The Electronic Intifada 22 February 2025
The author at her desk. (Image courtesy of the author)
Each year, on the eve of my birthday, I sit alone in my room, facing my desk, surrounded by the silence of the night. I look at myself with honesty and hold myself accountable, writing down what I achieved and where I fell short. I make a list of goals and dreams.
But this year, as I turn 19, everything feels different. I don’t have the luxury to talk about plans or dreams. Life was suspended on 7 October 2023. It’s like I’m stuck in a loop and days repeat endlessly. They blend together, lose their meaning, and everything feels frozen in time.
During this time, I lost relatives, friends, teachers and places filled with laughter and memories. I lost Gaza as I knew it and every part of it now carries a story of grief.
On 1 November 2023, my aunt Asmaa and my uncle’s wife, Neveen, were martyred. I shared many memories with Aunt Asmaa, and Aunt Neveen was a kind and gentle woman whom we all loved. She left this world with her newborn daughter Fatima, who had barely lived two months – as though the world couldn’t handle her light.
Since then, time has felt meaningless; and I’ve been stuck in an endless cycle of grief and cherished memories of those who I have lost.
Losses
On 30 December 2023, my uncle Abd al-Salam, his 13-year-old son, Huthaifa, and his 8-year-old daughter, Hala, were martyred. Abd al-Salam was more than an uncle to me – he was a friend and a brother and a father. I still hear his laughter filling the house in my mind but now it’s just a fading echo. Huthaifa, whose wisdom was far beyond his years, was like a younger brother to me. Losing them feels like losing a part of myself.
I lost many dear friends too.
On 15 October 2023, I lost Shimaa Saidam, who had earned Palestine’s top score of the tawjihi secondary school exam. The following day, I lost Raghad al-Nuami.
The three of us – Shimaa, Raghad and I – were classmates and close friends. The night before Raghad was killed, she and I exchanged messages on WhatsApp praying for Shimaa’s soul, unaware that Raghad would soon follow.
Every conversation, every dream we shared, now feels like a distant echo. I’m the only one left to tell the story of our friendship. They were part of my daily life and their absence is a wound that never heals.
I also lost teachers, voices of wisdom now gone.
I lost places where I had my happiest moments. My grandfather’s house, where I spent my childhood, is now just rubble. The place that embraced me and watched me grow is now a story of loss. All that’s left are the memories.
The war reached the Islamic University of Gaza, a place I admired since childhood and where I thought I’d build my future. Once a symbol of dreams and hope, the destroyed university now stands in ruins, empty and quiet – as though it is mourning all the aspirations that were lost along with its president and many of its faculty, staff and students.
Small victories
Despite all the losses, small victories pull me forward and give me strength to carry on.
I continued my English literature studies at the Islamic University and completed my first year with honors. This feels like a huge achievement and I’m proud that I didn’t give up.
Meanwhile, I was accepted into an English language course in October last year. This course offered more than just lessons to improve my skills – it was a portal from which I escaped my harsh and painful reality and entered a world in which dreams are still possible.
I also wrote and published. Writing became a way for me to deal with reality and this year I took the step of sharing my work with the rest of the world.
This war forced me to grow up faster than I thought possible. I’m only 19; but it feels like I’ve lived a lifetime in the past several months. Every day brings new challenges, but I have learned how to keep going.
I pray that my 19th year will be filled with achievements, and that God will grant Gaza’s people a recompense that makes us forget the pain we endured. I’ll carry the memories of those I lost in my words and continue writing – for them and for the dreams that remain.
Taqwa Ahmed Al-Wawi is a writer and student of English literature at the Islamic University of Gaza.
