Angelwingsoup :p

My name is Abdulmajid.

I got married one month before the war. Those were beautiful days — full of hope, love, and simple dreams. I dreamed of a small home, a quiet family, and a baby girl I could hold without fear.

But the war came… Suddenly. Brutally.

My mother was killed. My brother was killed. Children in my family were taken by the bombs. My home was destroyed. And my work stopped completely.

Then… in the middle of this nightmare, my baby girl was born. A tiny soul, innocent, unaware of the war. She cries from hunger, from cold, from the sounds of bombs shaking what’s left of our walls.

Today, I’m a father with almost nothing… Fighting every day to find flour, milk, or even a small meal to feed my child.

Prices are sky-high — a single 25kg bag of flour can cost $800. There is no work. No income. No safety. No stability.

I write this from under siege, hoping my heart will reach yours.

Even $1 can make a difference. It can feed a child, buy milk, or bring a moment of peace. Be the heart that reaches Gaza. Be the hand that saves.

📌 Please share this post. Let our voices be heard — not buried under rubble.

My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.

But life had other plans.

War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.

There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.

I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.

Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.

This is my life.

This is my daughter’s life.

And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.

Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.

That’s why I keep going.

I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.

How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war

💛 If you can, please support our journey here:

If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.

From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.

Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.

I have been spending my time, usually dedicated to making money through art and dog sitting, deep cleaning a place I shouldn't just to make it safe for me, my friends, and our cats to live.

If you could donate to help me make up for lost time and be able to afford more cleaning supplies and rent alike, I'd be really grateful!

c@shapp: rhodeycore

The little boy who died with an unopened packet of biscuits in his hand. The baby girl who died with an uneaten croissant in her fingers. The boy who was playing football with his friend when his head exploded. All those Palestinian children had futures. And now they’re dead.

The blood of children is on the US's hands. The US sends billions of dollars in aid to Israel. The US is aiding a genocide.