tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83011576282069526342024-03-05T21:32:15.991-08:00A Blog Without AnswersRead > Follow > Share >Enjoy > CommentAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-85874749789782819992014-01-19T03:44:00.000-08:002014-01-19T03:45:31.663-08:00Chapter 7 - Let Me Fly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkKLGoVDDhefEAn2JbsryYfRQLLEY2_dvLvN827F2bZ3AHhDgjK6aluM_eaeRtP3RTHwdwiW_hoLm9JdmMHOjzhOGAecJsOdqh_OcZsIwxkiW3phEAiaOoIDL0qqHDjbxAR04X8uC1Faz/s1600/Chapter+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkKLGoVDDhefEAn2JbsryYfRQLLEY2_dvLvN827F2bZ3AHhDgjK6aluM_eaeRtP3RTHwdwiW_hoLm9JdmMHOjzhOGAecJsOdqh_OcZsIwxkiW3phEAiaOoIDL0qqHDjbxAR04X8uC1Faz/s400/Chapter+7.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘Before I even began to think about what I would say, I was already
holding my tears back. For this conversation, emotions had no place. For this
person, the word emotion had no definition.’</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">To be loved with its whole
sincerity, such a rare feature we find only in a few. If parents were to be an
exception, would that statement remain true? That is the question I now ponder
on but back then, while holding that phone in my hand, my thoughts were off.
While I held that phone emotionless, emotions were fuelling through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Hello?' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I panicked but just for a few seconds and then replied,</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Dad, it's me...Rahal.' </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I could hear my father breathing heavily yet he stayed silent. My dad... my brothers once told me how grateful we all should be to him. When I heard his story, my feelings towards him changed drastically to the point of crying for causing him so much misery in the past. Mohammed Salim, my dad, has never in all my life shown a hint of anything other than stress, frustration and pain. In turn, that stress led my father to become an extremely heavy smoker that further led him to having multiple operations for multiple reasons. Everyday, my dad would have the same routine which never changed. Go to work, come home and sit on his sofa constantly smoking and thinking. The television would be on, automatically set to the news channel, yet his thoughts would always be elsewhere. I know this because one day I tested that theory by turning the volume off yet he remained in his thoughts not saying a word. My dad can't sleep at night, he would constantly ask one of his sons to massage his legs but rarely ask me. Feeling sad for his son massaging him for too long he would ask my brother to go to sleep yet the pain would always be there and my dad would bare this all night.<br />
<br />
'Dad... I called to tell you I'm okay and I have a place to stay. I need to do this.' I carried on while he stayed silent yet listening to every word.<br />
<br />
My dad was thoroughly strict with everyone he had power over, any word against his rule would be the greatest sin for us all. We never knew what the punishment would be, maybe a beating which was okay for us but the one punishment we hoped never to get was to leave the family and the house. Only those who got that punishment did something really terrible that hurt my father. The reason why we didn't want to get chucked out of the house was not because we were afraid we might not survive without his protection but because we loved our family way too much to even think of a life without it. The fact that I not only did think of running away but actually did it, I could only assume how much pain my dad would be in right now. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be far fetched to assume a heart attack yet I still ran away. So in a sense, the reason I called my dad was not to assure him I was okay but it was really the other way around, I wanted to know whether he was still alive. Most of my brothers had education taken away from them by my dad as they all needed to work in the family business except me. They were all deprived of their right to learn just so we can stay rich, that was my thought before I understood the whole story.<br />
<br />
'Dad, please say something...anything?'<br />
<br />
Mohammed Salim was born in a small village in Pakistan, where his father was respected by the whole village. In my visits to that small village called Jhang, I would constantly ask my relatives how my dad was like as a child and their stories would always baffle me. Did you know my dad used to run away from home nearly every night with his friends to watch a movie? As my father grew so did his dreams to provide for the whole family and by whole family I mean 6-7 sisters and 2 brothers and then their children! My grandfather and grandmother both passed away before I was born. My dad made an oath to do whatever he could but never to see his family in poverty and sacrificed his education to achieve this goal as soon as possible. Yet his experience in life and in business was beyond crazy as he would sometimes explain technical terms that I would learn in university in his own way without having heard of the term before. However through a misunderstanding he was accused for a murder he did not commit and was driven out of the country by the locals or they would have killed him. My dad came to London and did all sorts of odd jobs such as a cab driver and an engineer, I think. My dad fell in love with my mum on first sight and married her as quick as possible...just like that...he just saw her, fell in love and got married. Throughout his whole life he made wise investments and learnt from his mistakes, slowly when I learnt more and more about what he did the more I respected my dad till the point of making him my role model.<br />
<br />
'WHAT FUCK DO I SAY YOU FUCKING IDIOT CHILD!' My dad's breathing rate rapidly increased. The familiar sound of his heavy breathing and coughing instantly gave me a vision on how he would look like.<br />
<br />
I have still not explained the reason why my dad is the way he is right now. Once my dad was tired from focusing on the family business and the threat from Pakistan had died out through all those years, he wanted to work on a new project and start a new life with me and mum back in Pakistan. See the reason why I was the exception to the late night massage and working in the shop was only because my dad thought of me as his last chance of being a good father. He wanted me to have a life my brothers didn't, he wanted me to learn so much that I could stand up for myself, to give the family an educated individual that would have an independent life. He was not the sole reason to my freedom, it was my eldest brother's dream to have me live a life that all my brother's wished for everyday of their lives. Most of my life my parents would travel a lot primarily due to business reasons and it was my eldest brother that took care of me. My mother hated the distance I had from my parents which was the reason why my dad also chose me to go with him and mum to Pakistan to start a new life. Back then I thought my parents hated me and were forcing me to go along with them which only made me cause them more trouble when I was in Pakistan.<br />
<br />
