I Just Want to Live: A Palestinian Child’s Plea from the Rubble

My name is Youssef. I am 11 years old. I used to love soccer, my baby sister’s laugh, and my mama’s cooking. Now I live in silence, surrounded by dust and ghosts.

I’m from Gaza. Or what’s left of it.

The last time I saw my school, it was in flames. The last time I saw my best friend, he was under rubble. And the last time I saw my father… he was running toward an ambulance with blood on his shirt—and never came back.

I don’t understand politics. I don’t know about borders or occupation. But I do know this: we are dying. And no one seems to care.

Through the Eyes of Innocence: War Has No Justification

Every night, my mother tells me stories to help me sleep. But even her voice trembles now. Our windows are shattered, and our floor is covered in dust. She wraps me and my sister in a blanket and tells us, “Close your eyes. Pretend you’re somewhere safe.”

Where is safe?

Is it where children don’t flinch at every loud sound? Where the sky doesn’t roar with drones? Where water comes from a faucet, not a broken barrel?

I used to think the world was big and beautiful. But from the corner I hide in, it feels cold and cruel.

Where Playgrounds Were, Now Lie Graves

There was a park down the street. It had one swing and a slide with peeling paint. It wasn’t much, but it was ours.

Now, it’s gone.

A missile landed there last week. Three children were playing. Their names were Hani, Sarah, and Mahmoud. I remember because we used to race to the swing. Now their names are written on the walls of the mosque.

I still hear their laughter sometimes in my dreams.

I wish I had taken one more turn on that swing. I wish I had told them I loved them. I wish… they were still here.

What Did We Do to Deserve This?

I asked my mother once, “Why do they hate us?”

She looked at me with eyes full of sadness and said, “They don’t see you, Youssef. They only see a map. A land they want. Not the boy with a dream.”

Is that what we are? Dots on a map? Obstacles in someone’s way?

I was born into rubble. Raised under drones. And every time I build a new dream, someone comes and tears it down.

We didn’t choose this life. We don’t want to fight. We just want to live.

A Voice from the Rubble That the World Must Hear

When the airstrikes hit our building, everything turned red and gray. I remember my sister screaming. I remember the walls shaking. I remember holding her so tightly that I forgot I was bleeding.

We spent the night outside, barefoot and freezing. My mother held us close, whispering, “We are still alive. Thank God we are still alive.”

But sometimes, I wonder—what kind of life is this?

There’s no electricity most days. No clean water. No school. And the smell of death never leaves.

We bury our dead in silence because there's no time to cry.

And still, the world debates whether we deserve to be free.

A Plea for Justice, Not Charity

I don’t want pity. I want freedom.

I want to walk to school without stepping over rubble. I want to drink water without getting sick. I want to be able to hug my father again.

I want people to stop saying “both sides” when only one side is trapped behind fences, denied medicine, bombed in the night.

We are not collateral damage. We are not numbers on the news.

We are children with names, families, dreams

Hope in a Broken World

Still, I hope.

Because hope is the only thing they haven’t destroyed.

I hope the world will finally see us—not as a headline, but as humans.
I hope people will speak out, share our stories, scream our names.
I hope the bombs will stop, the walls will fall, and I can live like any other child.

I hope one day I will walk barefoot through a field, not a minefield.
I hope I’ll hear laughter instead of sirens.

And I hope—if you’re reading this—you will care enough to say: No more.

No more killing.
No more silence.
No more pretending we don't exist.

Conclusion: If I Could Speak to the World

If I had a microphone loud enough for the world to hear, I would say this:

“My name is Youssef. I’m not a terrorist. I’m not a threat. I’m a boy. A son. A brother. A dreamer. And I just want to live.”