by Sanaa Kamal

GAZA, Dec. 14 (Xinhua) -- In Gaza, where bloody conflicts shadow every aspect of life, I count myself somewhat lucky. Despite the odds, I have managed, through years of hard work and perseverance, to carve out a life of relative stability for my family and myself.

Since 2007, I've worked as a journalist here -- an occupation that often sends me to the most perilous frontlines to report on the stories that need to be told. These are the stories of those whose suffering is most acute, and it's my job to give them a voice. But I am no stranger to fear. Like all Gazans, I live under the constant threat of death. Each time I leave my home, I bid farewell to my family, not knowing if I will ever return.

The gruesome, daily clashes between heavily armed Israeli soldiers and stone-throwing Palestinians were forever etched into my childhood memory. One particular encounter with an Israeli army patrol stands out so vividly that it still sends a chill down my spine to this day.

One morning, as I was on my way to school, an Israeli military vehicle pulled up beside me, the soldiers inside aiming their guns. My first instinct was that they were going to kill me. But then I realized they were focused on two young men walking behind me, who were swiftly arrested. By that time, however, I had already been consumed by fear -- a deep, raw fear, as a teenager, of death.

It is always a daunting task to document relentless Israeli bombardments, unprecedented surges in casualties, and frequent evacuation orders -- even for a Gazan who grew up amid such harsh realities.

The Israeli military operation in Gaza, launched in response to the deadly Hamas attack on southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, has transformed the streets of Gaza into a scene of devastation -- unrecognizable from the city I once knew. Buildings lie in ruins, and the stench of death hangs heavy in the air. Stray dogs scavenge among the rubble, searching for bodies. The once-bustling shops that gave life to the streets are either destroyed or shuttered. These changes fill me with a mix of sadness, anger and regret.

I am still haunted by a scene I witnessed on the battlefield -- a man's clenched hand, retrieved by Civil Defense crews from the rubble, still wearing an expensive watch. I stared at that hand, trying to imagine who its owner might be. And then came the unbearable question: What had he done to deserve such a brutal end?

Heart-rending images like this often invade my nightmares. During the day, they linger in my mind, robbing me of focus and leaving me plagued by forgetfulness and stress.

More than once, I've considered giving up my profession. Yet, the grim resolve of the countless war victims I've interviewed -- people determined to stay and rebuild Gaza -- has given me the strength to continue. As a journalist, my role has been more than just documenting the war, the atrocities, and the humanitarian disaster; it has also been about conveying the paradoxical essence of the Palestinian enclave.

Gaza is a microcosm of life's duality, a place where the vibrant tapestry of humanity is intertwined with the profound emptiness of loss. It is a land where contradictions coexist in every breath. In this "crowded solitude," love and hate, strength and weakness, calm and chaos, mercy and tyranny, acceptance and abandonment, joy and sorrow collide in ways that defy explanation. Only those of us born and raised in this turbulent coastal enclave can truly grasp its unpredictable rhythms -- the ebb and flow of hope and despair, often within the same moment.

When the Israeli army attacks, we declare emergencies and stockpile food and water, knowing we'll be confined to our homes for days. The fear of surprise attacks on residential houses looms large, each one a reminder that any of us could be the next target.

Even so, when each crisis ends, we will cling to our city with renewed courage and deeper love. We hold on to the belief that, little by little, we will return to normalcy and rebuild our shattered homes.

Any foreign visitor to Gaza will marvel at the warmest smiles of Gazans that defy the ravages of war. Despite the scourge of conflicts, destruction, and poverty, we remain committed to honoring the guests with the finest Palestinian delicacies -- maqluba, musakhan, hummus, and our famed seafood dishes -- as a testament to our resilience and hospitality.

Yet peace remains the most precious and unattainable luxury for Gazans.

Israel's current offensive has killed over 44,800 Palestinians in Gaza, more than half of them women and children, according to Gaza-based health authorities.

In mid-April of this year, I was fortunate enough to finally escape Gaza. Even now, after nearly eight months, I can still recall the days I spent living in a tent, where the biting cold, howling winds, and the constant roar of Israeli airplanes overhead turned each night into a restless struggle for comfort.

Though there seems to be no end to the war in sight, I still long to return to my home and city in Gaza. Yet, like so many other Gazans, I wonder: Even if, one day, we could rebuild our homes brick by brick, how will we ever heal our hearts? Enditem

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