I Would Like To Put Out Into The Universe That I Am Extremely Broke And Have Open Commissions

I would like to put out into the universe that I am extremely broke and have open commissions ✨

Hello everyone 🤍❤️💚🖤

I am Majed from Gaza, from the north of the Strip.

My family and I were displaced to the south. After 188 days of exhaustion, constant fear, and losing everything we owned, we were displaced to Egypt and paid a large sum, but some of my family and all our loved ones are still suffering in Gaza💔. We don't have residency here, so that's what makes it complicated. I also set a goal of 6,000, which is a short-term goal

Of the total specified amount.

Your donation, no matter how small, will make a big difference in my life and the lives of my children 🙏🏼🇵🇸🍉

https://gofund.me/f489e577

I absolutely would donate if I could, but hopefully me answering this will bring it some attention so someone else can. I’m so sorry, I hope you and your family remain safe until this genocide is over 💔

Free Palestine. 🇵🇸

From the river to the sea. 🤍❤️💚🖤

My 2024 commissions are open!

Commissions will take anywhere between two weeks and a month to complete (and occasionally longer depending on irl stuff!)

If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me in my ask box or direct messages!

If you're interested, please fill out My Commission Form so I can composite your commission info!!

You can also submit a commission via My Ko-Fi!

(If you're interested in buying physical artwork from me, you can visit my Etsy or my Redbubble !)

Sometimes I try to remember how your hands felt in mine, how calloused your palms or cold your jewelry or gentle your touch. Instead of memories of sharing a coat pocket, I find instead a pain I’d forgotten I could feel, and my heart clenches in its cage. I feel the weight of dying all over again. I think that’s what grief truly is. Dying over and over and over again until a version of yourself is born that has not touched or held or comforted that of which you grieve. Drying until a version of you is born that knows how to live without them. Sometimes I wake up with the ghost of your breath dancing across my skin, and I am grateful to have been the version to wake up this morning. Perhaps those versions of me that have died are somewhere with all the versions of you that they have loved. Perhaps they can be happy. Perhaps they do not remember the ache of not having you. Some version of us deserves happiness, after all.

pfffft that's rich I mean upper middle class

when my soldier husband (Ao3) is off to war (shut down for maintenance) and I (a broke college student) am left at home (my dorm at midnight) caring for our sick children (watching TikTok to cope with the fact I can’t read fics)