Report 12

     When life pushes you to stand on the edge, knowing for a fact that gravity is way stronger than any other power you would ever try to gather at that very moment of weakness, and you just close your eyes, take one breath and hold it till you feel the oxygen spreading in every drop of your blood, only then do you know what life does really mean. It means not to be scared because beyond every ugly terrifying feeling, there is always something that pops up to remind us that beauty is still shining somewhere out there, where life tastes different, where the one who is standing to your right and never hesitates to touch your hand is the one that pokes you to notify that no matter how deep you’re being put to the bottom of despair, there is always someone to give you a hand to snatch you out of it. And when life falls apart, and you and this person are no longer meant to meet, what to remain is the precious moments you guys once had together. When a course of years passes over your separation, and you go out to sit in your balcony, escaping from whatever distracts you from thinking of the old days in order to get bewitched by the smooth breeze of that night that touches your skin so tenderly like a mom stroking her child, you stare at this one thing that resembles the face of that person you ,once, were part of and you simply smile, for you figure out that this person is no far away from you. The moon appears every night whether it is cold or warm , peaceful or war-like, desperate or happy-go-lucky to shake the existence beneath your feet and make you tremble of joy whenever you see it because you see your person through this so called rock.  When you know it’s just a matter of time till you dwell in a place and this person dwells in  another, you make it a matter of choice. You choose nothing but love, laughter, happiness, and long long  hours of you both together. You learn to forget and forgive because what has passed never deserves to remain painful.

Dedicated to my special friends

 

لو لم تكن الحياة لي, كيف سأكون لها

يخبرونني أن من هم مثلي ” في مقتبل العمر” ليسوا من حملة الهموم أبدا .. لأن الهموم لا تصطاد صغار السن .. ولأن لكل قاعدة شواذ .. ولأني دائما أنتمي لما يحدث الشواذ .. ها أنا هنا أحمل هموم الكون بأسره على كتفيّ فقط لأني “أهتم”

تحت وطأة ظهر قاس .. أغلقت نوافذ غرفتي وجلست في زاوية السرير اليسرى أفكر في تلك النصف ساعة التي عشتها من عتاب متواصل لم يسبب لي “سمة البدن” ذاتها التي يسببها العتاب الذي أعهد

أردت أن أشعر بمعنى أن أكون من “الكاظمين الغيظ” .. إلا أن اهتمامي الزائد بالأشياء حرمني متعة لا يعرف طعمها سوى من علّق قلبه بالثواب الإلهي ونسي أمر الدنيا ومن عليها.. يغلبني الغيظ وشيطانه في حرب الصراع تلك !

جلست أستجوب نفسي طارحةً عليها السؤال ذاته : أتعاندني الحياة لأني لم أتجرأ عليها بعد؟

استرجعت المشهد القديم .. حيث كنت أقف بصمت يصم الآذان.. أعض على شفتي السفلى .. وأراقب بعين نصف دامعة الفرصة وهي تسير مبتعدة عني .. وأقول بلهجتي الأمريكية بعض الشيء ” it’s just that I’m not brave enough to catch it now”

وحين قررت أن أتماشى مع الحياة وأن أنسى أمر مستقبلي الذي خططت له لعقود أطول من أن أحسبها بحزمة من عشرات السنين لأني لم أعش سوى عقدين منها .. فكرت في وطني وبالخير الذي قد يقدمه لي .. إلا أن وطني يرفض موقفي الايجابي!

 

Europe? No- Thanks

Everybody sees different kinds of ghosts that emerge every night flying over the ceiling of the bed cover. Some see white ghosts with fluffy dresses carrying along a vision of a warm house, a tender husband , and extremely adorable kids. Others are visited by ghosts with big noses, wearing the custom of a wicked witch, that are waiting to rob them of their happiness. Others may prefer being fascinated before sleeping by observing some educated ghosts- nerds, taking flights to popular schools and reading books of the whole sciences of the whole universe. Obviously, these ghosts I am depicting are your wishes and your fears at the very same time, and the funny thing about this matter is that you find yourself being too creative to a level you yourself can not bear believing. First, you draw the ghost, you dress it up, and then you move it the way your heart desires. Taking myself as a living example, every night I go through this night work, I figure out how much I match having the job of a movie maker. My ghosts are classic but so VIPs. They’re very open minded, but they respect traditions, and the picking up of their clothes and colors reveals, paradoxically, a crazy but prudent taste. However, in Gaza, you got to have no competitor in portraying your ghosts because you have all the equipment required for the mission. Gaza is the primary factory for manufacturing this sweet product which  is fair enough to color anyone’s life with the utmost felicity. If you go to the beach, as an illustration, you may find a young, handsome, humble guy swimming; next to his right hand, there is a horse swimming as well, and very close to his left hand, you    may see a donkey enjoying the warmth of the sea water. And awkwardly, you will  be very much filled with a strange kind of happiness seeing them all enjoying their day, under the same sun and inside the same water and at the same spot, with the company of each other.

