ZIAD IN GAZA

 

Yesterday, Ahmad and I were out trying to find some long-sleeved undershirts for me to keep warm at night. We did not find any. In one street, he said: “I don’t know why, but I hate this street.” I remained silent. I hate the whole area we are staying in. It is true that they welcomed us, that we are “safer” because we are here, but this area is a reminder of every horrible thing we have been through. But then I wonder, if we survive, won’t everything and everybody around us be a reminder?