Monday 04/12/2023

 It is as if my heart is a story woven by an old woman’s hands,  weaving all the stories of the house, from the kitchen to the living room to the bedrooms. Time in this story is strange,and sounds are distant, and it does not taste the same as those every child tastes before bedtime. 

The last scene during the truce was infused with life - as if Gaza has never died. It was like an artery through which blood pumped viciously

One morning, I wanted a hot cup of tea to soothe my aching throat, but the water kettle betrayed me with its malfunction. So I put the tea in the cooking pot we use for the fire.I saw many pots by the fire, and by the time my turn came, the fire was out. As I was lighting the fire again, a young boy said to me: "What are you doing, uncle?" I said: "Making tea."  He said: "Tea in a cooking pot!" I laughed, and started helping me  light the fire. He told me that the fire wouldn't light because of the type of wood. I smiled, seeing how this child's life experience had surpassed mine. There was, in fact, two types of wood beside me that people had cut from trees. 

Next to the water spout, I found a girl and her sister. They told me that my presence made the water return, and I said: "Wallah!" And we all laughed. We didn't care about names, they asked me about my age and if I was married. They were younger than me, and they were sharing stories about their broken engagements. For one of them, they could not agree on the dowry and living arrangements. One loudly said: "I didn't love him!" and she was the only one with bruises on her face from being beaten We all departed in our different ways. 

What I want to say is that life is within us. We live it everywhere, even if there is destruction. But how can I ignore these sounds that kill our loved ones every second. I now sit on the pavement of the hospital and the bombs are shaking all around. It is 5:36 pm.