we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Even as I am overwhelmed by this war, I still long to hope, to bring happiness to others, and to make things a little more normal.
The cake I bought for my family. Photo: Sara Awad
Three months ago, at the age of 21, I held my first paycheck. This was money I had earned through my own efforts—through writing.
After two years of war, that paycheck was a symbol of victory, resilience, and independence. I clearly remember the moment I first saw the money in my bank account. It was intense. My heart was brimming with excitement. I was proud of myself, tears welled up in my eyes, and I saw the pride in my family’s eyes, especially in my father’s. It was not a great deal of money, but it was mine.
My first thought was to spend the money on my family. They have always inspired and encouraged me to achieve my goals. My next thought was to buy something sweet. Desserts during wartime, when so many are starving, are a rare and expensive luxury—one that my family could not afford.
We have not eaten cake since 2023, not because we were trying to be healthy, but because the inflated prices have put an obstacle between us and this happiness. We used to buy delicious, high-quality cakes from a fancy bakery for just $10. Now, a small cake from the same place might cost more than $60. And it would be hard to find a cafe that was still offering desserts, given that we were all nearly dying of hunger.
But this money meant that I could bring some sense of normalcy to my family. It was noon. The vibe in my house was one of boredom. I decided to seize the opportunity and change the atmosphere. I got dressed, said “Salam” to the others, and started my journey to look for what I called “a bite of happiness” for my family. I would find it one way or another, no matter what.
There were many obstacles in my way, but even the immense devastation from the war has not changed my vision of my beloved Gaza City. I am still familiar with all the streets and neighborhoods.
After walking for 30 minutes, I caught a bus and, after 10 minutes more, I reached the bakery I had already researched online.
Three hours later, I finally returned home. I opened the door and placed the cake on the table.
“Everyone come here!” I yelled.
My little brothers, Ahamd and Yamen, were the first to appear, and the others followed, one after another, their faces lighting up with happiness. I looked at each of them with so much love and gratitude. It was a moment that brought back happy memories from before the war.
“I wish I could bring the world to you,” I said, my voice full of emotion.
My dad cut the cake into eight equal pieces, one for each family member. Our sense of normalcy had momentarily returned after so much sadness. The atmosphere had changed from boredom to joy.
I was happy to see the smiles return to my family’s faces, but a part of my heart longed for still more joy. And that could only come from my friend Huda.
Huda is my best friend. We have been together since our school days and we have never let sadness overcome us. She has stood by me through the hardest times. It was she who encouraged me to start my writing journey.
Huda and I drank our coffees and poured out our hearts to one another. Photo: Sara Awad
To express my gratitude to Huda, I suggested we meet up in a cafe. We selected Art De Cafe, our comfort place in Gaza. While there, for just a little while, we forgot the war outside. We drank coffee, took many photos and selfies, laughed, and talked about our future plans. We hoped the war would end soon.
I had bought Huda a mug, as I knew that all of hers had been broken by the bomb that hit her house last year. When she saw it, her smile was so pretty! I knew I had made the right choice to make her happy.
This is how we stole moments from the war and spent a day to remember.
Huda and I love capturing every moment together. Photo: Sara Awad
Finally, I rewarded myself for my hard work. I love the luxury of skincare and makeup—these keep a joyful energy flowing in me, so I bought some from a street stall on Al-Sahaba Street. I also love reading. So from another street stall, I chose “The Book of No: 365 Ways to Say it and Mean it.”
Susan Neuman’s book caught my attention immediately. I have never learned how to say “no,” and now in wartime, when everything is out of my control, I need to be able to say it more than ever.
I cannot stop the war, but I can express my feelings for my loved ones and try to make them happy, even in the smallest ways. I do this with determination, faith, and strength. I would die, “ادفع عمري” in Arabic, to see the smiles on my family’s faces.
