“Did you pack your bags yet?” Zaina asked me. 

“Pack my bags? Are you kidding me? We don’t leave for another month,” I said with a chuckle. 

“Ahh, senior trip?” Mrs. Hartin asked, overhearing us. 

Zaina and I nodded in agreement. 

“The hottest perk of being a senior here. You girls truly are lucky,” she added. 

Ever since grade school, something that I wished for and could not wait to be a part of was the traditional senior trip. At school I was considered “a lifer” (a student who has attended since grade school). I knew all the ins and outs; I could tell you everyone’s name from pre-K-3 to my senior class. I could differentiate between every brick in the building, every scratch on the desk. I could tell you exactly where to go, the specific spots of the cracks on the floor, and who you would see on the way. School really had become my second home, and the school community had become my second family. 

I had been overly excited for this trip for many reasons, but the most important one was that one of the countries I was traveling to was populated by people just like me. People who believed in the same religion as me, people who dressed like me, people who spoke like me (well…that’s besides the dialect issue, but overall it’s very similar). I could be my true self, not having to hide a half of me. I’ve lived in the U.S my whole life, but I never really could call it home. No matter how hard I tried, I was never American enough for the Americans.

Nothing I did was enough. When I changed my style to a more “casual American style” I still was stared at weirdly because of my headscarf. When I used to live in a predominantly white neighborhood, every time I walked outside and was greeted by people, they always talked with hand motions, hoping I was understanding them better because in their minds, my headscarf meant I did not speak English. When the spiritual Islamic month of Ramadan came around, I was repeatedly bombarded with questions and judgments about why I would “starve myself all day.” All I could think to myself was, “Thank God I won’t be here in the U.S when Ramadan starts so I do not have to hear those snarky comments.” 

Those two weeks of insurance I thought I had flew by so fast, by the time I blinked it was the middle of March already and that only meant one thing: senior trip. The days went by even faster as the day of our departure became closer. 

“When are you going to pack? You leave in two days. You should have been done already,” my mom told me. 

As excited as I was for this trip, I also felt very uneasy about the fact that I would leave my family and home for almost three weeks, which is why I kept pushing off packing my suitcases till literally the night before. That night was so hectic. I lived in a loop that never ended. It started off when I picked out things from my closets, then I weighed them, then I saw that my bag became too heavy, so I took everything out, then I debated which item was more important, then repeated. This happened over and over again, and by the time I finished, my closet covered my whole floor. You couldn’t even see the light purple carpet anymore. My room looked like a hurricane had hit and took down all the houses with it and the only survivor of the tragic storm was me, sitting there surrounded by the remnants of what was left behind.

What I thought was a real challenge was just a small battle in the war. The main fight was trying to fall asleep, and that was nearly impossible. The most random hypothetical questions and thoughts were running through my mind and there was no way to quiet them down. Was it really necessary for me to be up and think about how comfortable or uncomfortable the hotel beds were going to be? Probably not, but there was not one thing that slipped my mind that night. I woke up the next morning not knowing how I had managed to get my mind to rest and eyes to sleep, but glad I did because I had a long adventure ahead of me. 

After a long quiet ride to the airport, we finally made it. My brother opened the trunk and unloaded my almost-overweight suitcases down. My whole family got down with me as I checked in with my teacher and went to stand in what felt like a neverending line to receive my boarding pass.

As I stood there all alone, my thoughts started rushing again. I tried to think of something to stop the chaos in my brain, but the chaos won and conquered my thoughts as usual. The realization truly hit me; I was going to be away from my family, away from my bed, away from everything I ever grew up with for a long time. I had never even been away from my parents for more than two days, but now I’d be gone for more than two weeks. I walked up to the desk, checked in my bags and received my pass. As I turned to walk back to my family, I suddenly felt a warm tear roll down my cheek. 

“Great,” I thought to myself. 

Now my thoughts wanted to leave and not occupy my mind when I needed them most. Once I actually got to where my family was standing, I was already in full tears. I needed one last hug, one last smell of home, one last familiar face before I was off to another side of the world. As I hugged my parents tightly, not wanting to let go, I heard a voice in the distance. It was my friend telling me to hurry up. No matter how hard I tried to block it out, the voice just kept getting louder and louder. 

“Amira, we have to go now or our flight will literally leave us behind.” 

I eventually let go of my parents, and this is where the feeling of loneliness was formed to last me throughout the whole trip. 

