But what if the mother tongue is stunted? What if that tongue is not only the symbol of a void, but is itself a void, what if the tongue is cut out? Can one take pleasure in loss without losing oneself entirely?

My Italian words aren’t just the everyday words that I’ve used all my life; they’re a distinct set of memories that I formed with my own hands and brain. In learning that language, I created a new mind and a new personality for myself. That is the dearest gift of language learning—you get to meet a new you.

Each time I cross a border, I feel the push and pull in my body, a cacophony of competing desires. And always there are choices to make: what to assimilate, what to reject. Is it true that we are always, as migrants, and the children of migrants, attempting to choose what my parents call "the best of both worlds"? Or is it possible to transcend—no,