The Girl Who Became a Teacher During Genocide
💔🚨 Since the beginning of the genocide, my little brother has not been able to attend school—not even for a single day. 😭🇵🇸
Continue reading →My name is Layan
My name is Layan. I am 16 years old.
At my age, I should be worrying about school, dreaming about my future, and laughing with my friends over little things. Instead, war chose a different life for me.
Continue reading →Standing on the Edge
🥺 How many times have we stood on the edge? 💔
Continue reading →The Price of a Memory 💔🕊️
Before the war, beads were my sanctuary. I used to weave them into bracelets and charms—small, colorful tokens of love for my friends and teachers. Each bead held a piece of our laughter, a shared secret, and a promise that we would always be together. 🤍
Memoirs of a Survivor
Between Memory and Ashes
Writing these words, I am not merely a student awaiting a grade; I am a soul desperately clinging to the fraying thread of life amidst an unrelenting storm. I remember those mornings so vividly. They began with the aroma of coffee in our home and my mother’s gentle voice: "Wake up, my little one, your day awaits." I would organize my notebooks with care, arrange the colorful pens that painted my dreams on paper, and carry a backpack filled with nothing but textbooks and a future clearly mapped out. I would walk the streets, breathing normal air, heading to school with a heart full of ambition—no fear, no looking back, and no fear that every goodbye might be the last.
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