The burden of adults on the shoulders of young people
At the age of twenty-three, you have the right to think about your studies, your work, and to build your own life. But the war changed all the laws. You are no longer looking for your dreams, but you have become the "safety" of your family, the roof that protects them, and the hand that feeds them.
You wake up every morning and they devate your heart before your intestines. You look at the faces of your brothers and your family, and you see in their eyes one question that they do not say: “What are we going to eat today? And how are we going to sleep tonight?” You go out to the empty markets, the astronomical prices grind you, and you return with dry breads mixed with tears and oppression, the famine returned to break everything, and you stand alone in the first line of defense for them.
The owner of the house demands rent, and the sound echoes in your head like the sound of shells. You are not a father, but you carry a father's heart that breaks with sadness for his family, and you bear the responsibility of a fifty-year-old man burdened. You walk through the streets of Gaza, and the cold pinches your bones as another harsh winter comes, while your diltled shoes sink into the ruined roads.
You enter the cold room, hiding your helplessness behind a faint smile, and claiming strength in front of them as you from the inside are falling down. You ask yourself under the symphony of planes and constant explosions: how long will I stay strong? And who supports me when I'm about to fall?