I am Aya from Gaza, a place where joy is often overshadowed by pain. My husband, Mohamed, and I once lived with great hope. We built our dream home, a place that reflected our love and hard work. Every stone was laid with the vision of a future where we could live in peace, raise our family, and build our lives together.
But on the eve of the Zablah war, everything changed. In one brutal moment, our beautiful home was reduced to rubble. The walls that once sheltered us, the windows that welcomed the morning sun, and the memories we had begun to create, were all gone. The dreams we cherished were buried beneath the wreckage.
It didn’t stop at just losing our home. My husband Mohamed lost some of his relatives in the war, and we both lost the jobs we depended on to survive. Today, we find ourselves displaced, struggling to stay afloat. The war didn’t just take our home—it took our sense of security and the life we once knew.
Every day we live under the weight of oppression, with no escape from the destruction around us. We live in constant fear, unsure if we will ever find safety again. But the hardest part is feeling forgotten. While the world moves forward, we remain in the ruins, waiting, hoping for a glimmer of mercy. We hope the world remembers that we are still here, suffering, enduring, but clinging to a faint hope that one day we can rebuild what was taken from us.
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by Ok_Choice1681