“It’s okay, laughter of the house.”

“It’s okay, laughter of the house.” .

shapes
shapes

 

“Why did dad cry at the start of the war?!”

 

We asked my mother, but she remained silent and did not care about our surprise.

 

That was the day war was declared on Gaza. As usual, my mother prepared my father’s helmet and his jacket with “Press” written on it. We surrounded him with prayers and he left!

 

I am sixteen years old. I have witnessed five wars, and many tears, losses, and my father’s sadness when he returns home after being gone for a press coverage.

 

Did you know that the children of Gaza hate war? I hate it even more….because feelings of fear and anxiety accumulate in my mother’s heart. When the electricity would turn on for a few minutes, and we see him on the television screen, she would cry, “Your father has a tired face. Your father has 24-hour coverage, so he of course hasn’t eaten!”

 

On one of the darkest nights of the war, the hardest for Gaza, my sister Kholoud and I decided to film a video asking the world to demand an end to the war in English.

 

On the rubble of a house next to us,  I started talking and gestured for Kholoud to continue talking. We both concluded: “Help us to stay alive.”

 

The fear in our hearts increased each time we received news of a journalist being targeted in Gaza. We knew that the occupation was getting angrier at the microphone in my father’s hand, which he used to convey their crimes and expose their true nature.

 

But this time, they wanted their bullets to be in my father's heart.

 

They bombed his house.

 

 So they killed his laughter.

 

They killed his loved ones.

 

And his support.

 

I, Mahmoud, was martyred.

 

My mother is safe.

 

The last cluster "Sham"

 

And Adam,the grandson we’ve waited 5 years for.

 

He only lived for 45 days.

 

My father, Wael Al-Dahdouh, told you

 

While saying goodbye to me, “It’s okay.”

 

And he told you that they could not silence his voice.

 

They took revenge on the children.

 

I am Mahmoud.

 

I left and Kholoud remained to tell you the rest of the story.

 

My story and the story of the children of Gaza.

 

A few days ago, I whispered on my tombstone:

 

 “It’s okay, laughter of the house.”