if you are unable to donate financially to help palestine, you can donate your time by protesting, boycotting, and putting up posters!
if all you have is your device and internet access, you can put your clicks to good use on arab.org. they use the advertising revenue generated by your clicks to help good causes.
and i would urge those able to spare a few dollars to donate to one or more of the following organizations:
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There’s this funny misconception that when a character walks into a room, the important part is the room. Writers start scrambling to describe the walls, the wallpaper, the lighting, the color of the rug that no one asked for. And sure, you can do that. But the room doesn’t matter until your character touches it with their thoughts.
And I’m saying this with love, because I’ve written those “character enters room, now here’s a paragraph about the furniture” scenes too. We all have. They’re basically a rite of passage.
But the more you write (and the more drafts you survive) the more you realize something important: the room is NEVER the point.
The PERSON entering it is.
When someone walks into a room in real life, they don’t float in like a neutral non-entity. They bring whatever emotional chaos they’ve been dealing with. They bring the argument they just had in the hallway. They bring the secret they’re not ready to tell anyone. They bring the memory the smell of the room just stabbed them with. People don’t arrive clean. They arrive mid-story, even if they pretend they’re fine. So instead of focusing on the chair in the corner, try starting with the emotional “temperature” your character walks in with.
Are they anxious and trying to hide it?
Are they exhausted and hoping nobody notices?
Are they excited but scared they’ll ruin everything the moment they open their mouth?
You don’t have to spell it out like a weather report, just let it tint the way they see the space. Plus, a room changes depending on who’s looking at it. If your character is confident, the space might feel open, manageable, almost welcoming. If they’re overwhelmed, the same room can feel too loud, too bright, too filled with people who suddenly seem to know exactly where they’re going and what they’re doing. If they’re guilty, every shadow becomes suspicious. If they’re sad, the room might seem bigger than it really is.
It doesn’t matter how the room “objectively” looks. What matters is what they see first.
And please let your characters enter rooms in realistically messy ways. Not every entrance needs to be cinematic or in the Hollywood style. Not every character glides. Some fumble the door handle. Some hesitate in the doorway because they suddenly can’t remember why they came in. Some scan the room too fast because they’re nervous and then pretend they weren’t scanning the room at all. Some try way too hard to appear casual and end up bumping into a table they didn’t even notice was there.
That kind of stuff makes your characters feel like a real person and not because the action is interesting, but because it’s familiar. It’s that tiny, “oh god, same” moment between the reader and the character, even if they never consciously notice it.
So REMEMBER: an entrance is a doorway for change, not just a physical movement. You’re not writing, “They walked into the room.” You’re writing, “They stepped into a moment.” And that’s a gamechanger.
Is it good, very good indeed, to be virtuous; the virtuous man is at peace with himself, pleasing to God, and agreeable to other people. The virtuous man unwillingly attracts everyone's attention. Why is this so? Because fragrance unwillingly attracts attention and makes everyone wish to smell it. Look at the very appearance of the virtuous man; look at his face. What sort of a face is it? It is the face of an angel. Meekness and humility are diffused through all its features, involuntarily captivating everyone by their beauty. Pay attention to his manner of speaking; from it comes an even sweeter fragrance. It is as if you were face to face with his soul, enraptured with his sweet conversation.
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I am so miserable all the time and I don’t know why. I can be so happy but so miserable, I get angry that I’ll never exist in a different body than my own, while feeling so grateful I am here right now. I feel the entire aching of the world around me, death, murder, starvation, and I also feel the joy and grief and and surprise. I am nostalgic for a time in which I felt like life had so little meaning, that everything meant so, so much more. I can feel the earth turn and the waves crash, I can hear tear drops fall and I hate it. Is existence confusion and the constant questioning of how I live and breath and think and smell and taste? Why do I long for all the things I can’t have, even if I do not want them? Why do I wish for things to happen and then refuse them when they arrive? I wish I could meet every since person, learn what they love and hate about the world, and I also wish to never be perceived to never be noticed or acknowledged, but I would like to be missed when I’m gone, and loved when I’m here.
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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:
My name is Saja. I am a wife, a mother to a precious 8-month-old girl, and I am writing this in a moment that I wish I didn’t have to live t
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’m holding on to hope, one day at a time—and today, I’m asking for your support. My family is living through a reality no one should have to face, and I’m doing my best to keep our voices heard.
📌 Please take a second to check out my pinned post.
🔄 Sharing it can help it reach someone who might be able to help.
🤍 If you’re able to give even a little, your generosity could ease a heavy burden.
Your support, your time, your care—it all matters more than you know.
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