ZIAD IN GAZA

 A woman I know once wondered about what life would be like if tears were coloured. If there was a specific colour for tears of joy, sadness, anger, despair and helplessness.

We have reached a stage where it is not a surprise to see someone crying in the street. They might have lost someone, they might have lost their home or maybe they have no place to go. The list could go on and on.

I leave early every day to start searching for anything useful. The shops open early to welcome all the lost souls. I call us the lost souls because we don’t know who we are any more. We had jobs, dreams and somewhat normal routines. Then suddenly we had to leave, and found ourselves in places we have never lived in before. Now we are facing the unknown. Our minds and souls are lost.

I see a man bringing a big bag with Saj bread. He starts calling out to let people know that he has something to sell. I run and reach him first. I ask him for some bread and pay him. Just like that. Then many people start running towards him. I take the bread – no, I hug the Saj bread – and pass through the gathering crowd. I have a big smile over my face. For almost half an hour I keep walking, not focusing where I am going. I’m just feeling happy.

A tear falls down my face, it does not need a colour. It is not a tear of sadness. We have reached a stage where getting bread easily is a victory, and it was a tear of gratefulness. I was grateful.