Gene/Женя, Horse Pirate🐎

Someone in my Norwegian class didn't know the word for cowboys so called them 'American horse pirates' and I've been laughing about it for about an hour.

🚨This video was discovered on the cellphone of a paramedic who was found along with 14 other Palestinian rescue and medical workers in a mass grave in Gaza. The Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies presented it to the UN Security Council this week.

Has ICE become our Gestapo?

🚨 BREAKING: Execution of 16 Ambulance Crew Members by Israeli Forces in Rafah southern Gaza Horrific Massacre : Following coordination with the International Red Cross, Civil Defense teams entered the Tel Al-Sultan area in Rafah, south of Gaza. It was confirmed that Israeli forces had executed all 16 members of the missing Civil Defense and Red Crescent teams, who had disappeared four days ago. They were found buried near the barracks. Additionally, all Red Crescent ambulances and Civil Defense firefighting vehicles at the site were deliberately destroyed.

HEELO WORLD, 22 days have passed, and not a single morsel of food or drop of water has entered the Gaza Strip. 2.4 million people in Gaza are dying of hunger in front of the world's eyes, and no one is doing anything about it. TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. THANKS 🫡

Interesting.

While many knew Hossam as a fearless journalist, there was so much more to him. He was a young man with dreams, with a sense of humor, and a heart full of life. He loved dressing well, even in the middle of chaos, once joking: “What if I run into a cute girl while reporting? I want to look good!” Hossam had crushes. He wanted to fall in love, to build a family, to be a husband and a father. He talked about the future like he believed in it — like it was something real and reachable. He wanted more than headlines and frontlines. He wanted soft mornings, quiet dinners, laughter with loved ones. He dreamed of leaving Gaza someday, saying, “When this is all over, I’m taking a long break — I want to visit a beautiful country.” He longed for peace — not just for his people, but for his own soul. A chance to breathe freely, to explore, to just be. He grew up by the sea and loved seafood deeply. The ocean was part of him — he’d smile and say, “I love everything seafood — I grew up with it.” There was something about the water that calmed him, something that reminded him of home, even as the world around him was in pieces. At night, you’d find him with his headphones on, listening to music — especially Palestinian songs. He’d spend time during the day downloading them so he could escape into melodies once the city quieted down. It was his small form of peace — rhythm in the middle of ruin. He was pure. He was innocent. There was a gentleness in him that never hardened, even in war. A softness that stayed untouched by the noise around him. He believed in beauty, in love, in something better. And that is how he should be remembered — not just as a journalist, but as a young man who wanted to live.