We Are Ordinary Humans: Voices from a War-Torn Land
Earlier today, I sat in the front seat of a van. Next to me was a young man with an amputated leg. He and the driver, clearly old friends, were deep in conversation, reminiscing about life before the war. There was laughter, pain, and moments of silence. Then, the young man turned and said something that stopped me cold:
“I just want to go home and eat. I miss food so much.”
His words echoed inside me — not just in my mind, but in my empty stomach and heavy soul. I couldn’t shake the weight of them.
Later that same day, another image engraved itself in my heart. A young girl, also with an amputated leg, hopped gently on her crutches — like a wounded butterfly fluttering through the dust. She approached a street vendor, looked at the prices, frowned, and walked away. She wore a mask of joy, but anyone who looked closely could see the disappointment in her eyes. She moved on with her friends, pretending everything was fine.
I recognized her. She was the same girl from a video I once saw — handing flowers to patients in a Gaza hospital. Touched by her kindness, I had sent her a small gift through her kindergarten teacher. Today, I wished I could do the same again, just to offer her some dignity in a world that constantly takes it away.
But what can I do? I’m just a person.
And that’s what we are — ordinary people.
We cry. We laugh. We break. We give.
We suffer and hunger and hope.
We are not heroes. We are not statistics. We are just people trying to live.
Dear world, dear God — intervene. Save us from this endless ocean of sorrow.
Leave a Reply