Swim

February 16, 2024

Dear Reader,

Hi. My name is Hajej Rashid, and I’m thirteen years old. This is my first time writing a diary. The first rule of reading my diary is that if you find it after I’m dead (or alive), you must read it and publish it. I want to be famous like Anne Frank one day (since we’re similar). I got this diary from my Uncle Kareem as a birthday present (yes, it’s my birthday!) I’ve never written a diary before, so bear with me because I don’t really know what I'm doing. Here, I’ll start with my family. I live with my Baba, Mama, and my super annoying seventeen-year-old older sister who’s always in the background. I live in Ramallah, Palestine, and even though Jerusalem is technically the capital city, my parents say that our city is basically where the “administrative centre” is (that means all the leaders). Anyways, my mom is calling me for dinner. I promise to write more tomorrow.

Hajej, signing off!. Yours truly, Hajej.

February 17, 2024

Dear Reader,

Hello again. I realized I should probably write about my birthday yesterday. It was so much fun! I got the kind of celebration I deserved. My Baba and Mama surprised me with this beautiful jewelry set! It was actually my mom’s idea, but my dad funded it. He almost didn’t get it because he doesn’t think I’m mature enough for it. If my amazing, smart and beautiful character doesn’t scream maturity, I don’t know what does. My sister was so jealous when she saw the set and started fuming about “never getting that when she was her age”. She didn’t even get me a gift because I’m already “an over-pampered brat” and don’t need anything more. To make it even better, my beloved Teta (my Mama’s mother) brought me so many pastries like Ma'amouls, Harissehs and Knafehs! My Uncle Kaseem, clearly inspired by my awesomeness brilliance greatness, also got me the diary I’m writing in. He told me he wants me to write all my hopes and dreams or whatever, but I don’t really think that’ll be an interesting read for you, future reader.

Yours truly, Hajej.

February 17, 2024

Dear Reader,

Anyways, something happened today and kind of ruined my perfect day. When I was walking past my parents’ room, I overheard my Baba, Mama, and uncle fighting discussing something about leaving Ramallah and dangers and bombs and attacks. My parents think I’m clueless and can’t understand, like I’m some fragile, dumb little thing. Despite their best efforts to shield me, I’ve picked up information about what’s happening here and there. To confirm my suspicions of their conversation, my Mama called me out of nowhere and had a “serious talk” with me where she told me that if anything bad happens, I should always try to stay afloat no matter what and just keep swimming. Not that I really need the reminder–that’s what people like me do. Anyways, I hope I never get to that point.

Yours truly, Hajej.

February 19, 2024

I was right.

Dear Reader,

I was right. I’m always right. I was right about the conversation I overheard, and other details helped me figure it out because I’m a genius. We are moving! Both my parents had a talk with me about how it might get too dangerous to stay in Ramallah. My beautiful hometown! They said we’re moving to the countryside outside of Ramallah to live at my Uncle Kaseem’s farm, which explains why he’s even here in the first place. I hate this so much. Ramallah is perfect–colourful, rich, beautiful, and full of life. Because obviously, when life gets hard, you take your wonderful daughter to live with livestock. Livestock. The audacity! Ramallah feels, well felt, like my stage, and now I’m being dragged behind the curtain. You know what? Maybe this hardship is part of my story, and you want to know who else’s life was hard? Anne Frank’s. And maybe I’ll be famous one day.

Yours truly, Hajej.

February 19, 2024

Dear Reader,

Oh, of course, my Baba and Mama forgot to mention that it was my sister and me being sent exiled to the countryside! They called us back and casually let us know that it’d be just us and they were staying behind, probably enjoying their lives. Despite their effort to comfort us, my sister and I shared our outrage and disbelief. I don’t really think my mom is that happy or thrilled about it either, because she stayed silent. Maybe she knows what she’s doing is wrong. Maybe she just can’t face the blinding truth of who she’s pushing away. I hate this even more. I hate being a pawn. I hate not knowing or being in control. It’s like the world is about to end, and all the world leaders know and protect themselves, but don’t tell the masses. That’s why when I grow up, I want to be famous and influential. I’ll never be shielded from the truth. I’m not going to be a part of the masses, but adored by the masses.

Yours truly, Hajej.

