hange my relationship to the person asking it. And often, in a substantial way. I never found the right way to navigate being a foreigner, mainly because my idea of home is distorted; the country on my passport, Syria, was a place I’d only visit in the summer. And I am indeed very proud to be Syrian, and I still tell people that I am from Syria.

I have no idea if this is true for other writers, but when I sit down to begin, I often start with a little ritual. First I light a candle…