Dreaming of seeing Gaza from above, I am instead confined to viewing my homeland through drone footage, capturing a landscape of rubble and lost memories. Despite having traveled to numerous countries, nothing compares to the golden shores of Gaza, always in my thoughts.
Growing up in the Al-Nuseirat refugee camp, my first journey outside Palestine was at age 12 in 2002, to Jordan with my aunt and sister, Zainab. This was just after Israel bombed Gaza’s only airport in 2001. With no airport, Palestinian Airlines operated from El Arish International Airport in Egypt until 2005, allowing Gazans a rare escape.
The thrill of my first flight was overwhelming, and I insisted on the window seat. Gazing out, I saw the Mediterranean and Gaza’s blurred horizon, followed by the vast Sinai Desert—a stark contrast to my confined existence.
Arriving in Amman, I discovered a world without checkpoints, unlike the arduous journey out of Gaza. The trip was partly for Zainab’s medical treatment, but also to reconnect with family in Jordan and the West Bank, a rare opportunity for us.
During our two-month stay, I was amazed by Jordan’s developed infrastructure, learning to ride a scooter and bike on paved roads, an experience so different from Gaza’s concrete jungle. This realization deepened years later when I left Gaza again to study in Malaysia.
In Kuala Lumpur, the tropical scenery was a stark contrast to Gaza. The lush greenery and mountains were a breath of fresh air, compared to Gaza’s increasing urbanization and loss of green spaces. The Gaza Strip’s population has grown from 80,000 in 1948 to 2.3 million in 2023, leading to a significant decrease in green areas.
In Malaysia, I found a new sense of home with fellow Palestinians like Refaat Alareer, a writer and mentor, and Mohammed Hassouna, an IT expert. Together, we recreated a sense of Palestine, sharing meals and stories, and traveling freely within Malaysia. This freedom gave us a glimpse of what it might be like for Palestinians to travel without restrictions.
Though we eventually went our separate ways, our memories stayed alive through a Facebook group. Tragically, Mohammed and Raed Qaddoura were killed in recent Israeli airstrikes, and Refaat, Gaza’s storyteller, was also killed. His poem “If I Must Die” is a testament to his legacy.
Now settled in Istanbul, I feel a mix of guilt and longing. Traveling reminds me of those in Gaza who never had the chance, like students who lost scholarships waiting for open crossings or patients denied travel permits, including my sister Zainab. She couldn’t get out for further treatment when the Rafah Crossing closed in 2007.
Yet, travel also connects our diaspora, allowing Palestinians to meet beyond Gaza’s confines. The friendships and connections we make abroad are lifelines, keeping Gaza’s spirit alive. Despite my losses, I managed to get my mother and younger brother, Omar, out of Gaza. Recently, Omar experienced his first flight, seeing the world from above amid our shared anguish and hope.