A cease fire will not bring our lives back | Israeli-Palestinian conflict

A lot of noise – rockets and explosions, the sound of drones, shouts and sobs, screams of “martyr, martyr”. Glass shattering, doors slamming, buildings collapsing, fires blazing, thunder, lightning, wind, gasps of death, darkness and ash. They're all still in my head.

I left Gaza almost a year ago, but these images and sounds still haunt me. I left everything behind—my home, my friends, my extended family—but I couldn't shake off the echoes of the war.

Here in Cairo, I continue to relive the trauma of what I had seen, heard and felt in the first four months of the war in Gaza.

When I hear the sound of a plane in the sky, my heart skips a beat thinking it's a military plane. When I hear the sound of fireworks, I panic, imagining that they are bombs exploding.

I thought exile would bring safety and peace, but it turned out to be a continuation of war.

The death and destruction occurring in Gaza still dominates our lives. The anguish, pain and struggle for survival that we thought we had left behind still follows us.

We do not live in a rain-flooded tent and starve; the sound of the bombs is not real – it is only the echo of memories in our minds. But we still live in misery.

My father, who was the breadwinner for our family, could not find work for months. When he did, he was paid a pittance. We are facing mounting debts and cannot afford basic necessities.

Meanwhile, we remained completely immersed in the horror of Gaza. The bombings, the mass killings, the suffering in the torn tents—it's being relayed to us on messaging apps hour by hour.

All the Palestinian friends I have here seem to be in the same situation – living in pain and despair, besieged by war.

“I wish I had died with them instead of living,” my friend Duaa told me recently. Her family sent her to Cairo soon after the genocide began to finish her studies in peace. “I felt like I wasn't going to see them again when I said goodbye,” she said, sobbing.

A few days after arriving in Egypt, thinking that life had provided her with a better opportunity to study abroad, she tried to contact her family to check on them, but got no response. Anxiety consumed her until she received the devastating news of their martyrdom.

The pain was unbearable and she failed her studies. To this day, she struggles to pay the rent for her apartment and told me her landlord will soon evict her for not paying. She is an orphan, alone in exile, and may soon be homeless.

Another friend, Rawan, studied in Egypt for several years before the war started, dreaming of a bright future. On October 10, 2023 a huge explosion destroyed her house, killing her entire family. Only her mother, who miraculously survived despite severe injuries, and her married sister, who lived in another house, remained.

Rawan told me she misses her father's encouraging messages, the support of her brothers Mohammed and Mahmoud, and the innocent laughter of her sister Ruba. She never finished her education. She has become a shadow of herself.

Nada, another friend, is in Cairo with her sister. The girls had to leave their parents and brother in Gaza because their names were not on the list of people allowed to pass through the Rafah border crossing.

In Cairo, Nada felt lost, alienated and scared. She tried to apply again for her parents and brother to travel, but the occupation stormed Rafah and closed the crossing. At the time, she told me that she felt as if all the doors of life were closing in her face.

Nada and her sister live alone, without the support of relatives and struggle. Stress and sadness took their toll. Nada has lost a lot of weight and now says she looks like a skeleton.

She told me that the harassment and fear of kidnapping made them reluctant to leave the apartment where they were staying.

“We yearn for our past lives in every detail,” she says.

We do, but we also know that our past lives have been lost. Even if the war ends, nothing will ever go back to the way it was. Nothing will compensate us for this bitter loss.

A ceasefire that takes effect today is supposed to end the fighting, but it is unclear whether it will end the war. More than 120 people have been killed since Wednesday, when it was announced. And we know that more will die because conditions will not improve. Gaza is no longer livable.

Even if there is lasting peace, the Israeli government will set its own conditions for the continuation of the blockade and harassment of the population. The reconstruction – if it takes place – will last many years. That is why we, as a family, have made the decision to start building a new life in exile despite the challenges we face.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.