Gaza

Gaza is not just a strip of land pressed against the sea — It is the wound and the wonder. The scar and the soul. It is poetry written in rubble, and dignity rising from dust. Through my lens, Gaza refuses to be reduced to tragedy. I capture it not as a victim, but as a witness — full of strength, defiance, and the tender rhythms of daily life that persist despite the siege, the silence, the smoke. I have walked its shores at sunrise, where fishermen pull their nets with tired arms and unbroken spirits. I have watched children fly kites from rooftops shattered by war, turning broken beams into runways for dreams. In every corner of Gaza, there is sorrow — but also song. A mother baking bread. A boy playing football in an alley. A man repairing what was bombed the night before. My beloved Gaza — You are not to be pitied. You are to be saluted. What I photograph here is not despair — it is resilience. What I preserve is not destruction — it is life, stubborn and sacred. To some, you are a headline. To me, you are family. To the world, you are a question. To history, you are the answer. And to my camera, you are truth — raw, burning, beautiful.