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I Can Imagine It for Us: A Palestinian Daughter's Memoir
A young woman’s search for connection with her estranged father, her family’s past, and the Palestinian homeland she can never visit
“Mai Serhan's writing is unique, sincere, dark, funny and cuttingly tragic.”—Selma Dabbagh
Mai Serhan was born in 1977 and has never been to Palestine, the country from which her father was expelled in 1948. She lives in Cairo with her Egyptian mother. Her distant and troubled father runs a mysterious business empire in China, and when he calls to tell her he doesn't have long to live, she joins him there in the hope of learning his trade and of finally getting close to him. However, Mai soon finds herself totally at traversing across a country as big as a continent, and as alien to her as her father. The ghosts of his past life come to haunt them both. They come with violence, with grief, bringing forth a tragic death, and a whole new meaning to the word erasure.
Told in a narrative as befitting the splintered and disordered existence of exile over generations, this rich memoir spans Egypt and Lebanon to Dubai to China. It is filled with bitter tragedy and loss, but also woven throughout with an understated humor and much grace.
“Mai Serhan's writing is unique, sincere, dark, funny and cuttingly tragic.”—Selma Dabbagh
Mai Serhan was born in 1977 and has never been to Palestine, the country from which her father was expelled in 1948. She lives in Cairo with her Egyptian mother. Her distant and troubled father runs a mysterious business empire in China, and when he calls to tell her he doesn't have long to live, she joins him there in the hope of learning his trade and of finally getting close to him. However, Mai soon finds herself totally at traversing across a country as big as a continent, and as alien to her as her father. The ghosts of his past life come to haunt them both. They come with violence, with grief, bringing forth a tragic death, and a whole new meaning to the word erasure.
Told in a narrative as befitting the splintered and disordered existence of exile over generations, this rich memoir spans Egypt and Lebanon to Dubai to China. It is filled with bitter tragedy and loss, but also woven throughout with an understated humor and much grace.
- GenresNonfictionMemoir
236 pages, Paperback
Published October 14, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
December 27, 2025
painful, inspiring, so many emotions all at once. mai is one of the best writers out there right now
June 22, 2026
Serhan's memoir is a unique and haunting depiction of a family's history, told almost in shadow puppets of her family as she trails in her father's footsteps from her Palestinian ancestry to Egypt and Dubai and his business connections in China, trying to win his approval and perhaps win her place in her family's Palestinian heritage, even as she is exiled from its geography.
May 4, 2026
It's rare to find a memoir where the author has a compelling life story, an incredibly unique way of telling it, and the writing chops to pull it off. I was amazed at the level of suspense in this book and the way it packed an incredible punch despite its relatively short length.
July 12, 2026
I am hesitant to write this review because I feel I won't be able to do justice.
I read this book on a flight from the place Mai would call Palestine. I couldn't sleep and Mai's words captured me. I read this in one sitting, wishing there was more.
I'll start by saying that I think this book is marketed poorly. I Can Imagine It for Us is a work of art in which the plot is a secondary character. The heart of the book isn't the estrangement from Mai's father or China. Rather, this is a book about home, time and grief. It's about facing our parents as imperfect beings that can harm us, it's about wanting things we can't have and being trapped and the notion of lostness, of tracing what isn't found.
Suffice to say, I loved it. The writing is simply gorgeous. Mai weaves together so much of her family's past in a way that is heart-wrenching, electric and tragic. I don't think the main plot even matters compared to all this. I couldn't stop reading, felt that everything in this book matters so much.
I felt every Jew can relate to the story that Mai describes: families spread across continents, yearning to return, of wistful nostalgia towards a place, believing that it is home, no matter comes between you. Of parents scolding children for straying too far from the heritage. The idea of fleeing war, packing up once again, forever shifting between identities and dialects and languages, yet never belonging. Is that not the wandering Jew?
