My childhood ended the day we left our home in Syria because of the war. The day I left my bedroom, my toys, the space where I took my first steps and spoke my first words, the first house my father ever owned, the house where I shared my childhood memories with my siblings, that is the exact day when I knew that I left my inner child, the little Mounir, who vanished just like the house did.
I dream of one day visiting Palestine, of seeing the land that my grandmother always spoke so fondly of. Grandma's stories about Palestine resonated with me and I now cherish the horse brush and soil she once gave me as a reminder of my heritage.
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