𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

I hesitated for a long time before writing this. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I was ashamed my life had become a story of fear, loss, and constant pleading.

My little baby sister Maryam may not survive if the war or famine returns again. Her tiny body can no longer endure all this exhaustion, hunger, and fear.

What I am about to say is the hardest thing I have ever written. Five days ago, three missiles struck the place where we sheltered. Screams and dust filled everything; I awoke injured in a hospital.

My baby Qais will die because his surgery is delayed. As an oppressed mother in Gaza, I am forced to postpone his surgical procedure —not by choice, but because this post is ignored and not shared.