Playing guitar for and with others became my therapy and my form of resistance.
My time spent teaching children in a tent added valuable information to my research on wartime schooling alternatives.
Medicines in Gaza are still in short supply and expensive, due to ongoing restrictions imposed by the Israeli occupation on the entry of essential drugs.
During the war, the day of communal worship became just like any other day. No mosque, no lunch, no gathering, not even a sense of time.
In the rest of the world, marrying means beginning a happy and secure new chapter. For Gazans, every month is a continuation of grief and instability.
These symbols of joy had become a source of fear, but also of resolve.
A single door separates the calm world of a café from the struggle for survival in tents outside.
Throughout 18 months of displacement, and miles of walking between cities and refugee camps, I wore the same painful shoes.
Nearly a month after our return, I still haven’t gone to see the ruins of our house in Al-Shuja’iyya. I cannot bear it.
One day we will again enjoy the olive harvest, not as displaced people but as farmers, as dreamers, and as children of this land.
My sister Islam, who shared my love of tape recording, was diligent, patient, and far brighter than me.
Like the people in the tents, like the fishermen readying their boats, I am tired of this situation. But none of us have the luxury of giving up.
