The trip home does not end when the airplane lands in Jordan. It begins.
The taxi radio was on. The radio talk show host was talking about how the next day marks 69 years since the occupation of Palestine. She began talking about the problems in Palestine, the negotiations that died long ago but politicians keep bringing up – as if there is a hidden message we have failed to catch – , the prisoner hunger strike, the, the, the…the list went on.
I was still in Jordan. I would be for a while. I wondered how, for the past 69 years on May 15th, things have not changed…not for the better. I wondered how many more generations will come and hear that for so and so years, things have not changed…not for the better. I will wonder this again, around a week later, when President Donald Trump comes to Palestine.
The next day, I get a message from a dear friend:
“How ironic you arrive on the day we were displaced.”
And my thoughts continued to struggle between the past and the future…when Palestinians were displaced and when they…if they will come back.