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October has long been a month of celebration for my family, as my sister, brother and beautiful twins were born in October.

Two years ago, on 13 October 2022, we celebrated my twins’ third birthdays. My family held joint birthday parties to share gifts and celebrate together. I remember the colorful balloons, the candles on the cake and the smiles of my family members as they gathered around the table. I loved watching my children open their presents and blow out the candles.

A year later, on 13 October 2023, we were forced to evacuate from our home in Gaza City. Instead of celebrating this day with my twins Taim and Tia, we left our house in a panic, afraid we might be killed by Israeli attacks as we drove down al-Rasheed Street.

We left everything behind and headed to southern Gaza upon orders of the Israeli military.

After one week, my family – including my mother, father, two brothers, sisters and my uncle’s extended family – was all living in Deir al-Balah.

Calm nights were rare, and we felt unsafe all the time because of Israel’s nonstop bombing of Gaza. I tried to rock my kids to sleep or tell them stories, just like we would do at home. But any routine was interrupted by buzzing drones or bombings.

My kids spent half a year living in the unbearable conditions created by the Israeli genocide, without access to nutritious food or clean drinking water.

The situation was so unbearable that we had to consider other options.

Leaving for Egypt

In mid-April, I finally made a decision to leave Gaza.

I crossed the Rafah border with my twins, heading into Egypt without my husband. Due to an error with his name on the official travel list, he had to stay behind, in limbo for days until he could join us.

Crossing into Egypt was grueling. My kids clung to me, crying and screaming in the crowded waiting hall, confused and frightened by the unfamiliar surroundings. I tried to comfort them with candies and small treats, but nothing could make up for the absence of their father.

The lines were seemingly endless. We waited for six hours, exhausted. My back ached from carrying my twins, and the sounds of bombings echoed nearby.

I felt out of place, surrounded by officials who looked on with little empathy. At one point, my father and I hugged tightly, my heart breaking for the family we had left behind in Gaza, wondering if we’d ever be reunited.

This journey to Egypt was meant to give my children a chance at a better future, a life free from the hell of the Israeli genocide. I reminded myself of this but I was still unsure if this was the right choice.

Normalcy out of reach

This year, we celebrated Taim and Tia’s birthdays, though with heavy hearts. We were far from our home in Gaza, and far from the people we love. Yet I couldn’t have been happier when I saw the smiles of my kids as they blew out their five candles.

During the celebration, we made a video call to family in Gaza. Their faces lit up as they watched the twins blow out their candles, but beneath their smiles, I could see the strain, the weariness etched in their eyes.

I knew they were holding back tears, pretending to share our joy, though I felt their longing to be with us.

My nephews in Gaza crowded around the screen, watching the party they couldn’t join, and my parents tried to entertain the kids by playing online games together. My family even sent virtual gifts through shared games, hoping to make up for the absence of real presents.

At one point, my 5-year-old nephew asked, “When will we have cake, too?”

His words stayed with me. I had no answer. I burst into tears the moment the call was over.

These days, my twins often ask about Gaza and compare it to the life they once had. I stand weary in front of their simple questions:

“Why can’t we go back to Gaza?”

“Why did our grandpa and uncles stop visiting us?”

I cannot find suitable answers.

Surviving as a family in Egypt

My husband and I are constantly trying to find work in Egypt to provide for our family. The rising cost of rent only adds to our burden, making each month a struggle to keep a roof over our heads.

I work as a freelance writer, piecing together projects whenever I can. My father, from Gaza, has helped us financially, and while I am grateful for his help, I can’t shake the sense of shame that I am unable to fully provide for my own family as I once did.

It’s as though I’ve been stripped of everything that made me feel secure and capable.

Every day, I wonder if leaving Gaza was the right choice. Even the simplest tasks here can feel foreign, and I walk through each day feeling like a fish out of water, uncertain if I’ll ever feel a true sense of belonging again.

I miss Gaza and our previous life there: our Friday rituals – the falafel breakfast, family gatherings, the beach and the crowded streets. I miss mornings spent on our balcony, sipping mint tea as the sun rose over the neighborhood. Now, that balcony is gone, destroyed along with so much more.

My kids are still too young to understand Israeli apartheid and occupation, but they understand where home is, back in Gaza.