Yamaan Saadeh

Today, I sat by the sea. The wind moved in gusts. The water was gray. I had come seeking silence, but it was already there, settled like dust over everything. Two girls passed. Barefoot. Their dresses were torn at the edges. No one stared at them. No one needed to. They were part of the scenery now, like broken stone, like rusted metal. Each carried a small, worn purse on her shoulder. In better times, such a thing would have meant joy, a gift for Eid, a sign that a child had been seen, that she mattered. Here, it was a gesture preserved out of habit. A remnant of something that no longer existed. That is Gaza. Not the bombings, not the rubble, but this: a girl walking barefoot with a handbag she cannot fill. Eid has arrived. We smile because it is expected. We say “Eid Mubarak” the way one might say “It will pass.” There is no celebration. There is only continuity. The air stinks of metal. Since yesterday, the bombings have not ceased. Families die without fanfare. The names disappear. The houses collapse. We dig through concrete with our hands. The bodies are warm for only a moment. Hospitals are full of the dead. The living are told to wait. Bread is precious. Water is bitter. Aid comes late, and too little. There are no tears left in this place, only calculations. What time to run. Where to hide. Whom to carry if it comes again. And from abroad, they speak. They wear suits. They sit in leather chairs. They call us a sacrifice. They say we are brave. That our death has meaning. It does not. A girl in rags is not a sacrifice. She is a child. She is hungry. She is walking. Cursed is the word that dignifies her suffering. Cursed is the sentence written on her behalf. We are not symbols. We are not metaphors. We are not strong, we have endured because there was no choice. We are not hopeful, we are alive because the body clings to life. And when it cannot cling, it falls. Quietly. Somewhere in this city, a mother is heating water for tea she does not have. A child waits. A plane passes. We do not look up anymore. I sat by the sea. It did not speak. #GazaGenocide‌