Bookshelves at the Cordoba Library, where Mariam buys her books now. Photo: Mariam Mushtaha

On October 18, 2023, I saw my home in the Tel Al-Hawa neighborhood collapse before my eyes, taking with it my childhood and its memories. How, just how, do you reconcile knowing your friends and neighbors are buried under huge amounts of rubble, out of reach?

We had just five minutes to leave our life and home after Israeli intelligence instructed us to leave — just enough time to take our smartphones and the prayer garments that we wore all the time from the first day. I had to leave behind my books and exercise equipment: my dreams, hobbies, and the beautiful habits I had struggled to build.

Each book was like a friend

My world opened up when I was 15, when my sister gave me my first novel to read, by crime writer Agatha Christie. Her novels carried something different. They are eloquent, intriguing, and captivating. You never feel bored. As you finish a page, you cannot but move immediately to the next one with huge excitement. As the story unfolds, you think you unpick the mystery, but the ending always holds you spellbound. I would sometimes spend the whole day reading and skip other responsibilities in my life. I wouldn’t resist.

My passion for reading developed further with an interest in psychology, and I especially appreciated the writings of the Iraqi writer, Yousef Al-Hasany. His books focus on psychological issues and the impact of the social environment and childhood traumas on adults. They had a huge impact on me, and I became curious to discover my personality and to know the potential psychological impacts that have affected me and other children — to learn how our minds and bodies are connected in very powerful, mysterious ways.

I also loved the Palestinian writer Ahmad Sharqawi and his touching, thought-provoking books, such as “Hadith Al Sabah” (“Morning Talk”) and “Hadith Al Masa” (“Night Talk”), which are filled with philosophical and spiritual quotes addressing humans and life.

Books became my escape from the harsh reality of multiple escalations. I would exchange books with cousins and friends. I began to collect books, and soon I had a small library in my room. I used to buy them even if I did not read them all. I loved how they looked, lined up side by side, with different colors and captivating covers.

Each book was like a friend that opened another world: a travel journey that took me to places away and free from my daily struggle.

It took me three years to build my small library. It wasn’t that big, but it was everything to me — my sanctuary, where I escaped whenever I felt depressed. I read and read and then forgot the world around me.

I didn’t manage to take any of my books with me. I had to leave them behind.

This farewell was devastating.

I missed them deeply, especially during the genocide, when I was desperate for anything to distract me from our painful reality, the cold, the hunger, and death.

Exercise was my normal

Beyond reading as an escape, I used to find solace in exercise.

Every morning at 6, I would join Sarah on YouTube in a vigorous routine that energized and motivated me. I had a small water bottle and I even bought exercise equipment — a mat, weights, jump rope, and resistance band — and exercise clothes.

Sometimes I would ride my bike and go with friends to Al-Yarmouk Square in Gaza City to cycle around, since it had a wide space.

But all those simple things just vanished.

The genocide did so much more than just destruction.

It took away our lives, our habits, our very stability — our normal.

All my normals, my small joys, were taken away. The only things I thought about were how I would feed my empty stomach and if the shelter would collapse on my head at any moment. We were living in a constant fear that made anything hard to achieve.

Pleasures denied

We lived in overcrowded spaces, tents with no privacy or calm space to concentrate. The bookshops were mostly destroyed, and the internet was often cut off, making the option of downloading a PDF version hard. Even if I managed to download a book, I couldn’t read it for more than one hour at a time as my phone battery would die.

I couldn’t even exercise.

There was little access to water as Israel destroyed wells and water mains during its military ground operations. During winters there was no hot water as the solar heaters were damaged by shrapnel, and there was no gas due to Israel’s blockade from the beginning, preventing essentials from coming in.

After the ceasefire, I would walk every day as a kind of exercise. Still, I missed the workouts I used to do. I forgot what they were like. Al-Yarmouk Square, where we used to go biking, is now a shelter for hundreds of families who lost their homes amid the genocide.

Reclaiming my hobbies

When my family returned to Gaza City in December 2025, after two months of displacement in the south, I rushed over as soon as I heard that some libraries had reopened. I said “Now I can hold the book in my hands — something I have longed for.”

But what to choose when you’re surrounded by so many choices? A single book could hardly satisfy my desire for reading. And the prices! They had tripled. I had set my heart on “Talk Like Ted” by Carmine Gallo. At first, I was hesitant to buy. Before the war, I could buy three books for the same price. Should I buy it, or read it as a PDF and save my money? But I couldn’t resist. The book is full of useful techniques for public speaking, a skill I’m working to develop.

Books Mariam purchased after the ceasefire and which she has recently finished. Photo: Mariam Mushtaha

Sometimes I wonder about my own books. Are they still buried under the rubble, turned into strewn papers?

Whenever I pass my destroyed home, I stop for a while, hoping to find any of them. I once went with my brother, Yousef, and I saw one of my books lying in the wreckage of my room. It was the novel by Ayman Al-Atoum, “Ya Sahib Al-Sijn” (“O Two Companions of the Prison”). I asked him to climb up and retrieve it.

At that moment, I had a flashback to when I finished reading this novel on the exact day my home was destroyed. It was the last thing I held in my room. The book was not torn. It was in good condition, as if it was waiting for me to hold it again, to recall my last memories in my room and in my library.

Now I am frustrated, as it will take me years to rebuild my library. It’s the same with my exercising. The only gym that hasn’t been destroyed now costs 100 shekels a month. I saved to join, as it gives me space to expel the anger, frustration, and other negative feelings that are within me and I get some peace.

It was one of the best decisions I made even if it meant sacrificing other things. It takes me to another world, where I let go of all the negative feelings and experiences and achieve a kind of inner peace I’ve never known before. It has been my second sanctuary after reading.

The gym Mariam recently joined. Photo: Mariam Mushtaha

It’s hard to reclaim my hobbies amid these difficulties. They are my only way to heal and to escape the harsh reality after two years of a brutal genocide and excruciating pain. I believe that to survive, I have to stick to something that brings some relief to me.

Now, when I pick up a book, I forget the 30 shekels I paid for it. It’s the same feeling when I finish workouts. I forget the expensive membership I have to pay every month, not because I have money to spare, but because I have chosen to give up some things to hold onto what I love.

I miss that version of me and the quiet, stable life I once had. I know things will never be the same, but I refuse to lose any chance to rebuild what I can.