My senior trip that I had waited years for was going by as fast as beads falling off an unknotted string. A week full of strolling through the streets of Istanbul, sightseeing, getting drawn to the markets and buying almost everything there, staying up all night in a hotel with my friends, and inevitably getting fooled by the ice cream man, and all the true memories that would stick with me for a lifetime had already passed. 

“How much better can this trip get?” I thought to myself, but little did I know what was in store for us. 

Our enjoyment and carelessness had come to an end when we had to pack our bags yet again to fly to Saudi Arabia. We went from the cold, chill, crisp air of Turkey straight to hot, humid, sticky weather in the beautiful desert of Saudi Arabia. We landed in Medina, the second holiest city in Islam. The peace and serenity that I felt and experienced in Medina was truly unbelievable and cannot be matched anywhere else.

Our hotel was right outside the Mosque; all you had to do was exit through the back and you would already be on the grounds. The week that I had spent in Medina reminded me of my familiarity with my school. I had become extremely familiar with it. I knew exactly where places were and how to get there, and I am absolutely horrible with directions. When I first got my license, I would still plug in the address of my grandparents’ house because I did not know the way, and they have lived there my whole life. I even lived in their home for a short period of time.

But the streets of Medina came so naturally to me. Every mall, restaurant, market, literally anything you can think of was within walking distance. Although I am pretty familiar with the idea of walking everywhere because of vacations back to my home country, it just hit me at a different angle this time around. Back in the U.S vehicles are our main source of transportation and we do not even think twice about driving anywhere, but walking? No never, that’s out of the ordinary. That doesn’t fit “American standards.” Being able to experience different ways of life firsthand really started to take a toll on me. 

It was that time again, time to pack our bags and go to another city in a two-hour train ride. Our next and final destination was Mecca. Mecca is the holiest city in Islam and is where Muslims go to make their pilgrimage and worship. Mecca is where the sacred Kaaba (House of God) is located. 

What I thought was paradise in Medina was mirrored in Mecca as well. The city was shining with a different type of light. This light came from the spirit of its people.

Although there were people from all different parts of the world, despite us all being different, we were all here for the same reason: to worship God. Going to the mosque as an entire group was almost impossible from how packed and busy it was. Sleep did not exist. It was no longer in my dictionary when I was in Mecca. Every minute of the day was filled with something to do. 

Even though I was miles and miles away from home, I never felt more accepted and comfortable. I was no longer an outsider. I was part of the majority, and there were no minorities. There were no odd stares, no rude comments, no feelings at all of unwantedness. I got to experience things I would never have been able to do back in the U.S. as a woman, and on top of that as a Muslim woman. There are some unwritten laws that women have.

You cannot walk around with a high pony-tail in case someone pulls it and hurts you. You cannot wear anything you want in case someone assaults you. You cannot hold a purse, but if you do you must hold onto it very tightly and close to your body in case someone robs you. We women cannot do anything without second-guessing or thinking of all the worst possibilities that may happen. We women cannot walk around freely like normal humans. We women are not even considered normal humans to many. We women have to base our actions on how others will respond to them. But why? Why do we women have to deal with all this nonsense? 

Going out with my friends late at night is something I will never experience in America. It was about a quarter past two in the morning when my friends and I finished our pilgrimage and wanted to go out to eat and shop around. Like I mentioned before, sleep did not exist. If you were hungry, you would go eat at any time; restaurants and stores were open all day and night; nothing was ever closed. The only exception was during prayer times when people would close their shops, pray, then open them back up again.

Here, prayer is priority and everything else comes after it. Living in America where I had to practically hide when I wanted to pray in public, I felt ashamed. In Mecca, people close their life’s work and source of income to go pray, while in the U.S., I try to wait till I go home so I do not have to pray in front of people. 

“I want to go to the Clock Tower and shop in the neverending malls there, then we can grab something to eat at one of the restaurants there,” suggested Maddy.

“By the time we come back the hotel will probably be serving its breakfast. We can also just eat from there too,” I replied. “Whatever we end up doing I am sure will be fun, but we probably should get going now before the last bits of my energy wear off.” 

We left our hotel and wanted to go to the Clock Tower which basically is the Empire State Building of New York, but bigger and better. Hours passed by as we tried to explore each and every single floor of the one-hundred twenty floor building. Shopping around exhausted us, so we decided to head back to the hotel and eat breakfast there then get some rest. 

