultura e Associativismo at Biblioteca David Mourão-Ferreira, Lisboa was hosting a family Halloween escape room, we saw it as the perfect, non-threatening opportunity to participate.
The first lesson was about the library itself. In Lisbon, a library is not just a silent temple of books. It is a living, breathing community hub. It hosts diverse programs, workshops, and projects that pulse with life all year round. It is a place of connection.
The escape room was a revelation. It was so much more than a game; it was a masterclass in community engagement. Brilliantly planned and impeccably executed, it involved ten teams of four or five participants. Our mission: to solve a series of intricate puzzles within eight-minute slots, with each solution leading us to a secret book hidden in a different segment of the library.
I watched, utterly captivated, as my kids, who sometimes need coaxing to put down their screens, became fervent detectives. They scrambled between shelves, their heads bent together over cryptic clues, their voices a hushed, excited whisper. They weren’t just playing a game; they were forming a relationship with the library—a relationship built on adventure, problem-solving, and fun. I had never seen a library in such a light before. What a profound and brilliant way to encourage a lifelong love for books and learning.
Our team, a hodgepodge of our family and nine other local teams, laughed and strategized together. For that hour, we weren’t outsiders; we were fellow adventurers. We were integrating not through paperwork, but through shared purpose and playful collaboration.
Our very first festival in Portugal was fun, yes. But it was also meaningful and served a higher purpose. It was about stepping out of our comfort zone, masking up for the first time, and allowing ourselves to be swept up in the simple, joyful act of community.
We didn’t find a parade or a massive street party. We found something better: a connection. It was a reminder that festivity isn’t just about the scale of the celebration, but the spirit in which you participate. And in a library in Lisbon, dressed in a simple mask and solving puzzles with my family and new neighbours, we found a new kind of magic to celebrate.
Leave a Reply