About Unwritten

Every time I unlock my phone, Gaza is there. Images that linger, headlines weightier than my device in hand. Opinions pile up so fast that the real story, human lives, is becoming harder to hear. Ironically, I find myself just skipping it through.

The airwaves are clotted with outrage, graphic footage, and relentless analysis. Some voices demand we speak. Others caution us to tread lightly. And trapped between the noise, I’ve found myself shrinking, waiting for a conversation space where truth, not volume, prevails.

• The Gaza Strip is now in the grip of a man-made famine, declared by an IPC panel after Israel’s 22-month military campaign, which figures reveal has already killed over 62,000 Palestinians, half of them women and children Al Jazeera+3HeyLink+3TRT Global+3AP News+1.
• Nearly every Gazan has been displaced, enduring a blockade that cuts off food, fuel, water, and medicine. Hospitals and homes lie in ruins; communicable diseases are rising; clean water is nearly impossible to find Oxfam AmericaWikipedia+1.
• In one hospital—the last functioning one in southern Gaza—a double airstrike killed over 20 people, including medical staff and journalists, in yet another blow to limited healthcare infrastructure Wikipedia+9AP News+9Wikipedia+9.
• Global hunger monitor declares famine in Gaza —-> more reads

This isn’t just media overload or political posturing. These are cities erased, children starving, lives pushed to their breaking point. And yet, amid this maelstrom, the human narrative is often squeezed out. Conversations veer off course into “who’s right,” while the real tragedy of the numerous lives undone slips away.

Being silent is dangerous. It can feel like complicity. But shouting doesn’t always help if our words don’t carry humanity. I’ve found myself holding back not because I don’t want to speak, but because I’m refusing to contribute to the noise machine that loses sight of suffering amid argument.

In my capacity, and as a speck of dust on this earth, I wish for a prayer ..for the people of Gaza, for those who’ve lost, for those still holding on.