Originally published on Latterly

I’m at a language exchange in Milan, Italy. The way it works is I pair up with an Italian native speaker. We talk in Italian for a few minutes and then we switch to English. I’m introduced to a new person every few minutes and the topics of conversation repeat.

The guy in front of me now is from Naples. He’s boisterous and affable. He’s also patient and helpful in correcting my fractured Italian. “You speak well,” he says. “Where are you from?”

I normally avoid answering this question, but he’s kind and engaged in the conversation. Also, I’m here to practice speaking, so fuck it. I tell him my dad’s family is Lebanese but I grew up in the U.S. We run over the allotted time, but my story isn’t finished and he has more questions. No, I wasn’t born in the U.S. Yeah, I know, I don’t look like most Arabs.