Everything happened a week ago:

 I received a phone call from Mr. Hans, from German Embassy inBerlin, invited me to visitBerlinin order to attend a lecture at UniversitätBerlin, entitled “Palestinian literature in exile.” I got the invitation, and traveled to Germanyin a few days. There I took the opportunity to meet my brother Fathi, a plastic surgeon doctor, works at a hospital in Tübingen. Fathi looked so young and wonderful, I hugged him warmly and was about to cry, he and I enjoyed strolling in the streets for over three hours.

On the morning of 12 March, my short trip to Germanyended. My brother accompanied me to Flughafen Berlin-Schönefeld. We sat at the cafeteria waiting for my plane that will take me toCairo, and then from there I will head back toGaza.

The plane delayed for an hour, I went to an officer, asked him about my plane. He apologized to me strongly, and said that the plane will arrive  tomorrow morning, at eleven. I felt very happy, my brother surprised, I told him, “You, go back to your house. I want to go toSwedenNOW.”

I stepped up a train heading toSweden, then went toStockholm. There I started searching for Mr. Peter.C’s address .. And eventually found it.

So, Mr. P.C lives in an apartment in a brown building or orange .. Oh, my big gladness made me forgot the beautiful details of where Mr. P.C lives.

Eagerly stepped up the stairs where the apartment was. I stood at the door of his apartment, there was a profound silence, I grabbed my breathes, and knocked on the door, waited his hand to open the closed door, but there was no response .. Waited for half an hour and more, but it was useless. I got confused, very frustrating, dragged my feet and stepped the stairs down. I saw a neighbor was talking with his friend, wanted to ask him about M. P.C, but I was very confused and I could not speak.

 I waited him for an hour. Oh, if I delayed more, I will miss the plane. So I took a swift gazes at his apartment. And then I sadly went back toBerlin.

On the next day, at ten in the morning, I arrived the airport, my plane was supposed to be arrived in an hour. But it did not come. The officer excused me, and told me that another plane will arrive after half an hour and will take me to Tel Aviv airport.

 So I will return to Gazathrough Erez crossing ( not through Rafah crossing). I rejoiced and almost would fly with joy. You can imagine what I did at that very moment, I jumped through the window to the office of the airline employee, and hold him tightly. The employee laughed, I heard him say, “I didn’t meet a mad girl like you before.”

 It’s great chance , wahoo!! Finally, will visit Tel Aviv, my dream will come true!

The plane reached, and departed to my dream, to my Tel Aviv. After hours, I saw Tel Aviv, got off the plane and ran around the airport crying, “Am I really in Tel Aviv.” Jews look at me wondered. I heard someone said to his wife, “Look, she speaks Arabic.” I wanted to ask that man, “Is this really Tel Aviv.” But suddenly I felt scared, and unexpected crazy ideas crept into my head. I decided to stay in Tel Aviv, and will never go back toGaza, and therefore should not talking to any Jew, so as not to detect me.. I must hide my Palestinian identity in my bag.

Kept walking in the streets of Tel Aviv. I was walking and walking and walking and walking and walking.. I wanted to be lost in that city .. I was walking forward without turning back.

(The story above is just a dream) !