Dear Diary,
Yesterday hit me hard, like so many days do here in our ghetto of Palestine. I headed to the old barbershop, that little haven where we Palestinians gather to have fun, crack jokes, and pretend for a moment that the weight of the world isn't crushing us. We were watching the TV, cheering on a football match, trying to steal a sliver of normalcy. Then, out of nowhere, the chaos erupted, with Israeli occupation soldiers storming our street, lobbing tear gas canisters, and gunfire cracking through the air. We slammed the doors shut, killed the lights, and stayed quiet in the dark, hearts pounding, waiting for the boot to kick in the door.
Every one of us imagining the worst: beatings, arrests, or bullets just for existing as Palestinians. My legs were shaking, same as my buddies', and we tried to laugh it off, teasing each other about our shakes, spinning dark jokes about what might come next to drown out the terror outside.
An hour dragged by, like eternity, before the soldiers finally pulled back. I slipped home to my old parents, who were scared, blowing up my phone with worried texts.
I wrapped them in hugs, kissed their cheeks, and collapsed into bed, my mind racing through the nightmare we'd just survived. How much longer can we Palestinians hold on under this endless siege of oppression? Sleep finally claimed me as dawn broke.
The next day, I jolted awake from a sweat-soaked nightmare, Israeli troops chasing me like prey, guns blazing, ready to end it all.
I woke up to sirens wailing in the distance, my chest tight, breaths coming in ragged gasps. I stumbled out of my room to see what fresh hell was unfolding, and bam, a tear gas grenade detonated right at our doorstep. My cat freaked, clawing at the window to get in; I scooped her up quick. Dad rushed back from his clinic nearby, and together with Mom, both in their seventies, frail and gasping, we barricaded every door and window against the choking chemicals in their gas. Their eyes streamed with tears, faces twisted in pain from the gas, and it lit a fire in my veins, pure rage boiling over at the sight of my old parents suffering like this.
These last few days? Not a soul in our town has lifted a finger in “violence,” no stones thrown, no resistance at all.
Yet here come the Israeli forces, invading under cover of night, terrorizing us to flex their control, and baiting us for any excuse to escalate. It happens at least three or four times a week here. They also put iron gates on our town's entrances, locking us in or out on their whims, like we're animals in a cage.
This is just a raw, tiny slice of the daily hell we unarmed and defenseless Palestinians endure under Israel's brutal occupation and apartheid regime.
When will the world wake up?
October 4 & 5, 2025