She leans over the body of her groom, crying. She addresses him, smiling like the smile of one defeated by the joy of the world... Why did you leave, darling?
I cried that day.
How can the Gaza that we love deprive us of those we love?! I wondered to myself
I asked my mother, crying: “How will this bride bear the bullet that pierced her heart?"
My mother told me, "But she was not martyred or injured."
I replied, "A bullet sometimes kills two hearts, mother. It enters and kills the body of one of them, then it hits and kills the heart of another out of grief and sorrow."
This was the scene I saw a year ago, of a bride waiting for her wedding. However, the occupation killed her groom, so she donned a mourning attire instead of a wedding dress, and sat in the funeral pavilion instead of the benches of the ceremony hall.
Obaida, my destiny was in the city of love and war, Gaza, the city of agony that did not even give us a chance to get to
know each other. Just two weeks before the 7th of October, we got engaged, and we vowed that each of us would support the other and be the light in one another's eyes in spite the pain looming over Gaza.
The war was launched on Gaza. I remembered the scene of the bride crying over the loss of her groom. I looked at the pictures of the wedding dress I rented on my phone.
I asked my sister, "Say, will a bullet separate us like it did to the brides and grooms of this country?”
“You will be the most beautiful bride.” My sister said, attempting to distract me from my thoughts and fears.
October was our awaited month. We were eagerly preparing for marriage, choosing all the details of the house that would bring us together. When the bombing intensified on Jabalia camp, I was greatly devestated, especially when it appeared on television.
“The war is long," was the breaking news. This is what the arrogant Zionist entity wanted for Gaza!
One day, during the terrifying war, I learned that Obaida had come to visit me. I deplored his action; how could he risk himself to meet me?!
I blamed him and blamed him. He held my hand and said to me: “If we leave, we will leave together.”
Obaida did not finish his speech.
An explosive barrel fell on our house.
This time, I will not be upset about the wedding dress.
We left together.
Obaida and I.
They took us out from under the rubble, holding each other's hands.
We left for a home in heaven.
A wedding in heaven.
No wedding dress,
Rather, a shroud.
Without a wedding ceremony,
Rather, a funeral.
Alongside the martyrs.
I am Ahlam Mustafa,
A bride from Gaza.
I mean,
A bride speaking to you from heaven.
Yasmeen Anbar