I am the grandchild of survivors of Nakba, the beginning of the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians that has continued ever since. But I did not know this when I was a child. My grandfather raised me to always look at the brighter side of life in any situation. He always spoke of Palestinians in a loving, longing manner, reminding us of the importance of a family. When I learnt fully of my identity a few years ago, I wrote down a long list of questions to prompt my grandfather to tell me his story. Until that moment, I did not realise that the Nakba stories I had heard from thousands of Palestinians also applied to him. That was the first time I saw this sweet, kind man crumble and curl up like a child with so much trauma that it broke my heart.