I am not them, nor are they me.

Photo by David McLenachan on Unsplash

I am not Palestinian

Neither am I an Arab

But the feelings I feel

Aches and tugs the strings of my heart.

I am not from the land

Nor have I touched its sands

But this anger I feel

Burns me without end.

My ancestors harvested no olives

Nor have they left me sprawling groves

But that grandma clinging to her olive tree

It could be my grandmother clinging on to her legacy.

I don’t bake ka’ak, or cook hashweh

Nor do I know how to prepare a maqloubeh

But the love that I pour into the food for my family

It’s the same motherly love of a Palestinian mommy

I am not them, nor are they me.

But we are all weaved,

in this intertwining, complicated

intricate, melancholic

thing called humanity.

• Ayuni A. , December 2023