The quote “Home was nowhere. It was not a house, not a city, not a country. It was nothing more than a collection of memories, smells, and moments that no longer existed.” feels like something I could’ve written myself. I’ve moved so many times that I stopped knowing what home even means. I was born and raised in Dubai, then moved to New Jersey, went back to Dubai, then to New York, and now I’m in Egypt for university. Every place felt temporary, like I was just visiting my own life. I still keep a specific perfume I used to wear all the time. Every time I smell it, it doesn’t bring comfort; it brings sadness. It feels like I’m smelling what my life used to be, like I’m standing in a memory that doesn’t belong to me anymore. I keep trying to build a home, but it never feels real. It feels fake, like I’m pretending I belong somewhere even though I know I’ll probably leave again. Or maybe I just can’t accept that I’ve already left.

The quote “Every time I walked away, I left a version of myself behind.” hits even harder. I can feel her hurt because I’ve felt it too, just in a different way. Every time I moved, I lost a version of myself that fit that place, the one who knew those people, walked those streets, spoke in that tone. It’s like I’ve lived so many lives, but none of them feel whole. I didn’t get numb, I just started hating everything and everyone a little more each time because losing so much makes you tired. I miss everyone and everywhere. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to miss anymore. Walking away doesn’t always mean physically leaving; sometimes it’s just emotionally shutting off. I’ve done that too. Sometimes it’s easier to disconnect before anything or anyone can disappear again.

The line “To translate is to inhabit another’s silence, to feel the weight of what cannot be said.” made me think about how hard it is to express yourself when so much of you feels scattered. I understood it as more than just about language it’s about trying to explain a life that never felt stable. For Mounzer, translation isn’t just switching words from Arabic to English. It’s about carrying the emotions of people who can’t speak for themselves anymore and trying to make their pain understood. That’s what makes her writing strong. She’s not just talking about herself. She’s speaking for others too, especially for people whose stories might never be heard. I’ve tried to “translate” my experiences to people who ask where I’m from or what home feels like, and it never makes sense. There are no words for the kind of silence that comes from always starting over. Maybe that’s why I feel like I don’t have one clear story or identity. Everything gets lost in translation, even me.

My questions:

Does sharing painful stories actually help people heal, or does it just keep reopening old wounds?

If Mounzer says language fails in the face of violence, then why keep writing at all? What purpose does telling these stories serve when words can’t fully capture the experience?

Why does Mounzer say that some things can’t be translated like what makes certain feelings impossible to explain in words?

I used chat gpt for like organising my writing or like making it smoother like i put in what i wanted to say just expressing myself naturally and it made a well organised paragraph.