I remember a time in my life where I was terrified of who I was. I remember a time in my life where I didn’t know how to explain who I was to people. I remember a time in my life where I didn’t know how to speak for my people. I remember my identity being my insecurity. I remember feeling most vulnerable of not understanding if I was more proud to be American or Palestinian. I remember when I lived in Gaza for four months. I remember the dirty children, I remember the shy girls, and the flirty boys. I remember the laughing fathers and loud mothers. I remember the shattering nights healed by the promising sun in the morning. I remember the glass cracking to every bomb exploding. I remember the spoons bending from falling so much to the ground while the house shook. I remember the beach being a place of companionship for both dinners and funerals. I remember leaving. I remember my sister breaking her leg. I remember my other sister needing surgery. I remember my mom falling in a deep ill sleep for a week. I remember my body begging me not to leave. I remember leaving, and I remember it very clear. I remember not wanting to be scared as I was put into machines and through body checks. I remember looking at my mother and telling her to leave me there and I would never come back. I remember saying goodbye to a place where no matter how much oppression, how much depression, and no matter how much they were distressed in a land of so much pressure. Every single soul treasured a day to live in Phalesteen. I remember not ever learning that from America, the land of Opportunity.