'Dad, please just understand me for once. I don't want to live in that house, I don't want to be part of the family business, I hate having a bloody curfew, I want to experience a bit of life alone. I want to do what you did. I want to be an author... I want..'<br />
<br />
'Oooh Shut up you bloody fool! You don't know anything about life. You'll be a stupid beggar next to a gutter, writing fucking books doesn't give money!' My father responded.<br />
<br />
My dad had given my brothers the family business and took me away to Pakistan and that was when everything went downhill. After the recession, many investments were lost and many stores closed down. My dad had his own assets and properties that gave him enough money to finally relax with mum and stay away from the stress of business. Yet my father endured his sons' excuses and came back to London constantly, sold most of everything he owned just to keep the family business alive. The only reason behind this action was because he did not want to see his children in poverty. He gave away everything he had just to keep his children who are all married and with kids to maintain a life better than most. When the moment came when he finally thought everything was going to be okay, he had to give everything away and enter the world of business again when he didn't need to. That is the undying love of a parent and that is the reason why I hated myself for everything I had done to them. Now again, my father remains in the same routine and being constantly checked up by the hospital for any abnormalities while under heavy medication.<br />
<br />
'That's what I mean dad! How will I ever know anything about life if you don't let me explore. This doesn't mean you won't see me, I just want to live life on my own accord now.' I tried explaining to my dad in hope that I do not have to stay away from them. If he could just accept my decision I could visit my family whenever I wanted. I just wanted to scream out to him, Let Me Fly, hoping he would hear my cry.<br />
<br />
'Rahal, listen closely..' I pushed the phone against my ear in hope of hearing him forgiving me, 'You are not my son any more. Don't ever fucking come back, I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FUCKING FACE!' After a few moments of loud coughs that left him breathless he resumed, 'Don't ever talk to us or I will break your fucking legs. I will kill you, you bastard child. You want to live alone then go. Get lost.'<br />
<br />
With those last two words said, the phone call cut off insisting I should add more coins to continue on with the conversation. I had a feeling my father already had the intention of ending the call. I looked down the road and at the telephone booth and then at the road again. I closed my eyes to see my parents for the last time. I knew that over time it would get a little more difficult to remember their faces so for only this time I kept my eyes closed for a long time. I began remembering what my mum said to me once some time ago. She told me no matter what happens, I would keep my head held high, achieve success in all it's directions and to have a happy family of my own one day. She made me promise her I would keep those goals and I had no intention of breaking that promise. With a promise already kept and some more made, I walked on. In hope to achieve those promises and see my family once again, I walked on. I was sure, that they would accept me once I became successful. As I walked on towards my flat, not once did I take my eyes off of my mum and dad. Not once did I slightly forget the last time they smiled at me, not once did I forget my mother's warm embrace and my father's protection. Not even once that is until I finally reached my flat.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,<br />
<br />
Jawaad Saleem</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-49435247454663756292014-01-18T11:22:00.000-08:002014-01-18T11:22:56.483-08:00North Star - Ali Khan Niazi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTNeMFPYvvkr1b7LchE5iVj8n_k_gtjEfAZkbbQjBF5_gXaHr9aTd7FWSWUpaogL9PyWs3DtK6DVyRchJPlTUHirVWBU6wGmrzhudJa31S_ZOfpHIdLTy0W3zfGASSZKqn2OKLqhj2mnN/s1600/North+Star.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTNeMFPYvvkr1b7LchE5iVj8n_k_gtjEfAZkbbQjBF5_gXaHr9aTd7FWSWUpaogL9PyWs3DtK6DVyRchJPlTUHirVWBU6wGmrzhudJa31S_ZOfpHIdLTy0W3zfGASSZKqn2OKLqhj2mnN/s1600/North+Star.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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My hands ruffles
with her skin,<o:p></o:p></div>
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and please ask me
what is contentment? <o:p></o:p></div>
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For me it is when
i rest my forehead on her chin, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
she and I makes a
whole, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
it’s like she
stares into my soul and my inside glows, eyes closed <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
They ask me if I
can live without her? <o:p></o:p></div>
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I tell them I am a
part of her, <o:p></o:p></div>
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a small broken
part, <o:p></o:p></div>
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i am her fleck<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I know she feels complete when she senses my
breathing on her neck, <o:p></o:p></div>
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seeing her beauty,
I become mesmerized, <o:p></o:p></div>
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she is like a
visual definition of paradise, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
and she is writing
a million memories on my heart, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
its like playing
chords on a guitar <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
They asked me,
what if I become lost? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
What if she'll
take me too far? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
I said she will
guide me, she is my north star.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Written By,<br />
<br />
Ali Khan Niazi</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-36763186730034641142014-01-06T08:26:00.001-08:002014-01-06T08:27:10.641-08:00Escape the world, look for something else, within yourself <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Picture C</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7VBzKnqFoZN5aBWT4hKrU-BciagiQTjEcfIpxo_a4TjT46FSbtnq7JHyu3_j3dktJSx6B_WRW_KsE6qdNEWP5r7pwy0wBVka6o6AzHxX-mMuxwhQEM5brjipUQSWkPWIHAtNgHvnk5NiZ/s1600/C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7VBzKnqFoZN5aBWT4hKrU-BciagiQTjEcfIpxo_a4TjT46FSbtnq7JHyu3_j3dktJSx6B_WRW_KsE6qdNEWP5r7pwy0wBVka6o6AzHxX-mMuxwhQEM5brjipUQSWkPWIHAtNgHvnk5NiZ/s1600/C.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Picture D</h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB33_3cAS18sjpSZmgpuA90r3XTmyfZmKuijswOTE-vkbGBwCO2NcgUcdICpKzHt2XalBk0abm3aOZZodcBTnpF0d9bQWEbeWiuhi9ml1L3-epjGrH7-RrAjtsJJk3L7kp_DhgBFj60noq/s1600/D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB33_3cAS18sjpSZmgpuA90r3XTmyfZmKuijswOTE-vkbGBwCO2NcgUcdICpKzHt2XalBk0abm3aOZZodcBTnpF0d9bQWEbeWiuhi9ml1L3-epjGrH7-RrAjtsJJk3L7kp_DhgBFj60noq/s1600/D.