  Just have a walk at night in the streets of Gaza, and you will see the most number of soccer fans, spread  everywhere  out there after texting their friends, family members, grandpas, or probably their professors in order to have themselves all gathered in front of a small or big, slim-flat or an old black and white TV set to watch the match. Yes, they can not travel to watch it live from the playground, but they have built a wider playground over the land of Gaza. If a Gazan watches a TV ad, in which a highly tempting Smartphone appears, highlighting that he can afford it, then no problem sir. Tunnels have saved the day. Gaza has its own sort of lighting, which has surpassed Edison’s invention, electricity! Gazans have proved that what Edison invented is not a last resort solution. Candles can do the same job, and brining back the life aspects of that old era where candles were like governors is what distinguishes Gaza from other states and kingdoms as being a participant in reviving history… i am not being sarcastic at all.  what I am trying to say is that it is never the place that makes Gazans strong, but rather it is the spirit these mentally, emotionally, and religiously active people have. Their spirit is so high that it reaches  out their hands and pushes them to achieve what Europe itself could not achieve.

 

Alone but not Lonely

I’ve always known tears to be in one condition…sour! This awkward process of shedding these little, salty drops has always taken a big deal of my attention. I could find no convincing interpretation of why we occasionally and non occasionally produce tears, as neither happiness nor sorrow can form an obstacle  in the head of them. I cry when I am happy, afraid of losing this joy happiness brings to me. I cry when I show a grumpy face, afraid of it lasting for a long while  that could be “forever”!! In both cases, reversing the nature of tears is out of any one’s grasp. They’ll always and forever reserve their impact on the eyes of creatures. One consolation appears when a cat, a dog, a lion, and a human being share this one thing they all comprehend- believing it to be the only common resort to let out all that is in. A story of tears that deserves to be immortalized in every man’s memory speaks for itself. Behind the cold walls of a prison, there was a young man of twenty years, powerless enough to remain in silence  even within his prayers! Moving his lips would make him forced to act in the same way a sinner acts while waiting for his life- taking punishment.  Ahmed, holding his hope of feeling the sun rays touching his dry skin the next day, during which he couldn’t even differentiate the day’s periods, closed his  green  eyes  that night, after being dead tired of doing his everyday obligation of staring at the walls of his cramped prison. Few hours passed like seconds by Ahmed to find himself being informed by the officer’s shoutings that  his next day had come already  hours ago ” or seconds ago”! He opened his eyes, craving for death to visit him only after seeing the sun. However, his wish went away after re-remembering  the prisoner’s right not to have a right to consider wishes! He opened his eyes to receive something he could not think of but as a vision of a smiling ghost. There was another prisoner waiting ahead of his shocked body and non responding senses. The latter’s smile had given Ahmed what no treasures or even freedom could present  to a man. Finally! he had someone to stare with. The other prisoner was named Issa, and he was so fond of his name that he quickly delivered it to the stunned guy, passing his hand to shake it with Ahmed’s, who was still under what is called unconsciousness of the impossible incident. At some point, he came to lose faith in miracles, for no one occurred to him before. Now though, his faith had moved to a new transformational phase. He immediately touched the man’s hand and grasped it so tight, as if he were shaking hands with a father, or even a dearer person, if there could be a dearer person than a father, whom he longed to see for a very, very long time. Issa, accepting his new condition of being in imprisonment, had welcomed himself, guessing that Ahmed was too shocked to welcome him. A moment passed, and Ahmed’s tears got out of their nest. something new was born over his cheeks; a thing he had experienced only once when air came into his lungs for the first time. Twenty years had passed and not a single tear died over Ahmed’s lips. However, this godsend deserved tears to be shed over, just as the reason of life did. For the first time, he could make his own theory that needed no experts to examine its validity. Life granted him two reasons to cry over: the first started and ended when he was born and in pain, and the other when he was almost dead but then revived. Issa stood still, observing his fellow prisoner practicing “crying” without pausing. It was over after some time, they didn’t even count how much it was, passed. The jailer broke into the two men’s cell and put down breakfast, enough for a child. The meal appeared to Ahmed and Issa like a banquet, and the two guys sat together to enjoy the division of the one piece of bread and the only slice of cheese. From that day on, every thing was shared. Food, love, smiles, sadness, laughter, looks, whispers, and tears were split in two equal halves. Despite the power of silence that governed Ahmed all these years in prison, having no one to reveal to the unbelievable way of his staying in prison, he carefully stared at the walls of the only room he ever lived in and spoke: ” Here, I was born. Here, I took my first breaths, and here, I may take my last. Here, I had to say goodbye to my mom who passed away to leave me drawing her face on the walls of this cell in order not to forget her picture.” Issa needed Ahmed to say nothing more than he said, for what he already narrated was very enough for him to understand the rest of Ahmed’s life. To Ahmed, Life outside barriers and wires was no more delightful than life inside the prison as long as Issa was there to assure him that life with the company of someone could get easier and only then could darkness turn into light and tears be sweet…. To be continued

