I’ve always loved spending time in my own world. I never cared about gossip or trivial conversations. I was self-sufficient, making my small room a refuge, practicing my hobbies away from the endless noise and nonsense of the world. I would read books, write stories, listen to music, watch movies, and sip coffee.

I still remember the first novel I ever read and how it affected me. It was the famous novel by Khawla Hamdi, “In My Heart, a Hebrew Woman,” which tells the love story between a Jewish girl and a Muslim boy and how love triumphed in the end despite the religious and sectarian differences. This is my favorite quote from the novel:

I know that I will not be strong along the way. So I want you to take my hand and lead me to the right path. Please, be with me so that we can go together until the end of the journey.

I would fill my mind with words and feel euphoric. The stories would make me cry, laugh, smile, and get angry. Sometimes I would read with enthusiasm, and other times I would pause to contemplate the deep phrases and feel their impact on me. Books were not just words lined up; they were entire worlds!

Out of my love for reading, I started writing stories and novels, publishing many online in Arabic. I gained fans, which encouraged me and made me seriously think about writing a novel in English one day.

Exploring Al-Khidr Library

When I was in high school, I had a friend, Raghad, who shared my interests. We used to sit during break time and talk about books and our favorite authors. She was the only one who matched my thinking. Once, one of our teachers asked if there was anyone who was interested in literature and wanted to explore the Al-Khidr Library, located in Deir Al-Balah. Raghad and I eagerly put our hands up and were among those chosen.

Al-Khidr shrine is considered the oldest historical heritage in Palestine, containing historical landmarks represented in its architectural art. Inside, there are Greek inscriptions, Corinthian capitals, and marble columns. Over time, its stone walls had deteriorated, but it was restored and turned into a library affiliated with the Nawa Association for Culture and Arts.

The next morning we went to the library by bus; it was the first time I had seen that enchanting place. I was inside a masterpiece. I couldn’t believe it existed in my city.

We gathered in the outer courtyard and the owner of the library introduced himself and asked us some questions about the history of Al-Khidr shrine. Raghad knew the answers nearly every time, which amazed me. He then split us into two groups to participate in recreational activities. We played childhood games like hopscotch, tug-of-war, and volleyball.

Afterwards, we were able to explore the bookshelves — my favorite place. I borrowed a book called “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho and started reading it on an armchair in the corner. While I was reading, our teacher came and talked to us about the books we were reading.

Later, we were taken to the lower corner of the library, the place where stories are read out loud and where their magic gives you goosebumps. It’s called the “Storytelling Hall,” and it’s where staff read aloud different books on different days. That day, they read to us about Saladin Al-Ayyubi, who liberated Jerusalem. It was such a beautiful tale and affected us deeply. From then on, the library became one of my favorite places in Gaza, and I visited it as much as I could.

Where is the library I used to visit?

All of this was before my life turned upside down and reality slapped me with harsh blows that still leave a mark today. My days were peaceful and calm, but in an instant, they have become mixed with the smell of gunpowder, the sounds of explosions, and the scattered remains and blood of the dead.

I no longer woke up to the sounds of chirping of birds, or to my mother’s voice calling me for breakfast, or to the music I was used to hearing. I woke up to the never-ending nightmare of war. I thought it would pass after a few days or weeks, but it has refused to end.

The nightmare uprooted the calmness of my old days, disturbed the clarity of my mind, and threatened my safe isolation. Staying in my room became dangerous because it was next to the neighbors’ house, which was at risk of being bombed at any moment. I started living in fear and chaos. This new reality created a stark contrast to the life I had known before.

My family and I have had to move from house to house, searching for a safe place, but we couldn’t find one. We eventually returned to our home in Deir Al-Balah. We felt hopeless, our souls left in the hands of fate. The war stripped anything peaceful from Gaza, and it seemed to me that the only way to find peace again was to leave my country.

I left Gaza after several months of war, abandoning everything, and fled to Egypt with my family. I thought I would live in peace amid the noise and hustle of the new city, but I was wrong. I searched for peace everywhere but had only found it in one place — among my now-lost books. Nothing can compensate for what those books gave me.

Where is that safe corner of my room? Where is the library I used to visit? Where are my books and writing notebooks? Where is my friend with whom I would chat and read? Everything vanished so suddenly. I want to go back to where everything had meaning, where I didn’t have to feel sadness all the time, where reading was an inseparable and nourishing part of my life.

Although there are many libraries here in Egypt, nothing equals the first moment of amazement in which I saw the library for the first time in Gaza, and nothing will compensate for those precious moments that I spent reading those books. Even if I find the same books again, the ones in Gaza had a special smell and distinctly flavored pages that I could taste with my eyes. I have not found solace in the libraries here; nothing can replace Al-Khidr Library.