Yesterday, people in front of me were talking about Gaza and crying. As I listened to them, so many memories came back to me—memories that I have been trying for a long time to live with. That night, I dreamed about one of the days I lived through there. I saw myself running without stopping, hungry and exhausted, trying to reach a place about three kilometers away just to get some food for my family. The ground around me was covered in rubble, and it was incredibly difficult to run over it. My mouth was full of dust and sand, and the gunfire never stopped—around our feet and over our heads. I kept running and running, exhausted and terrified, but no matter how far I ran, I never felt like the finish line was getting any closer. The dream felt so real that I could actually feel the same exhaustion and fear I felt that day. I felt like I wanted to cry over everything I had been through. Then I woke up suddenly, frightened and terrified, as if I had been there all over again. There are days I can never forget, no matter how much time passes. Some memories need only a word or a brief conversation to bring every detail back. That is why, whenever I hear someone talking about Gaza, I don’t just hear a story about a distant place. I remember what I lived through. I remember the fear, the hunger, the running, and the dust—and sometimes, I simply cannot stop myself from crying.