I tried repeatedly to forget, but it is difficult to attain oblivion with all these small locked boxes inside me. These boxes that contain our memories, sweet and bitter, old and new, buried deep inside us, holding every single detail tightly sealed, but whose keys cannot be grasped. Instead, those keys hover around us, everywhere, and then suddenly one will click the lock that opens one of our hidden boxes.
It might be a song we hear by chance that opens the memory box, not taking us to the past, but bringing the past with all its vivid details to where we are. Or it might be a perfume we encounter, reminding us of people we miss and the times we were together. Their scent invades us, their voices besiege us, traversing the long roads from cities of the past into the uncertain province of now, and soon we find them standing right in front of us. Smells have the evocative power to make us experience old moments anew, re-immersing us in the details of a once-daily life, bringing treasured memories of our beloved Gaza alive.
Today I awakened early, unusual for me, but the buzzing sounds of the Israeli drones ruined my sleep. So in an attempt to shake off the headache they caused, I got up and made a cup of coffee. The enticing aroma of fresh-ground coffee, merging with the morning breeze, took me back 10 months to early college mornings I used to love.
Despite my dislike for getting up early, those mornings were different. The lock turns, the memory box springs open…
I rise two hours before my first lecture, confused about which outfit to choose for the day, trying to decide which hijab would match my colorful dress and whether the golden necklace looks better than the silver one. I am so absorbed in these decisions that time slips away from me, and I barely leave in time for class.
I rush onto the bus, breathing heavily as I look for an empty seat so I can finally sit down and catch my breath. I put on my headphones and play one of Fairouz’s songs that perfectly suits this peaceful morning. I rest my head against the bus window, lost in thought, gazing out Gaza’s deep blue sea that accompanies me throughout the long drive to the university
After several hours of lectures, I eagerly rush to meet my friend Malak. We’ve been friends since middle school, but now we attend different universities, so we dedicate every weekend to meeting up and spending time together. And now it’s a Thursday afternoon — the beginning of the weekend! We stroll through the bustling, vibrant streets of Gaza City, laughing as we exchange stories and recount the highlights of our day.
Then we head to Mazaj for some refreshing cold drinks before we start our shopping spree for new clothes. As this is our first year in college, we need to update our wardrobes.
Gaza contains several impressive shopping centers, with Capital Mall being a particularly charming destination that we consider essential to our outings. We spend several hours there, wandering around, taking photos and videos so we can remember hilarious moments.
We try on anything weird we come across, like funny hats and glasses, and laugh a lot at how ridiculous we look. Then we realize the time is going fast, and hurry to pick out and match some clothes, trying them on and debating which ones suit me better. I am drawn to a blue shirt with some daisies on it, while Malak insists that plain ones are better. I have her take photos of me to send to my mom for the final say. The daisies win.
At last we head to the small store at the front of Capital Mall to pick out souvenirs. Malak and I have a tradition of buying a shared keepsake every time we go out together, so we have something to remember the day by. Once, we got some stickers; another time, a small, funny keychain. On another occasion, we bought cute little socks with cartoon designs. We fill our rooms with these little treasures, each one a reminder of our fun days together.
After all these adventures, we feel tired and absolutely starving. Our stomachs are growling so loud we can hear them! We were so caught up in shopping we completely forgot to eat. So we head to one of Gaza’s popular restaurants, my favorite, Italiano. We order some delicious meals, then take them to the beach.
A salty breeze welcomes us to the shore, carrying the gentle sound of the waves. We lay a light blanket out on the soft, warm sand and settle down, setting our food in front of us. The meal, the sea, the fresh-smelling air, and my friend — everything feels perfect! I give her half my pizza, and she gives me half her sandwich. Each bite tastes even better because we’re sharing it.
We chat on and on about our worries for the upcoming exams and our university aspirations. The sea stretches out endlessly, in shades of blue as far as the eye can see. The setting sun bathes everything in a warm, golden light, peaceful and complete. The sky is painted with bright colors — reds, oranges, and purples — all shimmering on the water.
It’s a magic hour and we can’t resist the urge to get closer to the sea; we take off our shoes and run barefoot along the shore. The cool, wet sand tickles our feet, and the waves splash playfully around us. We run backward, laughing, as they come in, trying not to get our clothes wet.
Walking back along the shore, we pick up colorful seashells, each one a tiny piece of the ocean’s beauty. We write our names on them, turning them into keepsakes from this special day. We take more photos, trying somehow to capture the joy and perfection of the moment.
Gaza’s eternal sea has stayed beside me from the calm of the morning when my day began, into the vibrant chaos of the evening. And with the day’s end, the box snaps shut, preserving my precious memories of extreme happiness with a dear friend on the timeless shore of my homeland.
Gaza Sea is the only place that, no matter how much of our city is destroyed, cannot be taken from us. It remains our constant refuge, where we will always escape the noise and devastation of the Israeli drones and bombs, and where memories of the Gaza we love will find us.
This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.
