“If you feel pain, you're alive. If you feel other people’s pain, you're a human being.”

Salam; “Peace”. Thank you all for being human. I know you're trying your best not to fail your humanity, or ours. And I believe that most of you can do better, and will. I know you are good people, trying to save what's left.

Yet, as we fought to hold on to hope and faith in humanity, as we have struggled for justice and life, we have lost our own lives and the ones we love.

I find myself wondering: what is more difficult? Surviving a genocide or perishing in one?

Today is the last day of Ramadan, and tomorrow marks the first day of Eid. But for us, Ramadan has been far from what it should be, and Eid has not felt like Eid; for what seems like a lifetime. I’ll spend the whole day at the hospital, and I hope it goes peacefully, if you know what I mean!

Loving through a genocide comes naturally to me. Offering kindness to those who need it, to those who deserve it, is second nature. But what truly torments me is the fear that I may not have enough strength to give enough love, to show enough kindness. That, to me, is the deepest form of psychological suffering.

And yet, even in the darkest moments; when everything in me wants to shatter, when my soul aches to scream and weep until nothing remains; I remind myself: love is resistance, kindness is defiance, and holding onto our humanity is our greatest act of courage.

No matter how much they take from us, they cannot take what we refuse to surrender; our love, our dignity, our unshaken belief that justice will prevail. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. And until that day comes, we will endure. We will love. We will remain.

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