After two years of war, I keep telling
myself, “This is not Gaza.” The details are all wrong.
Nothing is the same.
Opinion Guest Essay The Gaza
I Knew Is Gone
People usually feel nostalgic for their homeland when they are far away. I feel a deep nostalgia for Gaza, even while I am still here. It’s not the kind of longing that comes from distance. It’s because I’m surrounded by what should feel familiar but everything feels uncanny, changed, almost unrecognizable and distorted.
I keep telling myself, “This is not Gaza.” The details are all wrong; nothing is the same. My nostalgia is not for a distant memory but for the very ground beneath my feet, for a Gaza that seems to have slipped away from me even as I live within its borders.
One morning last month I tiptoed out of my home in Deir al-Balah to get some fresh air. Our two-bedroom apartment is crowded — three families have been living here for the past year. Sixteen more family members arrived fleeing from shelling in recent weeks. I was careful not to wake my relatives, some of whom had arrived at night and spread out into every corner of the house.
Outside, the street was buried under tents: tents on the sidewalk, tents in the alley, swallowing up the medians and sometimes even the road itself
Continue Reading on New York Times
This preview shows approximately 15% of the article. Read the full story on the publisher's website to support quality journalism.