I woke up at 3:30 a.m. to the roar of massive trucks piercing my ears; their heavy wheels thudding against the ground as if hammering deep into my head. Then came moments of eerie silence… a strange stillness that made me open my eyes and wait for the noise we had grown accustomed to for 470 days.
I looked up at the ceiling with disdain, at the iron rods that had always stared at my flesh. Now, the ceiling is free of the “buzzing drone”; liberated from the fear of another artillery strike. How does one sleep without fear? I don’t remember.
I sat for a moment, staring into the silence, waiting for a noise to pierce through the chaos inside my head; all those voices waiting for a single answer from me. My God, I shall erase this morning from the calendar. I shall wait for the day after and start counting the days on my fingers as time is chasing me.
All those mornings before this day, the ones I awaited with intense fear, were never truly mornings. I shall leave all those days behind me now except for this only one.
I feel ashamed to feel the joy around me. That is heavy on my heart. Only two days ago, I told my friends that throughout all the past days, I haven’t felt the scent of raindrops, nor had I breathed in the morning air and the sea breeze. Today, my biological clock has begun to tick on its own; just it and me, watching the distance unfold.
Then, the noise of artillery gradually restarted followed by the roar of aircraft. I went back to sleep, only to see the fangs of the ceiling laughing at me!
Bissan Abd-el-Rahim
January 21, 2025
(Text written after the declaration of the ceasefire)
