<div>My name is <strong>Reem</strong>. I am only 20 years old… and I have already lived through all of this.
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<div>I was just a university student, dreaming of finishing my degree and building a future. I had books, notebooks, friends, and hopes. I studied hard because I believed that even in the middle of war, education was my only way out.
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<div>But in seconds… everything disappeared.
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<div>In one night, my life changed completely.
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<div>My home was destroyed.
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<div>My university closed.
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<div>My future felt like it stopped.
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<div>I survived — but I am not the same person anymore.
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<div>Now I wake up under the constant sound of drones. I live without a roof, without a bed, without privacy. I lost my room, my clothes, my laptop — even the quiet corner where I used to write my thoughts and cry alone.
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<div>And the pain did not end there.
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<div>Recently, I underwent surgery, and I am still recovering in extremely difficult conditions. My body is weak and exhausted. I need follow-up care, treatment, and medication — but medical access is limited, and the costs are more than I can afford.
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<div>And I am not alone in this struggle.
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<div>Behind me is a family of 10 people who depend on one another to survive. We try to support each other through fear, loss, and uncertainty. The responsibility on my shoulders feels heavier every day.
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<div>Some days I try to be strong.
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<div>Other days, I simply try to breathe.
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<div>I am not asking for luxury.
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<div>I am not asking for comfort.
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<div>I am asking for a chance.
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<div>A chance to rebuild something small.
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<div>A chance to complete my treatment.
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<div>A chance to continue my education.
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<div>A chance to help my family survive.
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<div>A chance to feel human again — not just someone trying to survive day by day.
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<div>If you are reading this… please don’t scroll away.
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<div>Your donation, no matter how small, is not just money.
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<div>It is safety.
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<div>It is dignity.
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<div>It is hope.
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<div>Thank you for seeing me.
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<div>Thank you for not forgetting me. 
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Anonymous

Help Reem in Gaza

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