This is a scandalous thought for Israelis and Palestinians alike but my opinions on Palestinian right of return changed when I realized that it is essentially Zionism at its core. One cannot truly be a Zionist without believing in the idea that a people can be connected to a place, even as time and violence keep them far. One can't believe in Right of Return without embracing the idea that others, too, have been thrust into a diaspora, yearning for a way home. I read in Mai's work so much Judaism, so much early Zionist thought and I know that's the kind of provocative thing that evokes rage but what can I say, it is there for me.
I am fascinated by instances when Palestinian and Israeli retellings of history agree on the events, even if they disagree on the interpretation. Mai speaks with pride about the freedom fighters and feels that had more people fought, Palestine wouldn't have been lost. I find myself resenting this approach, the underlying idea that we were bound to end up with a loser. Yet, it is easy to say this from the so-called winning side. Who knows what might have happened had Palestinians won the war?
Overall, this book evoked much thought and I am grateful for that. I find that it has been echoing within me since. Such a poetic and poignant memoir.
What I'm Taking With Me
- In the background of my flight, there was a group of Palestinian-Israelis-48ers-Arabs whose Arabic was salted with Hebrew words. When we waited for the bus to the terminal, a group of Israeli teenagers started doing pull-ups on the bus handrail, loudly competing. The Palestinians teased each other for a few minutes until they joined in and for a few minutes, the bus was filled with intense macho energy, lots of high fives and "bro"s. With Mai's words in my head, I wondered what she'd think.
- The visualization of China was fascinating. She really manages to bring to life this version the world before globalization really kicked in.
- what a powerful idea, that we can love so deeply what we do not know, that we carry our homes within us always.
And now, as per tradition, here are my Berlin experiences. I've essentially left goodreads but I feel obligated to my younger self.
conference p.2
- I fall in love so quickly. He has these deep and uneven dimples that showed up for all my Hegel jokes. She said she could speak about Ireland forever and I knew I could spend eternity listening, fascinated. They spoke about sewing their binder and crafting pins and their parents' romance and growing up queer in a small town, little pieces of a soul. She told me about finding a lost sister and rebuilding home, after years of being alone. How could I not believe in people when we're swimming in beauty?
-I have long thought that the data about Israeli-German relations is wrong. Israelis love Germany until Germans annoy us. The second Germans do anything that displeases us, it's gone. And truly, the speed in which Israelis will go, "I understand my grandparents now, nothing has changed in Germany" is remarkable. And Germans don't understand that for us this isn't obvious. I say that we need to move on but I wonder if six million would ever agree with me. We carry what we've inherited and Israelis mumble unhappily that Germans have lost their guilt, easily pushing it aside to question us about Gaza.
- Dancing through Friedrichstrasse with a Hare Krishna group and feeling such joy, it all makes so much sense suddenly, life is so kind to me. A church rave, later. I remember why Berlin feels like freedom.
-Who am I in a group? They teased me for my laughter, joked about my abilities to hold a political conversation in 40+ heat but underneath it, I wondered when I felt like I belonged and if I'm cursed to forever wander, never part of any collective.
-Walking through Berlin's Holocaust Memorial in the midst of a long discussion about abortion. He said, maybe we should be quiet and respect the space. I agreed but if there's one thing I know about Jews is that they'd be thrilled to know years later two loud Jews can walk through Berlin, debating in Hebrew. What is survival if not this?
- I learned that I am grieving my Israeli identity. I know that the country I love and care for does not quite exist, that the changes have been tectonic. And I'm leaving and I'm leaving and I'm leaving.
-We dug into the tension between politeness and authenticity. He said, American culture is full of lies and I agree but don't you get it, our public space is violent because we confront everything. Broken down, we wield swords and think we're clever. And of course, we complain so much
-I felt more comfortable and lost my temper more easily. I believe I was heard when I announced that I'm not waiting for idiots. But that's okay because I stand behind my words, I think. Maybe part of adulthood is giving less room for others that don't mean much to me. I know where I'm going.
-"But how are you so happy?" was asked and my loves, it's easy to be happy when you spend this much time fixating on your brain. Afterwards, he said it's offensive to ask this but I wasn't offended because my happiness is my biggest flex.
