I am pretty sure that everyone is familiar with what I am about to say, as anyone who has even an ounce of media exposure and internet connection would have at least heard of this.

As of the day this piece is being written, Israel’s deadly assault on Gaza has reached its one-year mark, with no signs of easing. Although the world’s attention has been shifted as other middle eastern nations involve themselves in this conflict, running the risk of escalating it into a wider regional war, strikes on Gaza are far from reaching its closure. 

I am not writing this to discuss the sequence of events nor the impacts of the conflict, as I am sure other sources would have explained it better than I ever could. Rather, I would like to reflect our, or specifically my action as someone who observes this real life horror scene from the comfort of my safe zone.

Living in Malaysia, one of the proudest and loudest pro-Palestine countries, I have been learning about this conflict and offering my sympathy ever since. But in light of recent events I have been questioning myself, is that even enough? 

When the October 7th conflict erupted, I was not the first to be aware of  the incident nor was I among the first to speak out about it. Yes, I do repost some updates on my Instagram account now and then, but that’s hardly enough. Considering my capacity, I think I could, or rather should be able to do more.

It wasn’t until I saw my French colleague post a particularly lengthy paragraph in support of Palestine, despite knowing his followers would inevitably include many other westerners who hold the opposite view, and another friend joining a student protest camp—despite the risk of being expelled and deported from the school he had fought tooth and nail to get into—that I realized how little I have actually done, despite claiming that I’m standing with the Palestinians. If I were to be put in their shoes, I couldn’t even guarantee that my ‘unwavering support’ could prove what it’s worth. 

Even now, as months have passed and thousands of posts have been shared on various social platforms, I catch myself becoming less and less affected by this tragedy. How I briefly pause in shock after witnessing the news, but then, just seconds later, I’m back to laughing as I keep scrolling. How am I feeling the urge to just scroll away when there’s a Palestinian mom begging for help in her account. How now I’d say one packet of burger probably won’t hurt. I have slowly become desensitized, accustomed even to the cries of the distressed Palestinians.

Another realization ran through my head. All this time, I have been treating these bloody massacres and the martyred victims as no more than an image behind my screen. Yes I do fully acknowledge that these incidents are happening in real life. But there’s this wall inside of my head that filters what I see on my phone, separating them from reality. 

I could feel very overwhelmed and emotional after watching videos of the destruction in Gaza, but the moment the screen feed changes, all the emotions suddenly washes away, almost as if I never saw or felt the gush of emotions the second before. It’s as if the pain I witnessed just exists behind the screens, and not tangible occurrences that literally happen on the same earth I set foot on.

One day, I try to digest all that has truly happened. At that very moment I felt like just then I truly understood the gravity of the situation. Today, as the conflict in Gaza marks its one-year anniversary, the reality of the deaths in Gaza feels even more crushing, as time continues to pass with no end in sight. How long will the world continue to treat this as a passing headline? How long will we allow these lives to be reduced to statistics? How long do we need to grasp the fact that 42K death tolls in Gaza, if not underestimated, is not a mere number? Each and every one of them is, or was a real and living person, filled with dreams and hopes, had loved ones and lives once vibrant with promise just like I do. They could have lived my life and I could have lived theirs. THEY WERE BREATHING, LIVING HUMAN BEINGS, JUST LIKE ME. 

After this reflection, the reality of the people of Gaza no longer feel so distant. While I find myself weary of hearing their news every single day, I remind myself that I merely just had to listen to reports, while they must face and endure the harsh realities behind those headlines every single day. I realize that I can no longer remain passive or indifferent. Instead, I must strive to engage more meaningfully with their stories, to understand the weight of their suffering, and to advocate for a world where such tragedies are not just news but calls to action. It’s time to transform my awareness into compassion and my compassion into meaningful support for those who are truly affected. 

I know sometimes it feels like our efforts are painfully futile and meaningless, lacking the power to directly improve the reality, and that helplessness can be paralyzing. Despite that, I know that doing nothing is not an option. Even in the face of this despair, I can choose to persist—just as the people in Gaza have, so I must too. I can raise awareness, spark conversations, and use whatever means I have -however small-to keep their struggles alive in our collective consciousness. I hold on to the hope that by bearing witness and refusing to look away, I can be a part of a future where suffering like this is no longer ignored.  We aren’t truly free until Palestine is free. So here I am, waiting for the day we can all hold hands together and finally shout, “We are free!”