Hello, my name is Bisan. I'm from Gaza, still alive. God is my witness that I am full of life, that I love my life, love my country, love my family and friends. I've always dreamed of helping people, changing the world, standing for justice, and of my voice always being heard.
I woke up to my life and found my sky shattered, realizing I'm from an oppressed people, killed every morning at (as if) for breakfast. Breaking news never stopped being aired in our home since I was a year old. I am Bisan, still alive, but I have no sin deserving the world's punishment, rejection, or sending heavy weapons to shake the ground under me and bury me alive without any shame of all these crimes, without fear of consequences, because they control the law and power.
I am Bisan, still alive. Today, I ran in the street for a 15 minutes to outrun the pilot coming to kill me and reach the shelter (hospital). I don't know where I found the strength, but I had to capture images to let our voice reach the world.
I am Bisan, still alive, not sure if I'll remain so. If I die, I won't forgive the world. My blood and the blood of my people are in the world's food and drinks, on their faces and in their nightmares. If I die, the entire world pressed the trigger that killed me.
