we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Throughout the war I have remained steadfast in my studies so that I can achieve my dream of becoming a journalist.
Zina’s study area in displacement. Photo: Zina Nasser
Before October 7, 2023, I had a routine life, but I loved it and miss its details. Every morning, I used to wake up to the gentle voice of my mother. She would rouse me for Fajr prayer and prepare breakfast along with her special mint tea. The scent of this tea calmed my nerves and made me feel at ease, especially when it blended with the chirping of birds that used to gather by my window.
After finishing the prayer, I would dress in my school uniform. My uniform was beautiful, understated, and elegant. It was navy blue with a white scarf, and I felt like a princess wearing it.
Ever since I was young, I have been determined to become a journalist. I want to bring the struggles of my people to the world. I often told my friends and teachers about my dream. Once, during a class in ninth grade, my teacher asked me to read the Arabic lesson. After I finished reading, she said, “Your tone of voice and confidence make me see you as an outstanding journalist.” I held this compliment as a driving force that pushes me forward and makes me determined to achieve my dream and work hard to become a journalist.
I told to her that the prominent Gazan journalist Wael Dahdouh has been my role model since childhood. I have always admired his personality, strength, and determination to share stories of Palestine.
On October 8, 2023, I heard the sounds of explosions, shelling, and aircraft. The intensity of the noise made me feel as if it would pierce through my head.
I rushed to my father and asked, “What is that sound, Dad?” He replied, “I don’t know. I hope it’s not rockets.” I wished it were something else, something earthly, like thunder, anything but rockets.
My heart was racing. I feared as if it could stop at any moment.
A few hours later, war was officially declared, and it was announced that schooling would be suspended indefinitely. I quickly gathered my school books, clothes, and essential belongings. With my family, we left our fourth-floor apartment and moved to the ground floor.
As rockets began striking nearby homes, my father said, “The situation is unstable, and this place is dangerous. Be ready; we might have to leave at any moment.” I carefully packed my books and supplies in my room, gave them a long, heartfelt look, and said to myself, “Insha’Allah, this war will end soon. I’ll return to my school, meet my teachers, and reunite with my friends.”
On October 11, 2023, my journey and struggle with displacement and relocation began, with failed attempts in search of safety and stability. That was the last time I saw my beautiful home, filled with memories that have never left my mind. Every day since, my thoughts have been dominated by these memories. When will I return to my normal life and pursue my dreams?
My body moved from place to place, but my mind remained steadfast, searching for my memories. I transport myself through space and time. Every morning, I recall having a delicious breakfast, which most of the time includes a plate of cheese made from cow’s milk, a plate of vegetables with tomatoes, cucumbers, and sometimes carrots, and a small plate of red peppers.
At the center of the breakfast tray, there is always a glass of mint tea.
I breakfast with my father and mother, exchanging conversations about my studies and school journey. I can conjure the looks in my parents’ eyes, filled with pride.
I remember the way they attentively listened to me, how they encouraged me to share all my dreams and ambitions with them.
I imagine myself back in my classroom, and I recall the feeling of my school uniform and the energetic buzz of the classroom.
Over the past year, I have felt my dreams slipping away. During free moments, after arranging our temporary shelter and helping my mother cook over a fire, I would sit and talk to myself. I would imagine completing my high school studies, achieving excellent grades, and enrolling in the university program I had always aspired to join.
Desperate to stay focused on my education, I started downloading my school textbooks from the internet, reading them, and noting down essential points on whatever scrap paper I could find. To stay motivated, I read stories of success and resilience under challenging circumstances. One story particularly inspired me — it was about a girl who lost her entire family but managed to continue her education. She is now studying medicine in Egypt. She said, “Losing my family so suddenly deeply affected me, but I was determined to pursue my studies and become a renowned doctor.” If she could lose everything and still make something of her life, so could I.
In early September, my mother was browsing social media and she came upon an announcement from the Ministry of Education about resuming studies online.
Her voice brimmed with both excitement and reassurance. “My dear, the ministry will continue education electronically!” My excitement was blunted by the harsh reality — how will I attend class online when we don’t have electricity nor stable internet access?
Despite these challenges, I did what I could to follow the curriculum for 11th grade. The sporadic internet access meant I couldn’t attend any of the courses synchronously, so I instead relied on the downloaded books. At the same time, I began preparing for my high school final year (Tawjihi), believing that I would eventually complete it and graduate.
I said to my mother, “It’s easy for me to get through 11th grade without proper textbooks, but studying for Tawjihi without books will be tough.” She reassured me warmly, “Don’t worry; everything will be fine.” I felt a great sense of relief.
I brainstormed alternatives for accessing books. Printing them was an option, but the cost was over $300, which was unaffordable. Hand-copying the books by hand was another option, but it would require immense effort. Gradually, despair crept into my heart, and I began losing the motivation to study.
One night, I went to bed praying fervently for Allah to ease my path and guide me toward success. The next morning, while discussing my studies with my mother, my younger brother said, “Why don’t you borrow our cousin’s Tawjihi books?” My cousin had fled to the south last November, leaving her books behind. My mother loved the idea and called my aunt for permission, which she happily granted, wishing me success.
The following day, my mother faced a difficult journey, as she couldn’t use any transportation due to the lack of fuel to run the cars. Her journey was harrowing, filled with the rubble of bombed houses and shattered glass. She walked for three hours to reach my aunt’s home in the far north, and then three hours back. At long last, she returned to our shelter with the precious books. Her eyes flooded with an indescribable joy as she gave them to me. They smelled of gunpowder and rubble.
By November 2024, I completed my 11th-grade exams online and passed. Now I am studying for Tawjihi while facing significant obstacles in attending online lessons. Internet access is scarce, and there’s no electricity to charge my phone. I sometimes have to walk for half an hour through debris and ruin in search of internet.
Our constant displacement has been another hurdle. We’ve been forced to move three times during my studies, and each time, I carried with me my school books, which were Arabic, English, mathematics, physics, and chemistry, ensuring their safety.
The Ministry of Education has yet to announce the schedule and mechanism for the final exams, but I remain steadfast in my studies. Nothing can stop me. Every time I encounter a difficulty, I remind myself that I will one day finish my education and achieve my dream.
What occupies my mind the most is the suffering of journalists who were killed or displaced from their homes, and face death at every moment. However, their courage amazes me and makes me more determined to achieve my dream of becoming a journalist like them. I am certain that the day will come when I will return to my destroyed home, rebuild it, study in my school, reunite with my friends, wear my school uniform, and drink mint tea with my family.
