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From a hospital bed… Najah is calling out to you .💔
My name is Najah. I am not just a number in a medical report, nor just another patient in a hospital room. I am a girl with dreams, a mother waiting for my recovery, and a home waiting for my return.
Today I am writing to you with a tired hand… but my hope is not tired. The doctors confirmed that my treatment is possible and that my condition can improve, but time is not unlimited, and support makes the difference.
Imagine that a very simple decision from people who do not even know me could be the line between pain and healing, between staying on this bed and returning to life again.
Here, on this bed, every small act of support can turn into a heartbeat of hope, a chance to stand again, and a real beginning of recovery.
Pain is hard… and waiting is harder… but the hardest part is knowing that survival is close, yet still needs just one small step.
I am not asking anyone to carry this burden alone. All I need are hearts coming together through small steps that complete this journey.
With your support, I can rise, and with your support, I can return to my dreams, and with your support, my name “Najah” can truly become “success.”
Please… do not let this message pass in silence. One step from you could be the beginning of a new life for me. 💔
Najah , her mother, will not forget your silence, and she will not forgive a heart that didn't move, or a hand that didn't reach outEvery donation, every share, every word of support... could be the difference between life and death for Najah
She is suffering from a severe calcium and iron deficiency... her body is weak, and her life hangs between hope and danger.
Treatment, vitamins, and nutrients can save her
Every donation, every share, every word of support... could be the difference between life and death for her
Donate now and give Najah a chance at life!
Najah lives with her family in extremely harsh conditions where suffering and illness are deeply intertwined. Her husband is injured and urgently needs surgery, but he is unable to receive treatment, which places an even greater burden on the family and leaves Najah carrying the responsibility alone.
Amid this hardship, life in the tents becomes even more difficult, with the spread of insects and rodents causing illnesses and infections, especially among children. Every day turns into a struggle for survival in unsafe and extremely difficult living conditions.
Please… do not leave Najah and her family alone. 💔
Time is passing harshly, the need is urgent, and every moment of delay increases the pain and weakens hope.
Sharing this message or donating even a small amount could be the real difference between continued suffering and the beginning of a new life.
Do not underestimate a small step from you.
it may be the reason a whole life is saved. 💔
From the heart of Gaza, we reach out to you with deep pain and a plea for help… amelia romain needs your support for Help Wedad's family in
In a place where children no longer know what safety feels like, a mother is trying to keep her children alive despite everything 💔
I don’t know how I am still holding on...
My name is Najah, and I am a mother of six children, including newborn twins 👶👶 who need urgent care every single moment.
We are living through extremely difficult days filled with fear, hunger, and the lack of basic necessities 🥺🍞
Sometimes my children go to sleep without enough food, and I stand helpless before their tears because I cannot provide milk, diapers, or medicine for them.
My newborn twins are still so fragile, and their tiny bodies need constant nutrition and care 🍼💔
But our situation has become far beyond my ability to handle, while my other children face hunger, cold, and fear every day.
For many days, we have not received any donations or help, and our situation keeps getting worse with every passing hour.
I try to stay strong for my children, but my heart breaks every night when I see them suffering and I have nothing to protect them with.
Every second now is precious ⏳
Every act of kindness could be the reason my children survive 🙏
I am not asking for the impossible — only for a chance for my children to live safely, stay together, and have hope for another tomorrow.
Please, from the bottom of my heart, do not ignore our suffering 💔
Any small donation could help me buy milk, diapers, food, and medicine for my children.
Please donate $25, $50, $100, or any amount you can give 🤲
Every contribution, no matter how small, can make a real difference in my children’s lives.
And if you cannot donate, please share our story everywhere you can 📢
Your compassion may reach someone who can save my children before it is too late.
I beg you — stop here, donate, share, and choose kindness before this silence becomes another tragedy for my family.
Thank you to everyone who listened to our pain 🌸
Your kindness today could give my children another chance at life and safety.
Donation link
From the heart of Gaza, we reach out to you with deep pain and a plea for help… amelia romain needs your support for Help Wedad's family in
every year around late may, without fail, this post starts getting notes again . and my little wet raw chicken breast of a brain gets puzzled. because i forget that summer is , in fact. a yearly event
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Not that I think all marriages are doomed but when deciding who to marry you should ask yourself “is this someone I’d want to divorce?” As in, is this someone I believe would be mature and fair, even when they’re upset and don’t particularly like me at the moment. Is this someone I could continue to trust while going through an adversarial process? And if the answer is no, don’t marry them.
