Mahmoud Massri | مَحْمُود
I was sitting with my father, talking to him, and I said: I wish we could return to our life before the war, to live in safety as we once did.
My father looked at me with a hint of anger and said: Do you really think there was ever safety before the war?
Then he continued, his voice heavy with sorrow: In 2005, while I was sitting in front of our home in Beit Hanoun, a bullet from the occupation came from the east, from the border. It entered my back and exited through my stomach…
I was just sitting in front of my house thinking I was safe, but there has never been safety for us in Gaza.
Even before the war, we lived in danger every day. And today, the suffering has only grown worse…
There is no safety for us, not in our homes nor in our streets.
We live in an open-air prison under the sky, where bullets are fired at us randomly.
Here we are, trying to hold on to life — but safety… has never been our share.
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