Tuesday 24 October 8am I need to use the toilet. I can’t wait. Since we were evacuated to the third family’s house, they have given us a small room to stay in and the whole family sleeps in the wide hallway because, according to them, it is safer. If I want to use the toilet, I need to pass them, and they are sleeping, including the women. So I prefer to wait to go until they are awake. It is not that easy, and it makes me think about those who have to wait for hours in shelters and schools to reach a toilet that is probably filthy to use. I go back to the room, and the cat does something funny. I laugh, then I cover my mouth with my hands, feeling ashamed. How am I laughing, when hours ago we woke up terrified after an airstrike hit the area? How am I laughing while, every day, hundreds of people are dying? I really hope no one heard me. 9am I meet Deya, an 11-year-old neighbour of the family. He is has green eyes and the most beautiful dimples you could see. Three days ago, Deya lost his cousin. I try to ask him how he feels about losing him, I expect him to cry or show sadness, but instead he starts telling me about his cousin: “He is … I mean, he was the best football player among all of us. He would score all the goals no matter how big the goalkeeper is. We both support Real Madrid. He told me that when he grows up, he wants to be a professional football player.” I listen to him in fascination, not sure whether he does not realise what death is or whether he is denying it. We talk about other topics, like his favourite food and favourite colour. On his way out, I stress that it is OK to cry, especially as he lost a dear person. He looks at me and says, in a calm manner: “I cannot imagine that he is no longer with us … I cannot believe that if I call him no one will answer.” Noon I continue reading the book I found at the host family’s house. This is the second book I’ve read here. For some reason, I tell myself that when I finish reading the book, the whole situation will be over and we will go back to our homes. One quote in the book says: “We need to believe the lies in order not to die.” Is this what is going on with me? Am I lying to myself when I think that tomorrow will be better and the whole situation will end soon? 1pm A neighbour from my original building sends a message on the building’s WhatsApp group saying that they don’t have any bread, and he is begging all of us if we can get him and his family some bread. 3.30pm I find a lizard in the room. I go to the family members who are hosting us; protecting us from going through the misery of staying at schools; offering us food and taking care of us, and say: “There is a lizard in the room. Unless it goes, I don’t think I can stay here any more.” “Don’t worry, we will take care of it.” “Please, don’t kill it. Just get it out of the room, peacefully.” “Any other orders?” “No, thank you.” 6pm Our cats are not OK. They are used to our – their – home. They know where everything is, and they feel safe there. Since we were evacuated the first time, they have been uncomfortable, and their actions reflects how confused they are. While using a plastic tray as a fan, I notice that my sister is moving things around the room. She has decided to “build a fort” for the cats. She gathers the cushions together and covers them with a blanket. The cats, who rarely sit next to each other, jump under the fort and remain silent. I am not sure whether the cats feel safer or not, but I am sure that my sister feels that she is doing her best to protect them and she feels less guilty about all the suffering they have been through. 9pm I finish reading the book but nothing has happened. We are still away from our homes, and we are not safe. 10pm When the whole situation started, I made a decision not to write. But then a man who I consider a mentor encouraged me to do so. I am grateful that I did. During this period, writing has been my therapy, reflecting on the ongoing crazy events, taking a moment to absorb what is going on and putting things into perspective. With time, it has become my own shelter, the secret friend with whom I can’t wait to share the chaos of my heart, soul and mind. But I haven’t had the energy to write lately, I just decided not to. I did not write anything yesterday, and was not planning to do it today. However, I found myself, late at night, writing. Writing means that I am trying my best to survive. It means that I have hope that one day I will look back at these diaries and think of how long I have gone on. Because writing means that my heart is still beating … and my voice deserves to be heard.