My name is Alberto Jacinto and I live in New York. I’m raising funds for Farah and her two parents, who live under siege in Gaza. I will make transfers to her via MoneyGram.

This is her story:

I am Farah, the only child of my mother and father.

I came into this world after long years of waiting, after countless attempts, tears, and exhausting hospital visits. I wasn’t just a baby—I was a long-postponed dream, a wish finally granted, a tear of joy after a drought of sorrow.

But life hasn’t been easy, not at all.

I was born in Gaza, and being a girl in Gaza means carrying stories far older than your age.

I live in a small home with my parents.

My father is old, tired, his face etched with years of hard labor, but he never complains. Every morning, he goes out with nothing but hope holding him up, and every evening, he returns leaning on the walls, carrying exhaustion in his bones and silence in his eyes.

My mother?

A real hero. Her eyes speak of sleepless nights, her hands full of care, and her heart full of patience. She tries to keep life moving, even when there’s nothing. She cooks from scraps, smiles to ease our hearts, and hides her pain behind Quran recitations and midnight prayers.

But the truth is…

We live hunger and thirst in every sense.

Many days go by without enough food.

The bread is dry, the vegetables are wilted, and meat is a memory.

Sometimes my mother doesn’t eat—she says she’s full, but I know she just wants us to have enough.

Water?

It comes rarely, and when it does, it’s often polluted.

We drink it silently.

There are nights we go to bed thirsty, dreaming of a single cold glass of clean water… and all we can do is be patient.

In this struggle, the smallest things become the biggest wishes.

A za’atar sandwich, a working lightbulb, a school chair, a clean notebook, a simple dream...

Everything here has a cost—even a smile.

But despite it all, my name is Farah—it means joy.

And I try to live up to it.

I try to laugh, to learn, to write, to dream, to tell my story...

Maybe someone out there will hear it.

Maybe a girl like me, in a safer place, will feel what I feel—and pray for us.

I’m not just a girl under siege.

I’m a girl of hope.

Born from the womb of waiting, raised by weary hands, growing up between dry bread and scarce water...

But my heart has never known despair.