E-Paper
Sign In
After Gaza, 'no place feels like home', says Palestinian journalist Plestia Alaqad
Speaking at the Emirates Airline Festival of Literature, she reflected on how displacement, exile, and public visibility have shaped both her life and her work
- PUBLISHED: Sun 25 Jan 2026, 5:17 PM
After fleeing Gaza with her family in November 2023, Palestinian journalist, poet and author Plestia Alaqad says the meaning of “home” has fractured into a series of temporary places.
She now moves between Australia, where her family is based, and Lebanon, where she is completing a master’s degree in modern media. In neither country does she hold residency, leaving her constantly having to prove her right to stay.
Recommended For You
“You’re always renewing visas, proving yourself, explaining where you belong,” she said. “And no place ever fully feels like home again.”
Stay up to date with the latest news. Follow KT on WhatsApp Channels
Speaking at the Emirates Airline Festival of Literature on Saturday (January 25), Alaqad reflected on how displacement, exile, and public visibility have shaped both her life and her work.
With millions following her online, she said even a single day of silence on social media triggers panic among her audience, with people fearing she may have been killed.
Born and raised in Gaza, Alaqad recalled being forced to flee in November 2023 with just five minutes to pack, abandoning a home that would never exist again in the way she remembered it.
“You don’t have time to decide what matters,” she said. “With every move, the bag gets lighter. Until you realise you’re homeless.” She recalled leaving behind first her laptop, then a heavy jacket, until all that remained was “your truth and your words”.
She described her more than four million followers as both a responsibility and a weight. “The more visible you become, the more targeted you are,” she said.
Distance and borders, she explained, did not immediately erase fear. At times, it followed her into private spaces, even onto the pages of her book, The Eyes of Gaza, which blends diary entries, reflections, and poetry.
“There was a period where I started censoring my own diary,” she said. “I felt watched all the time. Even my handwriting started to feel risky.” The diary, written between October 2023 and January 2025, documents her life under bombardment, displacement and exile, and the process of turning deeply personal writing into a published book.
Alaqad also reflected on her choice to study journalism, describing it not as a career ambition, but as a mission. “I believe in journalism,” she said. “But I think part of why I chose it is because I’m Palestinian. I saw how dehumanised we were. I wanted to reclaim the narrative.”
She told the audience that Palestinians, she believes, do not grow up with dreams, but with missions.
Theatre dream
She admitted that without occupation, her life might have looked very different. “Maybe I would have studied theatre,” she said. “Maybe I would have acted in comedies. But growing up under occupation gives you a duty and a purpose.”
Looking ahead, Alaqad revealed plans to explore storytelling beyond journalism, including acting. She confirmed she has been cast in a forthcoming film centred on Palestine.
'You can’t censor someone’s lived experience'
That purpose, she said, now comes with difficult questions. Publishers scrutinised her language. Lawyers reviewed her diary line by line. Certain words were debated not because they were inaccurate, but because they were politically charged.
“The fear was never about whether something happened,” she said. “It was about whether we were allowed to name it.” Publishing the book in the United States, she added, was particularly challenging. Some publishers wanted to soften language or remove sections altogether.
“But you can’t censor someone’s lived experience,” she said. “If people had the power to prevent what happened, they should have used it then, not on the page.”
Despite the weight of the subject matter, Alaqad said she continues to write without rigid rules. Some days, words come as poetry. Other days, they come as unfiltered entries. She resists forcing structure onto grief. She also spoke candidly about mental health, describing the need to slow down and recognise human limits.
“We’re not superheroes,” she said. “There are days when you can’t look anymore. And that doesn’t make you weak.”
Waad Barakat is a Special Correspondent covering security topics, from law enforcement to local courts. With a keen eye for human interest stories, she hopes to blend it all with unique Gen Z-inspired content.