Five years ago today, I took these photos of one of our lemon trees in Beit Lahia, in northern Gaza.
Two and a half years have passed since our home was bombed by Israel and reduced to rubble. For just as long, no one has watered the trees or tended the garden. The lemon tree, along with the oranges, olives, mangoes, peaches, eggplants, and so much else we grew, did not survive the terrorist Israeli attack.
And yet, the sun has never stopped shining. Every day, it rises as if still searching for those trees, for the life that once filled that garden.
That is what I choose to remember when I think of home: not the ruins resting over my books and clothes, but the light, the growth, and the garden that once lived there.