It is hard to be a human animal. I am not trying to be sarcastic. We, the people of Gaza, are being treated as just that — animals.

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

When the Oct. 7 war on Gaza began, I thought I contemplated dying for Palestine. If my home collapsed on me and I died a martyr, my sins would at least would be erased. And, I wanted to escape. I didn’t think I could endure another war. Suicide seemed easier.

I tried drugs  and talk therapy with modest results. But the desire to live must come from inside. And the more I tried 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 that the only weapon I knew how to use was worthless. But Refaat’s words took root in my heart.

Refaat had texted me earlier, before he was killed, saying: “I’m going to send your contact number to journalists I know who want people to write about Palestine. Here is a file that can give you some guidelines.”

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 of the articles I wrote. He was killed soon after that text.

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

I tried to write about Palestine because I promised him. But my hands shook. 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 Refaat from this pain, but this human-animal misses him. I see him everywhere. I see him in the rubble, and wonder if he was tormented as he took his last breath. I see him in my father’s hazel eyes and remember the day the two met and Refaat jokingly told my father that I was “troublesome.”

I look at my younger siblings and remember him. He loved kids. He had six children of his own. 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 Refaat between the wrinkles on the face of every grandpa I meet. He loved both the old and the young. He loved strawberries. He loved pizza. He loved words. But he mostly loved Palestine. Where are you now, Refaat? I need you.

Albert Camus said: “What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.” He is gone. But his silence is as empowering as it is painful. I learned that the only cure for my depression is how I respond to his death. Every day his words grow deeper roots in 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.