It has been a week since Gaza announced the ceasefire. Since 15 months, the first explosion has been replaced by silence. But this silence is not peace. Silent screaming losses, destruction and sadness-the suspension of destruction, not end. It feels like standing in the ashes of the house, looking for surviving things.

The image from Gaza is troublesome. Children with empty eyes are sitting in the ruins of the family. Parents insist on the fragments of life that no longer exist. Each face tells a story of trauma and survival, and life is interrupted and torn. I almost couldn't let myself look at it, but I forced myself, because I turned like giving up them. They should be seen.

When I called my mother after the fire, the first thing she said to me was: "Now we can feel sad for this." These words pierced me like a blade. In the past few months, there is no sad space. The fear of the upcoming death consumes every moment of waking up, there is no room for mourning. When you are struggling for survival, how do you feel sad for what you lose? But now, as the bomb stops falling, sadness is rushing in like floods, overwhelming and relentlessness.

More than 47,000 people-men, women and children-death. The four thousand souls went out, and their lives stolen in an unimaginable way. More than 100,000 people were injured, and many people disappeared for life. Behind these numbers are faces, dreams and families, they will never be complete. The scale of losses is so large that it feels impossible to master, but in Gaza, sadness is by no means abstract. It is personal, primitive, ubiquitous.

The people of Gaza were sad and sad, and they felt sad for their own houses. The loss of houses is not just the loss of the body structure. A friend in Gaza also lost home. He told me: "A family is like your child. It takes several years to build it. You have been concerned about it and always hope it looks the best."

In Gaza, people often build their own houses with bricks, and sometimes build their houses with their own hands. Losing a house means losing safety and comfortable places where love and memory are shared. The house is not only brick and mortar. This is the development of life. Losing it is a part of your own. In Gaza, countless families have lost this work over and over again.

My parents' home, the house that covered my childhood memory had disappeared. Burned on the ground, now it is a pile of ashes and twisted metals. The houses of my six brothers and sisters have also been destroyed, and their lives are uprooted and scattered like debris on the wall. The rest is the story we tell ourselves to survive-maybe it is toughness, endurance, and hope. However, even those now feel fragile.

For those of us other than Gaza, sadness is more complicated by the inner GUI. The GUI is not there, because they can't bear the same horror as the people we love, because they live a relatively safe life when suffering. This is an unbearable tension-it is strong for them, but it is completely helpless. I try to persist in this idea, that is, my voice, my words can be made, but even if it is not enough to resist the seriousness of their pain.

The story of my family's losses is only one of the tens of thousands. The entire community was destroyed, and the community became dust. The scale of destruction cannot be understood. Schools, hospitals, mosques and houses-all have been reduced to rubble. Gasha has been deprived of his infrastructure, his economic collapse, and the people were traumatized. However, somehow, they last.

The toughness of the Palestinian people inspires people's hearts and heartbreaking. Encourage people's hearts, because they continue to survive, rebuild, dreaming of a good future. It is heartbreaking because no one should be this toughness. No one should endure this pain.

However, even if we feel relieved now, we know that any ceasefire is temporary. What should I do when this fundamental cause (occupation) still exists? As long as Gaza is blocked, as long as the Palestinians are deprived of their freedom and dignity, as long as their land is occupied, as long as the Westerners support Israel with no fines, the cycle of violence will continue.

Setting fire is not a solution; they are just interruption, pause, and temporary probation in the violence cycle. This has defined the reality of Gaza for too long. They did not solve the potential unfair phenomenon, and they were destined to fail, and Gasha would be trapped in an endless destruction and desperate environment.

Real peace not only requires bomb attacks. It needs to end the blockade, occupy, and compress the system in the unbearable life in Gaza.

The bomb has stopped decline, and the international community cannot look away. They must be responsible for Israel's behavior. It is important to rebuild Gasha, but the fundamental cause of solving the conflict is even more urgent. It requires political courage, moral clarity and firm commitment to justice. The less betrayal of the people of Gaza.

For my family, the road ahead is long. They will rebuild as usual. They will find a way to create a new homeland in the ruins. But this ethnic extinction will never disappear. My mother's words- "We can be sad now" -will always respond in my heart, which reminds the huge cost of this conflict.

When I wrote this article, I was drowned by emotional mixing: anger, sadness, and front -line hope. The anger of anger is to allow such a atrocities to occur, the sadness of the death of the death, and destroying the sadness of the house, and hope that one day, my people will know peace. Before that, we felt sad. We are sad for the dead, life, the life we ​​used to know, and the life we ​​dream of Dream.

The point of view expressed in this article is the author's own point of view, which does not necessarily reflect the editorial position of the Peninsula TV station.