Two Empty Chairs…

A Memory of the Childhood We Lost

There are moments when silence speaks louder than words.

I still remember my two friends from school, Yaqeen and Qamar. They were not just classmates; they were a beautiful part of my childhood. We spent our days together — playing in the schoolyard, laughing over the smallest things, and sharing secrets that we believed would stay with us forever.

We used to sit together, holding onto simple dreams written in our notebooks. We dreamed of growing up, finishing school, and walking together toward a future we believed was waiting for us.

But war changed everything.

A few days ago, I returned to an UNRWA summer camp, a place where we try to reclaim a small piece of the childhood that was taken from us — a place for learning, for moments of joy, and for remembering that we are still children despite everything we have endured.

I walked in carrying a heart full of memories. My eyes searched among the seats, hoping to find Yaqeen and Qamar sitting there as they always did. I waited to hear their laughter, their voices calling my name, their smiles that once filled the classroom with life.

But they were not there.

Only two empty chairs remained.

Two silent witnesses carrying a pain that words cannot fully describe. They were not just empty seats; they were a reminder of dreams interrupted, friendships broken, and a childhood that was taken away before it had the chance to grow.

Outside the camp, a lonely tent stood among the destruction. Looking at it, I felt the weight of history. It reminded me of the stories of the Palestinian Nakba — stories of families who lost their homes, carried their memories, and searched for safety. We never imagined that another generation would have to experience the same pain.

War does not only destroy homes and schools. It destroys the small details that make life meaningful: the sound of friends laughing, the warmth of a classroom, the pages of notebooks filled with dreams, and the people who were supposed to walk beside us into the future.

I carry the memory of Yaqeen and Qamar in my heart. I carry their voices, their smiles, and the dreams they never had the chance to fulfill.

Behind every empty chair is a human story. Behind every tent is a heart searching for home. Behind every child who lost their childhood is a story that deserves to be heard. 🕊️💔