Director’s Statement
I was 4 when I first saw the sea. My mother was surrounded by family from all over Palestine when her genuine smile met with the sea that day. It was as if the world had conspired to create magic. My mother left her hometown as an adult, spending most of her life far away. With each passing mile, that once-constant smile began to fade. Over time, it became a rare occurrence. I witnessed it only when she returned to her roots, surrounded by the familiar faces of childhood friends. The distance had taken its toll, but in those moments of reunion, she would shine. Folded in the regular visits to our hometown in Nablus, was that sole visit to Gaza. The warm company along with the charm of the sea revived the light in her eyes, and the glimmer of her genuine smile lit up the evening by the sea.
I am Palestinian, but I live in the United States, worlds apart from my homeland. What remains vivid in my memory is my mother's smile. Her smile wasn't merely an expression; it symbolized a profound sense of belonging. Yet, whenever I recall it, I’m struck by the contrast with the deep frustration she expressed while watching the news from our diaspora home. Despite having built a life for herself in a foreign land, she carried a heavy sadness, knowing that her homeland was being torn apart.
Three long years after my mother’s passing, serendipity led me to encounter a smile resonating from the very spot where her smile met with the sea. The agony of the war and the bombings became continual. While my mother’s smile transformed into a fleeting memory. In the background, I saw what became the repeated norm but, in the foreground, a smile transported me back to the most shining smile of my mother’s.
Amidst the chaos, a young man surfaced, wearing a smile eerily reminiscent of my mother's. This unexpected resemblance between the familiar smile and the chaotic setting evoked a blend of emotions in me: nostalgia for a bygone era, coupled with a profound guilt for not being there physically, near the sea where my mother's smile once shone, now seemingly a witness to their shared struggle. I reached out to establish a connection. I found Ahmad, a young man, who granted me glimpses into vivid moments of my childhood. Yet, as I delved deeper into my memories, I couldn't help but notice Ahmad's yearning to escape the place I longed for. As I followed my memory, I witnessed him following his dream. It becomes apparent that the place we once called home offers little room for those aspiring to grow.
Eleven years since my mother left us: I’m now witnessing the home that we yearn for; generation after generation, torn further apart; more severely than she could have imagined. Her smile had significantly faded by the time she left. Now, I can’t help but wonder how she would have coped with the fresh agony that is plaguing Gaza and the West Bank. What words might she have shared with a young man retracing the very compulsory steps she once took when she left her homeland?
