Two years have passed, and we have lived every day in Gaza under fear and
destruction. Rafah is no longer as it once was; it has almost disappeared, leaving
behind a barren land. The northern Gaza Strip has not been spared either. Homes have
collapsed, streets are filled with rubble and dust, and we live between what remains of
our houses or in temporary tents we set up over the ruins to find some shelter. Every
corner of the city tells a story of loss, and every loud sound reminds us of the
explosions and the long nights we cannot forget.

Children struggle to feel safe, and fear has become part of our daily lives. Sometimes
a child smiles, but the smile is fleeting—a reflection of a spirit that has not fully
broken despite everything we have endured. The elders carry in their minds every
terrifying moment, every explosion, and we all try to hold on to a glimmer of hope.

Yet, despite everything, we try to live. Some return to work despite the dangers
threatening their lives, while others raise tents atop the rubble of their homes to
protect their families. Life here is not easy, but it continues. Resilience is not just a
word; it is a daily action we live. We try to maintain our routines, educate our
children, laugh sometimes, and find ways to smile, even amid the destruction around
us.

Each day brings new pain, new loss, and painful memories. Yet it also brings hidden
strength: the ability to adapt, to confront, and to keep going. We have learned how to
bear the pain and give life meaning even among the ruins.