My birthday is a reminder that I have lived to celebrate it

Small birthday cake with lit candle. — *A humble birthday celebration amid the war’s shadows. Photo: Hamza Ibrahim*

August 7, 2024: I turned a year older today.

My birthday used to be a time of joy, reflection, and new beginnings. A year ago, I lived without the fear and horror that now plague me. I could sleep peacefully without being haunted by bombings that keep me awake all night and cause my teeth to tremble uncontrollably with fear.

Now relentless bombings, missile attacks, and the daily struggle to secure the food and water my family needs to survive cast a somber cloud over my life.

I didn’t think things could get any worse. Then I lived through the Nuseirat massacre.

The memories of that day haunt me. In those terrifying moments, I felt the fragility of life; each second felt like an eternity as I wondered if I would survive.

The echoes of that pain reverberate within me. They are constant reminders of the shattered lives and dreams that define my existence.

‘Run and hide, or you will die’

On the morning of June 8, the atmosphere was tense as my family huddled together in my grandfather’s house in Nuseirat camp, where we sought refuge from the ongoing bombardment. At 11:30 a.m., we were sitting on the couch as I desperately scrolled through the news on my phone.

Our hope for a truce or ceasefire weighed heavily on my mind as I searched for any sign of relief from the chaos outside. The dim glow of sunlight penetrated the windows, casting long, eerie shadows across the room.

A temporary calm was shattered by a deafening explosion as a heavy missile struck our overcrowded neighborhood. Artillery shells started raining down from warplanes and helicopters. I felt we were all about to die.

Terror gripped me as I watched two helicopters hovering nearby, their deadly fire aimed at the bustling Nuseirat market, killing and injuring many innocents. Quadcopters mercilessly killed anyone who moved on the street; the air was filled with heavy and random shooting, terror, and the sound of over a dozen deafening explosions. “Run, run and hide, or you will die,” a man shouted from the street where he and his injured son were seeking to escape.

“Is this the end of the world?” my younger brother cried, his voice trembling with fear as he clung to me. “I am so scared. What will happen to us?”

Then a missile struck and shattered a tower in front of our house, turning the air white and spewing flames everywhere. My hair stood up in shock when I saw the rocket flame. Bullets were cracking all around us. Fire was blowing around us from artillery. My legs were hit by shattering glass and started to bleed.

“I have never seen such horror in my life,” my father’s voice trembled as he tried to shield us from the terror. The air was thick with smoke, making it difficult to see clearly. In a daze, I found myself muttering, “Am I in heaven? Am I dead?”

We were desperate to escape the fire and bombardment. With my younger brother clinging to me and our small family of five huddled together, we quickly grabbed a few essential belongings and made our way out, guided by the screams and shouts of other fleeing families.

In our rush and fear, we ended up wearing each other’s shoes — I wore my father’s shoes, my father wore my brother’s, and my brother wore my mother’s. We fled from my grandfather’s house, running a harrowing two kilometers to an UNRWA school, where we sought refuge.

A broken window that looks out onto a destroyed buildings. — *Hamza looked out this window at the garden before the war. During the Nuseirat massacre, random fire from an Israeli helicopter shattered it. Photo: Hamza Ibrahim*

After an hour of intense bombing, it was over. Miraculously, we had survived.

This was the eighth time we had been displaced since the war began. “I do not want to die, I do not want to die, Mom,” my young cousin sobbed. “We did not take the toys from our home.”

According to Al Jazeera, the Israeli helicopters I saw firing at anything that moved was part of a surprise operation to free Israeli hostages. While the Israeli military was able to rescue four hostages, their attack killed more than 250 innocent people, including several Israeli hostages, and injured over 500 others.

After spending a week at the UNRWA school, we returned to my grandfather’s house, only to find it mostly destroyed. We would likely have been killed had we stayed there during the assault: The walls were severely damaged, the windows shattered, and the roof caved in. Everything was covered in dust and debris.

We are now living in a windowless room on the ground floor, the only habitable room remaining in the house.