We’re All Still Here.

Boom!

What was that? 

Boom! 

Less than a minute apart. 

Boom! 

That did it. I went to the baranda and stuck my head out of the window. I noticed my neighbors had done the same. “What was that?” One of them asked. “It was loud,” the other commented. It was loud. 

My eyes drifted to the Occupier’s settlement, and I noticed a few jeep lights heading toward the gate. I began to think of the last time I saw any commotion going on near this settlement. The Occupiers had put three huge boulders in front of their gate and come out from a different route when they felt like making their late night “visits.” 

Last week, I heard the sirens coming from the settlement and the morning after I heard the news that a girl was shot? A man was stabbed? Different headlines in different papers and on different websites…

This week, though, the children in town decided to make a statement by going near the settlement and throwing a few rocks, and then, the soldiers come out and throw their sound bombs to scare them. Sound bombs…that was the source of the BOOM!

In between the thoughts that were running through my head about the settlement, the city, people, children, school, my mind finally pinpointed one thought or rather, a conversation I had with a close friend. 

“By the way, what if an intifada happens while we’re still in BZU? We’ll legit never graduate!” She wrote. 

Recently, our university ended a month long strike that was held by students protesting the high tuition costs. For students at BZU, one worry ends and another one shortly begins right after, whether on a personal level or a collective level. 

“Well, that’ll be the cherry on top,” I answered. 

“It is very possible…” she added. 

I thought about it. I thought of the stories I have heard about previous uprisings and how everything went on hold, to say the least. Being in my university’s museum surrounded by political posters from the year 1949 to 2000 yesterday, I thought of how so much has changed and that if an uprising were to happen, I doubt it’ll be anything like the previous ones save for the occupation, the occasional BOOM! sound, and the Occupied* people. 

When the last BOOM! arrived and I heard the children whistling, I couldn’t help but wonder at the message that seemed to be portrayed that night. They are here. We are here. It’s only a matter of time before our mind’s wander to the inevitable “what if” question my friend asked.

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