It is indeed completely different when you hear a story than being part of it. During the war, we have heard so many stories of people facing or escaping death. The massacre of Al-Shejayea is the biggest example among all. We have seen people running for their lives, or others who couldn’t escape death. It was almost impossible for me to believe that people actually lived that horror. In a way, every person in Gaza thinks he is not a target or so we try to convince ourselves. We try to think of a million reasons why we would survive this. This slight chance of survival we are holding on to exists in every single person. Personally, I started counting how far Israeli tanks were away from my home. I try to imagine our district map and all the streets that exist between me and the closest tank. I even googled how far can an artillery bomb reach. Ironically, the next day an artillery bomb hit my neighbor’s house and so I guess the answer would be “far enough to reach you”. Other times, I would give up on finding reasons to live, so I just try to imagine all bad scenarios, and the worst among them is death. I try to comfort myself that death doesn’t hurt, it’s just a glance of an eye and everything would be over. My mind is always occupied with these thoughts.

Almost 30 days of continuously living in the “unknown”. Every day at 8:00 pm when the night starts falling, we start thinking of how the night would be. We take a look at the sky so we can guess how many warplanes are flying. We listen carefully to the sound of them so we can guess how close they are. The more and the louder they are, the more terrifying the night would be. There are times when an Israeli F16 would fly at a very low altitude to hit its target, that’s the time when our hearts skip a beat. We follow the light coming out of the rocket, and we pray to God that it doesn’t hit our house. Sometimes, we can hear the far sound of the rocket coming close and we close our eyes until we hear the blast. Hearing the blast means you’re still alive. We have gone through very difficult nights that I know I won’t ever forget. One was on the second day of Eid. Four families, who escaped their houses close to the artillery shelling, took our house as a shelter. We were almost 50 people gathered in one room, awake and terrified. That night we were able to hear all kinds of shelling, we all fell traumatized and not able to speak a word. The only thing we were hoping for is sunlight; because somehow it is less scary during daylight. It’s the period between 8:00 pm till 5:00 am where every second feels like ages.