Guest contribution by Hasheemah H. Afaneh
When I woke up from ten hours of sleep on a twelve-hour flight from Chicago to Jordan, I looked at the screen in front of me and saw that we were only an hour away from our destination. The passengers around me sat quietly except for a man speaking loudly a few rows ahead. Taking off his seat belt, the tall man wearing a leather jacket with jet black hair and a carefully trimmed mustache stood and looked out through one of the oval plane windows.
“We’re over Palestine,” he informed the man next to him in Arabic.
Although the seat belt sign was still on and the flight attendant was sitting across from the man’s seat, the man remained standing and looked out of the window with dark, nostalgic eyes.
I nudged out of my seat a little to look out of the…
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