“Which exit are we supposed to leave from? There’s like a million in this building,” said Zaina very worriedly. 

“Do not look at me! I’m so bad with directions. I even got lost in our own hotel,” I said, which made us even more worried. 

“I mean, I don’t blame you, our hotel has like three different malls inside it, but I think we are supposed to go down to level nine and get out from there,” said Maddy. 

Zaina and I followed her blindly, not knowing where we were going. 

“Look, there’s the exit right there,” Maddy pointed to a sign. 

“Oh yeah I see it,” Zaina agreed. 

We continued walking till we got outside and stared at each other blankly. We had not exited the Tower; in fact, we had entered a different part of it outdoors. 

“I thought you knew where you were going,” I laughed at Maddy. “What do we do now?”

Zaina checked her phone, hoping to find out how to get back, but when she looked up back at us her face turned yellow. “My phone has no service,” she said even more worriedly. 

“I think I’m just going to ask one of the officers. Maybe they could help us out,” Maddy confidently said. 

Zaina and I nodded in agreement and walked together with her to the man. He pointed in the direction of where we should get headed to get back to our hotel, but that was it. No further details. We started to head in the direction he pointed, but nothing was familiar. We were no longer in the square of the Clock Tower, but somehow ended up walking in the streets outside of the square. All three of us stopped and stared at each other once again. 

“Okay, I’m done walking endlessly not knowing where we are going. I’m going to wait for a car to stop and ask them for directions or a ride. We are way too far from our hotel and the sun is already coming up. We have wasted so much time walking around clueless. And not to mention, I am extremely tired. I’ve been up all night.” I began to get frustrated. The feeling of loneliness and separation from my family was coming back to me. 

“Are you insane? You don’t know anyone here. How are you going to just ask and trust a random person from the streets to help you?” Zaina was on the verge of losing her mind. She was already scared from the beginning, and my suggestion did not make things any better. 

“Calm down, we aren’t in America anymore,” Maddy reassured her. 

Maddy and I worked together and approached the first person we saw. He was a friendly man who offered to drive us back to our hotel without charge. We got into his car and he drove us safely to our hotel. Throughout the whole car ride, my mind kept replaying what Maddy had told Zaina: “We aren’t in America anymore.”

That handful of words resonated with me. What Maddy said was true. I would not dare walk up to a car in Chicago’s busy streets and ask for help from a stranger, but here I did it without hesitation. I did not even question myself. This was my home away from home. These people were my family. They took care of me, an outsider in that country. In the couple weeks I was there, more people cared about my well being and safety than back where I had been living the past eighteen years. The level of hospitality was beyond my expectations, and it really made me think of how culture influences people’s way of life. This one occurrence with a complete stranger who did not hesitate to help three lost teenage girls without any charge, just from the kindness of his own heart, made me reflect on myself and my life. Are the people here and the people back in America made up of different genes? What is in the DNA of these people that isn’t in Americans? 

And that is the major difference I felt when I was in Saudi Arabia. There were no unwritten rules, there was no such thing as we women or we men. We were all one, it was we as a human race, we as society, we as a whole, nobody was left out. I never thought five words and a simple interaction would hit me hard and change my perspective on life. I used to feel a sort of comfort here in the U.S.; it has been my home for so long, but now that I have felt more at home in a place very very far away from home, I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same comfort or safety that I felt there. Twenty-four/seven in Saudi Arabia the streets are busy and filled with life; chaotic yet comforting. The people do not rest until they know you are safe. That is the beauty of Mecca: the real city that never sleeps. 

Through this process, I gained a deeper appreciation for cultural diversity and my worldwide view expanded. This transformation was not without challenges; it exposed my vulnerabilities, made me question my own assumptions, and pushed me to reevaluate my values and beliefs, but the lessons I learned and the personal growth I experienced have become an integral part of my identity.

I live in two worlds; one foot is in the American world and the other is in my Arab world. Although I experienced this culture shock in another country, this experience became a journey of self-discovery, illuminating my strengths, weaknesses, and qualities that make me unique. It taught me that change and discomfort can lead to growth and a more profound understanding of myself. I no longer think of myself as an outsider anymore; it allowed me to look beyond the negatives.

Living in two worlds isn’t so bad after all. I have the advantage of two different lenses. I may be different from your average person, but that is me and I will not change to fit in some sort of standard. My differences make me who I am.

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Photos courtesy of Amira Froukh