Every night, every morning, every moment, I hold my breath. They might kill them. Perhaps, I would not even receive the news. Perhaps, they would be buried without even my knowledge. They are my family. They are my everything.
Since the war broke out, my family in Gaza had to leave our home as it was bombed to dust. They destroyed my studio, my library, my memories, and those walls that were filled with love and life. Just before the Israeli strike, I went to attend the 12th laboratory medicine conference in Ramallah at Nablus, a city in the West Bank. However, I could not come back home.
When I was stuck in Nablus, my family —my parents, three brothers, and seven sisters— were running for life. As our house got destroyed, they had to move to one tower in the Jabalia area. But certainly, I lost their contact. For five days, I was just waiting to hear from them for once. Every second, the fear of losing them was growing. Fortunately, after days, I got to know that they were not in the tower but were staying at a nearby place. No, there was no relief. It was also momentary.
They were forcibly displaced again as the army started approaching. They neither had water nor food. They had to shift to Shifa Medical Complex. At that time, again, I lost all contact with them. I could do nothing but pray for their safety unless I received a message from my sister that they were still alive.
I am 24-years-old and I did my bachelor’s degree in laboratory medicine from Al-Azhar University in Gaza and completed my master’s degree in biotechnology but couldn’t receive the degree as the war broke out. I consider myself an emerging poet, screenwriter, contemporary dancer, and theatre artist. I remember that I had participated in a school beautification project in Gaza and I got the first prize.
I also wrote a film at the French Institute in Gaza in the Covidio Art Festival but that couldn’t get much traction as the situation worsened. I worked with the Dar Al-Kalam in Gaza on a sculpture project on human identity. I continued painting for years and wrote several poems. I was about to have a solo exhibition that got cancelled due to the war. All of this, however, is history now. Now, I just want to return to Gaza. I want to hug my family and drink coffee with my father — like every morning in the past days of normalcy.
I embrace the hopes of life and try to think —
In my heart is a burning that awaits spring,
I bet on a day that will never come,
To carry hope in its sides,
Hope! Hope is the biggest lie, Arthur Miller.
In a gloomy night,
I search for myself,
And I ask the stars of the distant sky,
If there is another place,
An origin for me,
Who am I?!
I am! A lost being in the desert of time,
I carry in my head the noise of dreams,
I search for the essence of truth,
I call the impossible,
I collide with reality!
To find myself in the end,
In front of the sea of the unknown,
And the waves have thrown me here and there
I had no homeland,
To sing on its land,
And live free.
