I am not even allowed to go back to see what has become of my house and school.

Once again, we are back to asking ourselves all of the same questions: Should we stay or should we leave? Now or later?

There is no more strawberry crops, no more Strawberry City. Israel has completely destroyed them.

After the ceasefire, I returned to a city of ruins, but I found our old school building still standing!

Teaching English was more than just a career; it served as a stabilizing force in my otherwise hectic existence. That part of me is missing now.

The computer was very useful for taking exams, attending online lectures, and downloading materials, but it was less important than paying tuition.

Gaza City’s great buildings have been turned into ruins, but I keep them alive in a memory of a tour my family took just before the war.

My two childhood companions were martyred within a day of each other. Where is humanity? Where is global conscience?

In 1948, my grandfather fled with only a bag of clothes. Last year he fled again—paralyzed, in a wheelchair, and carried aloft by his family.

My mother screamed with joy, my father said “Alhamdulillah,” and we children clapped and danced for the sake of a single small cylinder.

I used to love cold, wet weather. Now it destroys everything I love and brings only distress.

On my third trip to the city, everything felt different—strange, suffocating, and heavy.