I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.
-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a
~*Spiritual Experience*~
I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.
Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.
He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only
BARELY
enough space for the fireworks
and certainly none for his truck.
So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand.
This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.
He begins,
and this is crucial to what happens next,
by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it
unsecured
on his lawn.
Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.
His process for unloading the fireworks is to
1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls.
2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile
He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things.
3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed
4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup.
5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her.
6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house.
7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too.
8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate
9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed
10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.
Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man?
Answer: Absolutely Not.
There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else.
(This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual)
Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally.
Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.
I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.
However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up.
and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop"
And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."
For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."
I move under the eaves.
"Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled."
"Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not."
"Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."
Sometimes,
the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.
The Gods were not merciful today.
It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this,
But I got to see it today.
Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before.
Oh. I realized as it got closer.
That's RAIN.
Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say,
five to tent square miles,
is instead concentrated into an area of say,
my neighborhood exactly.
So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.
The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel.
Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge.
Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.
My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp.
They do not have a tarp.
They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.
Which is when the hail begins.
"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy.
"HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!"
"OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"
I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic.
The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor.
Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.
So.
I was raised Agnostic
-but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.
---
(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)
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TIL “Yankee Doodle” was written by the British to mock americans. “Doodle” is thought to come from the German “dödel”, meaning “fool” or “simpleton” and “macaroni,” a flamboyantly stylish type of dress, painting the Yankees as morons who thought placing a feather in one’s cap made them a “dandy.”
Just a heads up right now: on the day when Trump dies, I’m going to be extremely tasteless about it. It’s going to get ugly. You are going to see a side of me I am not proud of. I don’t want any call-outs in my inbox, I’m stating right now that lines will be crossed.
Anyways all of y’all AND the evil that literally lives inside of you are invited to the sick ass house party I’m throwing when lord dampnut kicks the bucket
I feel like all you Americans need to take a look at what happened here in the UK after Maggie Thatcher died. Because when it comes to tasteless celebrations fuelled by anger and the death of a hated political leader, we REALLY pushed the boat out. We had street parties. We had burning effigies. We pushed “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” to the top of the charts out of sheer hatred. Bone up kiddos, and I really hope you manage to do that truly American thing, of dramatically outdoing us with your celebrations.
Look, I’m gonna level with you americans for a second. When old wrinkly and orange kicks the bucket, for once in my life, possibly the only time, I’ll actually want to be able to see the fireworks from across the Atlantic. And I daresay I won’t be the only one. So listen to me and listen closely, cause I’ll only say it once: When the moldy Cheeto bites it, it’s the one and only chance you’ll likely have at being loudly, unbearably, obnoxiously American in your celebration and for once, the rest of the world won’t complain.
This one will be a tragedy because it didn’t happen sooner, and so many others occurred as a result.
I will be SO tasteless. I will find pastels SOMEWHERE in my wardrobe and drape myself in trans pride flag colors. I will make flatbread and kebabs and learn how to make labneh for dinner and serve it with flan for dessert and celebrate the Middle Eastern and Mexican cultures he wanted to bash so badly. (Okay, I’ll be honest. The kebabs might not be authentic. I might make them barbecue because I learned to make barbecue sauce from a Black American and he hates both Black people and America so it might be a kind of fusion thing.) I will make a donation to the POW/MIA Project even if I have to pull the money from savings, because he had problems with charity and veterans both.
Not only will I celebrate the death of someone who caused so much harm and wished to cause more, I will do it by celebrating the people and cultures he wanted to destroy.
And I will do it all while blasting Highway to Hell.
Trump is gonna die one day and we’re gonna have so many crabs. I am gonna order crabs at a restaurant just for fun. I cant wait to make that man’s death a yearly fuckin holiday
"making them afraid will make them more racist" that's wild to me, because we live in a whole culture of social consequences for antiracism anyway. It is literally safer to be a racist than it is to speak up against it, socially.
Idk about you, but "I'm afraid no one will want to be my friend if I'm a white supremacist" seems like a pretty logical thought process to have, and I wish THAT were the normal and not "I'm afraid my friends will hate me if I tell them they made racist jokes".
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i love you friendship and qprs and best friends and friends with benefits and mentorships and roommates and found family and surrogate parents and chosen siblings and rivalries every single specifically and actively nonromantic dynamic that exists
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