Most mornings I open my eyes to the shadows of leaves moving on the ceiling and the sounds of peace. But disturbing memories also rush in, memories of the violence and turmoil of the wars that have repeatedly devastated Gaza.

These wars have helped to shape the person I am today. The first experience, though, which I experienced nine years ago, on July 2014, lasts forever. I was 12 years old, and its harsh realities left an especially deep mark on me and my view of the world.

It all goes back to when my family and I were living in Saudi Arabia, excitedly planning a summer visit to our relatives in Gaza. However, what we experienced during that trip was vastly different from our expectations and ended up profoundly altering my perspective and personality. Arriving in Egypt, the journey by car to Gaza’s Al-Ma’abr (Rafah) checkpoint was a test of endurance. The roads were dotted with countless checkpoints that seemed to stretch on forever. During these searches, crossing guards unpacked our belongings and left them in disarray. We were out in the wild for two days, hoping for a safe arrival.

Welcome to Gaza

After finally arriving in Gaza, we were met with warm embraces and joyful smiles. We spent a week sharing happy moments and making cherished memories. Shortly after, Uncle Riyadh and his family, who also lived in Saudi Arabia, joined us, leading to even more heartwarming reunions.

However, the joyous festivities were abruptly interrupted by the thunderous sounds of explosions, marking the beginning of a new and terrifying chapter for Gaza. Our family gatherings were now shadowed with sadness and sorrow.

Adjusting to our half-finished home in Abasan, with its uncomfortable mattresses, was a challenge. However, visiting our grandparents’ home every day brought reassurance and comfort. Our parents and relatives tried to spare us the truth, pretending that the constant booms were just fireworks. However, that fantasy was soon dispelled, and the reality of war became all too clear.

Our family moved to our grandparents’ house as our own house was located in a vulnerable area where the sparsity of homes made the sounds of bombings and shrapnel louder and scarier. From my 12-year-old perspective, sleeping at our grandparents’ house was an exciting and adventurous experience.

First encounter of war and chaos

Despite the perilous situation, we endeavored to make the most out of our stay in Gaza, visiting cherished relatives and friends. However, our reunions were marred by a prevailing sense of apprehension.

The war’s hostilities rapidly intensified with the Israelis’ incursion across Gaza’s borders, specifically near Khuza’a, a mere ten-minute drive away. The streets became a terrifying scene of chaos and destruction, with tanks driving ruthlessly over everything in their path, and men, women, and children fleeing frantically.

Khuza’a refugees fled to Abasan with the Israeli army in pursuit, which prompted the people of Abasan to flee, too. Over 30 of us piled into a 12-seat minibus, carrying our belongings. Looking out of the window, we saw a sea of people running for their lives, reminding us of scenes from the Nakba that we had only seen in black and white on TV. Sadly, we were forced to leave our homes and seek refuge in public shelters. This was the start of the 2014 war, known as Al-Osf Al-Makoul.

The shelters, mainly mosques, and schools were overburdened with people, and the conditions were unbearable. Fortunately, my grandfather had a good relationship with friends in the area, and our family and other relatives were able to move into a more comfortable home. Despite the ongoing chaos, we were better off than many others.

Scattered pieces of joy and fear

Despite the chaos, these moments of joy are something I hold dear. However, as the nights drew near, the reality of the situation became more terrifying. Huddled under my blanket, I would shake uncontrollably with fear, my heart pounding with every explosion and missile that rained down. My uncle would try to soothe me, but his words were lost in the noise that surrounded us. The bombing seemed neverending, and the world outside the house felt dark and dangerous.

One vivid memory that stands out is of my 8-year-old sister. Despite the constant bombings and destruction, she found comfort in our extended family’s company and daily routines. I recall her praying out loud, expressing a wish for the war to last longer so that we could stay together with our relatives. Upon hearing this, our aunt promised to stay with us when the war had ended and things had returned to normal.

During this time, I saw things that no child should ever have to see. The horrors of war were in front of me and I felt helpless. The constant fear of not knowing if I was going to be safe, or if my loved ones were safe, was overwhelming.

Leaving Gaza during the war was difficult, and we missed our flight, spending days stranded at the airport in Egypt. Eventually we reached our home in Saudi Arabia, but we felt sorrowful to have left our loved ones behind. The experience profoundly impacted us, and we were surprised to hear the press headline about Gaza’s triumph in the war.

A new perspective

As I wake up today to the sound of peace, I can’t help but think of the journey that brought me to this moment. The memories of war in Gaza still rush in, but they no longer haunt me.

I have changed since 2014. In the immediate aftermath of the war, I became emotionally guarded and wary of expressing myself. I thought my previous aspirations and concerns were insignificant compared to the suffering of others. But over time, I learned to value life more and to appreciate human strength and resilience, including my own.

I have come a long way from that 12-year-old child who experienced the harsh realities of war. Now, I am a person who knows the value of peace and cherishes every moment of it. And as I look forward to the future, I know that I will always carry with me the lessons I learned during that fateful summer visit to Gaza, holding on to the hope that one day, Gaza and Palestine will be free from the pain and turmoil of war.