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Photography By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Marie Sch</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-68581189293525376852013-12-22T07:04:00.000-08:002013-12-22T07:04:07.613-08:00The Joker By Asjl Khan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJj803gcVmsKsm1XTGKbK-Bg8aGIbBvy3LZOcZzsXQqDBH0Yqd0vztn0Gb5wHDMShn06NgkqjMUnHWEr6UnBCBxovA3PrwFucPDjKdZ1xaCTeIMVIi-8dp_nDz41LdhBePQvBuihMgDqb/s1600/the+joker.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJj803gcVmsKsm1XTGKbK-Bg8aGIbBvy3LZOcZzsXQqDBH0Yqd0vztn0Gb5wHDMShn06NgkqjMUnHWEr6UnBCBxovA3PrwFucPDjKdZ1xaCTeIMVIi-8dp_nDz41LdhBePQvBuihMgDqb/s400/the+joker.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Jolly he seems, joy he spreads<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Happy he looks, oh! How dead he is<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Irony depicted from harsh reality<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Excellence hides behind insanity<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Face that stops a child’s cry <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Induces stupidity, invades sadness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Relished were stories of his tragic past<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Laughter that rushed, he stood aghast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Never know and never will<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Imagine, excluding the fun out of pun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Height of pain will make you choke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">But a priceless smile he makes it all a
joke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Spreading laughter the good man dies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Holding stomach they fell with laughter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Death considered the part of act<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">To verify departure they had to poke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Again, reality of his death laughed off as
a joke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Written By,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Asjl Khan</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-45497111239788184072013-12-12T09:13:00.003-08:002013-12-12T09:13:53.537-08:00Untitled: The Chapter Soon To Be Forgotten<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hey,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few nights ago my mind was trafficking in quite a lot of thoughts about you. There was this one specific memory I held on to just in case I might want to write about it one day. Now that you're gone and I guess I might never see you again, I have a feeling I was a few months too late. But just in case there is a small chance of you stumbling upon this I hope you realize this is about you. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't think I ever told you this throughout the course of our relationship but there was a time while we were together where I felt I was reliving the most perfect day of my life over and over again. It was the time when we were truly happy. The summer which we never had, instead we made the pre-summer time a whole lifetime. I felt as if I was floating in an ocean current towards heaven and every day that went by, you took me closer to the warmth and happiness of heaven. Every time I saw you, it was as if I went through a whole night of torture and that all my sins were accounted for through the long hours without you. As if standing right in front me was my angel taking me to the infinite happiness that lay within every smile you made that in turn reflected it's own happiness of seeing me. And that the feeling I got from protecting your innocent eyes from the punishing ray of sun light that scratched its way through the windows of our mobile home was appreciated hence in turn was shared with an endless warmth of suffocating hugs that can only be described as .. going home. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, you never knew did you. From the beginning of my story till its very end that has yet still to be written, you were and will always be the inspiration to everything that I write till the day that I die. I can say this with great certainty only because even today I still swim through every memory of you so I can just write something that could reflect even a fragment of what I felt for you. Every feeling carefully noted through various emotions with its end result being you. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, it wasn't that memory only that kept me up all night, it was the time when we were truly happy. The time when we were friends. It was the time when all those emotions were hidden, it was that time where we would talk all day and all night keeping our feelings hidden from the other and it was that feeling of being in love and it was that moment of trying to say what I felt that kept me going. I would never have stopped making you love me because I knew that I would never truly be me if I was not with you forever. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I want to ask you something but I know I will never get a reply. Heck, you might never read this and you might never really know how I truly felt about you. If you did read this you might not even stop to consider this might be about you, you might just pass this off as part of the chapters I write. I wanted to ask you, why do I still cry? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What happened at the end, shouldn't that make me hate you? Like really hate you for all those things that I could never understand about you. But I don't, I promise. Hey, don't think of me as a weird guy who cries because I don't CRY cry but I do cry. In my heart, I'm always crying, even when I'm smiling. Even when there is someone else that loves me. Even when there is someone else that could give me more than we ever had, I still pain away. I wanted to ask... do you? </div>
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Yours Forever,</div>
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Rahal Salim</div>
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<br /></div>
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No, I don't want to be Rahal now. I want to be me. So,</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-41116377508956551612013-11-30T06:19:00.000-08:002013-11-30T16:58:48.888-08:00Chapter 6 - That Little Detail We Take For Granted<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yjDhcRv5eWX-BRISk2IbCmZ6sNiYdvi0brFrpmq3FSOcdRn0WpfoVTrtIpaFq7wtUcyBm5mlxP42Rts8ukG03-YqpLf7z4XrMlv_9FHAAm0BqTedD1XJBb6b9zzpuxQXRFIkAXa14qg/s1600/an+epoch+of+peace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yjDhcRv5eWX-BRISk2IbCmZ6sNiYdvi0brFrpmq3FSOcdRn0WpfoVTrtIpaFq7wtUcyBm5mlxP42Rts8ukG03-YqpLf7z4XrMlv_9FHAAm0BqTedD1XJBb6b9zzpuxQXRFIkAXa14qg/s640/an+epoch+of+peace.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The warm light of the sun began to slowly caress my right hand and worked it's way around my body as if someone was gently laying a duvet on me. With the warmth of the sunrise greeting me with it's new beginning, my eyes slowly opened, allowing me to see my surroundings. Slightly squinting, I could see I was still in the hospital lying at the area designated to me. Elena was right beside me sleeping in, what seemed to be, a very uncomfortable position. Crap, if Elena spent all night taking care of me then that would mean I would have a pretty pissed off nurse waiting for me to wake up. Her caring and kind nature irritated my pride, I did not need her to take care of me yet I could not get myself to dislike her. I just wished she took care of herself as much as she took care of me. Elena wasn't always so caring to others, she still isn't but over the years I became the exception. Over the years the feeling became mutual, to me she was a person I could count on and I felt I had a responsibility to protect her. The irony in that is that the role always seemed to be reversed. </div>
