ZIAD IN GAZA

 

If it weren’t for someone I met in the street, I wouldn’t have realised that it is the final day of the year. Now, all days are the same – periods of time passing without any meaning, showing us how cheap our lives are.

Ahmad was in our room, checking on us, when I had this silly idea. I raised my hands as if I was holding a plate. I told him and my sister I was holding the imaginary cake of the New Year’s Eve celebration, and asked them about their wishes.

They gave me a look of “how stupid is this?”, but then Ahmad started, with his very horrible singing voice, singing New Year songs. We sang along for a couple of minutes. He left us, and we went to sleep.

That is how my year ended: displaced, sick, sad, unsafe, with the loss of many people, possessions and memories, and terrible mental health. It also ended with some singing and an imaginary cake.