Genocide changes you; it breaks you and deforms you.

I write to share our history, but also for many other reasons, including my own healing.

Words once poured out of me like butterflies flying from the inside. No longer.

I’m 373 mournful kilometers away from home, and Google can’t find the way back. But I am confident I will return one day.

Our homes and dreams are shattered, we are left with our lives in fragments, and we hang by a thread to hope.

What would happen if the Palestinian narrative lacked misery? Would we still be creative?

Only in Gaza: the tortured waiting until, in a blink of an eye, the peaceful night turns into a new wave of aggression.