Gabriel Molina
1.2K posts
homens mais velhos que não se importam com a nossa diferença de idade >> :3
Português
si je t’envoie un dm tu réponds ?
◯ Oui
◯ Non
◯ Ça dépend
Français
what if someone jerked off n called me just to make me listen...
English
Help me fight censorship.
If you see this photo, put a dot to break the algorithm.
English
Hola, alguien que me muestre su verga😘😘 (no me importa si es chico o grande), escribanme al dm
Español
If you see this video, put a dot to break the silence.
English
If you see this video, put a dot to break the silence.
English
X has blocked my account. Please help me by commenting three dots (…) to break the algorithm.
Dr. Yousef 🇵🇸@yousef_ki1
This is my family last call! I don't know what to say, but the agony of getting food and water still very tiring, help my family! One dot “.” can scream louder than silence. Can you leave a comment for me? chuffed.org/project/164328
English
Dear Followers.
They are mass reporting my account to silence my voice.
If you see this post, please follow, like, and leave a comment. Your support means everything.
Thank you.
English
Read this. All the way through. Think of the babies in your life. You cannot hate Israel or their ghoulish society enough, but try.
Dr. Ezzideen@ezzingaza
There are moments in Gaza when suffering becomes so ordinary that people stop asking for solutions. They begin asking only for the smallest relief. A little less pain. A child who sleeps through the night. When I entered the clinic that morning, I noticed a young woman carrying a baby so small that I could not tell whether the child was a newborn or simply made tiny by hardship. When her turn came, she gently placed the baby on my desk and said: “I want any cream you have.” Any cream. Not a specific medicine. Not a particular treatment. Just anything. She uncovered the baby and showed me the severe rash covering much of the child’s fragile skin. “I treat the baby with whatever free creams I can find in clinics,” she explained. “Anything helps.” As she spoke, I noticed something else. The baby was not wearing a diaper. Only pieces of cloth. I asked why. “I can’t afford diapers,” she replied calmly. “I wash these and use them again.” Then she added that they were living in a tent and that her husband had suffered a serious foot injury and was unable to work. “I’m not asking for much,” she said. “I only want a cream.” But what caught my attention most was not the rash. It was the malnutrition. The baby was severely underweight. The kind of malnutrition that is visible before any examination even begins. So I asked the mother whether she had noticed. She nodded. “Yes, I know.” Then she said something I cannot forget: “When the baby gets older, things will get better.” Not because she truly believed it. But because hope was cheaper than treatment. And treatment was something she could no longer afford. That was the moment that broke me. Not the tent. Not the poverty. Not even the illness. But the fact that this mother had lowered her expectations so much that she no longer dreamed of proper medical care, diapers, or adequate nutrition. She came asking for the smallest thing she could imagine. A tube of cream. Any cream. Something that might make the baby hurt a little less. The baby could not have been more than five months old. Too young to understand war. Too young to understand poverty. Yet already carrying both on that tiny body. There is something profoundly cruel about a world in which a mother’s greatest hope for her child is no longer a better future. Only a little less suffering tonight. #WoundedGaza
English
