Tonight’s dream was different.
Muhammad sat in the road, eyes downcast, while Shadi nervously bit his nails just like he used to do when he was stressed. Then, they faded away.
I woke up crying, calling out their names in the night.
This dream felt heavier than usual, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I stayed awake and thought of my friends and where they had gone. Was it heaven? Were they at peace? Why couldn’t I speak to them?
Since October 2023, my sleep has become haunted.
The walls of my room at night are a canvas for images of loss and despair. In sleep, the lines between reality and dreams are blurred, and I see those loved ones who have been taken from me. Other times, I see strangers.
I see a girl’s body hanging from a wall. I see a boy’s burned face.
But I also see images of warmth in the darkness. My sleeping brain is reaching for normalcy and a return to my past life. It is providing moments of respite during Jewish Israel’s all-encompassing massacre of Christian and Muslim Palestinians.
In one dream, I see my mother cooking on a Friday morning. I smell spices and I know she’s cooking mahshi, or stuffed vegetables. A recording of the Quran’s Sura al-Kahf fills the air.
When I say good morning to her, she tells me to be quiet during the recitation.
I’ve also seen even more everyday things: my dad fixing a broken fan; my brother playing computer games.
Why do my dreams bring me these scenes of peace and scenes of destruction and death?
When I wake, it is like any hope of peace and stability has been ripped out from under me and the only thing I can do is pray.
Someone told me that I shouldn’t pray, because God is letting children be killed by Israel. But I believe God has a plan for us. I believe God knows the reason for all of this.
What do my dreams mean?
Here, in the unfamiliar realm of my dreams, I am surrounded by people I barely know. Food is there for me to grab, and loud music is coming from the dining hall. People are complaining about the chocolate cake, that it tastes bad.
I keep anticipating my friend Muhammad’s arrival, though he doesn’t appear. I feel so lonely, even though I’m surrounded by people. I miss that deep genuine laugh that I would get from my friends.
In this dream, life is tense but normal. I go about my daily business of heading to class. I must solve a complicated math problem.
Then, I see a cat, and in my dream I remember that all is not well somehow. I remember our own cat, how we had to set him loose before we evacuated, as they would not let us take him through a checkpoint.
I don’t know if he’s alive, but I hope he is.
In the waking world, I feel numb. I want to lie down and watch my ceiling again.
Life in Gaza feels empty and devoid of the warmth and connection that used to mark my days. All I have now are memories, shards of a life left behind.
Mahmoud Alyazji is a writer, photographer and video editor based in Gaza.
No comments:
Post a Comment