It is hard to be a human animal. I am not trying to be sarcastic. We, the people of Gaza, are indeed being treated accordingly.

Animal rights activists are doing their best to save turtles from pollution. Human rights activists are working hard enough to save humans from injustice. Which category do Gazans fall under?

When the Oct. 7 war began, I thought that the idea of dying for Palestine would be best. If my home collapsed on me and I died a martyr, my sins would be erased. I wanted to save myself from living. I had thoughts of suicide.

I’ve tried drug therapy and talk therapy with modest results. The desire to live must come from the inside. The more I dug deeper into my mind to find reasons to live, the more I wanted to leave this life — but that changed when Israel killed Dr. Refaat Alareer on Dec. 7, 2023. He was my beloved professor, my role model, and a second father.

How could I betray his last words? “You Must Live.”

Refaat killed the monsters inside my brain. Refaat poisoned the whispering snakes that wanted me dead.

During the war, I tweeted about my helplessness and questioned whether words mattered. I felt the only weapon I knew was worthless. But Refaat’s words were rooted in my heart. Refaat texted me saying:

“I’m going to send your contact number to journalists I know to write about Palestine. Here is a file that can give you some guidelines.”

He knew I was more of a storyteller than a journalist. He wanted me to believe in the power of my voice again. I told him I would try my best, but I never got to show him any article I wrote. He was killed soon after that text.

I wasn’t shocked. I knew he would leave us. I knew the Israelis would take our treasure away. But still, as a human animal, I cried so hard.

I tried to write about Palestine because I promised him. But my ink was shaking. He will never read my words. As a human animal, I felt so alone.

I am sorry that Gaza is a ghost city now. He wouldn’t want to see it this way.

Death saved you from this pain, but this human-animal misses you. I see you everywhere. I see you in the rubble, and wonder if you felt tormented as you took your last breath. I see you in my father’s hazel eyes and remember the day you met and jokingly told my father that I was troublesome.

I look at my younger siblings and remember you. You loved kids. You had six children. I keep searching the shelves in my brain looking for stories about your littles. You were so proud of Amal, Linah, and Omar. Were you proud of me, too?

I see you between the wrinkles of every grandma I meet. I know you loved their storytelling power. You loved youth. You loved strawberries. You loved pizza. You loved words. But you mostly loved Palestine. Where are you now? Will we ever hear you again?

Albert Camus says: “What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.” You are gone. Your silence is as empowering as it is painful. But I learned too that the only cure for my depression is how I react to your death. Every day your words grow inside my heart. You were not killed, Refaat. You shall live in every action I do. Mark my words, this human animal is staying alive so you shall live forever.