Everything in Gaza has turned black, and I have become lost inside this blackness and can no longer see who I am.

Since the start of this war, we have had no clean water, internet, or electricity. The little food we have is becoming expensive, and human life is the cheapest thing in Gaza. Even the cats can’t find food from the mounds of trash.

The long-awaited joy of my graduation from Al-Aqsa University on Friday, Oct. 6, 2023, has turned to blackness. Even my birthday on Oct. 3 seems to have brought bad luck to Gaza. The most beautiful month of the year, October, is now a black memory that consumes every drop of happiness. The war killed it.

I began to think that I brought bad luck on myself. A story I wrote about a man who saw himself as the most unfortunate has come back to haunt me. I jokingly called him the father of despondency, “Abu Al-Galaba.” Then, my classmate Yousef Dawes was killed. I realized that anyone I knew could be killed. The blackness thickened when more than 15 members of my relatives were killed. Even my old self, the old Salsabeel, seems gone or at least unrecognizable. The tears have not stopped falling. The tears of all Palestinians have not stopped.

Everyone in Gaza, especially those living in the north and the center, rushes daily to the main streets, such as Al-Bahar Street, to wait for the food donation trucks. They risk their lives to feed their families and stay alive. Anyone who returns with food supplies like flour becomes a hero. Children join their fathers to get donations, but their faces betray their disappointment when they return empty-handed. When there is no flour, we resort to animal food. And by consuming animal food, we deprive our animals of food. Many animals have died of hunger, too. We celebrate like it’s Eid every time our fathers return from their treacherous journey.

I never thought I would miss the old Salsabeel who would eat until she was full, sleep until she was rested, and be comfortable in her warm bed, listening to her favorite songs. The old me enjoyed the beauty of nature while walking, and followed children as they played without fear. To be able to enjoy your childhood was a blessing before the warEvery tiny blessing visited on the old Salsabeel, such as the few hours of electricity and the slow internet, is lost to her. Even those she took for granted are far out of reach, like a piece of bread. Salsabeel now eats to save her life, not for enjoyment. Food has no taste, and the only sounds she hears are those of bombs exploding.

This Salsabeel is the polar opposite of the old Salsabeel, constantly thinking about how to stay alive with her family in this atmosphere of death while her ears want to scream, “Stop bombing us, please.” Her eyes wish to cry because the flood of blood under the destroyed buildings has made the ground red. Every part of her wants to return to the past, to live with her old self in that quiet life. Her legs, especially, want to walk the streets again without fearing the bombs and snipers.

This Salsabeel never believed that her sweet tooth would crave chocolate, chips, and biscuits, which she ate with relish before the war when life was normal. Even the clean air the old Salsabeel breathed is gone.

Who am I? The question swirls around me and gnaws at me day and night, but I can never find an answer. This new reality of Gaza wants me to bring it back to life while I’m lost and wading more deeply in the dark. I ask myself a question that should be easy to answer: Who am I, seriously? (And who can I be?). The trauma has made me forget who I am. It has made an old girl who can’t smile as we continue the survival routine and wait for an unknown fate.

“Can anyone hear me?”

“Someone help me, please.”

These screams come not from me but from the building, the sky, every corner, and people whose voices only I can hear. This war has left me without a soul. My soul died while I screamed into the emptiness, “Where are our human rights?”

I wish that this nightmare would end and that life would return to Gaza with “Allah Akbar” echoing through the streets. I have missed hearing the Adhan, the signal of the Muslims to go pray. I wish the people in Gaza would have a place to live after this war, because Israeli bombs and weapons have left nothing standing.

What will happen with Salsabeel after a year? Will her dreams come true? The dream of becoming a famous writer of novels, the dream of meeting her favorite Korean band, BTS, and composing a song with them? These are nothing but dreams to forget.

Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? I want to leave the old Salsabeel intact and full of hope and happiness. I can’t take her with me today to watch her live this terrible war. I want to keep her as she was, always smiling and soaring.

The old Salsabeel needs to trust me when I tell her she will shine and not be scared. My darkness will become my light. The new Salsabeel will never forget who she was and will always stay faithful to her old self.

Thanks to fellow WANN writer Asma Abuamra, who served as an electronic intermediary with Salsabeel’s mentor to help overcome internet connectivity issues in the north.