A woman searches rubble on Al-Mukhabarat street in Gaza City, Feb. 3, 2024. (AFP via Getty Images)
Claire Cameron is a novelist and essayist whose books include The Bear and The Last Neanderthal. This piece was assembled using phrases from stories by more than 40 news organizations about the experience of day-to-day life in Gaza after Oct. 7, 2023.
My memories are being erased
Days start well before dawn looking for essentials food, water, medicine an endless series of calculations survival follows a strict routine
People go to any place they think might have water standing in line for hours a crowded filling station a mad rush to fill our gallon-sized plastic jerry cans I drank salty water, you can’t be picky
Flour is hard to come by food prices have soared you find people making flatbread makeshift clay or metal ovens to cook scraps of paper and plastic to start a fire
I either walk or cycle to the shop not knowing whether I’ll be back the smell of rubble and flesh most of the shelves are bare garbage is everywhere
Remember our washing machine? my first shower in six days was like an old friend diarrhea, scabies and lice the lack of sanitary pads sewage will flow in the streets
It’s the sound that guts me the sound of a F-16 the cries of tiny children with no parents I try to play the violin loudly to drown out the sound
I miss my family I miss being at home I miss my bed I miss the spirit of my young son I miss a life where mothers can walk in the streets I miss my office I miss my students I miss my friends I miss my life
At night everything is more terrifying I wish I could sleep lying in bed I remember riding my bike past those high dunes barefoot on the sand
The whole sky turned to fire it shakes the earth, the house, my heart my memories are being erased I find myself yearning I want to talk about books, music, love, food.