ZIAD IN GAZA

 When the whole situation started, I made a decision not to write. But then a man who I consider a mentor encouraged me to do so. I am grateful that I did.

During this period, writing has been my therapy, reflecting on the ongoing crazy events, taking a moment to absorb what is going on and putting things into perspective. With time, it has become my own shelter, the secret friend with whom I can’t wait to share the chaos of my heart, soul and mind.

But I haven’t had the energy to write lately, I just decided not to. I did not write anything yesterday, and was not planning to do it today. However, I found myself, late at night, writing.

Writing means that I am trying my best to survive. It means that I have hope that one day I will look back at these diaries and think of how long I have gone on. Because writing means that my heart is still beating … and my voice deserves to be heard.