When I graduated from Al-Azhar University in 2023 with a degree in English education, I was determined to pursue my dream of becoming a journalist. A week before the war, I began preparing for the IELTS (the International English Language Testing System); I needed to achieve the high score of 7 to apply for a scholarship to Oxford University. I was working hard and envisioning a future in which I obtained a master’s degree, landed my dream job, and enjoyed the wonderful opportunities I was sure would come my way. Then the war shattered everything, including my university and my hopes for the launch of my career.

Echoes of a fallen university

I am heartbroken whenever I think about my beloved Al-Azhar University. When I was 19 years old, Al-Azhar became my second home; it warmly welcomed me into its arms, inspired me, and helped me grow.

Its vibrant campus was alive and thriving. Its beautiful gardens offered scents of morning roses. Students gathered in courtyards, where they would discuss everything from their studies to the latest football game, or they found quiet spots in the library to focus on their work. Laughter and chit-chat echoed through the halls; the aroma of coffee wafted from the cafeteria.

Every morning, the bus came by my home and took me to the university. Those rides were more than just a way to get there; they were moments to think, chat with friends, and prepare for the day. As we passed through busy streets and markets, conversations would continue to grow livelier until we reached the gates of the university.

Some of my fondest memories are of my best friend, Basel, whom I met during our first semester. Basel had this way of making even the dullest lectures fun by cracking jokes related to the class material. He always found a way to lighten the mood and keep us all laughing. I even became like him; I learned to love to laugh.

We often studied together, though our sessions usually turned into long talks about our dreams. I remember one afternoon after a tough exam, sitting under a shade tree with him trying to figure out a question from a homework assignment about poetry. We both misunderstood the question and ended up overthinking it — making it more complicated than necessary. When we realized that, we burst into laughter.

Moments like these made Al-Azhar feel more like a family than a school.

Graduation day is a memory I treasure. The campus was decorated with banners and flowers. My family was there, excited and proud as I walked across the stage to get my diploma. Afterward, Basel and I stood together for a photo, holding our caps, feeling hopeful about the future.

Back then, Basel’s home in Khan Younis was a warm refuge. It has since been destroyed in an airstrike that killed his younger brother and seriously injured his parents. And Al-Azhar University now lies in ruins. While the university has been too dangerous to visit since the war began, I feel a profound sense of loss as I imagine walking through its broken gates and being greeted by images of destruction. I imagine the once-green gardens buried beneath piles of rubble; the shade trees burned and broken, their leaves scattered across the ground like pieces of a lost past.

I imagine buildings that used to be abuzz with the sounds of students and professors as empty shells, their windows shattered and walls crumbling. I imagine the library where I spent hours studying and dreaming of the future, completely destroyed, its books and knowledge lost under the rubble. I imagine passing the cafeteria where my friends and I used to gather. Memories of meals with friends, and the times we enjoyed our favorite falafel sandwiches, flood my mind and then turn bittersweet, knowing that the cafeteria, like so much else, is gone now. The bus that used to take me there each morning is now a burned-out shell.

The loss of Al-Azhar is not just a personal loss; it’s a loss for all of Gaza, and it stands as just one of the many schools and universities that have been destroyed by the Israeli military.

The war hasn’t just destroyed buildings; it has shattered dreams and interrupted education for an entire generation. For those who survive, the impact of this loss will be profound. Young people in Gaza face a future filled with even more obstacles to their dreams of becoming doctors, engineers, or teachers. Without schools and universities, it is easy to lose hope.

Education has become worthless

Over the decades, my beloved university has educated and graduated thousands of students who now work in various fields around the world. But now, after a 17-year siege and more than 10 months of relentless massacres, bombardment, and starvation, a college education is of little use to anyone in Gaza. Street vendor is now the best job available here. My friend Mohammed, who graduated with a degree in English literature, has one of these “best” jobs — vending homemade pastries, chips, and other small items on the street. “I work from morning till evening to just earn 20 shekels (about $5.20),” he told me. “That’s not enough to provide for my family.”

As the war drags on, my dream of becoming a journalist is crumbling under the constant bombings. When the war began, I hoped I would be able to use my phone to practice journalism through social media. I never took that step out of fear that the Israeli occupation might target me and my family, as it has so many others. Even though the journalist Wael Dahdouh miraculously survived several Israeli assassination attempts, Israel murdered his beloved children and wife in an airstrike. My journalist friend Mohammed Hamo was killed with his entire family. To prevent their war crimes from being exposed, the Israeli occupation forces have murdered 171 journalists to date.

What next after 10 months of genocide?

This is the grim reality of life in “the shattered Gaza,” as we now call it. Every day, people are killed trying to find clean water and affordable, nutritious food. At night we are either kept awake by the constant fear of artillery fire and heavy bombardment or we fall asleep, only to experience endless nightmares.

Through the grace of God, my family and I have managed to survive despite being cut off from the essentials of life. With each passing day, we cling to each other and brace ourselves for the next massacre.

I still dream of one day being able to pursue my passion for journalism and storytelling. I am thinking about furthering my education, if there is a ceasefire and if Al-Azhar University starts offering more online courses. If that happens, I might be able to complete my studies here. However, I’m also thinking about studying abroad, despite the challenges that would entail, as it could open up new opportunities.

Sometimes I am afraid to hope because dreams can easily be shattered here. But I understand that hope is what keeps us moving forward.