English 1301
             ' If you want a good friend, then you must be one yourself.' That phrase always sticks in my mind when I remember my best friend Omar.
             Omar and I have been friends for over twenty years. We have done everything together since the day Omar moved to Jerusalem with his family. Omar was only eight back then and full of stories. I especially liked the one about how women mysteriously grew babies in their stomach six month after they get married. Two years after that, we became best friends when Omar showed me one of his father's adult magazines. We thought that women were really weird back then. We still share that secret to this day.
             Our friendship became much stronger during the Palestinian intifada, or uprising, of the late eighties and early nineties. I will never forget that day in January, of 89. The day when Israeli soldiers shot me as I waited for my sister to finish school in East Jerusalem. A single shot that entered the right side of my head. I remember feeling a sting as the bullet penetrated the skin, seconds before my head exploded in uncontrollable, excruciating pain. My life was never going to be the same after that.
             It was rumored twice that I died as I laid in a coma for over two weeks. I later learned that Omar was always there with me as I lay unconscious and unaware of what is taking place in the real world. Omar used to spend his days at school and his nights at my bedside talking and whispering in my ears words of love and encouragement. I can honestly say that I heard what Omar said and it gave me the strength to fight death and beat it.
             The first person I saw when I came out of coma was none other than my best friend. I saw tears of joy and love in his eyes as he drew closer and kissed my bandaged head. "Don't you dare do that to me again, Muamar. I can't imagine life withou
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