I stand here, facing a life that has never once given me the chance to make my choice. Everything has been imposed upon me. I have been forced to adapt to my misfortunes. That is an added punishment. A heavy burden I have nothing to do with. Meanwhile, those far away continue to watch me through their safe windows. They decide how I should feel. They shape my story without realizing the suffering I am passing through.
They call me a survivor. Some even dare to call me victorious. Victorious over what?! Over my own ruins?! Over my broken soul from this war?! Over a home I no longer have the right to return to as “the deal” does not permit me and many other to return to our homes in Rafah?! Over a deal that has deprived me of everything including the rubble under which I buried my weakness?
I have not won. I will not falsify the truth. My body is here, but I am exhausted to death. My soul was also buried with everything I lost… my sister who was the heartbeat of my life, my family that vanished in this war; my home that was once my safe embrace; my city; its streets; my friends; my work; my health; my passion. I miss everything that was taken from me. Even the people I thought would provide me with support turned out to be another worse war.
Everybody shall go back to the rubble of their homes. They will find something to rebuild, but what about me? Nothing is waiting for me. No house, no city. Not even a wall on which I could lean upon in a moment of silence. I have never asked for a tent. I have never raised my voice to ask for help. My pride won’t allow me to become a burden on anyone.
Anyway, let me make one thing clear. This so-called victory and what you see as heroism is nothing but another shackle. I haven’t even been granted the right to collapse. I wasn’t given the chance to be weak. However, don’t you think for a moment that I have surrendered, because despite all the sorrow inside me I am still able to hold my head right up. That is not because I am strong as you claim, but because I have pride that does not allow me to break. I am forbidden from rest, from going back and from some peace of mind, but not from adjusting myself with the suffering. Standing here is not my choice. I am forced to do it so that I can survive. I am obliged to be strong while everything inside me is shattered into pieces.
That is me… a witness to everything that has been looted; to a life that spares nothing, and yet, I am still here. My bleeding wound is my proof. My patience is my burden. My pride is the last thing I have left. I shall not allow you to take it from me.
Najia Mahmoud
January 18, 2025
