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The story of being a Refugee

By Arwa A Abusrour

If I were not a radical Palestinian, I would have liked to be a Palestinian at heart.

It was not a favorable idea to be born among the olive fields, and the land usurped, as any Arab dream to wake up to the voice of Allah Akbar, church bells, the smell of Jerusalem bread, and the calm waves of the sea in Jaffa, between the grapes of Hebron, and the fish of Gaza … Here Palestine.

Hello .. I am a Palestinian girl and this is a pride, I am 20 years, with refugee identity, refugee! Sorry I will clarify some things …

Before 1948, my ancestors were in a small town, possessing a green paradise, called Beit Nateef. After the Israeli occupation entered our country, we were displaced and dispersed in different parts of the world. Currently, I settled in Jericho, where I was born. The beginning of worldly death … I will talk to you with the reality of what I see .

Here you are not free, you must forget that you are a flying bird as you like, the fact that a small bird in an occupational cage, the land is not yours, and the water is not at your disposal, this is their law, the law of occupation that claims humanity, or false peace.

I always wanted to escape to Jerusalem, to pray in Al-Aqsa Mosque, without crossing from a checkpoint, or between two soldiers and that bullet directed at your heart, because you are Palestinian, dear …!!

I dreamed in the sea of ​​Gaza, I heard a lot about its fish, about the Jaffa orange, the minaret of the Al-Jazar Mosque, the sunset of Haifa, but I never saw any of them … What I saw was the blood of the martyrs, the prisoner cell, or the blue refugee card.

I told you a little, many when you came here to my land, to my mother Palestine … the end of my talk, raising my flag, towards the sky we become ….

Arwa A Abusrour