By Abed El Rahman Zaaroura

I will start my story by a word which means everything to me: Palestine.
Palestine lives inside me even though I do not live in Palestine the land. I live in Shatila, you know that small camp in Lebanon for Palestinian refugees if you forgot. Shatila, the camp, What can I say about it. For us as  Palestenian refugees Shatila means many things: It means wars of the past: 1982, and the war of the camps to say the least. It means suffering in the present; Shatila means the absence of dreams for the future. However it meant, means and always will mean one and only one dream: the dream of return.
I am from a village called Saffouriyah in North Palestine. The Israelis destroyed my village completely because they were scared of the love, happiness and values that its inhabitants held, this is what my grandfather always tells me. My grandfather also told me that life in Palestine was very nice. There is nothing better than living in your homeland among the people you love and you care for he always says. There is nothing better than staying in the shadows of a tree in your village; there is nothing better than sitting on the sand of your land our land back in our homeland Palestine. There is nothing better than lying on the floor of Palestine contemplating its sky and listening to its birds singings. I wish if I can sit in Palestine that all what I want from this life is that too much for me?  All what I wish in this life is to save Shatila and free Palestine...Is that too much for me?