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Right next to Elena was another chair with my clothes neatly folded, knowing her she must have made everyone's life hell to get my clothes dry cleaned before I wake up. Her insanely dominating nature always brought a smile to my face. The comforting thing about Elena is that, since childhood, she was the only person who had never changed in the way she is. Knowing one part of your life that has not changed and brings reassurance that it will not change in the future can only make you cling onto it forever. She's that one part of my life and hopefully will always be. On my bedside table was a clock displaying the time and day. It was 7 in the morning on the 2nd of July, I still know this because in exactly four hours I would be reminded by a certain someone of it being 11 am and that I should be 'A little more considerate for my neighbours.' We'll get to that part in a few more chapters. It had only been 7 hours since I left my home and a mother that most probably had not gone to sleep yet from the stress and pain I gave her. No, I cannot think about that right now. </div>
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I carefully sneaked out with my clothes and got changed, on my way back I asked the nurse whether it's okay if I could get discharged and she accepted my request after suggesting that Elena could do with some anger management sessions. After some paper work I ran into two local officers who needed to ask me about the assault from the taxi driver. It was then when I remembered why I was at the hospital in the first place. They told me that the taxi driver was heavily wounded but the witness that saved my life had testified to my innocence. By that statement I vaguely remembered my dream and the glimpse I had of Harut in the hospital. Also, it was at that moment I was told the driver's true identity as an ex-officer and his past... his family. They told me that he would be sentenced and that I needed to give a statement of what really happened but in my heart I felt conflicted. I should be happy that he would be behind bars but then again, would I have done the same thing if I was in his position? </div>
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I made my way back to Elena, 'Hey Elena, wake up.' I gently nudged her awake and then became victim to a massacre of hugs and kisses, it was then I realized when I was closest to death. Not when I was about to get shot but it was truly when Elena hugged me so tightly that all the air escaped my lungs and I felt as if I was about to pass out again. 'RAHAL! You're awake, oh my God I was so worried!' She carried on testing the limits of how long I can stay conscience without oxygen while screaming with excitement. 'Ellie... I'm dying... what the hell.. how are you so damn..STRONG!' I gasped for breath as she let go of me. 'Oh wait, I took all your personal stuff and hid them in the bag, I so do not trust those nurses. One of them had the audacity to give me a pamphlet for anger management classes! Can you believe that! Me? Anger management issues?! So I said maybe she should just stuff this in her..'<br />
<br />
After the nurse had shushed us and asked us to leave... immediately, we grabbed all our things and headed towards the nearest cafe'. We found a Starbucks nearby and crashed there for breakfast. 'Hey Rahal, how're you feeling now?' We were sitting on the high chairs looking through the big glass watching cars drive by. Slowly but surely the number of cars driving past would increase with the number of customers picking up their daily coffee and heading for their jobs. The next day would be the same and then the next and so on. Every individual stuck in their constant never ending cycle of the next day being the same as today. I already knew, that was the life I did not want.</div>
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<br />
'For the hundredth time, I'm fine I promise.' There was a short moment of silence while we thought about other conversations we could begin. I then heard the Starbucks' employee shout out the weirdest phrase possible, 'Kutta? Kutta?!' The word 'Kutta' in the language I spoke (Urdu) meant 'Dog'. 'Oh, Rahal that's you! I'll go get it.' Elena grinned at me trying to hold back her laughter on what she thought was absolutely hilarious. I began to laugh at the way the employee pronounced those words and then slowly tried to get out of my seat as I still felt drained. 'No wait, let me go get it. You still look a bit shaken from last night.' Elena hurriedly swung off her chair to get our blueberry muffins and the two cups of tea. During that time I continued to glare at the street. I saw a telephone booth and felt my pockets to see if I had any extra change. 'I'm back! Listen, you didn't really explain a lot over the phone the other night. Where're you gonna stay and what're you gonna do now?' She observed my thoughts were elsewhere. 'You zoning out again?!'<br />
<br />
'No no I'm listening. Wait, before I tell you what I'm going to do, you have to tell me why it's okay for you to be with me for so long! Aren't your parents freaking out right now?' I asked.<br />
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'Freaking out? Oh, I just told mum and dad I needed to stay over at Stacey's. Dad did ask why but I just said oh my god dad its totally a girl's thing and you're asking me?!' She narrated while giggling over her story.<br />
<br />
'Wait, Stacey Van?! The really hot chick that got pregnant with some footballer and then gave an abortion?' I asked.<br />
<br />
'Yeah! Oh and the footballer dumped her. I feel so sorry for her, poor Stacey. Oh my God, remember the time when you asked her out! She slapped your face so hard. I think that was the time I truly felt sorry for you.'<br />
<br />
'Out of all the memories, why do you still remember that one! Not like you had it easy. Do you want me to remind you about your little crush on Hamza Naqi?'<br />
<br />
'Don't you dare! I will kill you before you even begin.' With dark circles forming under her eyes and her murderous tone, I moved away from the topic immediately. One person I did not want to get on the bad side of was her. I glanced at the telephone booth once more wondering about a thought I promised I would not linger on to ever again since my journey began, yet I wondered and lingered.<br />
<br />
'Listen Rahal, I really got scared back there at the hospital.' She held my hand, not just to comfort me but to slowly drift my attention away from what was really bothering me. 'Especially when you fell unconscious again while that person who saved you was coming in. I just hope you're feeling better okay? Elena's gaze fell for a second and then confessed, 'I don't know what I'd do without my best friend around.' She gave a smile that defined her personality.<br />
