I Wish I Died
By Muhammad Meri

As I watch the news of the Intifada on TV channels, I feel happy and sad. I feel happy to see my fellows in Palestine fighting for their rights for our rights only by stones. But at the same time I feel sad because of helplessness feeling to help my fellows there. I hated myself because of this feeling of helplessness, I wanted to be there in Palestine to fight with my nation, I wanted to be there so if I died I would die in my homeland not a refugee in the camps…

When I saw the photo of Muhammad El Durra, I thought of Israel, I wanted to kill an Israeli but then I started to think can I kill an Israeli child and I cold blood as they killed Muhammad El Durra? I know they I could not despite my deep hatred to Israel, How could they? I can't commit their crimes, I know that. , I hated the world because they don’t so anything to us, I hated the Arabs too...

When I knew about the trip to South Lebanon I felt happy because I wanted to tell my friends in Dheisheh camp in Palestine that I am thinking of them and that we are all together Palestinians in the Diaspora and inside Palestine. On my way to the south I was very happy... I was holding a stone in one hand and my death in the other hand. I wish I had a gun to kill an Israeli soldier... As throwing stones on the Israeli soldier who lie on my land, my land that I am not allowed to visit, I felt so happy because a soldier with all his weapons did not scare me...

When the Israelis threw the teargas bomb I was in the front, I could not see anything, my friends started to wash my face. I could not breathe too; my chest was full of their gas, their poisonous gas.

Usama and my other friends from Shatila hold me, as soon as I could see I used to run and throw stones on the Israelis. When Hassan from Shatila got shot, I felt so sad, when I was told he died I fainted. He is after all my camp fellow and I love him so much. He was great and all the children in the camp love him for he used to take them on rides on his motorcycles. But when I regained my consciousness I ran again to throw stones n the Israelis. This time I was throwing stones with all my strength I was outraged I felt I hated the Israelis even more. I was throwing stones and mourning the death of my friends I felt I did not want to stop throwing stones at all. But then in few hours they asked us to withdraw to go back to Shatila...

When I reached the camp I felt so happy because they the people in the camp were throwing rice on us and singing for our return. When I reached home, my mother and my siblings were crying, they were scared about me. Then I started to cry like a child. Oh how I wish I died on the south and not return to my sad, miserable ugly camp. But then I did not die and here I am in Shatila , Shatila that I hate and I hate my life. I feel lost and lonely, a little guy with no father to take care of him and hold him in his arms. A lonely guy with no house to protect him from the streets no homeland where he could have rights and live as a human being.  My chest is still full of gas; I still feel suffocated but have no hospital to take care of me. How I wish my destiny would be like my father or Muhammad EL Durra" DEATH".