February 23, 2024

Dear Reader,

I started packing today. Packing away my life. Packing away my future and dreams. Packing away everything important to me. Packing, packing, packing. Packing my whole life into a suitcase–well, five suitcases. Even five suitcases are barely enough to contain a fraction of me. In two days, I’ll be whisked away like an object to a place that I don’t think I can handle that can’t handle my greatness. I really don’t want to go, but I clearly don’t have a choice. My sister isn’t really reacting much and is just staying neutral. She does that a lot, acts like a robot. My Mama, on the other hand, started crying today. She was holding me in her arms and whispering that she would miss me. I didn’t say anything or try to comfort her. Why should I? She needs to feel the weight of who she’s sending away.

Yours truly, Hajej.

February 25, 2024

We’re about to leave

Dear Reader,

We’re about to leave as I’m writing this. My Mama had another “keep on swimming” conversation with me, and my Baba gave us heartfelt farewells. They’ve moved our suitcases into a crusty van that doesn’t seem comfortable enough for a multiple-hour drive. Anyways, future reader, I must board my carriage and I’ll try to write on the journey.

Yours truly, Hajej.

February 25, 2024

Dear Reader,

My sister, my uncle, his driver and I are currently on the move right now. Driving away past the blur of beautiful buildings and people and landscapes and colours and roads and trees. I’ve been talking to Uncle Kaseem and his driver (who’s really cute), but I haven’t been trying to hide my disdain for being stuck in the car for so long. My sister has been silent the whole time–like I said, a robot. She’s always been like that, mostly silent or in the background–except if she wants to yell at me. Even as a kid, anytime I tried to talk or play with her, she just kept pushing me away until I finally stayed away. Anyways, it’s getting dark out, my legs are hurting, my head is hurting, and I’m really tired. So goodbye. I’ll probably write again when we get to our destination.

Yours truly, Hajej. Keep on swimming.

February 26, 2024

Dear Reader,

The worst thing happened! We’re currently at the farmhouse, and it’s the middle of the night, and I’m supposed to be asleep, but I can't! During the last hour of our trip, Uncle Kaseem and my sister were asleep, and I started to get the eerie feeling of being watched. And then we passed a crashed car with dead bodies beside it on the road! To make it even worse, gunshots were fired into our van!! The driver was shot, and we swerved, and I was screaming, and my sister jolted awake and also began to scream, and Uncle Kaseem kept yelling that the attackers would rob our van! So he took control of the wheel from the now-dead driver to stop us from crashing, and we were able to make a narrow escape! We eventually pulled over, and my uncle, breathless and wide-eyed, had to move his dead driver to the cramped trunk so we could finish the rest of our journey. And then came the tired, useless chorus: “It’ll be okay,” “Try not to think about it,” “Get some sleep.” But how can I not think about it? The images of the dead bodies. The driver’s beautiful face was pierced by a bullet. The windows shattered with bullet holes. What if I had gotten shot? What about my sister? What about Uncle Kaseem? How could I ever go to sleep knowing I came so close to death? I never really feared or thought about death until now. But I’m still here, though. I’m still here. I survived. Which means I must be destined for something. Something great.

Keep on swimming.

March 5, 2024

Dear Reader,

It’s currently the middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about that night, and I keep having nightmares about it. The blurred and blistering details seep into my sleep. I try my best not to think about it because it deserves to stay behind the curtain.

Instead, I guess I should tell you about the farm. This unexpectedly lovely farm I now live. The trees that resemble paintings, the pond that holds secrets, the flowers that are so delicate, and the vast sky. There’s something dreamlike about it all. The animals, however… They all reek, and I try to keep my distance. My Uncle Kaseem has been a little more reserved, as he should be from that traumatizing event. He forces cheerfulness anytime I speak to him. It doesn’t suit him, not anymore. We don’t speak of that night. Not out loud. It’s easier to fake normalcy. My sister hasn’t said much and remains her usual ghostly self. Always present, never truly there. My Aunt Hajej is also very kind. She lives with my uncle on the farm and is so sweet and beautiful and insightful and radiant. I guess people who bear that name are just naturally awesome divine.

Keep on swimming.

