I grew up speaking ‘broken Arabic.’ I could reply to my mom and understand but not fluently. It only got better as my family traveled to Libya in the summers, something my father wouldn’t budge on, even when he couldn’t afford it. It was important to both of my parents that we grow up Knowing Libya, while also being well-rounded and involved in American society. I began freelancing in college. It bothered me my mother couldn’t comprehend the topics I wrote about on the same level I could. Sometimes I’d sit and translate to her in my improved Arabic, and we bonded that way. Our relationship improved as I got older and understood what love was. Perhaps my next post will be about that. For now, I am happy she understands my Arabic font and smiley face translations on Viber.