In Gaza, you plan day by day, not for the long term, because one unexpected event can destroy all your hopes and dreams, just like what happened to me on Oct. 7, 2023. At the time I was immersed in my third-year studies in English and French literature, eagerly preparing for the International French Exam, and embarking on writing my first story for We Are Not Numbers. However, a sense of unease lingered in my head. My friends and I often had premonitions that something terrible was going to happen in Gaza. But little did we know that when it did happen, it would bring drama that changed everything.

It started after heroic Palestinians launched an attack on the land that had been stolen from them in the Palestinian Nakba by the Zionist occupation army.

The first night was overwhelming. The Israelis destroyed Palestine Tower, the biggest and oldest tower block in Gaza. It had been my grandparents’ home where I grew up. My heart was filled with pain. I knew that something immense was going to follow.

The next morning, we heard a lot of noise in the street. My dad went down and asked what was happening. It turned out that our neighbors who lived in the building opposite ours had had a call from an anonymous person to say we should evacuate. As we panicked, I prepared my usual emergency bag that contained my iPad, wallet, charger, and phone. We went to my aunt’s house. I was stuttering out of fear and nervousness. After two hours the neighbors called again to inform us that this call had been a hoax by an Israeli settler, so we went back home.

Leaving home without saying goodbye

After two days of non-stop bombs that destroyed our neighborhood, we heard a rumor about having to evacuate North Gaza. The rumor soon turned into a reality. I opened my Facebook and saw that Israeli army spokesman Avichai Adraee had told us to evacuate to the south, a ’safe area” as they claimed, though it wasn’t safe at all! We departed from home with tears in our eyes, leaving everything behind. We believed we would return in just two days. ”I wish that I could put my house into the car,” said my mother with a broken heart.

We went with my two aunts to my friend’s grandparents’ house in Deir Al-Balah. Each passing day brought home the reality that our cherished house would remain out of our reach, as military tanks sealed off all routes back to the north. The southern region of the Gaza Strip now bore the brunt of relentless bombing, with tragic loss of life. Al-Azhar, which was my university, fell prey to their targeted assaults.

In the quiet of one evening, the distant echo of bombing reached our ears, but it failed to rouse alarm, accustomed as we were to such sounds. We drifted off to sleep without a second thought. However, the tranquility was shattered at 6 a.m. when my uncle urgently called my father. He relayed the devastating news that my mother’s entire family lay in hospital, and they were unable to locate my grandmother.

We soon learned what had happened: the previous night’s bombs had struck perilously close, causing their building to collapse. Nearly four agonizing hours passed before the hospital confirmed my grandmother’s tragic fate — she had perished instantly, and her remains had been interred upon arrival.

As we grappled with this heart-wrenching loss, the news brought further despair: my dear friends Shahid Bseiso and Rehab Khorsheed Sakallah, along with their families, had been targeted and had succumbed to the rubble’s embrace.

Hamo, my soul

After 40 days of genocide, the Israelis agreed to a seven-day truce, starting on a Thursday. Immediately, I received a message from my dearest colleague, Mohammed Zaher Hamo, telling me how excited he was when he heard the news. Thursday came but the truce didn’t begin. For some reason, they decided to postpone it until Friday morning.

Thursday night proved to be the most harrowing, as bombs pounded Gaza without respite. As the truce started, we tried calling Hamo, but he didn’t pick up. We figured he couldn’t because of a dead phone or no signal. The next day, we learned his dad had died during the carnage outside their home. Two hours later, we got even worse news: Hamo had become a martyr that night along with 120 members of his family. My heart aches whenever I think of him. Hamo was a bright student and a writer, the heart of our group in WANN. I can’t bear the thought of living without him. Every night, I pray I will see him again in paradise.

On Dec. 1, the truce ended and the bombing started again, but this time it was closer. They now told the residents of Khan Younis in the south to evacuate, and they started a ground operation there. All of the residents and the displaced people from the north went to Deir Al-Balah and Rafah camps.

The wretched times continue

As I write, it is now day 131. These have been very tough times. We’re running out of food, clean water, and electricity. We can’t even take a proper shower. All we have to eat is canned food, and we only get one meal a day. It’s really hard when they cut off the internet connection so that we can’t get any news or reach our family. One day, we found out that my family’s four shops in North Gaza had been blown up by the Israeli army. We have lost everything. Even our house was hit.

In Gaza these days, life is a struggle and very uncertain. Every day brings challenges and unexpected tragedies. From losing homes and loved ones, to facing starvation, thirst, injury, and disease, the ordeal people are experiencing is shattering. But amidst the darkness, we still have hope and the strength to keep going. Even in this most difficult time, people are facing hardship with great courage. But we long for this nightmare to end soon.