Migration isn’t always a good choice after all. In this case, Muna and Raghda areaware of this indirect process of tempting kids to change their identities, and defy it. Raghda even believes she was stupid to make the decision of leaving home. She brings up a tree analogy during a conversation: if a tree is removed from its roots and put in another location, it won’t grow.

I love it when someone tells me “I’ll call you back as soon as possible,” and the hotline goes dead. I chew on it because it gets lonelier each time. As if the phone call never existed or the person on the other line was just an echo of mine but in a different voice.

When your world keeps getting harder and harder, where do you run to? When the future looks uncertain, is it still worth anticipating? When you live in an era where your children have no chance, what do you do?

Bent necks gazing into bent faiths
Backs leaning over ashtrays counting ash days
Knees kneeling to the glory of a soul keeper, no deeper than a black plate, platonic connections with plastic parts of no real power,

When the wind arose in the afternoon sun,
We put our little shoes on and sprinted down the stairs
Tripping around corners as we missed steps
But as long as we didn’t bleed, we didn’t care.

“That’s always how it is in our culture, sons are just treated differently, it’s nothing really,” my mom would tell me, without a care in the world.

The movie is a hypnotizing scope filled with the emergence of the personal independence of the characters throughout the entire plot.

Dear Diary,
The policemen finally gave you back to me. I was worried they were going to keep you as proof that I was no good. It took them a while to find names and numbers to call since I was adopted, but eventually, they got a hold of Sarah’s mobile number. The man on the desk has been on the phone nonstop, but I don’t think anyone has answered him so far.

ما بين الرابعة والعاشرة ذاكرة من المحال أن تنسى يومًا ، من المحال أن تموت، ربما لأنها الفترة الزمنية التي ستشكلنا بسلبياتنا وإيجابياتنا مدى الحياة

My luggage was thus empty, even of feelings,
Leaving me wandering,
Lost on my own way,
Looking for heat
For thoughts, for lands,