We live in days filled with the comfort of death. I haven't slept in 48 hours. How can I sleep when the nightmare of the massacres never leaves me? The screams of the children are still stuck in my mind, and the wailing of the woman who was bombed in the Abu Helmiyeh family's home still haunts me.

How can I forget the scenes of the morning? The scenes of the massacres, the piles of bodies in the courtyard of the Indonesian hospital? I move from one place to another, carrying my soul in my palm with every attack, and I am repeatedly shocked. I cannot get used to this scene.