Confession

Sometimes when I'm embarking on yet another late night adventure, in the midst of all the laughter and momentary happiness, I look at my "historical Palestine" necklace and think: "Would Leila Khaled approve of my loud unfeminine laugh? Would Suad Amiry cuss vulgarly about a person she hates in the company of "friends"? Would Suheir Hammad talk this openly about her love life in a game of Truth and Dare? Would Woroud Qassim side-eye me for wearing this mini skirt without shaving? What would any (and every) Powerful Palestinienne think about me if she met me? Are the dead female martyrs looking at me while rolling in their graves and thinking 'What happened to Palestinian womanhood'? If my mother was my contemporary and went through similar experiences, would she do anything differently?". But then I take a deep breath and remind myself: I am not a symbol or a representative of Women or Palestinians and I am definitely not a representative of both put together. I am my own self; a barely legal jumble of cyber-knowledge, street-smarts, clumsiness and naivety. I try my best to be a good Palestinian Woman. I try my best to be a good person. I try my best to be a good creature. I try my best to be good. I try my best.

I try.

And I hope the foremothers forgive me when I fuck-up.