“To my parents, / Suleiman and Mirriam, / who did their best /.”

Ibtisam recognizes that her parents were forced to make difficult decisions during her childhood. At the same time, she suffers from painful memories from the consequences of those decisions, such as the isolation and abandonment she felt being left behind, the emotionally devastating loss of Zuraiq, the incomprehension of and trauma of her brothers’ circumcisions, and the loss of her home. While Ibtisam understands that her parents “did their best” under the challenging wartime circumstances, the portion of her dedication to them is restrained.

“I should have known a front seat lets one see more of what lies ahead.”

At the start of her memoir, Ibtisam initially wishes she had hidden in the back of the bus boarded by Israeli soldiers the way she figuratively hides from her unpleasant childhood memories. She does not want to see the unhappiness of war. By the end of her memoir, however, Ibtisam is glad she revisited her past, and thanks Alef, who always sits in the front of the bus of alphabets and, farsighted, sees peace. Ibtisam’s memoir comments on the power of language to heal, face the truth, and move forward. She no longer hides from her memories but looks forward to the “new road before her” (169).