Gaza Between Yesterday and Today... An Untold Pain by Noor Nashwan
From the City of Dreams to a Fragile Shelter in the Storm
Gaza, Once the Beating Heart of Life
Gaza, once the center of the world’s attention—not just for being a besieged city, but for being vibrantly alive in spite of everything. The Gaza that many came to know in recent years was not just a city enduring crisis; it was a city bursting with life and beauty, against all odds.
It pulsed with energy through its relentless daily activities—from modern shopping malls that became hubs for commerce and leisure, to the cafés that sprang up on every corner, carrying the spirit of youth and creativity. Gaza thrived on constant motion. Startups were being launched, and universities continued to graduate generations eager to innovate. The city blended beauty with modernity, growing and flourishing despite the circumstances. Life was created in every step, and each day brought with it a new touch of development and hope.
Today, Gaza Is a Repetition of Displacement and Grief
Those who once lived within the safety of their homes now carry tents on their backs. Those once surrounded by books and dreams of the future now count their breaths, fearing a missile or a shell that doesn’t distinguish between lives.
Reality here does not resemble life. It is a forced coexistence with fear, with loss, with wounds that never heal. I used to hear the word "displacement" in the news—I now understand its true meaning: to be uprooted not by choice, but because death came too close.
Gaza, the city that used to build, is now being destroyed. The one that used to educate now buries its universities beneath the rubble. The city that once sowed hope now searches for a piece of bread. The dreams of its youth have been reduced to just wanting safety and survival. No one here dreams of a prestigious job or an advanced degree. All we want is a safe home that won’t be bombed, a bed to sleep on without being awakened by the screams of death.
Gaza, worn out by its own resilience, is no longer just a place of conflict—it has become a mirror of a humanity decaying before the eyes of the world, in a chilling silence.
For Over a Year, We've Been Suffering
We starve, we are humiliated, and we die slowly beneath torn covers in both summer and winter. We live in tents that shield us neither from the cold nor the heat, on lands that feel
foreign—lands that neither know us nor do we know them. We no longer know where to flee, or if there’s even a way out. Our hearts are tired, burdened with pain, and the sight of the streets only deepens our wounds: entire families lying on the ground, eyes staring into the void as if searching for a glimpse of lost hope.
Do you know what it means to be lost, numb, frozen from within—unable to cry or to
smile—just watching the day go by as though it doesn't concern you? There’s nothing but fear... a sudden chest pain, a headache that no medicine can soothe.
All we have is waiting, with hearts hanging in the sky, hoping for a miracle to stop this hell.
Is There Any Kind of Pain We Haven’t Lived Through in Gaza?
We’ve been killed in our homes and under the rubble. We’ve been displaced into the cold of winter and the heat of summer. We've gone hungry, we've thirsted, we've lost our families and friends. Our dreams have crumbled. Our identities erased.
Every catastrophic scenario imaginable—we’ve lived it.
Everything we once thought impossible—has happened.
Is there a worse scenario than this? We don’t know. But we fear it, because every time we say, "This is the worst it can get" the war surprises us: It hasn’t even begun.
We're not superheroes. We’re human beings with hearts that tire and break. Yet despite
everything, we still open our eyes each day hoping we don’t lose more.
We Are the Displacement… Gaza in the Mirror of Palestinian Memory
When the story turns from a tragic TV drama into a living, breathing nightmare...
We used to watch The Palestinian Exodus on TV, thinking it was a tale of a bygone era—about displacement, diaspora, and tragedies we believed time had overcome. We cried watching the scenes of expulsion, mourned the demolished homes, felt a lump in our throats when families were torn apart and lost in exile.
But we didn’t know that the series hadn’t ended—it was just the first chapter in a long saga of suffering.
Today, we live the Exodus again—not as viewers, but as real-life characters on a blood-soaked stage. History is repeating itself—but this time, it’s harsher, clearer, more brutal. With every bombing, every farewell to a martyr, every new wave of displacement—we feel like we’re trapped in another scene of the Exodus.
But this time, there is no screen separating us from the pain.
"This is Palestine, mama... You won’t find another land like ours, mama."
But this time, there is no screen separating us from the pain.
"This is Palestine, mama... You won’t find another land like ours, mama."
These words echo in my mind every day, a haunting reminder that Palestine is unlike anything else.
"The cause is bigger than pitching or dismantling a tent."
That line also sticks with me, stirring questions about the depth of the Palestinian cause—how the suffering isn’t just about temporary displacement, but about identity, land, and dignity.
The memory goes on... and so does the tragedy. We’re not exaggerating when we say that Gaza is living through its own Exodus—the faces are the same, the fate unchanged, and the pain keeps repeating as though no one hears.
When the Light Fades and Souls Are Trapped in the Shadows of Grief
I love life as it is. I smile despite the exhaustion. I persist, believing that what’s delayed is better for me. I used to fill any space I was in with hope, help those around me, give from my heart, and share what I knew—because I never liked to hold anything back.
But the war...
The war didn’t just steal the details of life—it stole me from myself.
It froze my emotions, dulled my spirit, dried up the well of passion inside me.
It left me with nothing but fear, pain, and anxiety.
The memory goes on... and so does the tragedy. We’re not exaggerating when we say that Gaza is living through its own Exodus—the faces are the same, the fate unchanged, and the pain keeps repeating as though no one hears.
When the Light Fades and Souls Are Trapped in the Shadows of Grief
I love life as it is. I smile despite the exhaustion. I persist, believing that what’s delayed is better for me. I used to fill any space I was in with hope, help those around me, give from my heart, and share what I knew—because I never liked to hold anything back.
But the war...
The war didn’t just steal the details of life—it stole me from myself.
It froze my emotions, dulled my spirit, dried up the well of passion inside me.
It left me with nothing but fear, pain, and anxiety.
Invisible Fractures
This war didn’t just destroy our homes—it stole from us something more precious:
Our little dreams, our innocent passion, our trust in life.
Nothing remains in our hearts that can bear more.
And all that’s left in our souls is a chronic fear.
Losing a house is painful.
But losing yourself.. that’s a tragedy beyond words.
Everything I once loved feels like a burden now.
Every ambition I built in my heart has become a haunting memory I can no longer reach.
Maybe passion will return... when we return.
Despite it all, I’m still breathing.
There’s still a small ray of light inside me that I cling to.
Maybe I don’t have the luxury of dreams right now, but I have the desire to survive.
And I believe, even in my brokenness, that light never dies—it just hides in the corners of the heart, waiting for a moment of safety to shine again.
A Final Word from the Rubble
We are not just victims.
We are not mere statistics.
We are bleeding souls, fighting to survive, trying to love life in defiance of war.
I am Noor.
I am still here, among all this rubble, writing to resist being forgotten—
To tell the world that I still dream…
Just in a different way.
Bust-Down Correspondant & Citizen of Palestine: Noor Nashwan
Noor was the youngest Lecturer in the Department of Public Relations and Media at Gaza University before it was destroyed. She was an audio commentator, reporter, and content writer.