Sunday, September 14, 2025

GAZA CITY — I woke up at 7 a.m. to the sound of trucks honking outside our apartment. When I looked out from the window of our balcony, I saw trucks and buses carrying our neighbors and what was left of their belongings, relocating to the south of the Gaza Strip.

Inside the trucks, there were tattered cloth bags, broken solar panels, and furniture. One truck from northern Gaza to the south costs at least $2,000, to carry towers of belongings, the burden of homes, burdened people.

On our street, shop owners emptied out what was left of their goods, afraid of losing them after their stores were destroyed. When I saw this scene, my chest tightened and my heart got heavy.

I stood on the balcony as I had most days for the past seven months, ever since my family moved here after returning from the south, from our first displacement, and found our house all in ashes. I stood staring at the beauty of buildings and rubble, meditating on the sun’s reflection on them. I was trying to breathe as much air as I could from this magical city.

Many thoughts started to revolve in my head: What if the Israel Occupation Forces decided to bomb a tower or a building in my street? Will they tell us to evacuate before the bombing? Will they bomb the building I live in? Where are we going to go? And what things can we take in only one bag?

After that, my family and I drank tea, and I listened to my lecture for class on the novel “Animal Farm.” Then suddenly, I decided to grab two bags and pack some of my belongings. At this particular moment, my mind reeled while looking at the two bags. I wondered, “How can these two bags carry all my belongings? What clothes shall I take? Winter or summer? Or both? How can I hold my burdened memory in them?” I barely decided to take two winter outfits and two summer outfits. I also put my books, notebooks, an album of photos, some accessories, my favorite perfume, my headphones, and my charger.

My family and my grandmother, who was displaced in our house, also packed their personal documents and some clothes. We haven’t packed them to go to the south — we did not want to leave again — but we did so in case the IOF decided to bomb our building or any other building or tower in our street, or if they decided to invade our neighborhood, Al-Rimal. In this case, we would have at least some of our belongings with us inside the city.

That morning, I had a strange feeling that something was going to happen, but I didn’t give this sense any attention. I continued studying and submitting my assignments.

At 6:40 p.m., we heard the screams of women and children in the street and the sound of shop doors closing. We opened the window and looked out. There were women, men, and children running quickly and carrying bags, not knowing to which destination they would head. From the buildings around, I saw people throwing mattresses and bags out the window. At that moment, we understood a building was about to be bombed. My brother, Ali, called out to a man in the street and asked him what was happening. He told him that the IOF had called........

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