We are a family living under the harsh reality of war. My children—Qusai, who is 7 years old; Eileen, who is 5; and Hisham, who is nearly 2—and my husband all share a small tent ⛺️ with me, a space no larger than a single room. In this modest shelter, everything—our kitchen, bathroom, and sleeping area—has to fit, holding our entire lives in just a few square meters.
Sometimes, I wonder if our story has become just another story, another part of the background. But for us, it’s real. My children 🧒 lack clean clothes, enough food, 🥘 and fresh water, 💧 basic needs they deserve like every child. And now, with the biting cold 🥶 of winter ❄️ fast approaching, I find myself fearing for my two-year-old, who has no way to stay warm, no way to shield himself from the coming chill.
For the second year in a row, my children 👧 have not been able to attend school 🏫 . No education, no clear future. As a father, I feel helpless, unable to give them the hope they deserve.
We don’t ask for much. A small gesture, a simple question 🙋 about our well-being, can mean the world to us. Even a little attention🚨 to our story might help us find a way forward. For my children, for our family, we hold out hope that we’re not alone in this struggle.

