A Repetition I Had Not Yearned For

After we thought it was the end, time showed us it was only the beginning of another! Even if we haven’t forgotten what happened, we’ll return to live through the same stories again—as if time itself had come back to threaten us, refusing to let us escape from that fatal cycle!

What does displacement mean?

I think the most accurate answer can only be given by the Gazan people, who have been displaced as much as they breathe. Displacement is like a nightmare that haunts the city; it comes as a ghost, confronting everyone in the city, whether they want it or not.

During the first displacement—or rather, the first large-scale displacement of the Gazan people from northern Gaza Strip to the south. My family was separated: half of us were in the south, and the other half was in the north. Each side pretended that we were okay, though we all knew we weren't telling the truth. After they returned to the north and we were reunited again, we asked one another if we had to be displaced again like that time, would each of us return to the same place we had fled to? As if we had known we would be displaced again!

At a time when no one was ready, evacuation leaflets descended again over our heads and our homes, telling us to leave to where they claim that it’s safe. So, is it time for the bag now? It’s one of the heaviest moments—when I sit in front of a makeshift bag, hoping to fit my entire home into it.

The same questions returned to wander through my mind: which things were the most important to put in the bag? The ones I truly needed, or the ones filled with lovely memories? Would the bag bear all of them, or would my back be able to?

I had prepared my bag many times; each time I put more into it—as if it had become my entire world!

This time, I turned away from the path that I had decided to walk. I chose not to stay in Gaza and instead displaced to Deir Al-Balah city with my family. After many failed attempts, we finally managed to leave on September 24. We left in the early morning, by our car. The road was good—there weren’t many Gazan families displacing at that time, because most had already fled before. The eyes of the drones in the sky observed us, and the bomb-laden robots are waiting to set up a deadly ambush for some random family.

This is a new time for us to understand the shape of life here, among a crowd of strangers who share the same fears and the same circumstances. Perhaps changes will happen here that will allow us to return to our normal life, but if everything remains the same, I will build my own world with my own hands—this time I won’t wait for anything.