Envy
I won’t hide it from you. I now envy everyone outside the borders of the Gaza Strip for their normal life. I envy them for their roof, for the warmth of their home, for their sense of stability, for the peace in their heart, for their children, for their wife’s serenity and her feeling of safety, for their bathroom, for their privacy, for their work, for their health, for the water from their kitchen tap, for their bed, for their food, for their ability to walk in the street without fear, for their cup of coffee, for their cigarette, for their clothes, for their prayers in the last ten nights of the holy month of Ramadan, for their children’s joy as Eid approaches, for their laughter and games, for their ability to buy medicine when they cough, for the Soap and diapers they can purchase at any market, for the chocolate and the sweets they can get for their children, for the clothes and jackets warming them from the cold, for their preserved dignity, for the fact that they’ll sleep knowing they won’t die in pieces, won’t lose loved ones, won’t have to gather flesh from the ground, and won’t lose their children torn apart in a tent or under four floors of rubble. I even envy them for watching T.V. I envy them because I’ve lost all these blessings now, and with a not-insignificant chance that we might have departed this life by tomorrow, I’ve said what I said. I envy you all, my brothers, and I resent you, and I don’t forgive you.