War on Gaza: Our memories of home will never die

As a writer, my words often spill onto the page like a flood of emotions, capturing the nuances of life, love and loss. But in this moment of reflection, I find myself grappling with a profound sense of displacement - now an inseparable part of my identity, as it is for all Palestinians who have been pushed from their homes in northern Gaza and expelled to the south.

My roots are in northern Gaza. I grew up in al-Rimal neighbourhood in the heart of Gaza City, where the vibrancy and beauty of life once enveloped me. 

Laughter used to echo through the crowded streets as students headed to their schools and universities, and calls to prayer filled the skies of Gaza. Warm greetings exchanged with neighbours formed the fabric of my daily life. 

I deeply miss my neighbourhood, where the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries wafted from local bakeries, and the delicious aromas of falafel, hummus and kunafa filled the air from nearby shops. Along with the fragrant notes of coffee, nuts and spices, and the tangy aromas of pickles, olives and red peppers, this created a delightful atmosphere. 

I remember the stunning dresses displayed in shop windows. At night, the streets were mesmerising and magical, illuminated by bright lights. 

Read more: War on Gaza: Our memories of home will never die Opinion by Huda Skaik