When I first registered for this class, I assumed it would be just another requirement to complete. I expected light discussions about identity and a few simple activities. However, midway through the semester, I realized how deeply this course began shaping the way I understand myself and others—and how many lessons extend far beyond personal reflection into academic and intellectual growth that I will carry into university and beyond.

One of the most surprising moments came when we read Lina Mounzer’s “Finding Truth and Beauty.” I had always believed translation was a neutral and technical task—simply transferring words from one language to another. I never considered how emotionally demanding and ethically complex it could be. Translators must constantly decide what to preserve, what to adapt, and how to carry meaning between contexts. These choices influence how readers interpret the original text. Reflecting on this helped me recognize similar experiences in my own life. When I traveled to Turkey, even when someone translated conversations for me, the humor, tone, and cultural nuances often felt incomplete. That experience helped me understand that translation is not only linguistic—it is personal, cultural, and interpretive, with layers that cannot always be expressed word-for-word.

This course also challenged concepts I thought I understood. For example, I initially assumed empathy and compassion were the same. Through class discussions, I learned that empathy is feeling with someone, while compassion is acting because of that feeling. I connected deeply with this distinction when my cousin passed away. I imagined the grief his parents and siblings were experiencing, and I carried a heaviness inside me because of their pain. Yet, although I felt close to their sorrow, I struggled to take action beyond attending the funeral or checking in afterward. This taught me that empathy is emotional, but compassion requires intention, time, and the courage to support others even when we feel unsure.

This separation between feeling and action became even clearer during our activity with the empathy toy. When I was blindfolded, I had to build a specific shape relying only on verbal instructions. I felt disoriented and frustrated without visual cues. Even simple tasks felt overwhelming. This mirrored the helplessness I felt when my cousin died—sensing others’ pain but not knowing how to help. Removing the blindfold reminded me how easily sighted people step out of discomfort, while visually impaired individuals cannot. That moment showed me that empathy is feeling another’s struggle, while compassion asks us to act: advocate for accessibility, offer help, or simply listen without assumptions. I learned that genuine care begins by asking what someone truly needs.

Another powerful moment came from the digital simulation Skills Practice: A Home Visit, where I supported a woman facing domestic difficulties. My instinct was to fix the situation quickly by offering solutions or resources. However, the simulation showed that what she needed first was to be heard. I learned that genuine support begins by validating someone’s feelings, not rushing to solve their problems. This experience reshaped my understanding of care—not as a task to complete, but as a process of presence and attentive listening.

Unexpectedly, I also grew academically through a panel discussion on how AI is transforming learning, teaching, and creativity. I assumed the conversation would debate whether AI was “good or bad,” but instead, the speakers highlighted practical uses. They demonstrated how students and teachers can generate storybooks, create images, compose songs through platforms like Suno, and even explore video-generation tools such as Sora and Veo. Many educators spoke of AI not as a threat, but as an extension of learning. Study modes now function like tutors—asking follow-up questions, scaffolding ideas, and prompting reflection. Students especially appreciated Google Notebook LM because it draws only from uploaded class material, making it more reliable. Although the speakers warned that AI citations can be unreliable, they encouraged responsible use. I was struck by how naturally many people have accepted AI’s growth. It made me wonder why some embrace it confidently while others respond with fear.

Before Soliya, I assumed cultural differences would make it difficult to connect with students outside Egypt. However, as we discussed politics, education, family, and identity, I realized how similar our lives were. I used to see Western countries as more advanced and capable, but learning about their political and economic challenges reminded me that no place is perfect. This challenged internal assumptions I carried and helped me appreciate the strength and resilience within the Middle East.

My identity as a Muslim girl raised in the Arab world still influences how I communicate. Interestingly, during Soliya, I initially found it harder to speak with a Pakistani girl—even though we shared more cultural similarities. Instead, I felt more at ease speaking with Lebanese and American students. It took time to understand why. I realized I carried unconscious assumptions about Pakistan that shaped my interactions. This experience taught me that bias can appear unexpectedly, even toward those who are culturally close to us.

Through this course, I also learned more about myself emotionally. I tend to observe quietly before opening up to new people; I take my time to feel safe. But once I do, I engage sincerely and deeply. Before Soliya, I never imagined I would connect so easily with people who were not Egyptian. I always felt most comfortable around those who shared my culture. Yet this experience encouraged me to step outside my comfort zone and speak to people I might not have approached otherwise—and these conversations became some of the most meaningful moments of the course.

What surprised me most was how this mindset began to shape my daily life. About three weeks into the semester, I met a Sudanese girl on campus named Lina. Normally, I would have assumed we had little in common and remained distant. Instead, I approached her with openness, and we became friends. This reminded me of the value of curiosity over assumption. It taught me to avoid judging others based on where they come from and instead give them space to express who they are. These small moments helped me understand what it means to be a global citizen: to be open, curious, and willing to learn from difference.

Still, I hope to continue growing—especially in expressing my opinions on sensitive topics. I often avoid conflict, and I hope that with time and practice, I can speak more honestly without fearing judgment.

Looking back, I am grateful that I was wrong about this class. I did not simply learn about identity—I learned how language shapes meaning, how culture influences perception, how stereotypes limit understanding, and how conversations across difference open new possibilities. Most importantly, I learned that behind every “single story” is a whole human being with many stories—ones we only discover when we listen long enough.

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