During the war in Gaza, a place called TAQAT in Deir Al Balah became a lifeline for me.
TAQAT means “energy” in Arabic. It is a working area with rare and reliable Internet and power (supported by solar panels), which began in the chaos of the war of freelancers and students. It provides almost impossible things: productivity and purpose.
I started to be the manager of the software project there, and cooperated with other people who were equally firm. What is incredible is that even in the most difficult conditions, how can people find a way to maintain use, continue to create and adhere to hope. TAQAT reminds me that even in the most difficult circumstances, we have the ability to build meaningful things.
The idea of life can be more important than pure survival is part of the fragile hope that the ceasefire has given to us in Gaza. After a few weeks of ruthless Israeli bombing, silence feels surreal, almost just like we are too afraid of trust in trust.
However, the damage around us is overwhelming. The entire community has become a rubble, and the large -scale grave is full of loved ones, and countless families have only sadness. It is almost impossible to understand a large number of deaths and injuries. If Israel allows, it will take years or even decades.
However, in addition to physical injuries, we are now facing another challenge: facing the emotional trauma of this disaster.
In more than a year of war, we have developed a psychological defense mechanism in Gaza and promoted hope. Hope it is dangerous because it is easily broken. When our lives are looking around for basic necessities, such as looking for food and water, cleaning wood to cook food and lighting fires to keep the warmth, there is no room to feel. We become numb as a way to protect ourselves.
Now, with the ceasefire, this numbness has gradually disappeared, and we face the huge weight of emotions. We are afraid of our feelings. We can no longer avoid overwhelming loss.
Many of us don’t even know whether our missing loved ones are alive or dead. The idea of returning to our old community is frightening. What if we don’t know anything? What if you have our happiest memories? How do we mourn when the mourning feels like we can’t afford the luxury goods we can’t afford?
In 2013, I left Gaza with my parents at the age of 10. We moved to Malaysia and studied in an international school in Kuala Lumpur. Three years ago, when I was 18 years old, I returned to college, although Israel’s suffocating blockade and occupation, and they brought us huge hardships. I want to re -establish contact with my roots to understand where I come from. I studied computer engineering, just like many young people here, full of ambitions.
But this war taught me, no students do not have to learn.
I have learned the true meaning of hunger-not the hunger when you skip a meal, but the stomach of the stomach for a few days. I have to make an impossible decision, such as sending the last bread to the hungry child or saving for my family.
I learned a completely helpless feeling. For some moment during the war, no matter how much you want to help someone, you have no power. The road was destroyed, the hospital was in trouble, and even due to Israel’s system attacks, even the most basic resources could not be touched. This sense of powerlessness is what I will never forget. I am worried that if the ceasefire is not held, the siege continues, and Israel does not consider it, it will continue.
One of the most difficult lessons I learned is how war eliminates your humanity. When you just survive to become your only goal, it is easy to ignore all other goals. You stop thinking about the future because you can deal with it now.
Today, we must face that future. We must face and overcome-fear, sadness and uncertainty. We must find a reconstruction method, not only our house, but also our lives. We must re-discover our sense of collective purpose-the feeling of bringing me to TAQAT-and helping each other move forward to anything next.
For a long time, the world has only seen us from a painful perspective. The fact is that we are not only a group of people who long for food and water in the Gaza area. We are students, teachers, doctors, artists and dreamers. We have ambitions and talents, just like anyone else.
I hope this war is as devastating as before and can open people’s eyes. I hope that this will make the world aware that the Palestinians are not only in Gaza, but also since the Nakba (Palestinian Arabs’ large -scale deportation and escape) in 1948, how unfair the Palestinians have been treated with the Palestinians. We should live in freedom dignified. We should have our own country and our own future.
Rebuilding Gasha is not impossible. If the holding of fire is held, Israel opened the boundary, if we can access resources, if the world supports us, we can be better than before.
I have a lot of energy in my heart, and I am ready to use it. In some ways, I feel like a superhero, just like I am spared in the worst case. Gaza is not just a city. This is a community, a family and home. No matter how much we lose, we will find a way to rebuild it. We will survive. We will continue.
