Opinion: Read more: How the Israeli occupation further isolates autistic children

he first time I truly saw the world through my sister's eyes was in Ramallah. 

Growing up with a neurodivergent sibling, I deeply sympathised with her struggles, but there was always a barrier: I couldn't live in her world because I didn't have access to it. I simply tried to help her in any way I could. 

This changed when my family and I made the decision to move to the occupied West Bank from the US in 2021. We desperately needed a change of pace, and the quality of my sister's care was plateauing. 

By moving to Palestine, I would also be able to grow closer to my Palestinian identity, rather than being detached both physically and emotionally, as I had been for most of my life. 

The move itself came with many challenges. While I was adjusting to the new environment, I came to realise that the isolation my sister experiences on a daily basis was something I was experiencing as well. 

She lives in her own neurological world, and throughout my first year in Palestine, I felt like I had been dropped onto a foreign planet. 

I don't want to equate our circumstances, but the effects of the occupation - whether it was navigating Israeli checkpoints, days off of school to honour the staggering number of Palestinian martyrs, or losing out on educational opportunities because of flawed systems - made this sense of isolation ever-more apparent. 

Read more: How the Israeli occupation further isolates autistic children by Falasteen Mansour