Abdul Qader

I am Abdul Qader, a young man from Gaza, living a life burdened by the shadow of relentless war. Since the horrific events of October 7, my life has been turned upside down. I was a student dreaming of a brighter future, but I was forced to abandon my education when war consumed my city.

The greatest blow came when I lost my older brother, Hussam, to the relentless airstrikes that rained destruction on our neighborhood. Hussam was more than just a brother; he was a source of strength and guidance. His absence has left a void that nothing can fill.

The family home, once a haven, is now scarred by violence, its walls marked by missiles and chaos. Yet, despite the pain and loss, I cling to the faint hope that one day peace will allow me to rebuild what has been destroyed.

Please help me build my life for the better ❤️🌹

@swordmaid @northgazaupdates @a-shade-of-blue @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @wellwaterhysteria

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This flour, which is supposed to be a source of life, has become a symbol of disappointment. I contemplated the scene with a pang in my chest; the scene was not new, but it grew more cruel each time. How can we make clean bread for our children from flour filled with insects?

Gaza is not only a besieged land, but it is a place where hope is killed day after day, even in the most basic human rights. We were waiting for this flour impatiently as if it were a precious treasure, but it came to remind us that everything in our lives is now conditional on new suffering.

I looked at the flour again, and imagined the children in Gaza, who dream of a hot loaf of bread on their poor tables. A simple loaf that they do not know that the path to it is fraught with pain and disappointment.

I wrote these words to tell you the story of flour, but it is not just flour; it is part of the story of Gaza, the story of every mother who struggles, every child who waits, and every young man who dreams of a better tomorrow in a land that refuses to surrender despite everything.

I am Abdel Qader, writing from Gaza, from the heart of the suffering that is trying to steal our dignity, but we stay here, dreaming, and resisting.

That day was different. Under the shade of that modest tent, surrounded by my companions, I found myself living a moment of connection and simplicity that I would never forget. The stove in front of us was alive, with smoke rising to tell stories of our daily struggles.

I sat there, holding a piece of dough in my hands, shaping it carefully as if it were a piece of art. The heat radiating from the fire made our faces glow, but it didn’t stop us from working with enthusiasm. The elder stood by the stove, adding firewood with confident movements and overseeing the baking process. I looked at him and wondered: how had those rough hands endured all those years of labor?

Everyone had their role. One of us prepared the dough, another tended to the fire, and someone else collected the freshly baked bread. Everything moved in harmony, like a musical ensemble playing a simple yet profound symphony.

It wasn’t just a moment of baking bread; it was a moment of belonging. I felt that despite the simplicity of the place and the hardships we faced, we possessed something no one could take away: our strength in unity and our value in working together.

When the bread was ready, we all sat together to share it. Warm loaves, my hands still covered in traces of flour, and my heart filled with satisfaction. I knew that this day would not be forgotten—not just because it brought bread to our lives, but because it added to our memories a lesson in dignity and giving.

My name is Abdelqader Abu Ghosh, I’m 18 years old, from Gaza. I live in a city that embodies resilience amidst the sounds of war and the smell of destruction, where life feels like a series of endless challenges. Here, I’ve learned that life isn’t just days passing by, but moments we face and decisions we make, even as we live under a war that never seems to end.

Each day brings a new battle, not only for survival but for hope, a hope we try to keep alive amid all this rubble. I dream of a normal life, waking up one day without the sounds of explosions, seeing my friends and family safe. Despite all the pain, I hold onto a simple dream — to leave a mark, to be part of the change this place deserves.

I long for a future where I can write my story in my own way, where Gaza is safe, and life is simpler than it is now. Through all the hardships, I remain hopeful that tomorrow may bring better things, for myself and my loved ones, because here we dream and rebuild, no matter what.

Every donation will help me achieve my dream.

@halorvic @horreurscopes @marxism-transgenderism @nogender-onlystars @khanger@thatdiabolicalfeminist @rhubarbspring @schoolhater @neptunerings @autisticmudkip

@redbuddi @3000s @komsomolka @dirhwangdaseul @opencommunion@swordmaid @northgazaupdates @a-shade-of-blue @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @wellwaterhysteria

@saharawitch @brownpaperhag @jehadism @voidpumpkin @victormcdicktor

@omegaversereloaded @feluka @rhubarbspring @serial-unaliver @prodivorce

@dlxx-vetted-donations @annabelle--cane @comrademango @appsa @goldenspirits

@zvaigzdelasas @stemmonade @shivroy @frigidwife @leguin

@cuntylouis @prisonhannibal @neptunerings @odinsblog @turtletoria

@yughioz @mavigator @lacecap @toiletpotato @log6