杏MAP导航

By Helda Ayyad – Gaza

I write these words from the heart of pain: the parish of Gaza, where I have been living as a displaced person during nearly two years of war. And I write them as a student who wants to speak to the world.

Before I completed my high school exams, my days were full of anticipation and hope. When I read the results — an excellent 94.7 — I thought the doors to a bright future had opened before me. I already imagined myself walking through the corridors and classrooms of a university, attending lessons, conferences, and debates, building the future with my own hands. My dream of entering university was not just a desire, but the result of years of hard work, perseverance, and a deep thirst for knowledge and teaching.

But the war changed everything. Instead of attending my third year of university, I now find myself far from any classroom and trapped in a sad, unimaginable reality. I still try to learn something through a screen, searching for scraps of hope in circumstances that crush every possible dream and ambition. Every day, I am robbed of a true university experience — and with it, my time, my aspirations, and, in a sense, myself.

My pain is not only about being deprived of higher education. It is the deeper sorrow of losing the life I should be living. How can a soul thirsty for knowledge grow in an environment lacking even the most basic elements of life? I miss the classrooms, the discussions among students, the challenges that shape character, refresh the soul, and structure the mind.

I am not seeking a degree. I am seeking a space in which to live, to experience life, to grow as a person. I dream of an environment where I can find myself, learn, flourish, and help build a better future for myself and those around me.

In this darkness, my Christian faith remains the light that guides me, gives me strength, and awakens a hope that does not disappoint. In my prayers, I carry this hope and my dreams, along with my pain, convinced that God hears me and is preparing a new path for my life. I hold close the words of Jeremiah: “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for peace and not disaster, to give you a future full of hope” (Jer 29:11). I am not asking for the impossible, but for the most basic of rights: to live, to learn, to be able to pursue my life goals. And I continue to believe with faith that today’s suffering will turn into something great: the beginning of a new life and the emergence of new educational opportunities.

From within this church, which for us is also a shelter from the bombs, I raise my voice, hoping that someone in the world will hear it.