I don’t know how a story can begin when the world has ended. Where does the first thread of this darkness exist, and why? Is it my destiny to live through sorrow and horror, or is it merely a portal to something—and somewhere—meant for me?

This is Lila, a Palestinian flower that bloomed in the most beautiful yet broken city in the world: Gaza. My life was full of laughter, joy, and love—but even good things don’t last forever, do they?

“Lila, come on, we must leave… it’s so dangerous here!!”

Yes, you heard it right. I was forced to leave the place that had embraced me since birth—my home—and go to an unknown destination. I had dreamed of leaving my father’s home under one condition: as a beautiful bride. But not like this. Never like this.

Two days after my departure, my beautiful home was no more. Something inside me did not survive that day.

My father and brother went out to get food and water in the midst of the famine we were living in, but they never came back. Their absence turned into a haunting presence. To this day, I hear my father knocking on a door that no longer exists, and I see his bright, peaceful smile before my eyes.

This sorrow that fell upon me left me lost and drained. Out of despair, I took a pen and a blank page, searching for words to relieve myself. But instead of words, my hand began to draw a terrifying maze—before I fell into a deep sleep.

A cold breeze touched my face. I woke up not in my world, but in another. Large walls surrounded me. The foggy scene made it even harder to see anything.

Horrible sounds began to echo—bombings, people screaming and weeping. I was deeply frightened and unable to think when a weary voice cried, “Get out of here before it swallows you too!”

When I heard these words, I ran—ran and ran. I wanted to escape this horrible place, but the more I ran, the more lost I became. Then a vision appeared on one of the walls: my future self, wearing a white coat, my hands bringing comfort to a patient—my dream. Another image was etched into the wall: my home. I touched it, and suddenly heard the echoes of our laughter filling the place. I swallowed my tears and kept running.

I thought I was strong enough to bear all of this—until I saw their faces at one of the corners. My father. My brother. Their smiles were frozen in time. I stood still before collapsing, crying from the depths of my heart. This was too much for my fragile heart to bear.

All of a sudden, a radiant light emerged and called to me in a deep, comforting tone:
“Even if the chaos around you is out of your control, you are responsible for putting your inner world back together.”

The light grew stronger and stronger until it consumed me, and I awoke to find myself sleeping beside the maze I had drawn. Was this a dream or a nightmare?

I looked at the maze, picked up the paper, and threw it away. Outside, the explosions continued to shake the world. But this time, I made a choice.

I will not live in the maze inside.
I will be strong.
I will be hopeful.
I will be resilient.

Note: This project is supported by the British Council as part of the SARD programme, which focuses on the role of English and other languages in building resilience. SARD – Stories of Adversity, Resilience and Determination – encourages Palestinians, particularly young people, to share their stories and lived experiences through creative and educational media. The content of this production is solely the responsibility of Resilient Voices and does not necessarily reflect the views of the supporting or partnering institutions.