“Top five ways to lose weight in less than a year—”
Scroll.
“This celebrity admits to using Ozempic according to—”
Scroll.
“Use this tactic to sharpen your jawline—”
Scroll—
Before I could continue, a familiar logo flashes before a black screen and fades out. Hot as a stove, my phone battery dies in my hand.
TikTok hasn’t been pushing our videos as much, I wonder why?
Mornings in Gaza used to be refreshing. Now, our alarm clocks are louder than any rooster or ringtone. I don’t remember alarm clocks exploding, either. When I look up at the dawning sky, I sometimes miss seeing the birds the Professor used to discuss in Science class. A different kind of “bird” greets me. Instead, its droning presence fills the air with unbearable noise pollution.
With a dead phone in hand and a metal basin in the other, the line for the food kitchen hasn’t let up. From this distance, the clamouring pots, pans, and voices are enough to deafen.
Right before I walked up to the crowd, another pang of hunger sent my abdomen into a frenzy of pain. I crouch and hug my stomach, easing the pain into a dull ache. Just get the food and leave, my brain scolds itself. Before I knew it, I was about to join the desperate crowd.
But suddenly, a plastic basin fell by my feet.
“Excuse me, child, can you hand me my basin?”
A gruff voice asks. My body moved before I could process who was talking to me.
My gaze falls on a man clutching a crutch in one hand, his glasses almost foggy as he grips the plastic bin. On his jacket is a bronze brooch of a bird.
“Professor?” I blurt out in my shock. His gentle smile stretches to one end, his wrinkles creasing over his lip. “You’re here too?”
He nods. “Half of the faculty are. The rest? Ah, so-so.”
Despite his semi-jovial tone, my chin remains tilted downwards. His foot. Or, what was a foot. Shock melds into dread, and hunger isn’t the only thing making me sick.
Gulping, I look back up at him. “Does it hurt?”
Professor tilted his head, and I could’ve sworn his smile faltered. “A man can only survive on water alone for so long. Lucky you, you’re still young.”
I wouldn’t say I’m lucky, but at least he’s looking on the bright side.
“So, you’re getting food too?”
“Just for my grandchildren. Are you with your brother or father today?”
Last I saw them, we were still in the North. Since then, I have been the eldest sibling. My silence seems to say enough. I’m glad he does not press any more questions.
“… I hope you get food, for yourself too, Professor.” He merely pats my back with the hand holding his crutch.
“I hope so too, child.”
I’m not sure how long I can keep hoping. Not when people like Professor have become victims too. And I can only hope that I, myself, do not become another statistic of tragedies this occupation has caused. Not from a bomb or the end of a rifle, but from starvation.
Even as I reach for the barricade, that dull ache in my gullet lingers.
And right now, I hope it goes away soon.
