![]() ![]() ![]() Feeling impossibly lonely, she takes to visiting the library and finding her company in book characters. Probably know the story regardless - Matilda the precocious little girl neglected by her parents. “Matilda” was one of the books I read at the time. I wasn’t the person people around me expected out of me, and it wouldn’t make sense until years later when it didn’t matter anymore. I desperately hoped for a friend like the compassionate characters from my books, someone I could relate to. ![]() I wore my curly hair “too wild,” didn’t say much and performed dismally in religious studies. And while this afforded me a stable interest in learning and a love for school, it didn’t comfort the isolation I felt around others. I read everything within my grasp, from books and recipes to my mom’s citizenship test prep book. And by the time I could read, my world expanded beyond the construct of my city. It was the flashy cartoons on the screen that told me stories, the quirky bus songs that taught me how to sing. I might have spoken Arabic first, but I understood the world in English. ![]() I learned a lot on my own rather than through my parents. I was considered “too American” by many people. ![]()
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