-"I'm Israel" "Oh, I'm so sorry" was said and I said that we understand but do we? Can I? You cannot be sorry because you do not understand.
-I love Berlin because I get to catch glimpses of my past self, versions that I am proud of.
-Sitting in a späti, they asked about war. And I tried to get to that Israeli balance of humor and trauma, laughing as I shared about the shrapnel in my neighborhood, the "oh shit, so this can actually cause damage" moment but I hate my trauma responses so deeply. I am angry when I flinch, enraged when my brain searches for safety. He said it's the most basic skill brains have- the ability to learn through danger- but I will forget this lesson.
-I'm so fascinated by German politics. The question of East and West, of Russia's looming shadow, the immigration mixing in with foreign policy, international law tangoing with the staatsräson. I'm so grateful to have learned more, especially regards the resentment of the East and the fear of communism and the inability to run from one's past.
I read this book on a flight from the place Mai would call Palestine. I couldn't sleep and Mai's words captured me. I read this in one sitting, wishing there was more.
I'll start by saying that I think this book is marketed poorly. I Can Imagine It for Us is a work of art in which the plot is a secondary character. The heart of the book isn't the estrangement from Mai's father or China. Rather, this is a book about home, time and grief. It's about facing our parents as imperfect beings that can harm us, it's about wanting things we can't have and being trapped and the notion of lostness, of tracing what isn't found.
Suffice to say, I loved it. The writing is simply gorgeous. Mai weaves together so much of her family's past in a way that is heart-wrenching, electric and tragic. I don't think the main plot even matters compared to all this. I couldn't stop reading, felt that everything in this book matters so much.
I felt every Jew can relate to the story that Mai describes: families spread across continents, yearning to return, of wistful nostalgia towards a place, believing that it is home, no matter comes between you. Of parents scolding children for straying too far from the heritage. The idea of fleeing war, packing up once again, forever shifting between identities and dialects and languages, yet never belonging. Is that not the wandering Jew?
This is a scandalous thought for Israelis and Palestinians alike but my opinions on Palestinian right of return changed when I realized that it is essentially Zionism at its core. One cannot truly be a Zionist without believing in the idea that a people can be connected to a place, even as time and violence keep them far. One can't believe in Right of Return without embracing the idea that others, too, have been thrust into a diaspora, yearning for a way home. I read in Mai's work so much Judaism, so much early Zionist thought and I know that's the kind of provocative thing that evokes rage but what can I say, it is there for me.
I am fascinated by instances when Palestinian and Israeli retellings of history agree on the events, even if they disagree on the interpretation. Mai speaks with pride about the freedom fighters and feels that had more people fought, Palestine wouldn't have been lost. I find myself resenting this approach, the underlying idea that we were bound to end up with a loser. Yet, it is easy to say this from the so-called winning side. Who knows what might have happened had Palestinians won the war?
Overall, this book evoked much thought and I am grateful for that. I find that it has been echoing within me since. Such a poetic and poignant memoir.
What I'm Taking With Me
- In the background of my flight, there was a group of Palestinian-Israelis-48ers-Arabs whose Arabic was salted with Hebrew words. When we waited for the bus to the terminal, a group of Israeli teenagers started doing pull-ups on the bus handrail, loudly competing. The Palestinians teased each other for a few minutes until they joined in and for a few minutes, the bus was filled with intense macho energy, lots of high fives and "bro"s. With Mai's words in my head, I wondered what she'd think.
- The visualization of China was fascinating. She really manages to bring to life this version the world before globalization really kicked in.
- what a powerful idea, that we can love so deeply what we do not know, that we carry our homes within us always.
And now, as per tradition, here are my Berlin experiences. I've essentially left goodreads but I feel obligated to my younger self.
conference p.2
- I fall in love so quickly. He has these deep and uneven dimples that showed up for all my Hegel jokes. She said she could speak about Ireland forever and I knew I could spend eternity listening, fascinated. They spoke about sewing their binder and crafting pins and their parents' romance and growing up queer in a small town, little pieces of a soul. She told me about finding a lost sister and rebuilding home, after years of being alone. How could I not believe in people when we're swimming in beauty?
