“How did it feel for the man who built a home, only to watch it turn to the rubble? How does a farmer stand before the land he tended year after year, now lying barren—no scent of soil, no whisper of harvest? How does a father tell his son the school he loved is gone, that the garden where he played is now only a rumor in the rubble? How does a mother walk through the ghost of a playground, finding a small shoe, a torn notebook, a toy she once mended? How do neighbors look at one another, wordless, knowing the world they shared has vanished?
…
I stood among the ruins, breath caught in my chest, searching for any trace of what once was. I felt the ache in every stone, every corner, every fragment of memory. But beneath it, I sensed something small and unbroken: my own heart, still beating. And a faint, stubborn light—a quiet voice within: I am still here. I can still walk. I can still love this life, despite everything.
…
I am Aseel, a writer from Gaza, living amid genocide and famine. Your support can help my family survive.
https://chuffed.org/project/138285-help-sehwel-family-with-their-medical-treatment”

– @Aseelsehwel, https://blog.gaza.onl/aseelsehwel/two-years-had-passed-since-my-feet-last-touched-the-ground-of-salah-al-din

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