<br />
With those words being said, her presence wrapped itself around my thoughts, with a warm embrace, she shielded me from everything and anything that made me question myself. Her innocence hand to hand with her friendship made me realize I really wasn't alone on all this. I had planned out exactly what I'd do after running away and how I would want to achieve it yet the one fear I could not find a solution for was of being alone and vulnerable to the big world I did not yet know. What I did not take into account was the one thing that would make it easier for me to achieve what I wanted to achieve. She was that little detail we take for granted. That one thing I knew I had to cherish. The one thing that was staring at me sincerely with honest love. No strings attached.<br />
<br />
'Hey Elena... thank you. You've always been there for me and you still are. Seriously, don't ever change okay.' With that being said, a huge smile ran across her face. A smile I knew way too well, it meant that the torture of her suffocating hugs was about to come and before it did I quickly added, 'Listen, I really need to do something and head to that apartment I've rented out.' Her smile faded away as quickly as it had come. 'Don't worry, I promise I'll call as soon as I've settled and unpacked my things. Hey, you can help with the decorating.' I gave a hopeful smile to replace the one she had lost. We finished our tea and parted our ways, a few steps along and I heard Elena shout out, 'OYE, don't take the taxi k! God knows what else could happen to you!'<br />
<br />
I walked slowly waiting for her to disappear out of sight. With resolutions made I walked towards that telephone booth. I carefully counted the change and then counted it again, it maybe the last time for a long time I would for this intent. I dialled the number hoping I could erase it from my mind once it was all over and listened while the line would be connected. Before I even began to think about what I would say, I was already holding my tears back. For this conversation, emotions had no place. For this person, the word emotion had no definition.<br />
<br />
'Hello?'<br />
<br />
I panicked but just for a few seconds and then replied,<br />
<br />
'Dad, it's me...Rahal.'<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
</div>
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</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-32069369413685160012013-11-28T14:45:00.001-08:002013-11-28T14:47:25.910-08:00Escape the world, look for something else, within yourself <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Picture B</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYNQYZ9KWaIAQX6qfi1LdtAX3r6AdMtC8iOijro7ZpRb6FUPpinDII6nMwWKAR6-p7yyIjEVw2j3FiAIvr9GUO82xN1Vccnxkr-KwocvjLmTy98SI6ni1crX0KKWyeMZ9RN_0zjgpr1ok/s1600/B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYNQYZ9KWaIAQX6qfi1LdtAX3r6AdMtC8iOijro7ZpRb6FUPpinDII6nMwWKAR6-p7yyIjEVw2j3FiAIvr9GUO82xN1Vccnxkr-KwocvjLmTy98SI6ni1crX0KKWyeMZ9RN_0zjgpr1ok/s640/B.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Photography By,</div>
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Marie Sch</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-68972187596994002562013-11-22T06:21:00.000-08:002013-11-22T14:52:11.899-08:00Film As A Mirror Of Society<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsw8qKCiAkUv8gzhw5ZIHe9wH95SuBzk_eViKHkNHD-h5E820a6uFRx_6lBdPjUCH8U65GQxi_f_XQkkOiwq4QBGoVaVC8F1XW9wOd-Nx7AV-DSbMe28PSc20RsDnh2Ii_fCEWtpcFEcc/s1600/zombie-apocalypse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsw8qKCiAkUv8gzhw5ZIHe9wH95SuBzk_eViKHkNHD-h5E820a6uFRx_6lBdPjUCH8U65GQxi_f_XQkkOiwq4QBGoVaVC8F1XW9wOd-Nx7AV-DSbMe28PSc20RsDnh2Ii_fCEWtpcFEcc/s400/zombie-apocalypse.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;">Introduction</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You will often find hidden
metaphorical meanings behind pop culture movies that convey a particular idea.
Movies that have another meaning to them are usually portrayed in a way to
entertain and satisfy mass desires through comedy, horror, or suspense. Such
movies cover social issues, time eras, war, epidemics, etc to reflect on
society and make some kind of statement. The statement or point of view of
metaphorical movies may vary from person to person, but the author or producer
has one intended idea to convey to the masses. Techniques such as symbolism,
metaphors, and signifiers help to express the intended idea of the film.
Because a film is not produced by just an individual, each aspect of the film
wholly completes the intended idea. For example, the movie <i>Warm Bodies</i> is a popular movie to attract the young masses, though
also has a certain message behind it.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Warm
Bodies</i> is a movie on a zombie apocalypse eliminating the idea of human
existence. The main character, R, is an unusual zombie that has no name,
memory, or pulse is different from the rest of the zombie hordes. The movie
starts off with a couple of quotes R makes as he roams around the city: "...What's
wrong with me? I just want to connect. Why can't I connect with people? Oh,
right, it's ‘cause I'm dead. I shouldn't be so hard on myself, I mean, we're
all dead. This girl's dead. That guy's dead. That guy in the corner is
definitely dead. These guys look awful. I wish I could introduce myself but I don't
remember my name anymore." "...This is a typical day for me. I
shuffle around, occasionally bumping into people, unable to apologize or say
much of anything. It must have been so much better before when everyone could
express themselves, communicate their feelings and just enjoy each other's
company." He indicates in the first quote that everyone cannot communicate
because they are dead including him. In the second quote, he thinks to himself
that people should connect through expression, feelings, and enjoy one
another’s company. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">The Movie: Warm Bodies</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">Throughout
the movie, it shows who R is and what the zombies are through finally
connecting with humans and the result of such communication among them. While
looking out for human flesh and brains, R and a pack of zombies come across a
human girl named Julie and her friends in an abandoned city. R is suddenly
drawn to Julie and then shot by her boyfriend in the chest. Julie is distracted
while R kills her boyfriend eating his brains and retaining his memory and
thoughts. Strangely enough, his attraction to Julie becomes stronger and
instead of killing her too, he saves and takes her to an airplane he lives at
the airport. From there, the two bond and a tense yet tender relationship
between the two begin to grow causing R to slowly come back to life. Eventually,
Julie becomes restless and wants to leave his harbor, so on the way back R
reveals that he killed her boyfriend. In rage, she abandons R and he encounters
his zombie herds that are also beginning to slowly show signs of life. R and
the other zombies go the human enclave where they come across Julie’s father
whom refuses to believe they can change and threatens to kill them. Julie and R
then escape together where they come across skeletal zombies known as the
Bonies, are the deadliest zombies that will eat anything in a heartbeat.
