We lost our house — the place where every wall held our memories. My father lost his job, and with it, our family’s only source of stability. I lost my university education, the one thing I believed would secure my future and lift us to a better life. In just a short time, everything that once felt safe slipped away, leaving behind uncertainty and fear.

Each day now is a test of strength. I watch my parents struggle to stay hopeful, even as the weight of our situation grows heavier. My father, once full of energy and determination, now spends his days searching for any kind of work to keep us going. My mother tries to keep our spirits up, reminding me that faith and hope can survive even the hardest storms. But it’s not easy.

Sometimes I sit and remember the person I used to be — a student, a dreamer, someone with plans and ambitions. Now, I am simply trying to survive, to help my family hold on through the darkness.

It’s not easy for me to ask for help. I’ve always believed in working hard for what I have, but now I’ve learned that sometimes, life leaves us with no other choice. We are left with almost nothing, yet I am trying to hold on to hope — to the belief that kindness still exists, and that with the compassion of others, we can begin again.

Every contribution, no matter how small, is more than just material help — it’s a spark of hope. It means the chance to rebuild our lives, to help my father find stability again, and maybe, one day, for me to return to university and continue the education I’ve dreamed of finishing.