4:53 PM @mohamed.h.masri It is perhaps one of the rare instances in recent times that an entire family is wiped from the civil registry, leaving only their photos behind. This is an opportunity to remind the world, and anyone with a conscience, that the genocide in #Gaza has taken lives, stolen faces, dreams, and people who once aspired to live in peace. It is a chance to remember the dozens of families who are killed under the roofs of their homes every night, without anyone taking action.
This was our colleague, Iman Al-Shanti, and her family. They were once beautiful faces, and now they are lifeless bodies drenched in blood, wrapped in black bags and white shrouds. 12:03 AM @sami97alsultan أدخل عامي الثامن والعشرون وكلي ألم وحسرة على حياتي
I am entering my twenty-eighth year, full of pain and regret for my life.
وليست هذه هي المرة الاولى لمحاولاتي في الكتابة ، أمتلىء بالكثير من الكلمات التي تسكن في جوفي صامتة ويكأنها تشتعل في صمت لا أدري كيف أطفئها ! فالحقيقة الوحيدة أنها لن تنطفيء طالما هنالك ناراً ما زالت تحرق كل شيء لنا لقد ابتلعت كل ما يعز علينا من أهل وأصدقاء وأحباب وبيوت وشوارع وكل ما في المدينة ، أنا ابن تلك المدينة أحملها أينما وليت تسكنني تأبى مغادرتي تثقلني أمشي ثقيل الخطوات ممتلئاً بها ، لا أخفي عليكم أنني أتحايل على نفسي بالتعايش ولكن سرعان ما أفشل ، أنا مشتاق يا غزة أنا ابنك لقد أتممت عامي الثامن والعشرون ، أي من المتوقع أنني الآن في وسط زحمة من الاهل والأحباب نأخذ قسطاً من السعادة في إحدى المطاعم او الأماكن التي ننتمي إليها ، لكنني أرثيك وأنا قابع في الغربة أتابع كل تفاصيل الأخبار وجحيمها وأعيش في جحيم ووجع وألم فراقها وفراق الأحباب
This is not the first time I have tried to write, I am filled with many words that dwell silently in my heart and as if they are burning in silence. I do not know how to extinguish them! The only truth is that they will not be extinguished as long as there is a fire that continues to burn everything for us. It has swallowed everything that is dear to us from family, friends, loved ones, houses, streets and everything in the city. I am the son of that city. I carry it wherever I wish it would inhabit me. It refuses to leave me. It weighs me down and I walk with heavy steps, filled with it. I do not hide from you that I trick myself into coexisting, but I quickly fail. I miss you, Gaza. I am your son. I have completed my twenty-eighth year. It is expected that I am now in the middle of a crowd of family and loved ones, taking a break from happiness in one of the restaurants or places we belong to, but I mourn you while I am stuck in exile, following all the details of the news and its hell. 
