There is a hurt in my chest for every angry son and daughter of Jordan, marching in the dusty roads we have learned and lived on for so long.

I don’t think anyone can fully understand the heavy heart with which you must cope, fighting with one hand for the rights you deserve as an equal human, while the other hand stifles the sighs of guilt:

This is your home, these are your people, and this has never been a place you woke up to unfamiliar.

Your streets are not your streets when they have melded unrest and dissatisfaction, this is not the place I know and I am so terrified to watch it change when I’m on the wrong side of the ocean.

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