I clasped my knees to my chest, sinking as far as I could into my sweat soaked sheets, and buried my face beneath my hands. And yet, the spoonful of cumin continued to prod between my fingers as exasperated voices shouted, “koli, koli!” eat, eat! My body had already purged itself of anything that might have been converted into useful energy, and my limbs trembled from exhaustion. I eventually relented, choking down the bright yellow powder as the faces around me grinned and nodded with contentment. This bout of food poisoning had been a truly unpleasant physical experience, but long after my body had healed, the same nagging questions continued to surface in my mind. Why did they insist on me eating that stuff even though I didn’t want to? …show more content…
I charged into class with excitement but was quickly intimidated by the heritage speakers and graduate students. Most days I felt like I wasn’t making any progress and had become convinced that I was the most mediocre Arabic student who had ever stepped foot inside a classroom. The sounds just didn’t form correctly on my tongue and the multitude of rules and forms became hopelessly jumbled in my brain. I wasn’t accustomed to classes being this difficult or feeling like my academic capabilities were sub-par in any way. I dreaded speaking in class and couldn’t understand why Japanese and Spanish had come easily to me but Arabic remained an undying struggle. After receiving lackluster grades my first year of classes, I questioned my choice of studies and intellect but continued to press forward. I began studying relentlessly, practicing my speech with videos online for hours and exposing myself to as much original source material as I could manage (both Modern Standard Arabic and colloquial Moroccan Darija). Slowly my grades began to improve and I became hopeful that when I saw my friends in Morocco again I might have a little something to show for all my