Page 26 - Solstice Art & Literary Magazine 2021

-اركش
THANK YOU
Truthfully, I didn’t agree— why did I even have to learn how to write in the first place? Not to mention explaining my heritage to others isn’t the easiest. Are you
Arabic? they would ask. Yes, I’m a language, I would respond jokingly. One time someone asked me why I was wearing a cross.
“Because I’m Christian?” I said. Why else would I be wearing one?
Explaining to them that Christian Arabs exist usually prompts numerous head tilts. And there’s nothing wrong with being a Muslim, it just wasn’t true about me.
The next week passed and it was Saturday, and it was time for anoth- er lesson.
Earlier that day, I was play- ing air hockey with my cousin. We watched as the round puck glided across the white board as we pushed it back and forth trying to get a goal.
“So do you have Arabic les- sons again?”
“Yeah, I wish I didn’t,” I said. She stopped playing and looked at me surprised. “Dude, are you serious? That’s so cool. I wish I
could speak Arabic,” she blurted out. “I mean it’s alright, but honest-
ly when will I need it? You can speak French, and it’s so beautiful,” I said.
“What makes you think Ara- bic isn’t?”
I realized I was so adamant on not learning how to read or write in Arabic because of its difficulty level that I became blind to the true blessing it was.
I am part of a culture so deep and rich in history it puts dark choco- late to shame. Its music is littered with metaphors and stories like rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream. The food I eat has a history that dates back to the time of Jesus. And it was all because my grand- ma, someone I could call my best friend, cared enough to teach me. I couldn’t believe that I would ask myself why I needed it—uh, maybe it’s because without it you couldn’t talk to your grandma, genius. All those laughs, jokes, and memories happened in
Arabic.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to
her. This time I ran up the stairs, not fleeing from my culture but running towards it.
I walked up to my grandma and said “اركش (thank you),”
“For what?” she asked.
“For caring enough to teach me about everything.”
For the first time, I cared enough to learn.
S A R A H
When the timer finally rang, I closed my note- book shut and shoved the books with Arabic writing on the cover away. I gave my grandmother a kiss and bolted downstairs. A dark blue van pulled into my driveway. Fi-
nally, I thought to myself, those gru- eling 60 minutes were over. It wasn’t anything personal; I loved my grand- mother. She had short brown hair that floated right above her shoulders and lines etched in her face from smiling. When I was with her, we were both developing wrinkles; coming up with inside jokes was our favorite pastime. I was just antsy because my cousins from France had arrived.
A L A M I
R
When they came in, I helped carry their suitcases up the carpeted stairs.
“I missed you so much; how was France?”
“It was good. How have you been? What did you do today while you waited for my life-alter- ing presence?” she asked, doing a dramatic spin.
“Wow... well life-altering is definitely a phrase, but I had Arabic lessons today.”
“I thought you already knew how to speak fluently. . .”
“I do, I’m learning how to read and write,” I said.
“That’s cool,” she said.
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