April 16, 2024

Dear Reader,

I just had an awful nightmare. I was in the driver’s seat. I was the one who got shot instead of the driver. I died. My stories, my sparkle, my legacy—spilling through a gaping wound in my face. I felt like I had actually died. But I didn’t.. And there it was—that familiar, awful fear of death. People say they fear death, but I think they lie. What they fear… is the unknown and unknowable. Humanity always ventures into the unknown with the hopes they make it out or at the very least pass their discovery unto another brave soul. It’s just human nature and what pushes us forward. But death… real death… it means you're gone. Your life is forgotten and becomes nothing but dust in the wind and bones in the ground. You don’t know what happens, and you can’t tell others what happens. And the worst part? The world doesn’t pause. It spins on, oblivious. As if I hadn’t existed.

Keep on swimming.

May 11, 2024

Dear Reader,

I found a tree. It’s such a beautiful tree. I don’t know what about it stands out, but it just does. You know how one finds a soulmate with whom they are instantly connected. Yeah, that happened to me, but with a tree. My tree. With roots instead of hands. Call me mad, future reader, but I feel so connected to it. Its sturdy trunk keeps me sane, its wistful leaves hold onto my secrets, and the roots anchor me. I sit there often. I read. I eat. I sleep. And the world, for a while, pauses—just for me.

Keep on swimming.

May 31, 2024

Dear Reader,

Time is moving so fast, I can’t keep up. It feels like I’m in a river with a quick current, and I can’t go up for air. It’s all rushing by—days turning into blinks, moments into echoes. Uncle Kaseem and Aunt Hajej vanish for about a week once a month. They’re gone right now, and I miss them. And I miss the sister I never had. The version of her that existed in my head when I was younger. And I miss my parents. Even if they were the ones who let me go. But I still have my tree. Unchanging. Always there. Mine.

Keep on swimming.

June 9, 2024

Aunt Hajej is gone!

Dear Reader,

Aunt Hajej is gone! Dead. Uncle Kareem arrived without her and informed us of her passing. Apparently, the trips they always went on were for charity work and donating packages to the sick, hungry and wounded in Gaza. But a few days ago, missiles were fired at a school where she was volunteering. And now she’s gone… from a missile. A school. A war I was supposed to be protected from, and yet here I am, marked. That was all my uncle could let out before retreating to his room to mourn. Death feels more real. Closer. It’s no longer something that happens to other people—it’s carving names into the edges of my story. And pain and grief? It just won’t leave me alone. I guess my hardships will make me famous like Anne Frank one day. Maybe this is how legend is made—through pain. I still have my tree, though.

Keep on swimming.

June 13, 2024

Dear Reader,

My chest hurts a lot. It hurts on the upper left side, where my heart is. Sometimes it feels like I’ll have a heart attack, and I don’t know why.

Keep on swimming.

November 13, 2024

Dear Reader,

I asked my uncle what bombs sound like. He said they sound just like fireworks, but with exploding clouds instead of colourful sparks. Fireworks light up the sky to mark beginnings, celebrations, and joy. But bombs light up the ground to mark death and the end.

Keep on swimming.

January 2, 2025

Dear Reader,

It’s the new year. We celebrated with a dinner slightly better than what we normally have. But the light and joy aren’t there anymore. Uncle Kaseem is trying his best, but he’s suffering too. And he didn’t light up any fireworks.

Keep on swimming.

February 16, 2025

Dear Reader,

February 17, 2025

Dear Reader,

March 29, 2025

Dear Reader,

I think I’m losing control. I think I’m becoming a ghost like my sister. I used to think she was empty. Now I wonder if she was simply ahead of me. It’s been over a year since I was shipped off. Over a year since my beloved birthday. It seems like so long ago. So very long ago. My chest still hurts sometimes. But I still have my tree, though.

Keep on swimming.

June 3, 2025

Dear Reader,

My tree is dead! I arrived this morning to sit by my tree, and now, along with some other trees, it’s gone! It has been chopped down! It feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest! And the pain! I don’t have my tree! I slept by the stump all night, trying to dream it back into existence. I don't know what to do now that even the trees have left.

Keep on swimming.

June 4, 2025

Dear Reader,

Future reader, have you ever had the feeling that something bad is going to happen? That dark force following you everywhere? Maybe because my tree is gone. Or maybe it started long before that, and the tree was just the last thing holding me here. Or am I just going crazy? I feel like my end is really near. And I am running, as fast as I can, though I don’t know whether I’m fleeing it or sprinting towards it.

Keep on swimming.