My heart is heavy. My blood runs cold. As I know you will not come to Sacramento. I know you will not leave Gaza. I've always known this. You ask me what blunted our enthusiasm for flight? For me it was knowing that I would be saying goodbye to you, that you would not be following me, that you were too much of the man I ought to be. My doubts had nothing to do with leaving Gaza, my doubts had to do with leaving my one true friend.

But your doubts are anchored to something greater. Your pride in our people. You know that you are a great and noble man; you know that others look up to you; you know how you inspire men to dream and to hope. You stayed behind because they need you in Gaza. Our people need to know that no matter how many of us they chop down with their bombs and their guns and their flame-throwers that we will not surrender, we will not give in, we will not disappear. You stay in Gaza so Nadia's sacrifice is not in vain. So her story of bravery is not forgotten or lost in the smoldering rubble. So that when our people speak in practiced whispers of bravery and heroism, they hear the name Na-di-a.

Ah, what a beautiful name it is.

My brother, I can't help but to fear for you. While I do not fear for your soul, I fear for your life and the...

And while you say I will learn about life in trammeled streets of Gaza, that they will give me some purpose; that the growing guilt in my heart may subside were I among the chaos and disorder of dismembered countrymen. But I am not like you in this regard. I do not need to see my friends and my family blown to bits to know what life is and what existence is worth. Both you and I have seen enough violence and bloodshed to last 300 lifetimes, why must we see more? We are not martyrs, are we?
I believe God has given us a way out. He has shown me a way to evaluate and appreciate life on a different level. He has shown me that my pursuits here in Sacramento are worthwhile. That I carry with me the hope of what might become of our people. Wars are not only fought in the trenches and in the embattled towns of fledgling countries. Wars are fought in the libraries and in the press and with a pen.

My guilt may never subside. It may grow hard through the years and weigh like an anchor on my heart and soul. In truth, I am a coward. And maybe I am living in a city full of cowards. But I can't help but to think that although I am a dog, I will wake up tomorrow knowing that I have my whole life ahead of me.

Your loving friend,

Mustafa