u/Amr_Abu_Ouda

I found a picture on my brother Ahmed’s phone that I can’t get out of my head.

It’s the last photo we took of our apartment in the north of Gaza.

Ahmed took it when we were able to go back for a short time after the first ceasefire on 19 January 2024. We were shocked when we saw it… our home was not the same anymore. It was damaged, broken… but still, we were happy in a strange way. Just being inside it again after three months meant everything.

A few days ago marked one full year since we last stepped inside it.

One full year away from home. One full year thinking we might go back any day. One full year imagining sitting there again, even if it’s destroyed. One full year living in displacement… in tents, in hard conditions, moving and not really settling anywhere. One full year of loss, fear, and thinking about it every single day.

It’s strange… because we don’t even want something big.

We don’t want much.

We just want to go back.

Sit on whatever is left of it. Lay on the rubble of our home. Look at the sky and forget everything for a while… like nothing else exists.

That’s it. That’s what home became for us.

I’ve been trying to stay quiet lately, but writing helps me breathe a little. I’m in Gaza, and there’s this feeling that keeps creeping back every day. It shows me that I’m weaker than I thought, less resilient than I always claimed. The memories come back out of nowhere and every time they do, the cracks in my mind just get wider. I’m not recovering. Time isn’t healing anything.

I’m learning how heavy a heart can really be. Even heavier than the aid trucks people talk about on the news. And I can feel how distant I’ve become from everything around me. I hear people speaking, but it feels far. I look at the faces I pass, the sky, the streets that don’t look like streets anymore… and still the memories pull me back into the same pain I keep trying to escape.

Sometimes I think it’s not even the past that haunts me. Maybe it’s the version of me that never knew how to survive it.

I’ve been trying to stay quiet lately, but writing helps me breathe a little. I’m in Gaza, and there’s this feeling that keeps creeping back every day. It shows me that I’m weaker than I thought, less resilient than I always claimed. The memories come back out of nowhere and every time they do, the cracks in my mind just get wider. I’m not recovering. Time isn’t healing anything.

I’m learning how heavy a heart can really be. Even heavier than the aid trucks people talk about on the news. And I can feel how distant I’ve become from everything around me. I hear people speaking, but it feels far. I look at the faces I pass, the sky, the streets that don’t look like streets anymore… and still the memories pull me back into the same pain I keep trying to escape.

Sometimes I think it’s not even the past that haunts me. Maybe it’s the version of me that never knew how to survive it.

Today something small happened, but it meant a lot to me.

Three girls from my 8th grade class came to me with this notebook they’ve been working on quietly. They didn’t just write notes… they turned everything we learned into something creative, colorful, and honestly beautiful. Every page shows effort.

But the thing is… this is Gaza.

These girls don’t sit in a normal classroom. Sometimes we’re on the floor. Sometimes on mattresses. The environment is limited in every possible way, and life outside the lesson is not easy at all.

Still, they come. Still, they try. Still, they create something like this.

That’s what hit me today.

Noor, Ru’a, Jumana — wallah I’m proud of you. Not just for the notebook, but for your spirit. For showing up, for caring, for putting effort even when everything around you makes it hard.

People talk a lot about Gaza, but moments like this… this is also Gaza.

And I just felt this deserves to be seen and shared.

What can you say to these girls from your place? Leave this in the comments and I will make sure to get your kind messages to them.

I’ve been trying to stay quiet lately, but writing helps me breathe a little. I’m in Gaza, and there’s this feeling that keeps creeping back every day. It shows me that I’m weaker than I thought, less resilient than I always claimed. The memories come back out of nowhere and every time they do, the cracks in my mind just get wider. I’m not recovering. Time isn’t healing anything.

I’m learning how heavy a heart can really be. Even heavier than the aid trucks people talk about on the news. And I can feel how distant I’ve become from everything around me. I hear people speaking, but it feels far. I look at the faces I pass, the sky, the streets that don’t look like streets anymore… and still the memories pull me back into the same pain I keep trying to escape.

Sometimes I think it’s not even the past that haunts me. Maybe it’s the version of me that never knew how to survive it.