Writing a self-reflective tirade is perhaps one of the most difficult tasks to perform. The part of my life that I am going to make known to you, is a subject that I myself have been wondering about. I have found myself pondering this topic for an unusually long time; I decided to write about my culture-- the one thing about myself which I understand the least. This question which is so easy for others to answer often leads me into a series of complicated explanations, "I was born in the U.S., to an American mother and an Arabic father. I am now nearly twenty-six, which means I have spent half of my life being Arabic, and the other half trying to be American, or is it the other way around?
             I do not consider myself Arab-American. I am too "Americanized" to be Arabic, (although by birthright, I am American). So what does all this have to do with my culture, what does a label really matter to cultural identity? It matters much. I believe that this seemingly trivial confusion over labels reveals the even greater confusion that surrounds my cultural identity: Am I a bridge between these two multifaceted cultures, or have I become a mosaic displaying colors from here and there, and elsewhere too? Perhaps both, and I could be a colorful bridge, or perhaps neither. Whatever the case, I cannot seem to separate these absolutely disparate realities within me. Their forces are still clashing, coming together within me, creating an extraordinary mystery out of me. I believe that to truly analyze my culture, the roots of this confusion must be explored. I must try to encompass the widths of two worlds, their unique interactions within me...which I hope constitute what is called culture.
             I am an alien of sorts. I am an alien in my own country... but what is my own country? I am an alien wherever I go. In the Middle East, my lack of Arabic reveals my American leanings. In the U.S., my appearance has marked me as a "minority." Being bi-cultu
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