Other Words for Home

by Jasmine Warga

I am learning how to be sad and happy at the same time.

That is something powerful enough to transcend oceans: a mama’s ability to say something without actually saying it.

Americans don’t have much history so they like things they think are old.

America, I realize, has its sad and tired parts too. America, like every other place in the world, is a place where some people sleep and some people other people dream.

Americans love labels. They help them know what to expect. Sometimes, though, I think labels stop them from thinking.

I wonder if it is exhausting to be a tree. To lose something, year after year, only to trust that it will someday grow back.

Lucky. I am learning how to say it over and over again in English. I am learning how it tastes— sweet with promise and bitter with responsibility.

Hoping, I’m starting to think, might be the bravest thing a person can do.

But I wanted her to understand that we’re happy here, even if we don’t look like what she thinks of as happy.

I’ve decided it is very American to have the audacity to claim that three things add up to everything.

I have learned Americans love to say you know and then stop talking. They force you to fill in the hard parts, the things they are not brave enough to say.

it is not only women who look like them who are free who think and care about other women. That it is possible for two things to look similar but be completely different. That I cover my head like other strong respected women have done before me, like Malala Yousafzai like Kariman Abuljadayel like my mama.

That I cover my head not because I am ashamed forced or hiding. But because I am

proud and want to see...

There is an Arabic proverb that says: She makes you feel like a loaf of freshly baked bread. It is said about the nicest kindest people. The type of people who help you rise.