I just received the news of the passing of my colleague, Shireen. She was an English teacher in the same school where I used to teach in Gaza. Yesterday, she was killed in the Shujaeyya massacre, along with her two children, her parents, her aunt, and four nieces. She bled to death next to her son, the one who survived. He kept calling her name, waiting for her to answer. But she was gone. Her name was Shireen. A mother of five. Her husband was outside Gaza before the war began. I cannot stop thinking about her and her children, trapped under the rubble, bleeding to death, with no one able to reach them. Even words like "heartbroken" or "devastated" feel empty. They cannot hold the weight of what we feel in Gaza. The world needs a new language, a new dictionary, for our pain. Every day, my world in Gaza breaks a little more. Piece by piece. Place by place. Person by person. We are losing everything.