Nahil Mohana at LitHub:
On the first day of November, I stopped writing my diary of this despicable war. Not because I was bored and desperate for it to end, nor because I was unable to preserve my memories amid all the trauma, but simply because my phone broke. I had been writing my diaries on the notepad app of my phone, when it went the way of so many things in this war—patience, hope, dreams for the future—and broke.
I am still in Gaza and haven’t yet been moved to the south, as thousands of other Gazans have been. My daughter, Habiba, and I left our place near the Al-Karamah Towers, in North Gaza City, and moved to Al Nasr Street, closer to the city centre. This was a joint decision made by the whole family, given the lack of relatives we could stay with in the south. We continue to bear the consequences of this decision, but often take pride in making it, especially when we hear about the difficult conditions of those in Rafah and elsewhere: the scarcity of basic resources, being crammed with dozens of others into a single apartment, or sometimes a garage.
more here.
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