I’m Deema Muhanna, a 24-year-old medical student in my final year at Al-Azhar University. I am one of countless souls shattered by the war on Gaza since 7 October, 2023. I write this with a heart weighed down by grief, loss, and the heaviness of days that have stolen so much. I come from a family that lives for love, learning and inspiring، a family that taught me to dream, to give, and to hold on to light, even in the darkest of times, they gave me everything I needed to seek knowledge and they never failed.

My older sister is an engineer and graduated from the Islamic University three years ago, and My brother is in his third year at the Faculty of Dentistry at Al-Azhar University in Gaza. He was forced to halt his clinical training when war shattered the hospitals and clinics he relied on. Now, even he is missing — one more future buried under the rubble. In Gaza, even education is not spared.

Since October 7th, everything changed. My family and I were forced to flee our home in northern Gaza — nothing was left but ruins. We escaped to the south, hoping for safety, but nowhere is safe here. We’ve come face to face with death more than five times. Each time we survive, I run to treat the wounded, save whoever I can… then cry for the martyrs, and for Gaza.

I always dreamed of becoming a doctor to serve my people، especially during their most vulnerable moments. When the war broke out, I didn’t hesitate. I volunteered in one of the few functioning hospitals in the middle of the devastation, working long hours in overcrowded emergency rooms, I held the hands of children with missing limbs. I treated burn victims whose screams still echo in my mind. I helped carry body parts in plastic bags when we couldn’t identify the dead. We had no electricity, no proper equipment, not enough medicine and no food. We stitched wounds in hallways lit by phones. We wrapped the dead in anything we could find. I didn’t sleep for days. I forgot I was a student. I became a witness, a caregiver, a sister and a mourner.

But the pain wasn't only around us — it was inside us too. We worked with empty stomachs. Days passed with nothing but water or a piece of bread, if we were lucky. Hunger drained our energy, blurred our focus, and made every task heavier. I saw nurses faint during shifts. I once nearly collapsed while resuscitating a child. Medical staff were running on adrenaline and willpower — not nutrition or rest. As a student, I tried to study between shifts, but my brain refused to retain anything. I was too hungry, too tired, too traumatized. I lost my books in the bombing. I lost my home. And now I study on the hospital floor, surrounded by cries and blood, still trying to help, still trying to learn.

For years, I’ve volunteered in hospitals, assisted in major surgeries, trained others in medical awareness, and served people with visual impairments by recording audiobooks for them — as if I were their eyes. My dedication earned me a U.S. scholarship to continue my studies. But today, I’m displaced. I lost my home, my books, my scholarship and almost everything I worked for. Still, I refuse to give up. I dedicate my time to helping fellow medical students by preparing clear, concise summaries of our overwhelming study materials to ease their heavy workload and help them save precious time and energy for learning، small acts of care that keep hope alive in the darkest times.

On top of everything, as if surviving war wasn’t heavy enough, I carry another deep worry every day — my mother is chronically ill with hypothyroidism. Her condition requires constant monitoring, lab tests, and daily medication — all of which have become nearly impossible to access under siege. Pharmacies are empty. Hospitals are overwhelmed. Labs are gone. And the ongoing trauma, stress, and fear have made her condition worse. But what hurts even more is watching her suffer in silence from ill nourished food . The food we find isn’t always enough or nutritious, and malnutrition is now part of our daily reality. For someone like her, who depends on balance and stability to manage her illness, I see her trying to hide her pain — just so I can keep going. But I’m her daughter before I’m anything else. And it’s crushing to feel this helpless… to live in fear of losing her, not from bombs.

Life here has become unbearable. But because I know my worth — and my right to complete my education and live like any young woman with hopes for a safe, modest life — I’ve decided to ask for your support. All I want is your help so that my family and I can survive. We are 5 individuals, and to be able to leave, we need $5,000 for each of us. and so on the total becomes $25,000.

There’re 15,000$ left to start our life again in Egypt. The borders closed before we could evacuate. Since then, we’ve endured over a year of siege, displacement, and bombing. Now, we face a new threat: intentional, systematic starvation. This plan ensures we have the essentials to rebuild our lives steadily and responsibly. My Dream is simple، I want a home where I can be a daughter, a doctor, a mother, and a wife — like any other woman in the world. I want to start over in safety, to heal, study, and grow. And one day, I want to return to my homeland stronger — ready to serve، equipped with the knowledge and experience to help restore what was destroyed.

This is a call to action for anyone who believes in the power of humanity to change lives. With your help, we can offer my family a future filled with hope, security, and the opportunity to rebuild in a place where peace is not just a dream, but a reality, and where education and personal development are accessible to all.