Peace be upon you, my friends. I am yousef Abu Sharekh, currently residing in Belgium, and I am conveying the message of my niece and her siblings who are living in Gaza amidst the genocide.

My name is Mariam, and I write these words from beneath the rubble of fear, hunger, and death in Gaza.

I don’t write only on behalf of myself, or my siblings Taha, Mohammad, Noor, and Youssef, or my mother and father…

I write on behalf of every person in Gaza who is fighting death every single day—not because we are guilty, but simply because we were born here.

In one moment, everything collapsed—

Our home, our school, our memories, our future.

The occupation erased everything… except the pain, the hunger, and the fear.

We are not living anymore…

We are just trying not to die.

• No food.

• No clean water.

• No medicine.

• Not even a sense of safety.

Bread—the simplest of things—has become a dream we chase.

Our children are starving.

Their empty stomachs swell from malnutrition, their frail bodies are wasting away, and their eyes search for even a small bite… but find nothing.

My little brother Youssef (10 years old), who once dreamed of becoming a football player, now runs after water trucks, hoping for a piece of bread or a sip of dirty water.

My sister Noor (7 years old) doesn’t play anymore.

Her thin body aches more from hunger than from anything else.

And they are not alone.

Every child in Gaza is withering away before their mother’s eyes.

Fathers are collapsing because they can’t provide food.

Mothers hold back tears to keep their families from falling apart.

We are facing a real famine:

• Children rapidly losing weight

• Diseases spreading from malnutrition and polluted water

• Immune systems collapsing—sleeping hungry, waking up hungrier

• Mothers starving themselves to feed their kids…

• Fathers breaking down because they can’t bring home a loaf of bread

Taha and Mohammad, like thousands of young men in Gaza, no longer dream.

They struggle only to keep us alive one more day—fighting for a sip of clean water and a piece of bread.

We are writing to you from the edge of life.

We are asking for your support—not just to save our family, but to save everyone trapped in this nightmare.

All we ask for is life. Just life.

• To eat.

• To drink clean water.

• To wear clothes that protect us from the sun and cold.

• To receive medicine when we’re sick.

• To return to school… to dream again.

In Gaza, the word “hunger” no longer describes our reality.

We are not talking about missing a meal…

We are talking about days that pass with no food at all.

Help us survive… Don’t let us die slowly.

Even a small donation can keep a little heart beating.

Even the smallest act of kindness can save a life.