🌟 A Cry for Help: My Family’s Struggle to Survive in Gaza 🌟
Hello, my name is Areej Kassab. I’m a 27-year-old English teacher and writer from Gaza, and I’m reaching out to you with a heavy heart and a desperate plea for support. My family and I are enduring unimaginable hardships as relentless bombings devastate our home and our dreams.
We are a family of 15—10 adults and 5 children. Every day is a battle for survival. Food is scarce, humanitarian aid is not reaching us, and my little nieces and nephews go to bed hungry. Among them is my sister, who is deaf, and another sister who has a newborn baby. They, too, are suffering in this crisis, and I’m doing everything I can to protect and provide for them.
💔 A Life in Ruins
The war has robbed us of everything: safety, peace, and even the hope of a future here. My family’s needs are basic yet critical—food, clean water, diapers for the babies, gas for cooking, and other essentials to make it through each day.
With rising prices and limited access to necessities, we are struggling to provide even the most basic items. My sister’s home has been destroyed, and we are working together to ensure everyone has shelter, food, and warmth.
✨ My Plea for Your Support ✨
I’m a writer, and I’ve been documenting the harsh realities faced by my community under siege. But words can only do so much. We need action, and we need help. Your kindness can save us.
🙏 How You Can Help
Donate: Every contribution, no matter how small, brings us closer to securing the essentials we desperately need.
Share Our Story: If you can’t donate, please share this post to help us reach others who can.
Your support will help provide food for the children, clean water for my family, and basic supplies to help us survive this unimaginable crisis.
My name is Melissa and I am supporting Areej to help her family surviv… Melissa Saul needs your support for Emergency Evacuation for Aree
Thank you for reading, for caring, and for standing in solidarity with us. Together, we can create a lifeline for my family—a chance to live, to dream, and to hope again.
i know that deep down, nestled below the rubble of my grief, my sorrow, my guilt,
love is alive, it is beating, and it does not yield.
i would compare its ability to shine through rubble to the unrepentant will of grass blades cracking through concrete
i find that sort of steel persistence so so beautiful, and i initially wouldn't argue i had it, but i am still alive. i live down every single day with my chest, because that is where my heart beats and my breath rises.
as i lie in bed unable to set my mind at ease i find myself repeatedly returning to the same thought: i am ultimately unsatisfied with myself. how long until it's not true? how many hours of emotional labour and self reflection and discovery will it take until i am plainly happy as i am? with a mind as scrutinising and unmerciful as mine i would not be surprised if all of the former is implemented yet to no avail;
working and slaving and flattening myself until i become nothing but a flimsy rubber case with a little too much give and not enough personality.
i wish i knew what it took to fulfill myself. because i'm so tired of watching and waiting and burning myself on the searing edges of stagnation just to tell myself it takes time.
i've taken more than my fair share of time and i want to throw it all away and give some more to someone who wants it.
every second spent standing still is a second that fosters fresh blisters, tearing skin and a new world of unfathomable pain.
i try to quell it with some soothing cool cream, but really i know i need to step off my burning ledge i've been immobile on for so long.
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