u/Adept-Part-6190
They bombed the beach again, the place we flee to when we have nowhere else to go Did you see what happened last day?
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The beach was bombed again. For many of us here in Gaza, it has been one of the few places we go to escape the pressure and fear around us.
Six people were killed, and a woman was critically injured.
We keep hearing promises of an end to the attacks, yet people are still being killed in places where they are simply trying to find a moment of safety.
How many more times do we have to ask the same question: Where is the ceasefire?
I am writing this from Gaza. Please don't let another night of violence become just another headline that the world forgets.
Two photos, nearly two years apart: what happened to journalist Mohammed Mattar?
These two photos of Palestinian journalist Mohammed arab were taken nearly two years apart.
According to reports, the Israeli military detained him after the raid on Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza. The difference between these two images is difficult to look at.
In the more recent image, he appears drastically thinner and physically changed compared with the person in the earlier photograph.
This is not just about one journalist. His case reflects the fear surrounding Palestinian detainees and the questions that continue to be raised about their treatment in detention.
These are people with families, lives and stories. They should not disappear from the world's attention simply because they are behind bars.
I kept this photo on my phone from the famine in Gaza. At the time, this was being sold to us as dried chicken breast. Later, we discovered that it was actually intended as animal food. I kept this photo because I don't want to forget what hunger forced people here to endure.
Next month, a new university semester begins.
For the first time, there will be three university students in my family: my sister, who just graduated from high school, another sister who has only one year left at university, and me, who already had to delay my studies for a year because of the war.
Now I may have to give up university so that my sister can continue hers. And honestly, I’m not even sure whether she will be able to continue either. Everything has become expensive, and our family simply cannot afford to pay for three students.
I never imagined that choosing my future would mean choosing between my education and my sister’s education.
I want to study. I want to build a life of my own. But I also cannot stand by and watch my family struggle while I focus only on myself.
This is what life in Gaza has done to us. We are not only trying to survive the present; we are watching our futures disappear, one decision at a time.
I don't know who will be able to continue next semester. I only know that we should never have been forced to make choices like this.
Next month, a new university semester begins.
For the first time, there will be three university students in my family: my sister, who just graduated from high school, another sister who has only one year left at university, and me, who already had to delay my studies for a year because of the war.
Now I may have to give up university so that my sister can continue hers. And honestly, I’m not even sure whether she will be able to continue either. Everything has become expensive, and our family simply cannot afford to pay for three students.
I never imagined that choosing my future would mean choosing between my education and my sister’s education.
I want to study. I want to build a life of my own. But I also cannot stand by and watch my family struggle while I focus only on myself.
This is what life in Gaza has done to us. We are not only trying to survive the present; we are watching our futures disappear, one decision at a time.
I don't know who will be able to continue next semester. I only know that we should never have been forced to make choices like this.
Today marks one year since the killing of journalist Anas Al-Sharif and my uncle, journalist Mohammed Qreiqeh. One year has passed, and I still wish I could hug you, Uncle.
A miserable life: living in tents among the ruins of what used to be our homes.
Tonight's earthquake in Egypt was felt in Gaza. Our first reaction wasn't to think "earthquake"—it was to think another missile had hit nearby. That's what living through constant bombardment does to you.
After Mohammed Dahlan announced that an agreement had been reached following the Israeli attack, the airstrikes did not stop. Tonight, eight people, including children, were killed in Gaza.
This has been the second terrible night in a row for us.
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While positive headlines circulate online, the reality here is completely different. Buildings continue to be bombed, families are still living under constant fear, and people are still being killed.
Tonight, three children were killed in their home. Later, another strike hit a building next to tents where displaced families were sheltering.
It feels as if the world is being led to believe that things are improving, while here the bombing, destruction, and loss continue night after night.
I only hope that my family, and every other family still trapped here, survives another day.
This is the site of last night's airstrike. Every time something like this happens, we ask the same question: Who will stop this? At this rate, it feels like everything left standing—homes, mosques, and entire neighborhoods—could be destroyed.
Tonight, the army fired artillery shells indiscriminately in an attempt to force the remaining residents out of the Zeitoun neighborhood. This is all part of advancing the so-called "yellow line" and continuing the occupation of the Gaza Strip.
My future or my family. Read to the end
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This is the choice many of us in Gaza feel forced to make.
Either you pursue your future and leave your family behind, or you stay with your family and watch your own future slip away.
I've always wanted to build the life I dreamed of. I wanted to study, grow, and create a future I could be proud of. But every time I try to focus on myself, I step back. I feel guilty. I ask myself: if I focus on my own life, who will stand beside my mother and my siblings?
I know I'm at an age when I should be building my own life, yet instead I feel trapped between responsibility and the future I once imagined. I often wonder if, had we been somewhere else, I would never have had to ask myself these questions.
What I'm trying to say is that I'm not satisfied with the life I'm living. I know writing this won't change anything, but I needed to say what I've been carrying inside.
We are still living under the constant threat of death. At any moment, everything can end.
Before that day comes, I only hope my mother will have a reason to be proud of me. That's all I want.