Leaving Gaza was never easy. It’s even harder when your home is going through tough times. The decision to leave your country, your roots, and your familiar surroundings is one that’s often made out of necessity rather than choice. It’s a decision that weighs heavy on the heart, fraught with uncertainty and fear; yet sometimes, it’s the only option left.
The ongoing genocide in my homeland is a harrowing reality, a storm of violence and suffering that shows no signs of abating. Amid this chaos, brave souls fight tirelessly to obtain the most basic necessities of life. Imagine a place where most necessities were luxuries beyond reach.
Clean, drinkable water is a distant dream, forcing us to rely on whatever murky sources we can find, risking our health with every sip. The notion of healthy food is a fantasy, with scarcity driving prices beyond the means of many. And electricity? A mere flicker in our memories, as darkness envelops our nights and limits our opportunities.
Tasks as simple as washing clothes or preparing a meal became monumental achievements, accomplished through absolute determination and primitive methods. We were cast back in time, living as though the modern world had forgotten us, surviving each day as if it were a journey into the ancient past, while the specter of death loomed ever-present.
In Gaza, each day is a battle for survival, where every act of kindness is juxtaposed with the cruel hand of fate, and hope struggles to find purchase amidst the ruins of despair. The cries of the innocent mix with the thunder of gunfire, a grim symphony of tragedy that sweeps across the ravaged landscape.
In the face of such horror, the resilience of the human spirit is tested to its limits, as the quest for survival becomes synonymous with the fight for dignity and justice.
Yet, amidst the darkness, flickers of courage and compassion endure as beacons of light in a world consumed by darkness.
Leaving behind the hardships of my home one month ago felt like stepping into a different world. Yet, I couldn’t shake off the weight of guilt that settled on my shoulders. Simple pleasures that others took for granted felt like luxuries to me. The sensation of a relaxing shower or the comfort of a soft bed seemed almost sinful, reminders of the contrast between my past and present. Even something as fundamental as enjoying a meal felt like a betrayal of the struggles I had endured.
Surviving the hardships of my past has left me with a profound sense of longing for everything I left behind. Leaving behind family, friends, and everything you’ve ever known is a monumental sacrifice. It’s saying goodbye to the streets you grew up on, the memories etched in every corner, and the culture that shaped your identity. It’s trading familiarity for the unknown, hoping for a better future while mourning the loss of what once was.
Having arrived in Doha, Qatar, after the trials of Gaza, I’ve forged ahead and persevered in establishing a life. Yet, an unbreakable bond anchors me to the place I once called home. My survival is a testament to resilience, but it doesn’t diminish the profound sense of loss that lingers in the depths of my soul, a testament to the enduring power of roots that run deep. Gaza is more than a place to me; it’s a piece of my soul that I carry with me wherever I go. Its streets, its people, its stories — they’re all woven into the fabric of who I am.
Yet, amidst the pain and uncertainty, there’s also courage: the courage to step into the unknown, to chase dreams beyond borders, and to build a new path despite the odds. It’s the resilience of the human spirit, refusing to be defined by circumstances and daring to hope for a brighter tomorrow.
As we reflect on the plight of those forced to leave their homes in hard times, let us remember their strength and their determination to build a better future for themselves and their loved ones. I will never forget that Gaza is a part of who I am, shaping my identity and influencing my perspective on the world.
