They say it is a dangerous thing. But how can it be, when we believe that hope is in the face of Allah? How could it ever be dangerous? They will never succeed in making it so for us. But we need it from you too. Now more than ever.

HOPE!

Everything they have done, every crime that bleeds the soul of humanity; has been to strip us of hope. This has all been designed to make us believe that holding on is futile. That we are nothing, that we are forgotten, that we do not belong on this land. That no matter how much we endure, how much we resist, we will never survive, never feel safe, never feel normal again.

They call us nothing. But if we are truly nothing, why do they fear us? Why do they try so desperately to silence our voices? Why do they kill our children? Why do the make their own faith seem corrupt, their people the most hated, all while claiming to be the victims?

And why does the world allow them to do this to us? Why does it kneel before them? If they are the so-called chosen people, then what does that make the world; their servants? Their slaves? Standing by as they erase an entire nation? What was the purpose of power and wealth if even the most powerful are rendered helpless in the face of such evil? And what is the meaning of freedom when no one can cry out, No more killing children, without being silenced?

The silence of this world makes everything feel meaningless. Not the world that has stood with us since the first day, but the other one. The lowest one. The one that watches, calculates, and stays silent. The one that makes survival feel like nothing more than a delay before the inevitable.

People are no longer shocked by our suffering. No massacre; no matter how immense, has been enough to awaken the world to stop it. They've grown used to it; or perhaps just bored. They won't want to share in our pain because, why would they, when ignoring us is easier? When they can simply look away and continue with their lives as if nothing ever happened?

They brought the world to its knees before they could ever bring us down! Shameful!

But feeling this way does not mean we are weak. It means we are human. And maybe that is the true test; the fact that we are still here, still questioning if we were created for anything beyond suffering.

While waiting for the next level of man-made hell; I do not believe my existence is pointless. But why am I being pushed to feel that way? Hopelessness is not just exhaustion. And how how would I even know if it was? I have never been allowed to rest. I have never felt anything but tired.

How is a human being supposed to keep feeling, knowing that when they are killed, the world will move on as if they never existed? How has it become normal to survive even a single day in this madness? And why has a corrupt world not only accepted it but learned to look away?

Is it ok for me to feel like my existence has no meaning? Do I deserve to see a moment where this feeling fades? Why must I struggle to make sense of my emotions while the world feels no burden of conscience? Why does it stand still instead of taking action?

Do I just need to stay? Let time pass? Stay doing what? Treating the wounded who will be killed anyway? Should I do it anyway? Should we stay however we can? Should I stay for those who still need me, even when I don’t feel like I need myself?

Do I have to be strong? Hopeful? Maybe to stay longer, I should let myself go numb, because feeling everything at once is too much. Maybe this is what happens when a human being is pushed beyond every imaginable limit.

But endure more; for what? Exist; for what? When they do not even allow us to be? If I am here now, I may not be in the next moment. Maybe I don't have to be for anyone or anything right now. Maybe I can just allow myself to exist in whatever way I can. And If the next moment comes, and then the next; then I have beaten everything that was meant to erase me, if only for another moment. That is not nothing, is it?

You cannot ask me to believe in life when it feels beyond reach. Yet, I am still here. And that, in itself, is proof of how many times I’ve tried, despite it all. This is not about how much a person can fight; it’s about how much a person is forced to endure. And at this moment, survival itself feels out of reach.

Even in all this, I know Allah does not abandon His creation. He sees every injustice, hears every prayer, an counts every tear. I may not understand the wisdom in this suffering, but nothing is hidden from Him. Perhaps enduring another moment is itself an act of worship. Maybe surviving, despite everything, is proof that my existence is written by Allah; not by those who seek to erase me. This is not nothing. This is faith.