After nearly three years of surviving the Israeli genocidal war on Gaza, I realise that leaving the enclave is not enough to ease the pain of losing a normal life.
Nearly three weeks ago, I evacuated Gaza for the first time in my 29 years. I was able to travel on a master's scholarship to Italy, with the vital support of the municipality of San Giovanni a Piro, a town in the south that feels like a heavenly canopy of lush green spaces, mountain scenery and stunning views over the Mediterranean.
I can hardly convince myself that everything around me is real and not fiction - the charming views, the warm people and the sheer fact that I am still alive. The heavy memories of what I experienced in Gaza during the ongoing war make acceptance nearly impossible.
My friends, both in Gaza and abroad, keep asking the same question: "What do you feel?" For more than four days, I could not answer. My mind was on the verge of exploding, unable to process the transition or comprehend how I had even survived.
Eventually, I began to unpack a mix of intense gratitude for the kind Italian people who helped me evacuate to study, and a profound, burning anger for all the normal things my people are deprived of due to the Israeli occupation.
