Smoky Mountains trip, June 2019

I glance at my watch and check the time. It’s been about 3 hours since we left Detroit, and the signs overhead are pointing to Cincinnati. Surrounding us are golden fields of windswept grass, stretched out on both sides of the long and flat highway. Occasionally a farmhouse or yellow-green tractor passes by.

“Corn county, USA” says Nora, inspecting the scenery from the passenger seat. Two more girls are asleep in the back. I speed up a little and pass Zain in the left lane. The rest of our crew is in his car — among them is Lana, Nora’s sister. She waves at us as we pull forward.

We won’t be in the flat plains of the Midwest for long. We’re headed for Gatlinburg, a small town on the foot of the Smoky Mountains. I’m eager to get there, but I try to stay present-minded. No point in being restless on vacation.

Halfway across Kentucky, the scenery becomes more mountainous and the highway winds between jagged forest. I switch to my bluegrass rock playlist and Nora brings out the sunflower seeds. We’re getting closer now, gaining altitude by every exit, and our spirits are high.

Nora and I chat about Instagram. An Arab-American’s profile, she tells me, is a balancing-act: a finely-tuned mixture of tradition and modernity, where excited ‘yaaas bitch’ comments appear right next to ‘may Allah keep you for us’. Some lean…