Since October 7, 2023, Sondos Sabra has kept a diary of the genocide. These entries serve as a window into her life and the universal Gazan story of what it means to survive. “I remember that I remember, and I will not have that memory erased.”
In Gaza, night is not peaceful. Going to sleep means not knowing if you’ll wake up in the morning.
My best friend, Eman Qamom, was martyred in December by an Israeli attack. She had told me she didn’t want “to be killed and forgotten.” I am here to remember Eman. I hope she has found peace in a better place.
The scenes today in Gaza feel familiar. And yet, at the same time, what we are witnessing today is worse than anything we have seen before in Gaza.
As I met my close friend Mohammed a deafening explosion jolted us. The world collapsed around me. “Am I dead?” I asked Mohammed, clinging to his hand.
Alia, an aspiring young writer who happens to have been born in Gaza, wonders if anything would be left in her if all her pain were to disappear. But she still believes there’s beauty behind it. Her voice must be heard above the bombs.
Even after getting her acceptance letter to study abroad, Doaa now has to worry about how to get out of Gaza.
After experiencing so many wars, we’re so damaged that we don’t feel like we’ll ever recover.
Israeli wars of aggression have become so common in Gaza they’re the new normal.
My family members were killed in Israel’s massacre in May 2021. This year, my childhood friends were killed in the latest escalation. This is life in Gaza. Sometimes, to survive, you have to die. And to live, you have to die, too.