I am Firas Al-Najjar from Gaza.

I never imagined I would one day write from the heart of a tent, but the war has turned our lives into a daily struggle with pain, hunger, and fear.

Not long ago, I suffered a serious wound to my stomach from shrapnel. Doctors stitched my intestines after a painful bleed, but the pain still accompanies me every moment, as if the war was not satisfied with destroying our homes and decided to leave its scars on our bodies too.

Today, my family of seven and I live in a tattered tent that offers no shelter from the cold of night or the heat of day. We haul water from long distances with great effort, and the food is not enough for the family. I feel as if I carry the wound, the absence, and the abandonment all on my shoulders.

Every day, we hear the sounds of bombing around us, we watch houses collapse, and hearts break more and more. We have been displaced many times, from place to place, until we lost the meaning of the word “home.” The tent has become all we own, and it cannot even protect us.

I write these words with a heart burning with sorrow, because the whole world can see and does nothing. We do not ask for a luxurious life; we only want to survive. We need medicine for my injury, food sufficient for my siblings, and a roof to keep my mother safe from the night’s cold.

My plea to you is to be our support in these dark days. Your help is the last hope that can return some dignity to us in a time of oppression.