Wednesday 29 November 9am When I was young, whenever my father travelled he would come back with a small suitcase filled with bottles of perfume. It did not take me long to realise my passion for perfume and essences. I never believed that perfume is an accessory or a hygiene item; instead, it is a part of your personality and identity. No perfume is good for all: what is good on you could be horrible on another. The only exception is Chanel No 5, it fits every woman on Earth. A trip to buy perfume is a fun ride for me, I enjoy comparing the different essences and the ones that fit my current mood or state. I never got out of a perfume shop with fewer than three bottles, even if I don’t need any. I was talking with my friend over the phone, it has been almost two months since our lives were turned upside down. After going through the regular talk about the lack of food, water, internet connection and our fear of the future, she tells me: “I know it is silly, but I have to confess, I miss my mugs and notebooks. You know that I have a huge collection. When we fled our home and evacuated, I never thought it would be this long. “I only took the essentials. Now, after two months, I realise that my mugs and notebooks should have been among those essentials. Does this make me a shallow person?” I told her that her feeling just makes her a human being who misses a part of her own self. Just like a puzzle, while some parts are essential, like staying alive in our case, some are small pieces but important to complete the whole. I, too, left thinking I will go back in a couple of days. I miss a lot of “unnecessary” items, I miss the night lamp next to my bed that I used to read before I go to sleep. It took me a while to choose the perfect one. I miss my childhood photos that are kept in a small box in my drawer. And I miss my perfume bottles; I miss them a lot. 2pm The building belonging to the second family we evacuated to is destroyed. I heard the news from my sister after getting back from a failed hours-long search for cheese. Since the ceasefire started, people have been getting access to others who told them, or shared pictures and videos, about the status of their own homes and their loved ones. This was the family we were with when the announcement of the evacuation south came. This is the family we sat with over the table and had one of the most difficult conversations in our lives about whether we should leave or stay. I still remember the moment the wife stood and said: “I have a feeling that if I leave, I am never coming back.” Her feeling was true; even if this whole nightmare ends, she will never go back to her house. When I heard the news, I couldn’t control the tears. It is never the same when it is someone you know. I can never imagine that the family that hosted us, and provided us with a safe place, lost theirs for ever. I know how every member worked hard on every single detail of both apartments in the building they were in. I calm myself down and send SMS messages to all of them. Due to the bad communication network, I haven’t been able to call any of them, and for the last couple of days we have been communicating only via SMS. I wish I were there with them, to hug them and to give them a shoulder to cry on. 4pm My back is killing me. I am not sure whether it is because I have been sleeping on a couch for almost two months or because of the continual crouching in the middle of streets, or because of holding heavy items and walking for hours. One thing I am sure of is that the stress and tension my body has been going through are the main reasons for the horrible pain I have been having. I decide to get medicine from the pharmacy. On my way, I see a carriage pulled by a donkey with about 10 people on it. Since the whole situation started, and with the lack of fuel, the carriages led by donkeys and horses became the main method of transport. It is horrible and inhumane. Not only for the people, but for the poor animals who have to carry them. I see a boy, a neighbour of the family we are staying with. He knows we have cats, so he asks me if we can take another one. I tell him that right now we don’t have space for a new one, and I ask him for the reason. He says that a 12-year-old friend of his, who evacuated with his family from the north of Gaza, is staying in a tent. “He is looking for someone to take his cat. The life in the tent is very bad, they cannot take care of themselves. He is very sad, but he decided to choose what is best for the cat and let him go.” He says he will keep looking to find a safe space for the cat. I reach the pharmacy and see a woman I know with her daughter. They are buying medicine for knee pain. I assume the mother is sick, but her daughter, 23, was having horrible knee pain as well. “I have been sleeping on a mattress on the ground for two months, and the weather is cold. My knees hurt me a lot.” 8pm Not surprisingly, the continual checking is growing less. My friends who used to call several times during the day now call once every couple of days. Those who were glued to the screens watching the news are now focusing more on their everyday lives. This nightmare has been going on for two months, and I am sure that they, too, are drained, in their own way, by the whole situation. Even I try to distract myself from the reality whenever possible. It is just sad and scary. People think that being in a ceasefire is a festive thing, they don’t realise the burden and agony we are still going through. There is an Egyptian proverb that says: “Like those who danced on the stairs: neither seen by those above nor those below.” I wonder, are we Gazans the ones dancing on the stairs“? No one saw or heard us dancing and building happy memories and lives, no one saw us planting flowers and achieving dreams, no one heard us singing and ululating during weddings and other happy occasions. And, right now, no one is seeing us, dying every moment, crying for help? I turn on music and listen to a piece by the Arab musician, Omar Khairat. It’s called “Mrs Hickmat Conscious” and refers to an old TV show with the same name. The small cat decides to sit on my belly and listen with me. I close my eyes and think of Gaza beach, the delicious breakfasts I had with my friends, the night lamp I had next to my bed, my childhood photos and my perfume bottles.