Winter in Gaza was about fleeting beauty – but now it's a time of fear and struggle

Ever since I was a child, I have loved winter.

- KHALED AL-QERSHALI

As soon as black clouds covered the sky and raindrops hit the ground, the family would gather at my grandparents' house. I would sit next to my grandfather while he started the fire and my grandmother put the teapot on to warm. For us, winter was a season of comfort. We had never felt cold.

By day, my cousins and I would run barefoot through the puddles which dotted the streets, playing ghommemeh - hide-and-seek - slipping behind walls and trees while the rain soaked us from head to toe. I remember my mother shouting at us to come back inside before we got sick. By night, my grandfather would tell us stories of his travels in the 1960s.

As I got older, I started spending more winter time with friends and talking about our future dreams and the goals we hoped to pursue after graduating. Sometimes Khaled, Mahmoud, and I would meet at Mohammed Hamo's home - he is dead now; may he rest in peace. We would lay a fire and make our favourite drink, tea, on the firewood and play cards, or watch films and TV series.

At home, if the sound of raindrops filled the air or I felt overwhelmed with my studies, I would step out onto my bedroom balcony to watch the rain and enjoy the cold wind. It used to be my habit to watch the sunset from that balcony. What made the view even more wondrous in winter were the migratory birds returning along the coast, painting brief, beautiful patterns across the sky.