-I have long thought that the data about Israeli-German relations is wrong. Israelis love Germany until Germans annoy us. The second Germans do anything that displeases us, it's gone. And truly, the speed in which Israelis will go, "I understand my grandparents now, nothing has changed in Germany" is remarkable. And Germans don't understand that for us this isn't obvious. I say that we need to move on but I wonder if six million would ever agree with me. We carry what we've inherited and Israelis mumble unhappily that Germans have lost their guilt, easily pushing it aside to question us about Gaza.
- Dancing through Friedrichstrasse with a Hare Krishna group and feeling such joy, it all makes so much sense suddenly, life is so kind to me. A church rave, later. I remember why Berlin feels like freedom.
-Who am I in a group? They teased me for my laughter, joked about my abilities to hold a political conversation in 40+ heat but underneath it, I wondered when I felt like I belonged and if I'm cursed to forever wander, never part of any collective.
-Walking through Berlin's Holocaust Memorial in the midst of a long discussion about abortion. He said, maybe we should be quiet and respect the space. I agreed but if there's one thing I know about Jews is that they'd be thrilled to know years later two loud Jews can walk through Berlin, debating in Hebrew. What is survival if not this?
- I learned that I am grieving my Israeli identity. I know that the country I love and care for does not quite exist, that the changes have been tectonic. And I'm leaving and I'm leaving and I'm leaving.
-We dug into the tension between politeness and authenticity. He said, American culture is full of lies and I agree but don't you get it, our public space is violent because we confront everything. Broken down, we wield swords and think we're clever. And of course, we complain so much
-I felt more comfortable and lost my temper more easily. I believe I was heard when I announced that I'm not waiting for idiots. But that's okay because I stand behind my words, I think. Maybe part of adulthood is giving less room for others that don't mean much to me. I know where I'm going.
-"But how are you so happy?" was asked and my loves, it's easy to be happy when you spend this much time fixating on your brain. Afterwards, he said it's offensive to ask this but I wasn't offended because my happiness is my biggest flex.
-"I'm Israel" "Oh, I'm so sorry" was said and I said that we understand but do we? Can I? You cannot be sorry because you do not understand.
-I love Berlin because I get to catch glimpses of my past self, versions that I am proud of.
-Sitting in a späti, they asked about war. And I tried to get to that Israeli balance of humor and trauma, laughing as I shared about the shrapnel in my neighborhood, the "oh shit, so this can actually cause damage" moment but I hate my trauma responses so deeply. I am angry when I flinch, enraged when my brain searches for safety. He said it's the most basic skill brains have- the ability to learn through danger- but I will forget this lesson.
-I'm so fascinated by German politics. The question of East and West, of Russia's looming shadow, the immigration mixing in with foreign policy, international law tangoing with the staatsräson. I'm so grateful to have learned more, especially regards the resentment of the East and the fear of communism and the inability to run from one's past.
January 23, 2026
Wow! I Can Imagine It for Us felt less like reading a memoir and more like sitting with someone who finally put words to things I’ve carried my whole life.
As a Palestinian daughter, so much of this hit home. The longing, the distance, the way you can feel tied to a place you’re not living in, yet it lives in you. Mai Serhan captured that beautifully. There were moments I had to stop and just sit with a sentence because it felt like she reached into memories I didn’t even know were still tender. What I loved most is how honest and soft the writing is. She brings you into her world without forcing anything. You feel the love she has for her family, and the complicated, layered relationship a lot of us have with “home.” Parts of it made me emotional in ways I didn’t expect. Not in a dramatic, heavy way, but in that quiet, familiar ache you feel when someone tells the truth out loud.
Beautifully written. Deeply relatable. And one of those books that stays with you after you close it. I’m really glad I read it.
As a Palestinian daughter, so much of this hit home. The longing, the distance, the way you can feel tied to a place you’re not living in, yet it lives in you. Mai Serhan captured that beautifully. There were moments I had to stop and just sit with a sentence because it felt like she reached into memories I didn’t even know were still tender. What I loved most is how honest and soft the writing is. She brings you into her world without forcing anything. You feel the love she has for her family, and the complicated, layered relationship a lot of us have with “home.” Parts of it made me emotional in ways I didn’t expect. Not in a dramatic, heavy way, but in that quiet, familiar ache you feel when someone tells the truth out loud.