Escaping from them, Julie and R jump in a far away pool kissing passionately
thrilled to be alive. However, Julie’s father finds the two and shoots at R
causing him to bleed, proving he is revived. The zombies and humans unite
together to fight against the Bonies, and the zombies then slowly assimilate to
human society. After annihilating the Bonies, life is created again for both
humans and reanimated corpses. The movie ends with R as a fully covered human
and Julie together as a couple. </span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">Analogies between society and zombie-ism</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The metaphorical aspect of </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Warm Bodies</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> can be understood easily. In
the beginning of the movie, R talks about how everyone is so dead emotionally,
mentally and physically and how nothing ever changes or is new. Throughout, you
see how the zombies are very disconnected among each other yet still carry out
their daily routines and also use cell phones. This tells us that they are very
much able to function yet lack the sense of connecting with people, a human
connection. Another metaphor behind a scene is when R eats a brain and says he
feels human again as he is able to recall memories of others and feel what they
did. In this way we can say that the brain symbolizes for knowledge and
enlightenment. The fact that he eats it and feels good means that thinking and
enlightenment ‘feeds the soul’. Without the contents of what the brain has, our
soul is dead. People who lack intellect become zombies as they miss out on the
most important component of the brain and can’t function properly. Also, the
metaphor that ‘music is good for the soul’ was used in a scene when R was
listening to music and his heart started beating as he felt relaxed and happy.
Music is another form of connection among people as it can be relaxing,
something to relate to, and brings people closer together emotionally. During
the time R and Julie stayed at the airplane, they would do activities together
and R was learning different things. People need challenges and exhilaration to
awaken the mind. Towards the end of the movie, as the zombies were exposed to
signifiers of love, they started to slowly change. Signifiers of love were used
in the movie such as holding hands, kissing, and exchanging words of affection
were exposed to the zombies and affected them. The expression that love
conquers all can be used in this example as it did conquer over the zombies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The idea that
humanistic qualities lack in people turns them into zombies can be applied to
society today. In this way, you can reflect this on society and say that people
are becoming very zombie-like. Zombie-like in the sense that people do not
connect to others as much as they should and rather cling on their cell phones
or just keep to themselves, never really reaching out to people in humanistic
ways. Society is becoming very emotionally distant among people and
non-intellectual in many ways, as everyone just follows their orders and
conforms to what they hear or see. Zombie-ism is more of a mental disease
rather than the impression that they are just dead people wanting to eat flesh.
For example, on the subway you are in a crowd of people all gathered and stuck
together, yet everyone is quiet and emotionally distant from each other only
connected to their phones and wifi. We live in a world where people connect much better
with their wifi rather than connecting with other beings around them. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
walking-dead are suppressed people who breathe just for the sake of breathing
rather than living life to its fullest potential. This can be applied to
society as most people only value work rather than their personal life and
relationships with people. The structure of society has made people into
zombies as we just do as we are ordered to do and the system works in a way
that keeps us from being free-minded. We are able to remain human, at least for
the time being. Our enemy is relentless and colossal, but also uncreative and
stupid. Despite we are able to remain human, our enemy is still huge yet very
unintelligent, and the enemy being the senseless walking-dead. The main idea of
the movie was to convey the idea that love and affection sets people free and
brings one another closer together, defeating this zombie-ism mentality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">Conclusion</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">According to
the psychological theory, hierarchy of needs, it is said that love and
acceptance is a priority and a need in humans for survival. Maslow, a humanist
psychologist who created the hierarchy, determined that social needs are
something everyone seeks. Social needs include the needs for a belonging, love,
and affection. Maslow described these needs as
less basic than physiological and security needs. Relationships such as
friendships, romantic attachments, and families help fulfill this need for
companionship and acceptance, as does involvement in social, community, or
religious groups (Cherry, 2013). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pop culture of
zombies always has more than one meaning which relate to politics, history,
society, evil etc. Depending on how the stories of zombies are portrayed the
meanings may vary and differ. Mainly, <i>Warm
Bodies </i>sends this message that people of society have become very
disconnected from each other due to lack of love and knowledge. The film has
many symbols behind metaphorical meaning that can be applied to society. What
people can conclude from the movie is how to avoid such zombie-ism mentality and
that is by doing everything opposite from these zombies. <span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Written By,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Hira Choudhry</span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Works Cited</span></span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
</span>
<br />
<ul><span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<li><span style="color: red;"><i style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Warm Bodies</span></i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">. Dir. Jonathan Levine. Perf. Nicholas Holt and Teresa
Plamer. 2013. Film.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Klosterman, Chuck. "My
Zombie, Myself: Why Modern Life Feels Rather Undead."</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The New York Times</i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">. The New
York Times, 05 Dec. 2010. Web. 08 May 2013.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Cherry, Kendra. "Hierarchy
of Needs."</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">About.com
Psychology</i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 May 2013.</span></span></li>
</span></ul>
<span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<br />
