For years, my world was Gaza. It was a place defined by checkpoints, blockades, and the constant hum of drones overhead. Air raids were a part of the backdrop of life, and the struggle for basic necessities was an everyday reality. But growing up amidst this, I didn’t see it as unique or abnormal. It was simply my life, the only reality I knew. I believed everyone, everywhere, lived with a similar backdrop of potential violence and hardship. The idea of a life free from a constant threat of death, or from the suffocating grip of a siege, was utterly foreign to me.
It was only after I finally left Gaza, stepping beyond its heavily guarded borders and into the wider world, that the stark truth began to emerge. The contrast was jarring. Suddenly, I was confronted with a different kind of ‘normal’ – one where movement was free, resources were abundant, and the omnipresent threat of conflict wasn’t a daily companion. This new perspective slowly, painfully, began to peel back the layers of my childhood understanding.
The realization hit me with profound force: I had grown up in what could only be described as a concentration camp. The systematic control, the enforced isolation, the deprivation of basic human rights, and the constant threat under which we lived – it all perfectly aligned with the terrifying definition of such a place. This wasn’t just a metaphor; it was the horrifying truth of my formative years.
This understanding wasn’t just an intellectual awakening; it was an emotional earthquake. It explained so much about my anxieties, my resilience, and the unique lens through which I now view the world. Leaving Gaza didn’t just grant me physical freedom; it granted me the clarity to comprehend the profound, shaping impact that living in such conditions had on every fiber of my being. It’s a realization that continues to define my perspective and my journey, long after I’ve physically departed the walls of that open-air prison.
Source: Original Article
