This is the peace we were promised

This is the peace we were promised, and this is all they could give. Such generous givers!

The terrorizing sound of warplanes when they come every night, threatening us, reminding us that we can stll be erased.

And the never-ending, deafening sound of drones,a reminder that we still live inside the mind of a criminal machine.

Then the distant explosions echoing through the night, telling us they are Coming back to destroy whatever remains; not that they left much behind, except a few cracked houses, a handful of collapsing hospitals, and endless tents.

The weight of genocide, death, destruction, and suffering has not paused for a single moment

They are playing a long, deliberate game; a game where no one starves, no one freezes, except the children of Gaza, the ones who survived a hell made their lives beyond miserable by human hands

Tonight I met a little boy who knocks on Aboud's car window every day when we stop, asking for money. This time he knocked, and I gave him biscuits. Later, I found him st anding near a restaurant, leaning toward the glowing charcoal for warmth, wearing thin Summer Clothes that mean nothing in this brut al winter.

I asked him what he was waiting for. He said: "Nothing, I just like to come here every day, look around for a bit, then go back to my tent to sleep. " He waited for a long while, then suddenly disappeared, only to reappear out of nowhere. He stayed until I gave him a sandwich. Then he turned his back and walked away, as if he were heading toward spring

This winter is the harshest in the history of humanity. If the world looked closely at these cold, silent details, nothing wOuld remain the Same. This is misery at its coldest and most merciless.

How do children sUrvive this cold and this cruelty? Can they even sleep? And when they wake, do they still wake as children?

Yesterday, while walking, I came across a disabled man I know; younger than me, moving in a Worn -out wheelchair,

His tongue is heavy, but his mind gives him dignity, respect, and CompaSsion.

I greeted him, and we helped push his wheelchair after he had been struggling to move backward.

He asked me: "How much do you think a new wheelchair costs these days in Gaza?"

I told him: "I don't know, but I will help you get a comfortable one." And I am still trying.

This is the idea; the very idea for which an entire people have been tormented for Over a century: that humanity is when a person gives up a little of their own comfort so someone else can rest.

Not when the world abandons an entire people fighting just to stay sane; a people whose existence or non-existence has become the soame in the eyes of a world that refuses to try for US.

Giving is the root of survival. And survival belongs only to the tormented; those who refuse to let their suffering pasS UNnoticed.

The prize that could have fed and warmed cOuntless children was handed over to the very man causing their misery. This "peace" is pure terror.

I don't know what to write about the life we are living. And I cannot express what goes on in my head, because my mind is paralyzed, and the words inside it have died.