 

A vision Amongst Fire

you know what.. I keep wondering all the way home and all the way to school : why can’t we just get the same reaction the Israelis have in “emergencies”? we don’t even look at it as an emergency. Every time I question this, I come to realize that the meaning of life to us is very connected to our unbreakable belief that it’s not the military aircraft  that takes our souls out of our bodies. we live, we learn, we shop, we party, and we tease the enemy. Today, in specific, I recognized the way I look to things for the first time. While having nerve tremors being in a cab whose driver was acting normally as if nothing was happening around, I made up my mind to imitate him. I turned my head and fixed my eyes on the world that was moving outside the window. However, it all failed me, trying to convince my frightened self that no unexpected guided skyrocket was to fall over some other cabs or cars that were sharing me the view of the moving world out there. I turned to stare, without getting myself being noticed, at the driver, who favored to speak up, guessing he would eliminate the stress seen in the passengers’ movements and whispers. He very comfortably said that a rocket had destroyed part of his house during last night’s escalation. The moment I heard that, I was like ” seriously? And you’ve come to work??!! “. Nevertheless, I had to shut up my shocked thoughts when he said ” Al Hamdo Le ALLAH , thank God!”. I felt I was, in front of these two greatly meaningful words, a very little bug that was badly smashed. I could form a new look at my life as  a Palestinian, Gazan girl who must be proud of living among such people of honorable manners, whose belief covers all defects and turns them into merits. Yes, death/martyrdom in Islam, danger, fire, rockets, bombing, and assassination are seen by us as merits. We go out no matter how dangerous being outdoors could be, only because we are eager to be faithful to our duty, and only then would we see how death is worthy, and this by all means shows how different we are from the cowards, belonging to the enemy of the world, to the enemy of peace, to the enemy of stability, to the enemy of the right of the Palestinian resistance, to the enemy of the truth, to the enemy of innocence ,  that is to be the so- called  Israel

 

An Eye Upon The Truth

I’ve always imagined the day I would die in and the way I would leave this world by.  Till the first day of January, things started to appear differently, and I became more cautious about what to imagine. The night the Israeli military mobilized its tanks, soldiers, weapons, dogs, and diapers to sweep Gaza was the beginning of immortal memories of smelling death everywhere. 24 hours had passed like 24 years. At one of Tal El Hawa buildings,the number one story of witnessing criminality took place. Between the rubbles of so many merely crushed houses, fate insisted that a six_floor building survive in order to face what was Inevitable. Lots of tanks stuffed with soldiers and their military equipment surrounded the building from three directions. On the fourth floor was  an apartment crowded with an enough number of people to withdraw the oxygen of the only room they were trapped in -the living room. Tariq, one of the building’s dwellers, decided to decrease the congestion and go to stay in his apartment located in the first floor. He took along two of his friends who found no place to run to except for that bloody building! after few hours of “nothing” but waiting the unknown, the military began the fight against armless children, women, and men.

No window was allowed to be opened. Burning a candle was taboo as well. Soon, the whole apartment drowned in darkness, and here the soldiers seized their chance to break into the building. the first floor was obviously their first target. They readily bombed the apartment next to Tariq’s ,and left nothing to him and his company to wait for but their absolute demise. They knocked on the door ,even though they knew about the stranded guys ,but no one showed a reaction from inside the apartment. Immediately, they launched a projectile. The whole apartment was on fire ,and Tariq’s friends left life in front of his eyes. Tariq ,whose body was half burnt, could leave the apartment by a miracle . he crawled to the fourth floor where he had to wait for long trying to convince his neighbors that he was actually “Tariq” ,and that he hadn’t faced the same “honorable destiny” his friends had. Among the believers in God’s wide protection, the silence of the place was soon deafening. The 24 hours had passed , but had not taken away their impact.

 

Hello world!

Hello everyone. My name is Huda Jaber. I am a Palestinian girl, studying English Literature. I live in Gaza, where there are many inspiring stories and issues to write about. This blog is the means i resort to, in order to set my passions free and write about my country.