Beautifully written. Deeply relatable. And one of those books that stays with you after you close it. I’m really glad I read it.
October 18, 2025
The trauma of forced exile or expulsion from the land you only know as home is one that leaves you with a gaping wound.
It's the agonizing tormenting life of a tree severed from its land. Carried by violent storms to places it has never known and can't settle. It survives on air and drops of rain. A life suspended. Branches longing not into the direction of the sun, but towards its motherland. It lives but it does not grow nor does it bear the fruit it once bore so freely.
It's as if you have been torn away from your mother by the hands of a rapist. You live knowing where and who your mother is without being able to see her. Your life becomes an endless war with everything and everyone to heal. An endless longing for her touch, her smell, her warmth, her breath and her irreplaceable embrace. Your only cure is to return but it is a cure you can only imagine.
Mai Serhan's memoir, I Can Imagine It For Us, is a visceral palpable account of the crime of nakba and its countless wounds and victims. But she does more than imagines, she depicts and recounts to us what it means to be this victim and the daughter of one. She describes her ancestral village through the tales of her family members and the paradise and abundant bliss it once held. As a non Palestinian, one only imagined their plight. Mai's book transports you to it.
But there is another form of exile that runs in a strong parallel in her book. It is that of being a woman in an aggressively and violating patriarchal world that denies her access to different kinds of homes. The home a father could have been and the home one can be to oneself.
Or as she so painfully beautifully puts it;
"How far might you go when return becomes a place of no return?
How far might you go? When your name becomes a thing of air, weightless, restless.
When you seek home in all the fractures."
It's the agonizing tormenting life of a tree severed from its land. Carried by violent storms to places it has never known and can't settle. It survives on air and drops of rain. A life suspended. Branches longing not into the direction of the sun, but towards its motherland. It lives but it does not grow nor does it bear the fruit it once bore so freely.
It's as if you have been torn away from your mother by the hands of a rapist. You live knowing where and who your mother is without being able to see her. Your life becomes an endless war with everything and everyone to heal. An endless longing for her touch, her smell, her warmth, her breath and her irreplaceable embrace. Your only cure is to return but it is a cure you can only imagine.
Mai Serhan's memoir, I Can Imagine It For Us, is a visceral palpable account of the crime of nakba and its countless wounds and victims. But she does more than imagines, she depicts and recounts to us what it means to be this victim and the daughter of one. She describes her ancestral village through the tales of her family members and the paradise and abundant bliss it once held. As a non Palestinian, one only imagined their plight. Mai's book transports you to it.
But there is another form of exile that runs in a strong parallel in her book. It is that of being a woman in an aggressively and violating patriarchal world that denies her access to different kinds of homes. The home a father could have been and the home one can be to oneself.
Or as she so painfully beautifully puts it;
"How far might you go when return becomes a place of no return?
How far might you go? When your name becomes a thing of air, weightless, restless.
When you seek home in all the fractures."
November 9, 2025
“I have never been to the place where I am from, but I can imagine it for us, Baba.”
I Can Imagine It For Us: A Palestinian Daughter’s Memoir, follows a young woman searching for connection with her estranged father, who is still trying to outrun his ghosts after being forced out of his Palestinian village in 1948. She travels from Egypt to Lebanon to China to Dubai, ultimately trying to piece together a picture of the one place she can’t visit: her homeland, Palestine. This is a thought-provoking, heart-wrenching memoir that questions the notion of the “perfect victim.” In breathtaking, lyrical language, Mai shows how trauma is passed through generations, how exile roots itself in our bones, and how for diasporic people, stories can become a homeland. A stunning achievement that everyone should read.
