Life time of a brutal occupation, and total siege. Two years of genocide, a never-ending hell. What do you mean you're not going to survive it? Don't be silly. Stay strong. Stay safe. Don't worry. Protect yourself. Take care of your health. You are amazing. You've got the truth. You're the best of us. Hold on. Don't lose hope.

Come on, world! Help us, we need you.

Today's shift was exhausting, but it was full of smiles.

The world leaders and international news claim that the genocide has ended, that peace has been achieved. But they are lying. There is no such thing as a ceasefire yet.The noisy drones never left. We've witnessed days recently more deadly than many during the genocide. Every few minutes, I still hear shooting and loud explosions in the distance. They make my bed shake; but they no longer make my heart tremble.

I’ve come to realize something significant this morning, as I sat quietly in a broken car on my way to my shift: the dehumanization of us has created the ugliest creatures; now ready to dehumanize innocent people for no reason at all. This is worse than hell.

I speak in the name of all Gazan doctors.

What's the purpose of writing, if it cannot speak the whole truth? And what's the use of speaking the whole truth, when the ending never changes?

That's their plan; they never believed in peace. They never intended to stop the genocide. The world should be ashamed, bow its head, and bury it in the soil for allowing them to win with such a plan. I no longer wish to be seen. I wish to be helped. I ask for protection, for my family, from this terrorism. Now; now before it's so late.

HOW CAN WE HOLD ON TO A WORLD IN WHICH JUSTICE HAS DIED, AND GENOCIDE IS SOMETHING STILL DEBATED?

Save what remains of life within us. They say the "war" has ended, but I say the genocide will continue killing people and torturing souls until the very end.

I didn't pray today. I forgot to pray.

I was dead; and the war woke me up again.

This is my niece, Ciela, today, so beautiful and sweet, and full of life. And with her, in the third video, is her cousin, poor innocent Nedal, who has been waiting for months for an urgent medical evacuation. l am at the hospital, and It's been more than a week since the so-called end of the war, yet we still can't find medications for our sick patients. We still receive people shot in the head; by the IOF.

Winter is the season I love the most, but I couldn't enjoy the rain for three years.

Today was meaningful, and beautiful; a warm day, for more than 240 children.

Walk in the darkness. Close your eyes. Don't open them until you hit something, or something hits you; try it, and see how it feels. That's how I feel, while my eyes are wide open; only thousand times worse. After coincidentally surviving a genocide, I should be living freely now. My family should never have to fear going through another round of genocide again.

Very low, very disturbing night drones; the echoes of genocide, are my nightmares. This is not a genocide, it's a videogame, and we are not humans, we are shields. What we're feeling is unbearable: the pain, the fatigue, the discomfort, the depression, the anxiety, the despair; every dark emotion, every depth of exhaustion.

Saleh, and so many others, are survivors of genocide; but victims of dehumanization. Israel keeps killing, day after day, still torturing us with darkness and fear. May he be the last martyr. Glory to all martyrs, peace to the survivors, and justice for all.

I'm home from my first shift after the ceasefire. I am grateful; yet mortified, and angry.

If l was asked to name heroes I have worked with and affected by in this long, endless, deadly battle, while fighting death and diseases, I would put Youssef at the top of the list!

Have I just survived the worst, endless, motherfucking genocide?

I am worth the world. My friends and colleagues are worth the world too.

I am at the hospital, surviving another busy long shift, feeling like dead.

It's already the seventh of October; two hellish years of this damned genocide, and we are still here, somehow, still smiling.

I was at the beach with my friend Aboud, who brought me one of his jackets to wear. We were waiting there for the Sumod flottila, until the occupation arrived, terrifying everyone, stealing baby formula, and continuing to kill, starve, and deepen the children's suffering.