</span></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05625468246117922592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-22519075364524682772013-11-15T06:58:00.001-08:002013-11-15T06:58:31.479-08:00Why did God create heavens above the sky Written By Syed Tirmizi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQVx7bHbdGvzWZNgS5G-MwqlBWHx-xkCDc749AsAMnLz9PYo9pr5d5SpkuT4Kr-zLujEUkpM1ryC5BGPRaQRE-SBzNTi4FDhwVr7oKRFBC_aewUR-VI7pDTQFmhKbSZDHym3Our_dEah_/s1600/syed+tirmizi+poem+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQVx7bHbdGvzWZNgS5G-MwqlBWHx-xkCDc749AsAMnLz9PYo9pr5d5SpkuT4Kr-zLujEUkpM1ryC5BGPRaQRE-SBzNTi4FDhwVr7oKRFBC_aewUR-VI7pDTQFmhKbSZDHym3Our_dEah_/s400/syed+tirmizi+poem+pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The night is young, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Full of stars across the sky, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But it makes me wonder why, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
God created heavens above the sky? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
How many religions has he created before, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
When he is apparent everywhere in our eyes, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why did God create heavens above the sky? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He may not have created a creed, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
And humans deemed it just a need, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To control the flocks of flesh called humans, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To prevent them from enjoying God’s lovely heavens, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why did God create heavens above the sky? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why doesn’t he reveal himself? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Does he not exist, or is he too shy? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why doesn’t he look down upon us, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Is he too great or does he not know why? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why did God create heavens above the sky? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Can’t he travel the distance he’s created, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Or is he lost in space or thinks he’s too high? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
He may be present everywhere in all the skies, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why did he create heavens above the sky? </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why can’t he talk to humans himself, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But chooses others who achieve great wealth, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I don’t need a God, who discriminates his creations, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
My God is him who can fill the space with love and never says good bye, </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why did God create heavens above the sky?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Syed Tirmizi</div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-72961113845481420212013-11-13T08:33:00.003-08:002013-11-13T08:34:40.834-08:00Dreams & Nightmares - A Prequel to Chapter 6<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy1WF1z1LoCFlj_4JHoDzLHKRUaetk4HVfmLg58-pUy3Zsa8t-PYZC3ein6PWQz_6qkPLuNpiYcqy6tahY9EB0-3-l5fd-1Z48HNl5w1v9jzM5sjl9pJSGjG1wgPNqVX8dh4YRHubUgyKz/s1600/prequel+to+chapter+6+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy1WF1z1LoCFlj_4JHoDzLHKRUaetk4HVfmLg58-pUy3Zsa8t-PYZC3ein6PWQz_6qkPLuNpiYcqy6tahY9EB0-3-l5fd-1Z48HNl5w1v9jzM5sjl9pJSGjG1wgPNqVX8dh4YRHubUgyKz/s400/prequel+to+chapter+6+(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></h3>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
Lights shattered on the ground, glass flew in all directions. The chaotic mixture of screams and murderous laughter vibrated through the narrow passageway of what seemed like an underground tunnel. I could see Harut running with all his might, with expressions of fear and panic, Harut ran with blood stained clothes. His black cloak whipped the air without rhythm leaving nothing but aggression. He grabbed on to anything he could find to slow down his chasers as if he was afraid of what would happen if he were to get caught. I screamed his name yet he could not hear me, he ran passed me completely unaware of my existence. I followed him until the light could be seen at the end of the tunnel where he stopped.<br />
<br />
He pressed himself against the tunnel's wall hiding in the shadows. Blanketing himself cautiously within his ragged black cloak, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly breathed out controlling all his senses and soothing the ones that could lead him to lose his life. Afraid of whom or what he was hiding from, I imitated his movements. The pursuers appeared, screaming for blood and vengeance. They ran right past us unaware of our presence heading towards the light at the end of the tunnel. Once they had all gone, Harut felt his hands against parts of the wall as if to find something of great importance. He felt through the whole section of that wall until a secret entrance opened. What was going on? Clearly, running through this very tunnel was previously planned. 'Where are you going? What's going on Harut?' <a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Frustrated with why he could not hear me, I again followed Harut. I understood now that nothing but my thoughts were my own. My eyes followed only the direction that they allowed me. I could hear quiet whispers from Harut, 'Forgive me Father I have failed'. These repetitive words rang in my head and echoed in my mind over and over again. 'Forgive me Father I have failed'. We came to a dead end yet Harut's expressions did not change. I had thought the plan must have failed him yet there was no signs of surprise or shock. We waited for a while, him isolated by my existence and me isolated by my inability to exist. Then, in an instant, I found myself and Harut at a road.<br />
<br />
There was a moment of silence where he glared at the road in front of him lost in his own thoughts. I even lost myself, unaware of what was around me, my thoughts took me away too deep in my own mind. With hundreds of memories, Dreams & Nightmares flowing through my mind instantly a mixture of all my emotions flooded in. Confused with which emotion I should feel I remained emotionless. Confused with which thought to hold on to... Wait, what was that? (Rahal Sighs). Out of all those thoughts I wished not to remember, the one thought I wished to forget became that one thought that kept me sane. Her beauty, her elegance, her simplicity, her. My memory of her became my sanity, my sanity led me to insanity for the pursuit of my sanity.<br />
<br />
Harut then turned around and froze with fear at what he had ran away from. His fixed expression seemed to be mixed with guilt, regret and sorrow. I also turned around to see what he saw and what I saw was too close to unbearable. I saw a huge city burning in flames, enormous buildings eaten up like dessert by the overwhelming fire that consumed the city whole. With all my thoughts now silenced I could hear the screams of thousands in agony burning from an infinite flame hungry for more. The fire drew closer and closer until they consumed me, the screams getting louder and louder until they constantly rang in my ears. 'HELP! SOMEONE SAVE ME, SAVE MY BABY!' The cries of mothers and children synchronized so perfectly that this new sound became too overwhelming for one person alone. Beside me, Harut fell to his knees in tears. 'This is all my fault, all my fault.' He wept, his hands shielding his vision from this view. I could not help him, I was powerless. When my inability took control of me and when the flames blinded me and the sounds deafened me, when it became too much for me and every muscle in my body froze...<br />
