One week after my wedding in Jordan, and a week before my dissertation on the effect of American aid to Egypt and Jordan's social policies was due, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was returning to Palestine with my entire family and joy filled my heart as we walked over the bridge on our way to Jerusalem at dawn.
This dream has been carried from generation to generation, by millions of displaced Palestinians in the diaspora. The key is a symbol of return. In my life, I've been told that its impossible to return and that I should keep dreaming. In reality, the right to return is protected under international law, yet under the same body of laws, a separate UN Agency has been created to deal with "Palestinian only" refugees, also known as UNRWA. The "refugee issue" is a shunned talking point at the negotiation tables.
For a while, I have listened to the voice of oppression. I bought into some lies. This created a paradox between what I was being told about the situation and my disposition to return. I want to return to life in Palestine as it was prior to 1948, where people of all ethnic and religious backgrounds lived together freely. I wasn't sure how to deal with this paradox because it caused me pain, yet offered me hope. So I pushed it away. The more I pushed, the more this dream of return came back to me stronger, bolder and more resolute.