The Little Girl Who Waits for Her Legs 🥀🕊️
She was only five years old.
At that age, children do not think about death. They do not understand what disability means. All she knew was that kindergarten was a place for laughter, that her friends were waiting for her, and that one of the happiest things in the world was running into her father’s arms. 🧸
That day, she came home from a celebration at kindergarten smiling.
Continue reading →Back to School
In ten days, a new school year will begin.
I will move from middle school to high school. I will return to my school—but the word return no longer means what it once did.
I will return to a school without walls. 🏫💔
Continue reading →The Yellow Barrier
A Homeland We Can See, But Cannot Reach 🇵🇸💔
We have a homeland we belong to, yet sometimes it feels farther away than anywhere on Earth.
It is not an imagined homeland, nor merely a story inherited from our grandparents. It is the soil where our dead are buried, the land that carried our parents’ footsteps, the homes where our voices and memories once lived.
Continue reading →The Only Survivor 🕊️
There are around 500 children in our camp.
When I say that number, everything sounds simple: 500 children, 500 lives, 500 stories that have not yet been fully written.
But war does not see children that way. War turns human beings into numbers—and then tries to convince the world that numbers are enough.
Continue reading →Thyme, Heavier Than Hunger 🌿💔
In Palestine, thyme needs no introduction. It is the scent of old homes, the memory of quiet mornings, and a small piece of our land that we carry with us wherever we go. 🇵🇸
We used to eat thyme because we loved it. Today, we eat it because we have little else.
That is the cruel irony: something that once awakened our appetite has become heavy on our stomachs. We eat it today, then again tomorrow, and the day after—not because we want to, but because the only alternative is hunger. 🥖
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