Saying Goodbye to Gaza
Gaza grew smaller behind the window as the bus pulled away—a blur of dust, tents, and broken walls.
By Yahya Al Masri
Yahya Al Masri is a Palestinian writer, linguist, and PhD candidate in applied linguistics at Mary Immaculate College in Ireland.
It was a scorching day in Gaza when my phone buzzed with a message that would change my life forever. I was sitting in a tent with my mother and my brother Rafiq when I read it: the Irish embassy’s consular line for Gaza confirmed my evacuation. My heart pounded, my breath uneven. My mother asked softly, “Is everything okay?”
It took me a moment to respond. Then I shouted, “I’ve been approved to leave—to go to Ireland!”
Relief and happiness rushed through us; it almost felt like we could fly. Fear came too. We might finally survive the genocide, but the way ahead was uncertain. We knew too well what Israeli checkpoints and detentions could mean. But I refused to let fear hold me back. I began preparing for a journey that would test every part of me.
