Nostalgia By Shaima Ziara
The breeze touched the sparkling blue water on the way to me. It lingered on my scarf and touched my skin, soothing me. I heard it saying: “You’re safe here. Nothing bad can happen. No bomb will fall near you disturbing your serenity while you draw, no plane will hover over your head violating your daydreams.”
I stood there, leaning on the railing of the Cruise’s sundeck, my eyes capturing new images that inspire new feelings. I was no longer trapped in a place where the air is filled with people’s sighs and pain. The air here was clear; I could see it before me, glowing like a pure white pearl. I was in Gaza no more. I was finally liberated from the cuffs imposed on my breath, on my whole life even. I was no longer tied to a place that gives nothing but agony and disappointment. The air in this place felt different, smelled different. It smelled like peace, like happiness and hope. It smelled like the good dreams. Yet a voice inside of me kept knocking on the walls of my mind, interrupting my thoughts and telling me: “This… does not smell like home!”