...towards the cliff. I am leaving the US again, for how long I don't know. Lord knows I don't plan to return as I did before, stranded and helpless. Or at all, for that matter. 4 months after I got here in the chill grey of dying winter, I have clung to my culture shock with tenacity. I always wanted to leave, and now I will. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I think Turkey will be good for me. Arabic hasn't left, and I will learn something new.
So do not despair, dear heart. Only you can walk this path through the valley of darkness, but no one can stop you. So go with a bright heart, neglect your fear. In time you will arrive in the sunlit country where you belong. Just keep going.
But I will never forget the awkwardness felt by that fellow Calid at Trent's party (which one?) in Rabat. Declining the joint, sipping his juice, looking astonished by the foreign fellow Americans whose company he appeared to have shared in a long time. He seemed to have been comfortable in Syria. But he was a nishan meslem, not like me. I am not sure what I am, or where I belong, or what I should be doing. So I must keep looking. Khssni nmshi, wa kanwssel insha'llah. Dima nsrani ana. Z3ma, nmshina! Bla khattar. Nshufek, sahabi.