ZIAD IN GAZA

 After around an hour, I decide to go back. I see a lady coming towards me. I do not recognise her at first, but then I remember: I had been working with her. She had to evacuate south and stay with her in-laws. We exchange few sentences and move on.

The irony is that we had been working together on an art project. A month ago, we were discussing expressing feelings via acting, singing and dancing. Now we are two people, far away from home, unable to express their pain and constant fear.

How come, we were thinking of a better future for Gaza and its youth then, when now we are not sure we will see another day?

How come this lady, who used to wear colourful clothes and have a smile that would shine a room, is a replica of herself, in a fully black outfit, with eyes full of sadness?