This is exactly our house. During the 49-day ceasefire, my brother Ahmed was able to go there and take a picture. Oh God, how sad we were… my brother Ahmed fell to the ground when he saw the scene.

I am Rahaf, from the city of Rafah, from Al-Jenina neighborhood. I used to live a beautiful life; I had a home, many dreams, and a room where I enjoyed my own moments. I used to sit on the balcony with a cup of tea, watching the rain and quietly reflecting on the sky.
There was electricity, there was life, and there was hope filling every detail of our days. I also had a university that I used to go to every morning, but I lost my studies amid everything that happened. Everything changed, and I began to miss every detail of our street, our home, and our old life.

Now I write with tears in my eyes, remembering unforgettable memories… how my brother and I used to go out at night and walk through the streets, talking about our dreams and our future, as if the whole world was ahead of us.

Now, our biggest dream has become to secure medical treatment for my parents. My father suffers from heart disease, mobility issues, and chronic illnesses. My mother also has hearing impairment, chronic conditions, and severe bone problems.
We also struggle to secure enough food. My greatest concern is simply being able to find something to eat, and I fear what tomorrow might bring because food is not always available. The constant worry is overwhelming and exhausting.

The tent has become like an unbearable oven. We are literally under the direct sun, and the heat inside is beyond anything we can describe. This is the least I can say about what we are living through every day.

“I am staying up late because I want to pray Qiyam al-Layl (the night prayer).”

The night (had) a special kind of peace. Walking, standing on the balcony, looking at the street with a cup of tea… I miss those days, my brother. Even if it was the winter season, I would still enjoy those moments.

Sometimes I feel like the constant thinking and stress will break me. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with my life anymore. I am scared and constantly worried about my father, my mother, and my brother Ahmed. There is random gunfire around us, and the yellow line keeps getting closer and closer. I don’t know where I can go or what I can do.
What scares me the most is thinking about the future… If no one helps us and the support through the link does not reach us, how will we be able to get food, water, and our basic needs? We are trying to hold on with everything we have, but this situation has become beyond what we can handle. I just need some hope and support so we can keep going.

Before the war, my brother Ahmed and I used to go out at night and walk to Al-Najma Park in Rafah, where we would sit and talk together. My parents were at home, and they had simple things to keep them occupied — the TV and the little details of a normal life we used to have.

Today, everything has changed… We have become afraid for each other even while we are sleeping. The safety and peace that once surrounded us are gone. I miss those days and the simple life we had before the war so much.

Honestly, my mother is tired too. A few days ago, she had an appointment with an orthopedic doctor, but when she found out there was a consultation fee, she decided not to go. We just leave it in God’s hands, brother. I hope things become easier for her.

We used to have a home with four rooms, a living room, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a garden. Everything we needed was there, and we had a simple but beautiful life.

Today, my brother Ahmed runs from one place to another just to bring us a tank of water. Imagine how far our lives have changed… how much we have lost. It is hard to believe that this is where we are now.

Our garden used to have olive trees, apple trees, lemon trees, guava, basil, grapes, palm trees, and orange trees. It was full of life and beautiful memories.

Now, everything is gone. Sometimes I find myself craving something as simple as eating an apple. Imagine how far we have fallen… how much our lives have changed.

Today, I don’t even know who I should feel sad for… my father, my mother, or my brother Ahmed.
For example, brother, most people Ahmed’s age are getting married. This is part of our traditions and the way of life we know. But Ahmed has lost everything. I see the sadness in his eyes, and it breaks my heart. He had dreams and hopes like everyone else, but the war took so much from him.

I don’t know if better days will come, brother. The reality around us makes it feel like all these promises are just words. They talk about peace plans, but we see no rebuilding and no real change. Sometimes it feels like people are only making promises while we remain forgotten in these tents, with no clear future.
Every morning we wake up carrying fear and uncertainty. The sound of danger is always around us, and it feels like our lives have lost their value. It is a painful and exhausting way to live.

There doesn’t feel like there is a way out. We are surrounded from all sides and trapped in a very small area by the sea. Imagine living in only 30% of Gaza while the rest is under control.
They say they want to create “humanitarian areas” and camps in Rafah under military control, but we ask: why should people continue living under control, fear, and humiliation? Why should civilians be forced to endure this suffering?
We just want to live with dignity, safety, and freedom. Many of the promises we hear feel like empty words, because our reality on the ground is completely different.

What is happening today may seem far away to many people, but suffering anywhere in the world affects us all. Gaza is where this painful reality has become most visible.
Many people here believe that what is happening is part of a larger crisis affecting the entire Middle East, and Gaza has become the place where this tragedy began to unfold. We only hope that one day peace, justice, and dignity will return to everyone.

What can I do, except survive my brother? There is no other choice. والله, it is not because I am strong, but because this is the reality we are living.

I am deeply grateful to every person who supports us and donates to help my family. May God bless them, reward them, and bring happiness and goodness into their lives. I am also grateful to Seth and to you, my brother. Without your support, I truly don’t know how we would survive or find enough food.

My campaign link is not very strong, but الحمدلله it has been a source of hope and a reason we are still able to get through these days. Sometimes I think about what would have happened to us if we had no way to ask for help.

The suffering is extremely heavy, and there are moments when life feels unbearable. I only pray for safety, dignity, and a better future for my family.

I’ll take a photo of my dad for you now so you can see how he is.

I pray that we can help him in any way we can. He deserves comfort and care after everything he has been through.

This post is taken from one of the first conversations I had with Rahaf. This is what made me want to tell her story.

Hello, my name is Rahaf, I am 20 from Gaza. I had to stop my university studies due to the war. My father is elderly and suffers from heart disease, and I care for him under very difficult financial conditions. My mother also has chronic illnesses and a hearing disability. I sincerely ask for your support to help provide my father’s treatment and proper food for my parents. Any help, no matter how small, would mean a lot to us. Thank you.
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