“How did I receive the news of the ceasefire?” Art and Essay, Nada Anwar Rajab.

How did I receive the news of the ceasefire? 

And what were my feelings upon hearing it? 

Am I planning to start a new life after returning from the south to the north of Gaza? 

Will I stop chasing my dreams...?

A week ago, I received news of a potential ceasefire from a friend living in France. He told me that a ceasefire agreement was imminent, based on his political knowledge and engagement with current affairs. He kept me informed through foreign and Hebrew language newspapers and magazines.

I felt reassured by this news, even as I searched for shelter for my family before winter arrived.

Three days ago, he called again and said that, based on political meetings, the ceasefire would be announced at any moment during the week. When both warring parties agreed to the terms, I felt a deep sense of relief and I stopped searching for shelter.

I was genuinely happy that it might finally happen.

I currently live in an area cut off from water, phone service, and internet. I longed for the war to end so I could resume my university studies, which are scheduled to continue at the end of October. I had begun coordinating my work online before being displaced from the north to the south, which disrupted everything.

I was expected to stay strong and continue my work as an artist. I can say my life was completely upended 100% by my presence in southern Gaza. I’ve been displaced 25 times, and this is the second time I’ve fled to the south.

It felt like a nightmare.

I knew exactly how the scenario would unfold: displacement from north to south, living in a tent, facing the possibility of death at any moment whether by quadcopter bullets, nearby missiles, the cold of winter, the heat of the tents, or the chronic stomach pain that has worsened due to the war.

It’s like watching the same film for the second, third, fourth, and twenty fifth time. You know you might lose a family member at any moment. You might lose your entire family and be erased from the civil registry. You might leave the tent and return to find your family gone. Or you might leave and never be seen again.

Inside the tent, you’re forced to live with dust and insects. You’re forced to sleep on the ground and suffer from back pain while still in your twenties. You’re expected to continue your work under the harshest conditions imaginable conditions no human outside Gaza could endure.

Despite this, I created over 300 artworks documenting the genocide we are enduring, as a witness and survivor of the atrocities in Gaza. I spoke to the world, and my art spoke on behalf of Gaza.

It was difficult, but I refused to be just another number in the death toll. My first and final message through my art has always been:

“If I must die, I refuse to be just a number.”

I will continue managing my project, Art from Rubble, and training dozens of children in drawing. I recently began teaching nearly 50 children, and the results have been astonishing art became my only escape from the madness around me.

I will keep organizing exhibitions of my work around the world. My most recent showcases were in Paris, Kasawaki City in Japan, Scotland, Mexico, and other places globally.

I will continue my academic journey in the Faculty of Engineering and Intelligent Systems. I recently completed the first semester of my third year.

I will keep chasing my dreams and ambitions.

I have no problem starting again from zero. My hope is renewed as long as I’m still breathing.

I cannot deny that I’m glad about the ceasefire in Gaza.

But when the announcement came, I felt nothing. It was just another piece of news. I had imagined it would happen, but I knew it wouldn’t bring back my lost days, nor erase the fear etched in my mind.

I wondered if they could wipe away the tragic scenes I’ve witnessed over two years of genocide.

I wondered if they could bring back my friend, whose head was shattered by the missiles of the occupation.

I wondered if they could restore peace to my heart.

Or return my home with its warm lights, and the days that once held the embrace of my father. The occupation has denied me the chance to see my father for two years. To this day, I dream of him returning from Ramallah to Gaza just so I can hug him once, instead of seeing him only through video calls.

I wished my father had been with us during these terrifying two years.

My eight family members and I share the same feeling we showed no reaction to the news of the ceasefire.

I had always believed that every game has an expiration date. And today, after two years, the farce we were forced to endure has ended driven by political interests and the silence of the Arab and Islamic world.

I am not happy, nor am I sad.

I feel nothing but the desire to move forward, to forget what happened, and to keep chasing my dreams. Only my dreams.

Because I do not want to perish while wishing I want to keep walking forward.

Nada Anwar Rajab is a 21-year-old artist, writer, and Geographic Information Systems engineer from Gaza. Having lived through more than five wars and been displaced over twenty times, she uses her art and short stories to bear witness to life under siege and occupation. Her work is a defiant message to the world—a testament that she is still alive. Through stark drawings and powerful storytelling, Nada captures the emotional and physical realities of war, refusing to be reduced to a statistic. Her art stands as a form of resistance, resilience, and remembrance.

Her GoFundMe, which helps procure supplies during the IOF siege is: https://gofund.me/d8f5655e