Tuesday 9 January
8am Am I still alive? Well, I am sure still breathing; the pain all over my body is a sign that it is functioning. What does “alive” mean? Is everything we are going through called life. I wonder about the difference between me and a dead person.
Does the loss of safety and your hopes and dreams qualify you to be dead? Because if so, this means that Gaza has became a city of ghosts.
Is it a life when you are helpless all the time, unable to even provide your loved ones with their basic needs?
In a phone call with my friend, who I have been trying to reach for the past three months (wow! I cannot imagine it has been three months), she tells me that she and her family are still alive.
“My children always ask me for their favourite food and toys,” she tells me. “I had to take them to the empty shops to show them that there is nothing left. I wanted badly to make them believe that I would sacrifice my whole life for a moment of safety and joy they could have, but there is nothing I can do.”
She tells me how, when she took her children out, she was holding them tightly to keep them safe and not lose them in the crowd. She talks about the huge numbers of people everywhere you go, and how the streets are packed. I share with her that a couple of weeks ago I saw a lost little girl who was crying. She couldn’t see her family and hundreds of people were moving in all directions. I stood next to her and did not know what to do. I asked around if anyone knew her, but no one did.
About 10 minutes later, a big man approached, he was almost taller than everyone in the street, and he had broad shoulders. He picked the girl up and put her over his shoulders and he kept turning around in a circle until her sister, a teenager, who was at the end of the street, saw and came running towards us. He put the girl down and she hugged her sister.
10am I go to check on my friend and I got the chance to meet the family that hosted him. They have the most adorable little girl. She is sociable and has a beautiful smile.
The family tells me that she hasn’t gone out of the house for almost three months. The little girl tells me about her friend and how much she loves her. It turns out “her friend” is actually a lady who lives in the building nearby. They never spoke together, but when the lady goes to put out the laundry, the girl puts her head out of the window and waves at her, the lady would smile back.
“So, do you have any other friends?” I ask. She says the lady is her only friend.
“I love her.”
Later on, I met “a friend” of mine. I have never met the man before, but it turned out that he used to work in the kitchen of one of my favourite restaurants. I was so glad to see him; he, somehow, was a connection to a life I no longer have. He tells me that he helped with preparing all the dishes and sweets, but his main task was the salads.
He and everyone around start talking about the situation: what to expect, the fear of the unknown future. I say: “Can we please speak about something else, something positive?”
“Like what?” he asks.
“Like salads,” I say. He laughs.
I ask, “So tell me, what was the most popular salad? I used to order Greek salad or caesar salad every time I had lunch at the restaurant. Also, you had the best molten cake in Gaza. I used to come especially to order it.”
I ask him if he cooks at his house, because I hear that chefs never do that after a long day of cooking. He says he cooks for his wife only. When they invited people over, they ordered takeaway.
He shares many stories about the restaurant, and on his way out, he says he hopes we meet again. I tell him I will meet him one day in the restaurant and try one of his delicious salads.
1pm It is time to take little Hope, the cat we rescued and found a new place for him to stay, to his new home. My sister gives me a big bag that has wet food, dry food, his medicine and some cheese. He likes cheese. She also put the only two toys she got from our home. They belonged to our cats, they are in the shape of a reindeer and Santa Claus. She said he needs them more than our cats.
I put him in the bag and get ready to go out when she stops me. She takes him out and asks him for forgiveness and promises him that if he and we make it out alive, she will visit.
6pm I receive a message from the guy who took Hope. He tells me that he is doing very well, and he sends me two photos. The photos take around two hours to open, but it was totally worth it. In one of them he was sleeping in his lap, and in the other he was chasing a ball.
I am grateful we found this angel to take care of him.
10pm I have always been impressed by those who are eloquent with words; who have the capacity to express their inner thoughts precisely. I recall a message between me and a friend who lives abroad, I told her that the situation is getting worse. In her response she put the word “getting” into brackets. I understood what she meant, for three months the situation has been awful. But what English word to use after bad? Worse? Worst? There are no stronger words to show the situation continues to deteriorate.
Just when you think that you hit the rock bottom, you realise you were wrong. There is always a new low. Whether it is dignity-wise, basic needs-wise or just living.
I miss a life where I would sleep on a bed, go to work, drink clean water, eat something I like of my own choice, meet friends and go back to the same bed and watch something online or read a book.
I miss a life where mothers can walk in the streets and let their children run in front of them, enjoying the fresh air and, later, enjoy delicious foods and sweets. I miss a life where children have other children around, to play with, become friends, and start creating beautiful memories for their future.
That life seems very distant and unrealistic. A fairytale I no longer think can exist.
