A soul

that way we know we’re from tumblr without revealing anything

I’m just going to say this to strangers until i find a tumblr person

must keep reblogering!! Im going to be so suspicious if any one tells me this now!

Remember the answer is: I stole them from the president.

(The best of this post and its reblogs, but with links that work)

Here is a website where you can scroll down to all the different levels of the ocean 

Here is a website where you can see the future of the universe

Here is a website where you can press a ‘make everything okay’ button, over and over, until things really are okay

Here is a website that you can read if you feel like a burden

Here is a website where you can look at strobe illusions (TW strobe/flashing)

Here is a website where you can cut stuff up (TW blood/sh)

Here and here are websites where you can play with sand

Here is a website where you can draw with macaroni and other fun foods

Here is a website where you can paint someone’s nails

Here is a website where you can grow a garden with emojis

Here is a website with hundreds of videos of people hugging you (rightfully dubbed ‘the nicest place on the internet’ because it really is, y’all, it made me cry)

Here is a website that will take you to other useless websites

Here is a website where you can make a tiny cat play bongo drums (and other instruments!)

Here is a website to help give you gentle reminders <3

Here is a website where you can grow a tiny farm

Here is a website where you can take a bunch of scientific personality tests

Here is a website of calm rain noise

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

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.

What you’re about to read isn’t a story it’s what remains after a home, a street, and a future are taken away !!

Sorry for the mentions @ ,this isn’t spam, sharing this so it can reach more people🥺💔💔💔

Hello everyone 🙏

We are Anas’s family, and this is our story from Gaza.

I never imagined I would be writing something like this, or sharing pieces of our life this way, but here we are. As you can see in the photos and videos I’m sharing, everything around us has changed. The place we once called home no longer exists. We lost our house, our land, and the life we spent years building, piece by piece, with memories that can never be replaced.

Today, we live in a tent. This thin fabric is all that separates us from the cold nights, the heat during the day, and the constant fear that never really leaves. Privacy is gone, comfort is gone, and safety feels like a distant memory. Every morning starts with the same question: how will we get through today?

Simple things that once felt normal are now daily struggles. Cooking means lighting firewood, breathing in smoke, and hoping we can find enough food to last. There is no electricity, no gas, no certainty. Just survival, one meal at a time.

Inside the tent, everything is cramped. This is where we sleep, rest, and try to feel human again. There is no silence here, only the sounds of drones, explosions, and the weight of uncertainty. Nights are the hardest. Fear gets louder when the world goes quiet.

The war did not stop. It is still happening, every single day. The sky fills with smoke, the ground shakes, and we are reminded again and again that nothing here is stable. Each explosion feels closer than the last, and every moment carries the possibility of losing even more.

This video shows our street. Every house you see destroyed once held families, stories, laughter, and dreams. This is where we grew up, where we knew every corner and every neighbor. Now it’s all rubble. Walking through it feels unreal, like moving through a memory that’s been violently erased.

If you’re able to help, you can donate through this link 👇👇

Asking for help is not easy. It’s humbling and painful. But the truth is, we cannot do this alone. We are trying to survive with dignity in conditions no one should ever have to endure.

If you are able, please consider donating through the link at the end of this post. We are close to reaching our second goal, and every contribution truly makes a difference.

If donating isn’t possible, sharing this post is just as important. It helps our voices reach beyond Gaza, beyond the silence.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Thank you for caring.

  A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep. She has just turned one. She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her. She doesn’t know the word “loss.” She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there. Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like. And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again. I want to rebuild our home. Not just for the walls — but for her future. For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war. I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear

 A Mother’s Message