When you can’t recognize home anymore

I felt as if I were heading toward the end of the world. The sea and sky were a dull grey, the road rough and ominous, and the buildings lay in ruins. Everywhere I looked, there was only rubble, accompanied by a heavy sense of despair. 

As the car reached Tal Al-Hawa, I took in the scene in shock. The streets were unrecognizable, and I felt as though I had wandered into a maze. What should have felt like the way home was now completely strange. Everything had changed. 

Perhaps my tears had merged with the rain, but I couldn’t feel my face from the biting cold. I couldn’t even tell if the first tear had truly fallen.

I had arrived a few short weeks before the tenuous ceasefire in Gaza was broken by Israel and the genocidal war resumed. I could hardly believe I was standing in Gaza City, especially after everything I had heard from the media and politicians claiming that returning there was impossible. 

I spent 18 years living in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City before the war. I feel a strong connection to my home and love it deeply.

Although I longed to return to Tal al-Hawa, I was also filled with fear.

I kept walking toward the house and noticed I was speaking aloud to myself. “Here was a book store. Here was a cafe. Here was a gym. And here was a restaurant.” Everything that had once been part of the past and present now contained nothing but remnants or traces of what used to exist.

As I arrived at al-Quds Hospital, I struggled to comprehend the enormity of the massacres and lives lost here. I saw the Palestinian Red Crescent headquarters and the burned-out ambulances. 

I crossed the street and walked toward al-Abraj Street, remembering October 13, 2023, when I was displaced from my home. It felt as though I had come face to face with my past self that day. Now, returning, everything is different  — terrifying and unrecognizable.

I could barely recognize Tal al-Hawa, and I could hardly identify the street I once lived on. Everything is either destroyed or burned.

But nothing compares to Tal al-Hawa — not even in its destruction. 

Here, I stood before the four towers I had known since childhood, but now, a year and a half later, they looked different. 

It doesn’t feel like it’s been a year and a half. It feels as though I’ve been away for only two hours, returning to find this devastation.

I remembered myself as a child, coming home from school, always gazing at the towers until I reached them. I recalled the sense of psychological comfort I felt when the car finally parked by the tower where I lived, returning from university. 

I was just three years old when I first started to learn about Al-Abraj Street, the road where I lived in Tal al-Hawa.

I finally reached them, and I began to climb the rubble toward what remained of the house, making my way to the first floor. The ascent was perilous — the building was unstable, and remnants of rockets still remained inside.

I walked through the remains of the apartment, feeling a strong urge to stay, yet knowing it was impossible. 

I felt as though memories with my family lingered in every corner of the house, vivid and alive. They seemed to reverberate beneath the layers of dust, worn and faded by time. 

I tried to salvage remnants from beneath the rubble, but what I found were not beautiful memories, only painful ones. Most of my books were burned, and with them, the memories of this house were consumed by the flames as well.

I also tried to capture everything through photography, envisioning the house once it’s rebuilt. But will that ever become a reality? 

I took one last look at everything before stepping out of the destroyed building. Walking through the streets of Tal al-Hawa, the rain continued to pour, and the cold was biting. Despite the presence of a few residents, the area felt lifeless.

I hope that one day, life will return to the most beautiful neighborhood in Gaza City. And that moment now seems farther than ever, as Israel has continued to rip through more neighborhoods, incinerating more dreams and precious memories.

As time passes, whenever I remember that walk and that day, it feels like a distant dream — almost unreal, as if everything that happened was just unfolding in my imagination.