August 16, 2013 the day I went to visit the Dome of Rock in Jerusalem, Palestine; the most violent and bloodiest day I have ever seen in my 17 years of life.  I remember hearing explosions, gun shots going off, and kids crying for help . I moved the curtain from the buses window to the side to peep outside and see what was happening. The streets were painted red from bleeding children on top of the shattered glass so sharp that looks like shiny knives all over the floor. The palestinian sun shining on the dying martyr’s thickening blood that's spilling out of them. The soles of the israeli soldiers boots are soaked in blood, footsteps on every child's chest. Making a tragic memory for me while I was only 13 years old.

Later that night when I finally got home, to the west bank, I called my parents and told them to be grateful that my sister and I made it alive while others were bleeding their souls out shouting for help and every time someone came to help they exploded to little pieces. Watching the peoples bodies fly in the air dripping blood every where making it look like it was raining  blood.Watching the flying bloody children changed my life so much. Pieces hitting the window of the bus like birds smashing to things and then drop to the ground and let it be there like it wasn't important. Making a tragic memory for while I was only 13 years old.

I started to pray five times a day, I started to be more mature and interact with people that can change me in a better way not to influence me to do wrong. I started to read the Quran, understanding life more. Slowly and slowly I started growing and wanting to lean more. I started to take classes in the mosque and then I started covering up, wearing the hijab. And now i am who I am now trying to achieve my goals.