Memoir

It was the night of July 1st, 2011. The air was thick with hanging dew. I gaze vacantly out of the blue-glossy window, locked into the deadening greys of the outside world, and puzzled about what my future holds. Tick tock, tick tock; with every metallic click, my breath grew heavier. It was 11:00pm; 5 hours from our 16-hour flight to London, Ontario, Canada. Frustration built up, sparking all happy thoughts to clog, like a dammed river trying to escape its prison; "How am I supposed to make Canadian friends when I am Arab?" "How will I speak to them in my pathetic Middle-Eastern English?" "How will my mother even interact with anyone, not knowing how to speak any English?" I wandered over to the other side of the room, where my younger brother was lounging and stared into his silver grey eyes with distress and sighed, "Hey, are you ready for this huge change?" Unlike myself, he was ecstatic and joyful. He responded with thrill, "Yeah, I can't wait! Imagine all the new people we will meet, and the intriguing adventures we will have". With hope, I walked up to my little white board to unleash my worries, and with a red marker, I began to write in my 5^th grade language:

"On Saturday, 2/7/2011 is our big day going to Canada. I can't wait for that and I will miss all my friends and people. I hope everything is good. Inshallah I have fun. Inshallah. Love Deema."

After living for two months in London, Ontario, Canada, and engaging in minimal interaction with anyone, school season begun. The morning of September 6^th, 2011, I tucked in my white blouse into my red plaid skirt and adjusted the green blazer against my shoulders, while tightening my striped tie, and dressed into my black polished flats. I lifted the strap of my blue pack bag and was ready to head to 'Matthews Hall Private School', my new middle school for three years. I entered the small elegant school with purity, shyness, and tension, while negative thoughts were roaming through my head, without an exit. But in that moment that I was about to line up in the back with all the other 6^th graders, I let out a deep sigh and regulated a huge smile on my face to give a positive first impression of myself. A short girl with long golden blond hair, and big cerulean blue eyes approached me and introduced herself; "Hi! I'm Heather," she actively powerfully announced. "And I am Deema," I answered with pleasure. "Nice to meet you! See you around!" she ran back to the front of the line.

Two periods passed by, and in both classes, I introduced myself by telling my name and revealing where I was from. My classmates were all from London, Ontario, Canada. It was unusual for the school to receive any international students. But this only amused them; during recess, I was flooded with questions from Heather and her friends Emma, Kayla, and Christine, about my Arab accent and language, cultural background, and personal history. I told them all about code-switching and how I communicated with both English and Arabic with my friends back in the UAE. This really interested them as most of them lived in a monolingual community. In addition, I went on about the diversity contained in my international school in terms of having a wide range of nationalities. Moreover, since Matthews Hall School was very small with only 300 students, they were amused that Choueifat had over 2000 students and a huge campus. Such details marked our differences, but only made us closer as individuals. As time passed, and as I graduated middle school and entered into high school, I easily adapted to the Canadian lifestyle that commonly included speaking the accent and saying stereotypical words such as 'eh' and 'soory' (sorry). It really felt like home. My personality was positively impacted as I gained more confidence with my English and overall speaking and presenting in class. I managed to separate my Canadian English and Middle-Eastern English, as well as my Arabic. My mother, who suffered with speaking English managed to take English lessons and succeed in it. However despite learning English, she sacrificed it and still spoke to us in Arabic at home, for my brother and I not to lose our Arabic, while my dad spoke to us in English. This created harmony between both languages and for us to not lose one or the other.

After four successful years of learning Canadian English and becoming a proud Canadian citizen, it was time to return to the UAE given that my dad had received his job back in Abu Dhabi. Without realizing that I have adjusted to the Canadian way of speaking, I returned to the UAE feeling disconnected from everyone, similar to the first day in Canada; I was struggling to speak the "Middle-Eastern English" that I always used to speak with. Within last year, I had enough time to alter to my friends' way of speaking, and can now communicate in both Canadian and Middle-Eastern English, as well as Arabic, while code-switching too. Change can always be for the best, and as Fred DeVito said: "if it doesn’t challenge you, it won't change you." 

                    Writing on the white board, before travelling.