"In the Gaza Strip, a 'ceasefire' is just a word - we're living it in silence"
Ten days into what was supposed to be a ceasefire, I stepped out of my family's tent in az-Zawayda, Central Gaza Strip, with cautious optimism. The Twix Cafe, where freelancers and students gather, seemed like the perfect spot to reconnect with some semblance of normalcy. But as I approached the cafe with my brother, we heard the unmistakable rumble of an explosion. An Israeli drone had struck the entrance, sending us running for cover.
The chaos that followed was all too familiar. Three people were killed, several more injured. The news spread like wildfire, and our family's tent became a hub of panic as relatives called out to us in vain, their signals weak and unreliable. It took an eternity to comfort my mother before we finally returned home.
What kind of ceasefire is this? I wondered, my anger boiling over at the senseless violence that seemed to never truly end. We thought the explosions would stop, that our shattered lives could slowly be rebuilt without fear of reprisal. But under Israeli occupation, there's no such hope.
The reality check came in full force when the Israeli army bombed Twix Cafe, along with dozens of other locations throughout Gaza, claiming at least 45 lives and leaving many more injured. This was the deadliest day since the ceasefire took effect - a stark reminder that Israel continues to kill, every single day, without apology or remorse.
The list of victims is staggering. Eleven members of the Abu Shaaban family were massacred in an Israeli bombing, their lives cut short while trying to return home. The number of Palestinians killed since the so-called ceasefire began has risen to over 100. It's as if Israel is treating this 'ceasefire' like a switch, flipping it on and off at its whim.
As I watched people rush to markets to stock up on food, their minds focused on survival in the face of uncertainty, I couldn't help but feel a sense of despair. We've lost forever the feeling of security, the knowledge that tomorrow we'll have enough to eat. Israel is not only violating the ceasefire by bombing us but also withholding aid it signed onto allowing.
The numbers are staggering: just 15% of promised aid trucks have entered Gaza since the ceasefire began, while thousands of injured people remain stranded without access to medical treatment. The Rafah border crossing with Egypt remains closed, leaving our sole outlet to the world sealed. When will we be allowed to leave for education or reunite with loved ones? Will we ever be able to return home?
The Israeli policy of starving Gaza's north is still in effect, and the World Food Programme has reported no large aid convoys have entered Gaza City since the ceasefire began. The agency's spokesperson was told that Israel refuses to grant permission for them to use Salah al-Din Street.
In a world where our lives seem to be nothing more than a headline about Israel's endless killing spree, we remain at the mercy of an occupier who can resume mass murder whenever it pleases. We will continue to wait for the world to finally recognize our right to live and take real action to secure it. Until then, we'll remain trapped in this cycle of violence and fear.
Ten days into what was supposed to be a ceasefire, I stepped out of my family's tent in az-Zawayda, Central Gaza Strip, with cautious optimism. The Twix Cafe, where freelancers and students gather, seemed like the perfect spot to reconnect with some semblance of normalcy. But as I approached the cafe with my brother, we heard the unmistakable rumble of an explosion. An Israeli drone had struck the entrance, sending us running for cover.
The chaos that followed was all too familiar. Three people were killed, several more injured. The news spread like wildfire, and our family's tent became a hub of panic as relatives called out to us in vain, their signals weak and unreliable. It took an eternity to comfort my mother before we finally returned home.
What kind of ceasefire is this? I wondered, my anger boiling over at the senseless violence that seemed to never truly end. We thought the explosions would stop, that our shattered lives could slowly be rebuilt without fear of reprisal. But under Israeli occupation, there's no such hope.
The reality check came in full force when the Israeli army bombed Twix Cafe, along with dozens of other locations throughout Gaza, claiming at least 45 lives and leaving many more injured. This was the deadliest day since the ceasefire took effect - a stark reminder that Israel continues to kill, every single day, without apology or remorse.
The list of victims is staggering. Eleven members of the Abu Shaaban family were massacred in an Israeli bombing, their lives cut short while trying to return home. The number of Palestinians killed since the so-called ceasefire began has risen to over 100. It's as if Israel is treating this 'ceasefire' like a switch, flipping it on and off at its whim.
As I watched people rush to markets to stock up on food, their minds focused on survival in the face of uncertainty, I couldn't help but feel a sense of despair. We've lost forever the feeling of security, the knowledge that tomorrow we'll have enough to eat. Israel is not only violating the ceasefire by bombing us but also withholding aid it signed onto allowing.
The numbers are staggering: just 15% of promised aid trucks have entered Gaza since the ceasefire began, while thousands of injured people remain stranded without access to medical treatment. The Rafah border crossing with Egypt remains closed, leaving our sole outlet to the world sealed. When will we be allowed to leave for education or reunite with loved ones? Will we ever be able to return home?
The Israeli policy of starving Gaza's north is still in effect, and the World Food Programme has reported no large aid convoys have entered Gaza City since the ceasefire began. The agency's spokesperson was told that Israel refuses to grant permission for them to use Salah al-Din Street.
In a world where our lives seem to be nothing more than a headline about Israel's endless killing spree, we remain at the mercy of an occupier who can resume mass murder whenever it pleases. We will continue to wait for the world to finally recognize our right to live and take real action to secure it. Until then, we'll remain trapped in this cycle of violence and fear.