These days, I find myself deeply nostalgic for my hometown, Gaza. Every memory reminds me of how fortunate we were to grow up in this city and to carry the identity of being Palestinian. It feels like a profound privilege to have a meaningful cause to stand for in life, even though it often comes with pain and heartbreak, sometimes in fleeting moments and sometimes in overwhelming waves.

In recent years, I have often dreamed of the moment I could return to my city and visit every place tied to my memories. For me, these places are not just landmarks but living, breathing symbols of beauty and inspiration. I miss the neighborhoods where I used to walk and the cafés where I would spend quiet moments alone.

Today, I no longer have the right to plan my first trip back to my beloved city, Gaza. That right has been stripped from us. We are, quite literally, homeless, as our country and city have been taken and destroyed. They have erased almost every trace of life that once existed there.

Now, I feel more depressed and nostalgic than ever, longing not just for my city but for my dreams as well. It’s not just about my desire to visit Gaza; it’s about wanting our people, families, and loved ones to return to their homes and live their lives—not trembling in fear or sheltering in tents. Those of us with hearts and minds know that the genocide must end. Palestinians deserve to reclaim their land, their homes, and their lives.