Gaza, for many people, is always a question mark, even for me.
Whenever I see Gaza in the media, I don’t recognize it,
It is so different from what I know and what I live.
In the media, Gaza is blockade, bombardment, explosions,
  rockets, violence, struggle, terror and resistance.
For me, it is my coffee in the morning, the children walking to school,
The sea breeze on my face, the shadow of the sun on a blooming flower,
The little girl selling gum and fine papers at the traffic light,
The scribbles of the young boys on the walls,
The fear on the face of my 9-year-old son when the power suddenly goes out,
     and his shy smile when I put on a lamp or light a candle.
Gaza is the access-restricted areas and the sparkling lights on the surface of the sea,
The closed borders and the laughter of my friends smoking shisha while watching the sun set,
The farmer bending over his land to tend it, 
And the teacher preparing lunch for her family with one hand and
   correcting the homework of her students with the other,
The angry drivers in the traffic jams and the welcoming shopkeepers.
The Gaza I know is not that one in the media.
The Gaza I know is full of life: pain, happiness, success and failure,
  despair and hope, dark and light.
Gaza is not black and white. In Gaza there are all the colors of the rainbow.

Posted October 9, 2015