by Samah Nazmi Jumaa Al-Jaraba’a

The rumble of distant explosions and the piercing sirens have been the soundtrack to my life for as long as I can remember. I’m 19 now, and while the world talks about “ceasefires” and “peace processes,” for young women like me in Gaza, the war is a relentless, ongoing battle fought within the confines of our minds and the shattered landscape of our home. Every day feels like a gamble, a terrifying lottery where the prize is simply making it to tomorrow, intact, with my loved ones by my side.

A Constant State of Fear and Fragility

The psychological toll is, quite frankly, unbearable. How do you explain to someone who hasn’t lived it what it’s like to wake up each morning with a knot of dread in your stomach, wondering if this will be the day you lose everything? The news reports, filled with unimaginable tragedies, are not just headlines to me; they are vivid snapshots of the horrors that could, at any moment, become my reality. I see the faces of those who’ve lost their lives, the devastated families, and the destroyed homes, and a cold wave of terror washes over me. It’s a pervasive, suffocating fear that permeates every moment, every breath.

I suffer from nightmares, vivid and terrifying, that snatch away any chance of restful sleep. Flashbacks, triggered by a sudden loud noise or even just the sight of a crumbling building, can transport me back to moments of intense fear and chaos. It’s as if my mind is trapped in a constant loop of trauma, replaying the worst moments, making it impossible to feel truly safe. How can I feel safe when the threat of losing my life, or the lives of those I cherish most, hangs over us like a perpetual storm cloud? The thought that we could be “missing” or “lost” at any time is a stark, terrifying reality that defines our existence. We live on a knife-edge, and the mental exhaustion that comes with that is profound.

The Daily Grind: Survival Over Dreams

Beyond the psychological wounds, the practical challenges are relentless. My family, like so many others here, struggles constantly with money. The economy is in ruins, jobs are scarce, and the blockade means even basic necessities are often hard to come by. I see the worry etched on my parents’ faces as they try to make ends meet, to put food on the table, to keep a roof over our heads. It’s a constant, gnawing anxiety that overshadows any personal aspirations I might have. How can I dream of a stable future, of pursuing my passions, when the immediate concern is simply survival? Education, which should be a beacon of hope, is a struggle. Schools are often damaged, lessons are interrupted, and it’s incredibly difficult to concentrate when your mind is consumed by fear and uncertainty. Dreams of higher education often feel like a luxury we can’t afford, both literally and figuratively.

And then there’s our health. Clean water is a luxury, proper nutrition is often unattainable, and the healthcare system is overwhelmed and under-resourced. Chronic pain, respiratory issues – these are common ailments, exacerbated by the constant stress and lack of proper care. It’s a vicious cycle: the trauma impacts our physical health, and our weakened physical state makes it even harder to cope with the emotional burdens.

Bridging the Divide: A Long Road Ahead

Trying to connect with the outside world, particularly with places like Britain, feels like navigating an obstacle course designed to keep us isolated. We face so many hurdles. Access to good educational materials, especially for learning nuanced British English, is incredibly limited due to the ongoing blockade. How can I truly grasp the subtleties of your language, your idioms and colloquialisms, when I have so little exposure to native speakers or relevant resources?

Then there are the connectivity issues. Frequent power cuts mean unreliable internet, making it incredibly difficult to engage in online learning or connect with international opportunities. It’s a constant battle to stay connected, to even glimpse what the rest of the world is doing.

And the biggest, most heartbreaking barrier of all: movement restrictions and visa bans. Even if, by some miracle, I were to secure an academic opportunity abroad, the chances of actually being able to leave Gaza are slim to none. This reality is a constant punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of how truly confined we are, how our dreams are clipped before they even take flight. This isolation also creates a cultural divide; without exposure to diverse perspectives, it’s hard to imagine adapting to a different way of life, even if the opportunity arose.

My story, and the stories of countless other young women in Gaza, are not just statistics in a news report. They are the lived realities of individuals who are striving for some semblance of normalcy, for a hopeful future, amidst an existence defined by profound adversity. My resilience is undeniable – we have to be resilient to survive here – but what we urgently need is sustained international support and a lasting resolution to the conditions that continue to steal our present and threaten our future. We yearn for a life where we don’t have to live in constant fear, where our dreams aren’t shattered by the sound of falling bombs, and where we can simply live, learn, and grow, just like young women anywhere else in the world.

About the author

I’m Samah Nazmi Al-jaraba’a, 19, from Gaza. My words carry the heart of a generation yearning for peace, holding onto hope amidst every sunrise.

Note: This is reposted from ELT Professionals for Gaza‘s Letters from Gaza series.

What can I do? (from ELT Professionals for Gaza)

• All our writers are volunteers, but you are welcome to contribute to Samah here.
• You can also share her writing far and wide, from here and from the blog: Through Our Eyes.

Here are two instrumental pieces I created based on Samah’s words.

Version 1

Version 2