The world around me is crumbling.

Bombs are dropping; houses are crashing; people are dying.

Yet, here I am. Under the full moon, and dark blue sky filled with little glowing stars that remind me that hope still exists. Hope. What a funny word.

Sometimes, it feels so possible. And sometimes it feels… unreachable.

Right now, I feel something in me, dying quietly, piece by piece. My parents are dead. Dead. I haven’t even processed the fact that they’re gone and never coming back. And just a few days ago, my little brother, Omar, left this world.

I can’t even say that he left this world. That sounds peaceful. So I’ll say this instead.

My four year old brother got shot in the head. Thirty-five times. I watched. Every. Single. One.

Better? Not really. That just makes the memories of him come flooding back and I really do not want to start crying again.

I attempt to stand up, but all I manage to do is crumple down again- I’m tired. My head is spinning. I look around me. Bare land, and grass strands here and there. A couple of trees grant me shade, but other than that, it’s completely lonely.

I have no-one now. No-one, and nothing.

I put those thoughts aside and clear my head. I have to find a way to get shelter. So I push myself up, although every bone in my body is screaming. My breath is ragged, my hands are dry, so is my tongue. Water. I need water. And food.

I moan in pain as I limp towards a large, half-dead tree. I place myself onto the gnarled roots, into a comfortable position, and lean on the tree-trunk to gaze at the stars, pressing my hand against the bleeding wound on my leg. It hurt like crazy. I shut my eyes and tried to think of anything but the pain – the deaths of my families – the aching need for water and food – but all that shutting my eyes does is increase the headache. It’s as if something is burning inside my head. The fire is hot, and it won’t die down. It’s killing me. Internally and externally.

A sudden cry of a creature brings me back to reality. My eyes pop open. Was it a bird? Or a squirrel? Or was it a human? Whatever it was, it sounded close-by. Above me. I needed to figure out what – or who – it was, before it caught me. I angled my body to where the sound came from.

Another cry. It sounds like a musical tune. What could it be? I squint into the darkness of the tree branches to see a tiny figure, perched on a branch. A blue – green body. I recognise it once it starts singing. Oh! I should’ve known! A Palestinian Sunbird. That’s what it was.

The bird hops down onto the ground and pecks at the grass. It’s so small, yet so unfazed by the events happening in life. It looks so…free. It jumps around the earth, and at one point, it’s so close to me that I freeze, too scared any tiny movement will make the bird fly away.

I was lonely. I wanted a friend. And this little bird was a sweet one.

“Hello, Birdie,” I call out softly to the bird, who is now pecking at a rock a little away from me. “I’m going to name you…” I think. What should I name my new friend? “How about Birdie?” I giggle, as the bird comes closer to me and pecks at my toes, which are covered in dirt. I’m laughing now, as the bird starts singing a wonderful tune. I join in and sing along with it.

“Free, free, Palestine,

May the rains bring flowers and peace.

Free, free, Palestine,

May this cursed war finally cease.

Free, free, Palestine,

May our dreams endlessly increase.

Free-”

The explosions rudely interrupt my duet with Birdie. Why am I not surprised?

BANG BANG BANG. Gunshots. They remind me of Omar.

CRASH! Falling buildings. Which reminds me of my house, being broken down.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Explosions. Not so far away from me. I can see the flames and the smoke coming from the exploded areas, a few kilometres away from me. This reminds me of how fragile everything is.

In all the chaos, I forgot about my little friend. Birdie.

She is nowhere in sight.

She must have flown away once the bombs hit. Poor, poor, Birdie.

The noises continue for about half a minute, until finally it echoes into the night, leaving me back to being alone under the tree.

It’s so quiet now. Silent. Peaceful. I look up at the stars. They shine down on me. Twinkling. Teasing. Smiling. And for the first time in eleven years, I dream. I connect the stars in the sky with imaginary rope and it makes the shape of Palestine. I dream of a world that is perfect.

I dream of  a world in which children can wake up in the morning and be thankful to go to school to study. I dream of a world in which mothers could wake up thinking, What shall I make for lunch? Maqluba? And some Knafeh for dessert? Not, How will I survive today? Which one of my children will die today. Or will it be me? I dream of a world, where one day I could roam the forests and befriend all the sunbirds and name them all. I dream of a world in which happiness is as common as explosions. I dream of a world in which we were all allowed to dream.

I drift off to sleep sooner than I expected.

I don’t know if it’s in my dream, or if it’s in real life, but when I open my eyes, the world is shiny and clear, flowers are scattered around the floor, trees flourish with fruits and green leaves, sunbirds sing and fly in the sky and the breeze makes me shiver in happiness. Omar is happily running around there. I run to him, crying of happiness, and carry him. I spin him around and overload him with kisses. Mama and Dada are both holding hands and standing under an olive tree, Mama’s holding flowers and looking so pretty. I think I’m wearing a dress, a clean one, that is purple and my hair is flying in the wind. I hug my parents and dance around the meadow and sing with the birds, my heart racing. I’m at peace. I’m happy. I’m- dreaming.

 Is this reality?

I wake up and I’m still under the tree, but it’s morning now. The sun is rising. And – my breath catches. It’s so breathtakingly beautiful. It’s not only beautiful- it’s ethereal.

The sun is casting a glow against the holy land, and I take in the beauty and rareness of the scene. I smile, even though my heart aches a little because it was all a dream, but I still smile despite that. Because I know – I know – deep inside, that one day, my dream will turn into reality.

Even if it takes months, years, decades, worlds –

I know.

And even if the world falls apart again, and again, and again…even if the stars forget how to shine… I will keep dreaming.

For Omar.

For Mama and Dada.

For Birdie.

For Palestine.

I will keep dreaming – because dreams are where hope lives.

And hope is the last thing they can take away from us.

~ This is not the end. Free Palestine. ~