I know that the most beautiful moments of life passed without much awareness and appreciation, as winds blew far from the caravans of dreams and visions. When awareness dawned, the pains of rebels slipped through my fingers, and here I am, joyfully and merrily writing about the people of the wound in Palestine.

I remember them as they remember me with longing, affection, and pride, as they are the most beautiful and sweetest memories, indeed, the greatest in loyalty and closeness to the depths of the soul.