Haifa. Ghorba
“When are we going back home?”
This is the question my father, now in his eighties, asks tirelessly every morning. Yes, we are in Cairo, but why? Displacement is more than just leaving a place. It’s a state of being—a disconnection felt by anyone who has left the home they cherished, the place they built, nurtured, and dreamt of growing old in, surrounded by family.
To be exiled is to be removed from your rightful place, against your will.
Where is the sea?
Where are the lively Friday nights?
Where is the market, or Omar Al-Mukhtar Street on the eve of Eid?
Where are the winter mornings, the sound of the neighbor’s rooster, the sunsets I used to watch as I parked my car on Rashid Street while my children ate roasted corn and sang?
I am searching for my identity—
My elegant home, my cherished dishes,
The paintings on my walls,
My father’s poetry,
My children’s notebooks, filled with drawings from when they were young.
This is what alienation means.
I want to relive these memories, to hold them close.
But will they become just relics of the past, for me and my children?
Or can they return, painted anew in my mind?
Maybe, just maybe, I will return to see them once more.
Ayman. Reconstruction
The hope of returning to Gaza is deeply intertwined with the fear of alienation—not recognizing it, and it not recognizing us—due to the vast destruction of life in all its aspects. This fear is compounded by the daily struggle for survival. In this context, the significance of preserving the Palestinian identity, both individually and collectively, becomes more apparent.
With faith and hope in returning to Gaza, the objective should be to restore and revive all its components, not merely to rebuild residential structures. The reconstruction of the historical urban fabric, as it existed until October 6, 2023, is essential, along with the revival of social, commercial, agricultural, cultural, educational, and public health systems. These efforts must go hand in hand with the rebuilding of infrastructure—buildings, roads, and essential services.
Omar. Internal Burning
I believe in the rawness of emotions—burning desire, anger, sadness, passion, and hope. For me, it’s not just a singular feeling, but one that encompasses and connects with other emotions, taking them by the hand. You can process sadness or anger, but when combined with imagination, hope, and desire, it has the power to ignite the hearts of those around you with the same passion and intensity.
This feeling possesses a certain rawness that cuts through all the “complexities” imposed by the colonizing system. It strips away the layers, leaving behind the truth—the core of the issue, real and collective, clear and deeply felt. How can we experience this together? How can we ignite the hearts around us, beyond borders and ethnicities, all at once? How can we keep nurturing this feeling so that it becomes the driving force behind our collective existence—rooted in the land and country we inhabit, forming a link between individual and collective salvation?
In the heart of Gaza City lived a determined entrepreneur named Abu Ayman, driven by a vision of self-sufficiency. He sought to transform his community, and with a keen eye for opportunity, he founded a steel factory, sourcing scrap iron from across the region. Investing nearly a million dollars, Abu Ayman’s goal was to reduce reliance on imports and empower his fellow Palestinians.
The factory soon became a symbol of hope and resilience—a testament to what could be accomplished despite the many challenges. But as the conflict escalated, tragedy struck. Abu Ayman’s factory was one of the first to be targeted, a harsh reminder of the obstacles that stand in the way of Palestinian self-sufficiency and resource independence
to be continued….