I Can Imagine It For Us: A Palestinian Daughter’s Memoir, follows a young woman searching for connection with her estranged father, who is still trying to outrun his ghosts after being forced out of his Palestinian village in 1948. She travels from Egypt to Lebanon to China to Dubai, ultimately trying to piece together a picture of the one place she can’t visit: her homeland, Palestine. This is a thought-provoking, heart-wrenching memoir that questions the notion of the “perfect victim.” In breathtaking, lyrical language, Mai shows how trauma is passed through generations, how exile roots itself in our bones, and how for diasporic people, stories can become a homeland. A stunning achievement that everyone should read.
June 30, 2026
I Can Imagine It for Us by Mai Serhan is a moving memoir exploring the complex bond between a Palestinian father and his daughter. The story follows his struggles to navigate a life of displacement alongside his family's expectation that he become "bigger than life." Raised partly by her mother—a woman with strong Egyptian roots—Mai crafts a narrative about the painful search for identity under the weight of historical baggage. When her father asks her to take over his legacy in China, Mai finds herself in a completely foreign country where she is treated as an outsider. She ultimately leaves, but after her father falls ill and passes away, she is called back to reclaim her true inheritance.
May 14, 2026
There are many reasons to read this memoir. For one, its prose is consistently sharp, inventive, stylish. And then there is its singular terrain: as far as I know, no other work has placed two Palestinians within the dizzying boom of early-2000s China. But the memoir’s urgency exceeds this originality. To read it now is to enter the large, intricate world of Palestinianness, assembled through research, oral history, ancestral myth, political imagination, and the fractures of lived experience.
More...: https://alhayyamagazine.com/location/...
More...: https://alhayyamagazine.com/location/...
November 15, 2025
I will come back to this memoir, again and again. It is full of charge, and stewardship. Mai is adept with words, and the story she tells is rife with grief, and tatters that she steadfastly weaves into an ode to her father, her ancestry, and the land. This is a stellar read.
November 8, 2025
A stunning, heart-wrenching memoir that requires multiple reads.
December 5, 2025
lezen lezen lezen!!
ma zoooo goed en mooi aaa
zeker een aanrader in deze tijden
ma zoooo goed en mooi aaa
zeker een aanrader in deze tijden
January 4, 2026
Candid, deep and eloquently written memoir.
January 25, 2026
I never related more to a book in my life. Truly heart wrenching but equally beautiful and raw!
July 23, 2026
Brilliant
November 22, 2025
A raw, unapologetic memoir of Mai Serhan and her Palestinian father, written through fragments of memory across continents and generations.
Mai Serhan’s story begins when her father calls her from China to tell her he’s been struggling with his health. What follows is a journey through her memories from Cairo to Beirut to Dubai to Shanghai, yet it always circles back to the place she’s never been to.. Palestine.
This isn’t just a memoir. It’s a reclamation of narrative, of memory, of identity. It’s a story about every Palestinian who has lived in their homeland through the stories and memories of others and through imagination.
For us Palestinians of the diaspora, this book feels like being seen.
Mai Serhan’s story begins when her father calls her from China to tell her he’s been struggling with his health. What follows is a journey through her memories from Cairo to Beirut to Dubai to Shanghai, yet it always circles back to the place she’s never been to.. Palestine.
This isn’t just a memoir. It’s a reclamation of narrative, of memory, of identity. It’s a story about every Palestinian who has lived in their homeland through the stories and memories of others and through imagination.
For us Palestinians of the diaspora, this book feels like being seen.
June 23, 2026
“Return is a strange word. It presumes you've been to the place to which you are returning.”
Despite a somewhat rocky beginning, the story builds momentum and finishes strongly. The dynamics of an unlikable father, a mysterious inheritance, and a life spent between continents make for a thought-provoking and engaging read.
“So I fly and do what I've always done, seek asylums and wait for wars to end, when all the time war is inside me.”
Despite a somewhat rocky beginning, the story builds momentum and finishes strongly. The dynamics of an unlikable father, a mysterious inheritance, and a life spent between continents make for a thought-provoking and engaging read.
“So I fly and do what I've always done, seek asylums and wait for wars to end, when all the time war is inside me.”
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews