Yalla, grab your ahwa and settle in. We need to talk.
Last week at the pediatrician’s office, the receptionist looked at my appointment sheet, squinted at my son’s name, and said, “Oh wow, that’s… unique. How do you even pronounce that?”
And for a split second - wallahi, just a split second - I almost did it. I almost said, “Oh, you can just call him by his nickname.”
But then I caught myself. Because you know what? His name isn’t “unique” like it’s some Pinterest craft project gone wrong. His name is from the Quran. It’s mysterious and beautiful and doesn’t need a translation or an apology. And my other son? His name literally means “prince.”
So why was I about to shrink these powerful names down to make a stranger more comfortable?
The Name Game I Used to Play
Here’s the crazy part: I used to do this with my own name. I’d literally mispronounce it - say it the wrong way - just to make other people feel more comfortable. Can you believe that? I was butchering my own name to spare strangers the “burden” of learning how to say it correctly.
I used to tell people, “Oh, just say it however works for you!” Like my name was some flexible suggestion instead of, you know, my actual name.
And don’t even get me started on the heritage explanation. Someone would ask where I’m from and I’d launch into this whole thesis defense: “Well, I was born here, but my parents are from Egypt, but I’m American, but also Egyptian, but not really Egyptian because I don’t live there, but…”
Mesh keda? (Right?) But I did it anyway, every single time.
The Transformation That Changed Everything
Then I had kids. And suddenly, I realized I was about to pass this apologetic energy down to them. These beautiful boys with powerful names - one meaning “prince,” the other carrying the mystery and beauty of the Quran - and I was going to teach them to shrink themselves for other people’s comfort?
La’a. (No.) Not happening.
So I stopped. I stopped mispronouncing my own name. I stopped the thesis defense about my heritage. And most importantly, I taught my kids that their names are gifts, not burdens.
Now? They don’t change their pronunciation for anyone. They say their names with pride, they correct people when needed, and they never, ever apologize for who they are. And honestly? I couldn’t be more proud.
But here’s where it gets really good…
The Day I Created Something Beautiful (And Got a Little Scared)
Because I wanted my kids to feel comfortable with who they are always, I created Soonaboosh. I wanted them to have Egyptian t-shirts and Arabic text clothing that celebrated their heritage, not hid it.
But I’ll be honest, I was a little worried the first time they wore their new Arabic hoodies to school. Would they get teased? Would they feel uncomfortable? Would other kids ask weird questions?
You know what happened? They loved it. They still do!
In fact, my youngest - unbeknownst to me - handed out my Soonaboosh flyers to his teachers and principal one day! Can you imagine? This kid was so proud of what we’d created, so confident in his heritage, that he became my unofficial marketing team!
That’s when I knew we’d done something right.
The Real Tea (Or Should I Say, Shai?)
The transformation isn’t just about names or clothing, though. It’s about everything we’ve been taught to minimize about ourselves.
It’s about cooking molokheya for dinner and not apologizing for the smell. It’s about playing Amr Diab while cleaning and not caring if the neighbors think it’s “too loud.” It’s about saying “inshallah” when you mean “maybe” and “yalla” when you mean “let’s go” because these words carry your soul in them.
It’s about wearing that Egyptian t-shirt to the grocery store, rocking that comfy Arabic hoodie to parent-teacher conferences, and letting your kids wear their heritage with pride. It’s about treating your culture like the treasure it is, not something to hide in your closet for “special occasions.”
It’s about realizing that your Egyptian heritage isn’t something to manage, it’s something to celebrate.
And here’s the kicker: when you stop apologizing for who you are, other people stop expecting you to. When you treat your heritage like the treasure it is, others start seeing it that way too. When you wear your Egyptian pride openly, you give other people permission to celebrate their own cultures too.
Your Turn, Habibi
So here’s my challenge for you: Pick one thing this week. One name you won’t mispronounce (even your own!). One Arabic phrase you’ll use without translation. One Egyptian t-shirt you’ll wear without explanation. One piece of Arabic text clothing you’ll rock with confidence.
Watch what happens when you stop apologizing for the beautiful, complex, wonderfully you person you are—whether you’re Egyptian-American, Arab-American, Egyptian, Arab, American, or carrying any other gorgeous cultural mix that makes you, well, you.
Because the world doesn’t need another person trying to fit into someone else’s idea of normal. The world needs you, exactly as you are, with all your gorgeous cultural complexity intact.
Mabrouk (congratulations) on being exactly who you’re meant to be.
What’s one thing about your Egyptian or cultural heritage you’re ready to stop apologizing for? Drop it in the comments - I want to celebrate it with you! And if this made you smile (or cringe with recognition), share it with someone who needs to hear it. Sometimes we all need a reminder that our names, our culture, and our Arabic clothes are gifts, not burdens.