Being multilingual roughly translates to speaking a mix of languages that is often only understood by those you live with or those who speak the same set of languages, which is quite rare in my case. Throwing in a couple of Arabic words that clash with Hungarian grammar rules but also fit into a mostly English sentence creates troubling phrases that usually result in either laughter or frustration — or maybe, a mix of both (which we could call laughtration (pun intended)). 

     We’re taught to speak English as we’re told it gives us power. The power of success in the unfortunate world in which Western forces have overtaken; cancelling out our cultures and traditions, and most importantly, cancelling out our sense of identity — the mother tongue. Losing touch with what is said to be our entire identity is like losing your sense of personality, leaving little room for having the will to accept what we are given and remain silenced by those who placed us in our seats in misery. 

     All I can remember is sitting at the kitchen table, on the verge of another breakdown caused by lectures that seem never-ending. Repeatedly being told to speak more Arabic and less English, regardless of the fact that no one bothered to spend the time and effort to teach me proper Arabic. Being lectured on knowing too much English was a problem I did not foresee or expect, but was one that I now understand to a certain extent. I tried. I tried to speak Arabic… but all I could notice was the look I would get when my letters would slip and my pronunciation would miss. All I can remember is sitting at the kitchen table, on the verge of another breakdown, caused by losing touch only to gain power.