They’re still fighting me about JK Rowling being a bad writer but her writing is bad. It is not good, it is bad. I’m not a lit major or whatever but I have read enough books to assess when one is 1.) well written 2.) well written but not fun to read 3.) poorly written but fun to read or 4.) poorly written and not fun to read. Her books fall into the 4th category.
My name is Abdullah Al-Qassab, I’m 27 years old, and I am writing this message with trembling hands and an empty stomach — from Gaza.
Before the war, I had a small travel agency something I built with love, effort, and hope.I dreamed of a simple life… a dignified life.
But the war didn’t just destroy my home and business —it shattered my ability to dream.
Today, I’m not asking for dreams.I’m asking for bread. For water. For life I now live with my family in the open — no walls, no roof, just the cold ground beneath us.
We are in a catastrophic famine.
We go days without food.
We faint in the street from hunger.
Our bodies are giving up.
And still… the world remains silent.
My mother has a heart condition — she needs medicine and special food.
Now she lies in pain, her chest aching, and I have nothing to give her. My grandmother has high blood pressure — worsened by hunger and cold nights.
Her body is shrinking before my eyes.
What do you call this life?
Sleeping on the dirt… watching your family starve… praying your heart doesn’t stop before help arrives? This is not a life. This is a slow death. To anyone reading this Please… don’t turn away from me.
Help me buy food before we collapse again. Help me get medicine before my mother’s heart gives out.
Help me bring even one moment of comfort to my grandmother before it’s too late.
I’m not asking for luxury.
I’m not asking for comfort.
> I’m begging for survival.
Even the smallest act of kindness could mean the world to us. Please… save us from this hunger.
— Abdullah Al-Qassab
Gaza, Palestine
🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸GoFundMe link🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸
My name is Wedad , from Gaza.
Since my home was destroyed, I’ve forgotten what safety feels like. I’ve been displaced nine times each time leaving behind what little remained, running from bombs, carrying nothing but fear and my child’s hand.
Now I live in a worn-out tent by the shores of Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis. The sea is in front of me, but no peace in sight only hunger, sickness, and exhaustion.My husband has been missing for a long time… I don’t know where he is, or if I’ll ever see him again. Since his disappearance, I’ve had to face everything alone.
But I’m not truly alone…
My little son is the one who takes care of me now.
Yes — a child has become my only support. He comforts me when I cry, searches for scraps of food, and holds my hand when I fall.
We are living a nightmare
There’s no clean water. No food. No medicine.We are constantly sick from malnutrition. I have severe pain in my leg and need ongoing treatment, but there’s no way to get help.
I’m tired. My body is breaking.
My son a child is carrying a weight no child should carry. We are dying in slow motion… while the world looks away.
Don’t let my son grow up watching his mother starve and suffer.
Your donation isn’t just money it’s food, it’s medicine, it’s life.
Help us… before it’s too late.
Before the last bit of strength fades from my body…and the last bit of hope leaves my son’s eyes.
✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #629 )✅️
