Rola Ameen Al-Dremly (second from left) with her father and other members of her family. Photo provided by Rola Ameen Al-Dremly

I walk alone under the scorching sun, feeling weaker with every step. My head is about to explode from the heat. My chest aches. My father needs me; I can’t stop. I search hospitals for a specialist to operate on him because he was injured by weapons fired in an Israeli airstrike. But there is no treatment, no doctor. Such care does not exist in Gaza.

My name is Rola Ameen. I am the eldest daughter in a family of six girls, and I am blessed with a loving mother and father. Despite the difficulties we faced in Gaza, our life was warm, peaceful, and full of love. My father worked as a mechanic in my uncle’s garage repairing old cars for the neighbors and from all over Gaza. My sisters and I studied and my mother was a housewife. But everything changed on the first day of the war. That morning, we woke up to the sounds of loud explosions, and since that day we have not really slept.

One by one, the Israeli killing machines deprived me of the people closest to me: family members, friends, even my beloved fiancé Ibrahim. I was preparing with him for the most important day of my life, my wedding. Everything was ready, my life was full of optimism, love, and happiness, as we went out to sea and built our future dreams. But the occupiers killed him and we have not been able to find his body. His loss saddened my heart deeply and my mind almost stopped.

The Israeli occupation planes killed my uncle. He was targeted by a missile from a plane while he was in the mosque. My only aunt with her husband and children was targeted in their home during the siege. My grandfather was killed by a tank shell while we were fleeing the house. Three cousins ​​were killed while playing on their doorstep. The house next door was bombed.

We are all ordinary people. With every loss, my heart almost stops.

Every death leaves a wound that may never heal. I am still in shock at how much we have suffered and the horror we are living through.

Despite it all, my father remains a constant source of strength for our family, teaching my sisters and me to stay strong, even in the face of unimaginable hardships. My little sister, who is three years old, has always felt scared and insecure. My father provides reassurance through hugs, playing with her, and talking to her. He tells her, “I love you, and you are always safe with me.” He is our superhero, lifting us up when grief threatens to break us.

On December 13, 2023, Israeli military vehicles stormed our neighborhood in Yarmouk. The shelling intensified and drones hovered overhead. My family, along with 20 relatives seeking shelter, huddled in a small room, praying desperately for our lives. The fear that night was indescribable. We were trapped and helpless, clinging to each other in the hope of seeing another day.

The next morning, we fled — leaving everything behind except our will to live. We headed to my grandmother’s house, thinking it was safer, even though in Gaza, nowhere is truly safe.

Once we arrived, hunger became our next enemy. With prices rising and money running out, we had nothing to eat. My father went back to our house to bring us some flour. But he never returned.

For two agonizing days, we had no contact with him. We were in shock. Finally, my cousin brought devastating news: My father had been seriously injured in a drone strike. He lay on the ground for four hours, his stomach ruptured, and ambulances were unable to reach him because they were under attack.

We were unable to reach the hospital where my father received only basic first aid due to the lack of medical equipment and specialists to perform life-saving surgeries. The doctors had no choice but to send him home, fearing infection and knowing there was little they could do. He endured constant pain and was unable to move, eat, or even use the bathroom properly. He needed urgent surgery, but such care was out of reach in Gaza.

My father, the sole breadwinner for our family, the man who worked tirelessly to support us by repairing cars for people in our neighborhood, now depended on us for everything. Now he was the one who needed repair.

So, we adapted. It was impossible for me to continue my studies — all lessons had been stopped — so I took on the role of gathering supplies while my mother prepared food and washed clothes by hand. My younger sisters had the task of carrying water containers. We all worked together to support the family.

Despite everything, my father remained strong. Even in his suffering, he taught us what it means to endure, to resist, and to love.

After months of pain and uncertainty, my father’s condition deteriorated and he was in dire need of medical attention. When at last I found a doctor, he told us my father needed an operation. When we heard this, my family was very worried and my father was very nervous and anxious. This was major surgery and there is not enough medical equipment.

The operation required large financial means and we did not have this money. My father has been unable to work; he has not received his monthly salary since the beginning of the war and prices are high. I created a donation campaign on the Go Fund Me website and we were able to borrow some money, too, to get my father the help he needed.

I often wonder how anyone can continue to fight for life and dignity when it feels like everything is lost. But then I remember my father, and I realize that we have no choice. We fight because we have to. We survive because we can.

All I want is to live a normal life, like everyone else outside of Gaza. I want to dream, to build a future, and to see my father recover. I want this war to end and to feel safe and stable in my country so that no more families have to suffer like mine.

Editor’s note: Rola Ameen’s fundraising campaign continues and is now directed toward helping the family pay off the medical bills, repair the family’s home, and buy a car so her father can work as a taxi driver.