Mohammed’s one child, a daughter, was born just weeks before the Oct. 7, 2023, attack.
Dear Eliza,
We are living in a state of relentless mental turmoil—an overwhelming chase that no world-class filmmaker or masterful storyteller could ever recreate. And if they tried, they would surely fail.
We are facing suffocating despair and unbearable frustration amid circumstances that have stripped life of its simplest essentials. Trust has collapsed in every direction, across all stages of our existence.
Yet, somehow, we possess a well of patience that does not come from within ourselves, but rather, it is a divine strength granted to us by Allah—to keep us standing amid the storm.
Hunger, thirst, and poverty have become constant companions, walking beside us moment by moment in a reality void of humanity, where morality has withered and the foundations of resilience have crumbled.
Still, there is something unknown, something unseen, that sustains us—a mysterious strength that Allah places in our hearts, allowing us to endure.
We cling to life despite its dangers. We struggle to survive, even as exhaustion eats away at our focus and shattered balance.
How much time do we need to restore the equilibrium we have lost?
How much patience must we muster to reclaim even a fraction of the clarity that once guided us?
In this world, people are born to live—and then die.
But we were born only to die.
And yet, somehow… we are still alive.
Gaza… The City That Does Not Break
Gaza, where the siege wraps around the horizon, where life is snatched from beneath the rubble—but it does not die.
We live through harsh days—not enough electricity, no clean water, no medicine to heal—but we still resist, still pray for life.
The sounds of bombing have become familiar, and the smell of smoke comes before the scent of bread. Yet our souls still cling to hope. Every sunrise brings a whisper: maybe this is the end of the darkness.
We bury our loved ones, we say goodbye to homes that once held our memories, but we never say goodbye to the dream.
Gaza bleeds, but it does not kneel.
In every child born despite the war, in every flower blooming from between the stones, there is a message: We are here. We remain. We love life… and we will live.
Mohammed Sameer
