In Gaza, even the simple act of breathing has become a daily struggle. The air, thick with ash, dust, and the remnants of explosives, presses heavily on lungs already weakened by fear and fatigue. Asthma patients find themselves in a war within a war, fighting to draw breath in a place where clean air no longer exists. What was once life’s most natural rhythm has turned into a relentless contest between survival and suffocation.

Across the ruins of Gaza City, inhalers are rare, oxygen machines silent. The hospitals that once offered relief are overwhelmed or in ruins. Families sheltering among the debris choke on the same air that carries the dust of their destroyed homes. For people like Nasma Younis, each movement is a risk: “I feel like the air itself is attacking me,” she says, clutching her chest. Even the smallest task, washing, cooking, playing with her children, now ends in breathless exhaustion. The destruction has turned the atmosphere into a constant reminder of loss, where survival depends on endurance rather than medicine.

Doctors warn that Gaza’s poisoned air has become a slow, invisible weapon. Layers of fine dust and ash, mixed with chemical pollutants from exploded munitions, have caused a sharp increase in asthma attacks, especially among children and the elderly. With vital medications running out and hospitals unable to cope, patients face the terrifying reality of respiratory failure without help. “Every day we see new cases,” says Dr Iman Odeh. “People are breathing what should never be breathed.”

As winter approaches and humidity rises, the suffocating air grows heavier still. For thousands of Gazans, breathing has become both a physical act of defiance and a metaphor for survival. In the midst of destruction, each breath taken is a quiet declaration that life, fragile, gasping, but unyielding, refuses to surrender.