I do what I want!

Dibujo de Isuka y Ace.

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.

I never thought I would write these words… 😔

I never imagined waking up to endless screams,

Running barefoot through smoke and fire,

Searching for my mother among the rubble,

Only to find nothing but silence… a heavy silence telling me that no one will answer me anymore. 💔

In one moment, everything changed.

Our home became a memory, my mother’s embrace became the past,

And my father's face, now absent, is the last thing I hold in my memory.

They’re gone… and left my heart burdened with unspoken grief. 😢

But despite everything, we are still here… trying.

I survived with my younger siblings.

Yes, we survived… but who are we after survival?

Children without warmth, without a roof, with no place to return to.

We were displaced to an unknown place, carrying a bag empty of everything… except pain. 🥀

We slept in the open, waking every morning to a life that holds nothing for us,

But despite everything… we keep trying. 💪

I write to you today not to cry, but to ask for hope. 🌱

I ask you to be a small light in this vast darkness,

To extend a hand that can mend what the war has broken in us.

Your donation will give my siblings a chance to sleep safely,

It will provide us with food, shelter, and maybe even a new beginning. 💖

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #586 )✅️

Any amount, no matter how small, is big for us

It’s a prayer, it’s love, it’s life. 🌟

In conclusion...

From my heart, and from the hearts of my little siblings,

Thank you to everyone who has donated,

Thank you to everyone who has read,

Thank you to everyone who has shared.

Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.

Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.

We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.

Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.

The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.

Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.

We Don’t Know What Comes Next There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.

How You Can Help I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:

Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.

Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.