02.

December 23rd, 1947

Some days I missed Father. We were close, closer compared to Mother and I. He had always treated me equally, and secretly, in our Ramallah backyard, he would teach me games and play sport with me. Mother had always distasted me, playing sports.

She had said, “Young girls shouldn't play sports. Young girls should learn how to be the proper young women and a wonderful wife!"

 Mother's mind had always been like that. Ever since I was born, I was always a big disappointment for Mother.

But now that Janine was born, she might turn out to be Mother's perfect daughter. One she would show off to her friends.

"Oh, my daughter Janine just got married to a wealthy man from Bethlehem,"

I could practically hear her bragging later on when Janine was old enough.

Today, Mother woke us up at the crack of dawn. We did sholat together and Bilaal left for work in the fields. Mother cooked some Musakhan for us. Long ago, back before the war, Musakhan was just a simple breakfast delicacy. Now, after the war, resources were scarce and food was plain now, just rice and meat. Musakhan felt like a dream.

We locked the door and brought Emad and Janine with us. The journey to the workshop was about 20 minutes, and we spent the time walking in silence, people passing by us. It was 6 in the morning but the streets were busy.

Once we entered the shop, Mother hurried to the weave and I hurried to settle Janine and Emad down. They were exceptionally quiet today, although they were always quiet.

"Emad? Janine? What's wrong?" I asked softly as I fondled Janine's blanket. They looked each other, a solemn look on their faces.

"Haneen," Janine clasped my hand in hers.

"Yes Janine?" I asked, slightly worried with her unusual manner.

"Something bad will happen!" Janine gravely warned.

"Something very bad!" Emad piped in.

"Oh, okay," I told them both, slipping my hands off Janine's. "How about you two play here? Mother and I need to work," I said, awkwardly walking away. I could feel their glares on my back as I walked away.

Once I got to the weaver, Mother asked me what took me so long; I had replied that Janine and Emad were acting strangely. She gave them a look and continued with her weaving.

Slowly, the women began to walk in, some greeting us, and others not. One of them, Mothers close friend, Khalti Jamar, came up to Mother to gossip.

She turned to me, suddenly and said, "Haneen, you're 18 right? You should be getting married soon!" before turning back to Mother. I jolted from my slouching position and looked to Mother in panic.

"Never mind that," Mother said with a wave of her hand. "She'll be married in no time!" She boasted.

I looked at Mother as if she was crazy. I'm 18! Sure, that is marrying age, but not now!

She looked at me, "I believe in you," and returned to weaving.

I shrugged it off and do what I usually do, pack.

Janine and Emad's warnings really did come true, because later on in the afternoon, a letter arrived.

In the letter, it said of the death of Father. How his squad was hit by enemy missiles, and he did not survive. His body was to return home soon.

Bilaal hadn't come home yet, and it was all a mess. I could only stare at the words written in the letter.

'Did not survive...body will return home soon...'

Mother had slowly collapsed when Bilaal got home. It felt like in a blink of an eye, everything fell apart.

Mother stormed towards her room and became a crying mess. It was shock, also sadness. I couldn't believe it. Janine and Emad came up to me, with confused looks on their faces. They couldn't understand why Mother had run to her room, a crying mess.

They came close to me and questioned me.

Tears slowly ran down my cheek as I realized, this was reality. There was no hidden message, no hope that Father was still alive. It was written in black and white and there was no grey.