This Is My Testimony from Gaza 💔🕊️

My name is Lina Abdel Aziz. I am 31 years old.

This is not just a story I am telling… it is a life I am still forced to live every single day. 💔

Before the war, I was a law student. I had only one semester left before graduation. I believed that justice was not only something I studied, but a value that could change lives. I dreamed of wearing my graduation gown, beginning my career, and raising my children in a safe home where they could grow up knowing peace, not fear. 🎓🤍

They say there is a ceasefire. They say the fighting has stopped.

For us, those words do not match reality. Perhaps some people choose to believe them to ease their conscience or to justify their silence. But here, death has never taken a break. Not during the day. Not at night. Not in the streets. Not inside tents. Not inside homes. Not even during funerals. Every day brings new massacres, new victims, and new grieving families. 🚨🥺

Tonight, I was on my way home from a private lesson. I was thinking about nothing more than getting back safely.

Then, in an instant, everything changed.

In one of Gaza's neighborhoods, a street vendor's cart lost its balance, and fruit spilled across the road. 🍎

But What Happened Next Left Me Speechless. 💔

For a brief moment, I thought hunger would win. Many of these children have not tasted fruit for months. For them, a single piece of fruit has become a distant dream in the midst of war, siege, and deprivation. 💔🥀

A Child's Lifetime of Grief💔😭😭

She sat beside the body of her last surviving son, staring at his face as if she were waiting for him to open his eyes and whisper, "Don't cry, Mom." Before him, she had already buried her husband and another son. He was all she had left—the last heartbeat of a family that once filled their home with life. She used to say, "Thank God... I still have my son." She held on to him like a drowning soul clings to the last piece of wood. But even that fragile hope did not last. A bullet ended the last thread connecting her to life.💔❤️‍🩹

Holding his face against her chest, she whispered through tears, "God... by a miracle, bring him back to me. Let it have been me instead. Let my heart carry the pain, not his." She was not asking for the impossible; she was simply a mother refusing to believe that she had to bury the last child she had left. When only silence answered her, she did not lose a son alone—she lost the final reason that kept her standing💔🙏

💔 I don't know when I grew up. It feels as though the war stole my childhood before I ever had the chance to live it, leaving me with a heart that has learned to cry far too often.

🕊️ At first, I cried for the friends and relatives who never came back. I kept believing we would meet again, but some goodbyes are forever.

📚 Then I cried for my education. I dreamed of growing up, of becoming someone who could make my family proud. Instead, war stole my classrooms, my books, and the quiet days every child deserves. I studied beneath the sound of warplanes, trying to convince myself that a future still existed.