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Showing posts from May, 2025

Cultural Adaptability in Language and Identity

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  We often think of language as a tool, a way to speak, to write, to get by. But for some, language becomes something much more. It becomes a mirror reflecting the cultures, histories, and beliefs that shape who we are. This is the story of a young man whose life was quietly transformed not just by the languages he learned, but by the worlds he entered through them, and how, in learning to speak like others, he learned to see himself more clearly. He was born into the richness of Arabic, the Egyptian dialect flowing naturally through his home, his streets, his childhood laughter. But it was the eloquence of Modern Standard Arabic that shaped his schooling, the language of textbooks, poetry, and formality. From a young age, he lived with two voices: one for comfort, the other for clarity. And yet, neither felt incomplete. Together, they formed his first understanding of how language isn’t just sound, it’s identity. Later in life, English found him. Not just in the classroom, where g...

Echoes - The silence that once protected him became punishment.

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  When you’re young, life feels simple. But admiration? That’s a complicated feeling for a quiet kid,  the introverted, to of the class type, who speaks more with his thoughts than his voice. And in the middle of that silence… came Grace. What happened next? Let’s find out,  through a conversation that might be true... or might not. Grace: “Hey, Tommy. It’s been a while.” Tommy: “Yeah… it has.” Grace: “You look different.” Tommy: “So do you… but somehow, you don’t. Not to me.” Grace: “You still remember me?” Tommy: soft laugh “How could I forget? You were the first girl I ever liked.” Grace: “When?” Tommy: “Primary school. You probably didn’t even notice me back then — I was the quiet kid. Always alone. Always studying.” Grace: “I remember someone like that…” Tommy: “You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Your hair… your eyes… your cheeks that always blushed in winter. Even your nose would turn red in the cold. I remember everything. Like a painting I saw once an...