I Laughed Too Loud at a Joke That Wasn’t Funny

(Except… I didn’t. I stayed quiet so I wouldn’t break the scene.)
It’s funny. I never had that moment ... the one where you laugh too hard at a joke you don’t find funny, just to be liked.
That’s not how it worked for me.

For me, the performance was quieter.
Not louder.
It was silence instead of laughter.
Politeness instead of pushback.
A nod. A smile. An inner eye-roll.
Because sometimes, in this culture, it’s safer to vanish into the room than to stand in it fully.

I remember one moment, not long after I came back to Saudi.
Fresh off the plane, 30 years gone.
Still dusting off the old social codes. Still learning which version of me was “safe” in a gathering.

A wealthy man ... well-connected, well-meaning ... started offering unsolicited advice about my career.
Except… he had no real understanding of my industry.
None of what he said made sense.
It felt like someone giving me cooking tips in a kitchen they’d never walked into.
Chefs, everywhere… but not a single one who’d read the recipe.

So I tuned out.
Not rudely. Not loudly.
Just quietly decided not to entertain it.

Later, someone pulled me aside and said I’d been dismissive.
That I should’ve played nice.
Smiled more. Nodded more. Let him finish his TED Talk.

And I felt… embarrassed.
Not because I regretted what I did ... but because this person was a guest of someone I respected.
And I hadn’t just ignored him.
I had made someone I loved look bad by association.

But the truth?
I didn’t want to smile through it.
I didn’t want to explain why I didn’t agree.
I didn’t want to validate bad advice with good manners.
I didn’t want to shrink myself ... again ... just to let someone else feel important in a field they didn’t understand.

I’ve learned that in this culture, confrontation isn’t always seen as strong.
It’s seen as disruptive. Disrespectful. Dangerous.
So I walk away.
Because I’d rather be accused of being distant than risk being labeled dishonorable.

But silence has a cost, too.
Because when you don’t speak, people fill in the blanks.
They write stories about you.
Speculate.
Decide what you meant.
And now… you’re not just misunderstood.
You’re misrepresented.

There’s a tension in that ... between keeping the peace and keeping your truth.
And some days, I still haven’t figured it out.

But I know this:
I’d rather be quiet than fake.
I’d rather be misunderstood for saying too little than be praised for pretending too much.

Because I never laughed at that joke.
I just… left the room.