As usual, I went to bed to sleep that night, but a burden heavier than a mountain on my chest compelled me to rise at midnight and walk briskly toward the beach, which was only a few dozen meters away. My path was illuminated by the light of the full moon, and along the way, tears welled in my eyes as I reflected on the state of despair we had reached, a life that neither pleased a friend nor angered an enemy. Tents made of tattered cloth for dear people who once lived in stone houses, and even more so, overcrowded tents crammed together, offering no privacy, and lacking all the basic necessities of life, from potable water to even a door to shelter their tents. I reached the beach and leaned against a mound of sand. The beach was completely empty. I turned on some soft music and began to watch the waves crashing in and out, tirelessly and without complaint. Then I began to relive a painful memory, starting with the harshness of separation while I was in Egypt, the land of the Nile, and my family in Rafah, displaced and homeless. Then I entered Gaza to experience the hardship of displacement, hunger, and homelessness, followed by the anguish of my brother's absence and my family's grief, and then the devastating news of my brother's martyrdom.I recalled the wasted years of our lives, as if time had stopped for us. No studies, no opportunity to fulfill our dreams, not even the energy to pursue my hobby, which is drawing. My attention was drawn to a boat in the open sea, its light faint, belonging to fishermen who depend on the sea for their livelihood. For a moment, I felt that this dim light was like a distant glimmer at the end of a dark tunnel, and I felt that no matter how difficult life becomes, there is still hope. A cool breeze touched my face, drying my tears, and I remembered my mother's tenderness when she would gently stroke my cheek whenever we cried over anything that troubled our lives. My thoughts drifted to the flowing sea, which seemed like the tears of widows and bereaved mothers from Gaza, tears that poured down upon their husbands and sons. My reverie was interrupted only by the whimper of a child nearby. I called to him and asked, "What's wrong, my dear?"He replied in a wounded voice, "I've lost all my family and I'm all alone. I live with my uncle, but I feel so discriminated against compared to my cousins on my father's side." I stroked his head, opened my bag containing some comforting things, and shared them with him. I didn't want to prolong the conversation lest he catch a chill, so I kissed his head and gave him some more. Then he went off to his tent. I lay down on the ground, gazing at the stars, not counting them, but thanking God for their number, for preserving my family for me. O God, be a source of comfort to all who have lost a loved one, a brother, or a dear friend.
