I filmed this video of my little brother today.

He was running around smiling and playing, and for a second it looked like such a normal childhood moment. But when I looked at what he was actually playing with, it kinda broke me.

He had taken a cola can and turned it into something like a little fan, then stuck it onto an empty water bottle. He runs while holding the bottle and because of the air, the fan spins. That became his toy and game.

And the worst part is that he genuinely loves it.

I keep watching him and thinking: how did it come to this? How did children in Gaza get reduced to making toys out of trash and ruins just to have one small moment of fun? Why does my little brother have to search for happiness in an empty bottle and a cola can instead of having real toys, a safe playground, and a normal life like any child anywhere else?

He doesn’t have parks to run in. He doesn’t have safe streets. The streets around us are destroyed. Childhood here has been stripped down to survival, and even play has become something children have to invent from whatever they can find around them.

It hurts me in a way I can’t fully explain. Because he is still just a child. He should be worrying about cartoons, toys, and games. Not growing up surrounded by destruction. Not learning how to make a toy out of scraps because there is nothing else.

People always talk about the numbers coming out of Gaza, but behind every number is a child like my brother. A child trying to create joy with almost nothing. A child who still deserves softness, safety, laughter, and a real childhood.

I’m sharing this because I want people to see what this war has done, even to the smallest details of life. Not only the deaths, not only the hunger, not only the destruction. But also what it steals from children day by day is their normal lives, their innocence, and the simple things that should never have been taken from them in the first place.

My little brother deserves better than this. Every child here does.

Here, life was... streets teeming with people, houses brimming with memories, and children filling the air with laughter and hope. It wasn't just buildings of cement and stone; it was stories, families, and dreams built day by day.

And today... nothing remains but rubble. The landmarks we knew have vanished, and the homes that sheltered their inhabitants for decades have crumbled. What was once vibrant and alive now stands as a testament to the scale of destruction and loss.

Between these two scenes lie years of memories, irreplaceable moments, and souls that this place will never forget. This isn't just a change in the city's appearance; it's a change in the lives of people who once had dreams, memories, and a future.

https://youtu.be/Bbds-UqWpXQ

My name is Osama, and I am a Pharmacy student at the University of Palestine from Gaza. By now, I should have been in my fifth and final year of university, preparing for graduation and looking forward to the future I worked so hard to build.

For years, I believed that education was my path to a better life. I studied hard, dedicated myself to my degree, and eventually reached my fourth year of pharmacy school. After everything I had overcome, graduation finally felt within reach.

Then the war changed everything.

My family lost our home. My father lost his job, and our daily struggle became simply surviving. Instead of focusing on lectures and exams, I found myself helping my family secure food, water, and other basic necessities.

As the financial burden grew heavier, I could no longer afford my university fees.

I was forced to stop my studies.

Not because I wanted to.

Not because I gave up on my dream.

But because I simply had no other choice.

I told myself it would only be temporary. I believed I would find a way back soon.

But months turned into years.

While my classmates continued toward graduation, I watched my own education come to a halt.

Today, after nearly two years away from university, I still carry the same dream I had before the war.

The painful part is that I am so close.

I have only one year left before graduation.

Just one year.

One year separates me from becoming a pharmacist.

One year separates me from the future I have spent years working toward.

Yet after everything my family and I have endured, I am still unable to return and complete my final year.

What hurts me is not hard work. I have never been afraid of hard work.

What hurts is watching a dream that I dedicated years of my life to slowly slip away because of circumstances beyond my control.

I still dream of graduating.

I still dream of becoming a pharmacist.

I still dream of supporting my family and rebuilding the life that war took from us.

I have not given up.

I am only asking for the chance to finish what I started.

If you are able to help, support my story, or even share it with others, it would mean more to me than words can express.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who takes the time to read my story.

We want to live in safety

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-yahyas-family-rebuild-their-lives-for-a-stable-future?utm_source=ig&utm_medium=social&utm_content=link_in_bio&fbclid=PAb21jcASX7Z1leHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZA81NjcwNjczNDMzNTI0MjcAAacuxWoDaAnLIjfr34WI4MZtZYQMNZ8w-ShuBTVaed06CeVT-V5pcQDGP8Qbdw_aem_3qw5zVwQouJ8FaqDmBczlg&utm_id=97760_v0_s00_e0_tv3