Today I learned life.

Today I opened my phone. As I got home after a long day of class, I sought a moment of leisure to relax, a laugh, a smile, some validation, some time to pass, so I open Instagram.

And against my intentions the pixels transform into agents of teleportation to a world of life I’ve never lived.

Today I learned life.

Today I woke up to the sound of an alarm clock. It’s one of the new ones on iOS 17 that sounds somewhat ambient but suspenseful, but I hit snooze and decide to go back to sleep for another 7 minutes before deciding I’ll skip my morning GE class today.

Today a child in Gaza woke up to sound of a bomb. There was no snooze button. The only decision he made was whether to take the stuffed bear or the stuffed lion with him to embrace because in 7 minutes his family’s apartment walls would be shaken awake, not from a call to rise but a call to die from the alarm of utter destruction by way of an Israeli airstrike.

Today I learned life.

Today I got a call from my mother in Chicago. She told me what she always tells me. She asked me what I ate and how my classes were going and she told me to make sure I pray and that she hopes I’m staying out of trouble and she misses me and she can’t wait to see me for winter break.

Today a mother in Gaza holds her phone in desperation waiting for a call from her son. But she sits as silently as her phone. The thought of what her son ate is secondary to the thought of if her son ate. The thought of whether her son prayed is secondary to whether he is prayed upon. The thought of her son being in trouble is secondary because her son’s very existence is trouble for an apartheid state. The anticipation to see her son is only a matter of whether she will see him in a state of life or death.

Today I cried. And so did we yesterday. And so did we the day before that. And so did we for the last month as we watch genocide before our very eyes.

And with our tears escaping our feeble eyes, so does our life.

But today, I learned life.