Our home in Gaza was spacious and beautiful, with three bedrooms, two living rooms and a kitchen that always smelled like my mom’s cooking. More than a house, it was a collection of memories, where every corner told a story.
My room was painted in soft pink, filled with warmth and comfort. It wasn’t just my sanctuary alone – it was shared with my sisters, Reem and Iman.
Our room had three beds, each one marking the space we grew up in, a place where we laughed, fought, studied and dreamed. The pink walls and the moonlight that streamed through the window were my constant companions. From my bed, I could always see the moon – my favorite sight of the day.
The living room was our main place to gather, the heart of our family.
On Fridays, when everyone was free, it was where we ate lunch together, shared stories and enjoyed each other’s company. It was also where we hosted guests, who filled it with love and laughter.
But if there was one place my mom truly cherished beyond her own room, it was the second living room – the one she reserved for herself. It was her retreat, where she would start her day with a cup of coffee and a piece of chocolate. …..more
