Friday 8 December 2am My exhausted brain refuses to stop thinking about all the bad scenarios that I, my loved ones, and all Gazans face if this nightmare does not end soon. I got brief and temporary access to the internet, and I unintentionally saw videos and photos of horrible things Gazans are going through. They made me realise that death could be a merciful fate. Awake and terrified, I knew it was going to be another long night. The people in the next house seem to have had a long night too. Their child did not stop crying for one minute. Yesterday, I was on a call with my friend. His wife, a doctor, gave birth to their third child, whom he described as “healthy, beautiful yet a very loud crier”. He tells me that now begins a new journey of finding everything a baby needs. “In our house, the one we evacuated from, we had many items of the older children,” he told me. “Also, my wife started preparing the needs for the new one. We had to leave everything behind.” There was an additional problem he tells me. “Can you imagine that right now I have no legal proof that my son is actually my son?” he says. “My wife gave birth and the doctor gave us a signed paper that she did so, but there is nothing else to prove that this boy is ours. What if we get the chance to leave Gaza to save our lives? They won’t let us take the boy.” On a different note, he tells me that he filled his gas canister, which usually costs $17 to fill, for $157. To be honest, he sounded happier about the canister than the arrival of his baby. He was lucky because he was able to find a place to fill the canister and had money to do so. Our hosting family have been tirelessly working on filling a gas canister but in vain. Next to me is my sister, trying to calm the cat Manara down. Manara has fallen into a frenzy; her heat period has lasted over two weeks and is driving all of us crazy. Sleepless nights, continuous loud meowing and now she’s become aggressive. Minutes ago, my sister was patting her when she scratched her, right under her eye. The eye swelled and it was very painful. Also, Manara started peeing outside the litter box. We have been trying everything we can. We consulted with one vet in person and several others by phone, which is never easy due to the horrible connection and the horrible period everyone is going through, including the vets. We talked to our friends who have cats. We reached a decision: we need to let her go mate and later handle the consequences of her getting pregnant, hoping the whole situation will end before she gives birth, if she decides to come back to us. 9am We say goodbye to Manara, who is meowing aggressively, and open the door for her. She goes out immediately and Simba follows her. Simba is the cat who lost his whiskers and is staying on the doorstep. In no time, they start mating on the stairs, and when they finish she goes downstairs and he follows her. When we get back to the room, my sister starts crying: “I will miss her. She became a member of the family. The only reason I let her go is because I don’t want her to suffer. Our friends are leaving, our memories are erased and now Manara left.” I completely understand. We don’t have the energy for another loss. The only loss we try to focus on is the loss of our lives and how to stay alive in these horrendous days. Manara and Simba remain around the house, on the land next to the neighbour’s garage. We keep checking on them. Through the garage door, which is see-through (the door is like those of prison cells with metal rods), we see her sitting on a plastic chair, sleeping. Simba is on the floor, next to the chair, just staring at her. She seems relaxed, and we are happy for her. 10am I go to the pharmacy to get medicine for my sister and to search for medicine for a friend of ours who has been desperately looking for some for her sick elderly father. On my way, I wipe my nose with my hands, which, these days, is no longer impolite. There are no tissues left. From time to time, you would see someone selling pieces of cloth, similar to tissues, that can be used once, for a high price. Everything is scarce and needed. Even the nylon trash bags, plastic wraps or anything that can be found is being used for making fire to cook and stay warm. I reach the pharmacy and see a familiar scenario: a woman asking for lice medicine for her children. It is no surprise that lack of hygiene and showering while staying at schools could lead to such a problem. The pharmacist tells her no medicine is left, but there is a soap for lice that he might have somewhere. The mother has never heard of a soap for lice, but she has no other option so she waits while he checks. On my way out, I notice that the area in front of the pharmacy is now filled with many tents, made of cloth and fabric, with many families in view. I am stunned and I wonder how I haven’t noticed this sudden change. The pharmacist tells me that every day people come and search for any area to stay. “They no longer ask for a house or even a covered space because they know it is impossible. Now, all they want is a space. Only a space.” My friend was helpful, optimistic, inspirational and full of life. Now, he is no longer with us 7pm These days, I am afraid of checking my phone. Checking SMS messages is the toughest: either someone is dead, someone’s house is destroyed, someone is in dire need for something essential, or someone is missing. I remember a day, before, when I had an important interview. I decided to wear a tie to look formal but I don’t know how to tie one. So I went to a friend’s workplace to ask him for help. He showed complete support. But he, too, did not know how to do it. We opened a YouTube video and he started following the instructions. People in the surrounding offices and visitors looked at us weirdly. After many failed attempts, and with the time of the interview approaching, he looked at me, gave me a big smile and said: “Who said you need to wear a tie to impress a bunch of senior management people? You are charismatic and you have all what it takes. No need for the tie.” We laughed and I left his office, holding the tie in my hand. Then he called after me, I turned around and he said: “But I promise to learn how to do it before you get married. You need to look good in the pictures.” When I received the message that my friend got killed, along with other family members, I turned off my phone. I don’t know why, I just thought this will make it as if it did not happen at all. I continued doing what I was doing. Then, I turned the mobile on, opened the message, read it and sat silently, trying to absorb the news. He was a father of adorable children. He was loved by everyone around him. He was helpful, optimistic, inspirational and full of life. Now, he is no longer with us. How many people will die before this is over?