I am a survivor of war, a body without a soul.
On October 6th, my husband, our two-year-old daughter and I watched a movie in our warm home in Gaza. Soon after, we went to sleep, only to wake at 6 AM to a powerful sound. I asked my husband if it was thunder. "Maybe", he said.
Instead, it would be a turning point leading to chaos and loss.
Our family gathered, expecting this to be another escalation between sides that would end in days. But this was different.
After two days, our electricity and water supply cut off. The suffering began with bombings everywhere.
On October 9th, a day I'll never forget, I was home with my daughter, husband, and in-laws, seeking shelter from destruction and death.
Smoke and the sounds of bombs, crashing stones and glass filled our home. I sought refuge in an empty room, but the noise was deafening. Neighbours gathered in our house to dispel the fear, but it didn't work.
Afterwards, my mother called to ask if I was okay and I burst into tears. I was falling apart until I heard her voice. For me, it's the only safety in the world!
The next morning, I stood on the balcony and looked around. The buildings around us were flattened.
Days passed with the same cycle of bombing, death, and destruction. My mother called to inform me the Israeli army told them to evacuate. Soon after, we received the same orders.
I didn't realise then that I was saying goodbye to my home forever.
The same home where I married and gave birth to my first daughter. Every corner, every spoon, and every plate held memories for me.
I was so certain I would return that I didn't take photos with me. Instead, I left only with a bag of clothes for my family. It pains me.
They deprived us of our memories!
Together, we moved with my husband's family to stay with their relatives in the Nuseirat area. I felt broken. My inner voice told me to bear it for a week until we could return home.
But it wasn't so.
The bombing intensified, so we moved to Khan Younis and started a new displacement story.
Food prices soared, resources became scarce, and canned foods filled with preservatives became common. The water crisis worsened, and youth carried water from the first floor to the third with jugs.
One day, I woke up to a call from my mother, who lived with my father and siblings in a shelter. She told me my older cousin was martyred, leaving behind orphaned children. The family home I lived in for 23 years, filled with all my memories, was also destroyed.
I cried and grew angry at the world, but Allah's decree was final.
The situation worsened in Khan Younis and we returned to Nuseirat. The Israeli army then asked us to evacuate Nuseirat, so we packed our belongings amid the bombings.
Our love for life gave us the strength to flee to Rafah.
The province was crowded with diseases and insects due to overcrowding, lack of sewage services, medical care, and any form of humanity. My husband would leave early in the morning, walking long distances to provide us with food, often returning empty-handed.
We lived far from the ABC shelter where my family stayed. I missed them and yearned to see my mother. One day, I asked my husband to take me to them.
Many who took the road from Rafah to Khan Younis became martyrs, but my longing was stronger than my fear. I reached them, stayed for half an hour, then left. My heart told me something bad would happen in the coming days.
Two days later, while in Rafah with no internet or electricity, my husband called with difficult news.
There was a massacre at the ABC shelter.
Sadly, my cousin's 26-year-old daughter, Rawan, was martyred. My Uncle, Rawan's sister and her two-year-old son were seriously injured.
Rawan, full of life and beauty, left this life to join her husband who was martyred a month earlier. They left behind a son and daughter who ask about them every minute.
I still can't believe she's gone.
She deserved to live, but Allah's decree is final. Now, she's in paradise with her husband.
My mother told me she searched for my sisters amid the dust, rubble, and flying glass. My uncle's wife, injured and stained with her daughter's blood, ran towards my mother to tell her Rawan had been martyred.
As the Israeli army refused to allow ambulances into the shelter, she too was martyred two hours after her injury.
The next morning, the Israeli army advanced with tanks, telling everyone to evacuate. My family fled under gunfire and shelling, walking three kilometres with fear eating their hearts.
They moved to a commercial hall with about 30 other people in an area of less than 80 square meters! What a slow death this was.
All this did not move the world to stop the massacre.
Despite it all, I decided to adapt. My family's displacement shelter was near mine. I was happy because I could see them again. I was eager to leave the Strip with all my heart, but I lost hope due to the difficulty.
It was as if the world conspired to let us all die in this small square. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that we were close to my family.
One night, we received a call to tell us our travel appointment was the next day. I began to tremble.
I didn't want to leave my family in this tragedy, but my maternal instincts overcame me. I wanted to give my daughter a better life. So we left Gaza and reached Egyptian territories.
Once we arrived, I was shocked. We were alone, subjected to genocide while the world lived a normal life. I told my husband, with sadness in my heart:
"We left the tumult of death to the tumult of life."
My longing for my family overwhelmed me. I wanted to return to see them, but it was impossible!
Days passed while I waited for my family to reach Egypt, but it required a large sum of money they didn't have. Additionally, crossing to Egypt is controlled by the army, and the passages are closed to everyone in Gaza. Gaza became a prison.
My dream is to return to my home in Gaza, but the city has become rubble, with more than half of its inhabitants either martyred or wounded.
I don't let bad feelings control me more than that.
Now, I've started looking for a job for myself and my husband to help us pay our financial obligations in Egypt. What I ask of you is not pity because I don't need it!
But I need a job to start a new life with my daughter and husband, In Sha Allah.
We in Gaza love life as much as we can.
We are people like you. We have dreams and ambitions.
So, help us start our journey again to chart a life full of love and peace.
Thank you very much for your concern and for listening to my story.