My name is Mohammed, I am 20 years old, from Rafah in Gaza.
Before the war, we had a home filled with memories, love, and safety. Today, that home is nothing but rubble. We fled under heavy bombing and now live in a torn tent that does not protect us from the burning heat of the sun or the cold of the night. Everything we once built has been erased.
My father was killed in the bombing. Losing him shattered our world. He was our strength and our guide, and now we carry the pain of his absence every single day.
My mother suffered a skull fracture during the attacks. Since then, her life has been filled with constant pain. Her hearing and vision are damaged, and she lives with unbearable headaches. There are no doctors to treat her, no hospitals that can help, and not even a single painkiller to ease her suffering.
My older brother Ahmad, 27, once dreamed of building a future. He worked tirelessly in his small workshop, spending his youth to provide for us. But that workshop, like everything else, has been destroyed. All his hard work, all his years of sacrifice, are gone in an instant.
Now, we are left with nothing. No food, sometimes not even bread. No clean water. No safety. No hope. Each day is a battle just to survive, just to breathe, just to make it through one more night.
We are not asking for luxuries. We are asking عنوان لها