Sunday 31/12/2023

Before the bombardment, my life was very boring. Lots of time spent looking for permanent work. Lots of time on the laptop learning techniques for how to produce content. Few friends, because I don't have great luck with friendships. The balcony stood witness to a lot of my states. The state of depression that I went through many times. The number of attempts I made to travel and leave only to fail again and again. The number of times I tried to preserve myself and protect it against what happens to humans when they become the ugliest versions of themselves in order to get what they want. 

Life was moving very slowly in my eyes. My friend Munir Fasheh helped ease my heartache by giving me hope to live and work. We aimed and still do to tell our Palestinian story - as we see it - in its fully healed state, without censure, and without the impurity that the occupation spreads through their control of the media. 

One day, I told Munir that I wanted to travel to every country on the map to show them how we plant hope and wellness in the hearts of those around us. That we do not wish to kill anyone. That we never sold our land, but that instead it was stolen from our ancestors. That we wish for nothing but the occupiers to leave and to stop killing us. 

I feel sorry for my heart for having made so many failed attempts. But a voice says that was not my time. I once tried to publish an article to a Palestinian paper, but it was refused. Then, a friend published that same article under her name in the same paper. I said: this is not my time.

An ordinary day: to use my own bathroom, to sleep on my own bed, to have a pillow, to eat what we want. To spend boring evenings complaining about how small Gaza is and how few green spaces there remain. Acceptance of all that God has assigned you. 

After the aggression, everything began to change. In my opinion and that of others, a change from bad to worse. We became, as my mom says, like the teeth of a comb - all the same. There is no difference between those with money and those without because the meaning of money has changed because all we really want is to survive. I didn't realise my day would come during such a time - that my voice would be heard during these strange times. That it would be my time to say: we plant hope and life in our souls. We do not like to kill. That the occupation fights us with weapons and narratives. Knowing your story and how to tell it is a way to preserve your name in places you may never physically visit. 

The shock was less harsh for me than for others because I was waiting for my voice to be heard by many. Waiting for my chance - with God's grace - to continue, which was my main goal.

Now, many people read what I write. I thought the situation before the bombardment couldn't be worse. But it is nothing compared to what we live now and since October. Disease is spreading in the hospital - influenza and stomach bugs because of unsanitary food and throat infections. With the lack of treatment, the situation is disastrous. The room I used to think was tight - now the majority of the displaced from the South are stuck in a corner. My room now feels like it was as wide as the sky. Trash is everywhere in the hospital - like living in a big dumpster. 

You may own everything in life. And you may wake up one day and own nothing. If life seems large in your eyes, you would not withstand the plight. If it feels small, then you will not be affected if you lose everything and gain yourself. Expect at all times to lose everything you have.