<br />
I woke up...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-47294445479608841902013-11-10T08:19:00.000-08:002013-11-10T08:19:32.474-08:00Kings of Sand Castle By Asjl Khan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1jsLGZxituV9ndtWmPFKrdfr51sbQce5T26dk_joP90kwvajJtDELYiIa2FsAxhkXOHdftgZon8NngKO_yqq2FKWwXYddHdBGAlRj3ZPrQtJ-74mzdGG3egLjMnokfgKNC9adz2dvv8/s1600/kings+of+sand+castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1jsLGZxituV9ndtWmPFKrdfr51sbQce5T26dk_joP90kwvajJtDELYiIa2FsAxhkXOHdftgZon8NngKO_yqq2FKWwXYddHdBGAlRj3ZPrQtJ-74mzdGG3egLjMnokfgKNC9adz2dvv8/s320/kings+of+sand+castle.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Brittle
bones, throne of thorns<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Laid the
man who once ruled<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Tears
descending from wrinkled face<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Once stood
upon the human race<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Scratching
the wall with bloody nails<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Preclude
the past, rest ashore undone<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Hand once
rocked the cradle, depreciated<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Love lost
not found, thy hate is inflated<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
In blinding
power lurked no fear<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Time stores
no debts, in fact reciprocate<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The blood
he spilled, sons he lynched<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Soul intact
but agonized, flesh and bones emancipate<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Masked as
valor, hides deviousness <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Lured
imbeciles to portray horror<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Those who
forget they will die<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
No one can
save them even their mother’s cry</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Asjl Khan</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05625468246117922592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-47467267663901563062013-11-08T08:34:00.000-08:002013-11-28T14:47:16.182-08:00Escape the world, look for something else, within yourself<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Picture A</h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLMPeqSztozRB4Q9lCXSpwzDkW8OoI6IM0nnQ4rQK7Vm6G2vd09LZIInEe__KutfKt_Chgfm_Sul1DWszJQfLqnJV8ISwbP0T_tjdnRdnGfWEvDS88XfNeEBExxfO_IIzNgh3AuJhjKsV/s1600/A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLMPeqSztozRB4Q9lCXSpwzDkW8OoI6IM0nnQ4rQK7Vm6G2vd09LZIInEe__KutfKt_Chgfm_Sul1DWszJQfLqnJV8ISwbP0T_tjdnRdnGfWEvDS88XfNeEBExxfO_IIzNgh3AuJhjKsV/s640/A.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Photography by,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Marie Sch</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-38923479608734188432013-10-04T09:20:00.000-07:002013-10-04T09:21:04.720-07:00A Letter To You By Ali Khan Niazi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">Hey,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I wrote something for you hoping one day you would read this. A part of me hopes you do, but the other part hopes you don't. Here goes.. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Somewhere in the dark corner of
this room, I am recalling all your memories. Each and every word echoes clearly
in my head, chuckling at some points and in the split of a second it makes me
cry too but here it's better. It is better in this lonely room, your things, I
still have them but I can't smell you in them </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">any more</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> I feel recovered,
suddenly I don't feel unaccompanied at all, I don't feel laid back, I don't
feel you are not here </span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">any more</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> because I sense you were never there.. I am in
such a relaxing state of callowness, ignoring every part of you, trying at
least.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">These constant vacant feelings,
time-aids have made me stronger than I thought I was or I can ever be.
Everything keeps beginning to get worse then it becomes normal again, it's like
I go out of breath and then achieve normal breathing rhythm, paid the oxygen
debt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Suddenly safe again, safer than I
was 7 minutes ago. Sometimes I don't get the distinction between such short
intervals of time, our mind is numb at one moment and the next.. We are fine. I
think it's a part of the laws of nature that makes us forget things, make us
keep moving. Ways of survival I guess because some catastrophic memories can
damage your persona so competently and mutely, silent assassins, they are. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That's what I call them but I won't
let them murder me, I choose to live and that is what you want too, right?
"Live alone" that's what you said before leaving me. However life is
going well these days, I wake up every morning, do stuff, get tired at night
and sleep again, I sometimes inadvertently move towards the window where we use
to sit and talk all day, then your thoughts make me sad again, I don't really
like sitting there but somehow at some moment my soul grabs my body, grips it
so hard and drags me there. Then I wonder if gravity attracts you vertically
also?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Eh, hmm science does prove every
object has some force of gravity in it. Anyway the reason why I am writing all
this is to tell you that your thoughts heal me also in one way or another, by
self-mechanism I move to that window again but this time I don't sit there and
get delusional however I close the window, pull the curtains down, then walk to
the next room and towards my bed. I lay there for hours looking at the ceiling
and thinking that I am living life more steadily now, more confidently, it
makes me realize we humans are growing, every second, every minute, every hour.
We gradually find ways to relinquish our pains and sorrows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">18th December my birthday, I
celebrated it all alone. Winters, it was so cold outside I thought my hands
were cold.. Felt helpless. I also became hyper at being so incapacitated but
soon I realized it was a childish behaviour. I was overreacting; I can warm
myself for a while or maybe for the rest of my life. You know I hear your voice
sometimes; when I am working, reading, writing, even driving.. I hear you. I
hear you laughing, and giving me friendly advices, keep giving me your voice
and the whispers in my ears, keep doing that, it charges me up, makes me keep
moving on and on and I can feel it. I am growing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">Yours Lovingly,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">Ali Khan Niazi</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-43621119067859756102013-10-04T09:03:00.000-07:002013-10-04T09:03:21.070-07:00Society By Asjl Khan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnz8SggMn5jY0QY_c7oJ74Uwyd0NyXJfA27VSgfYmF46dAqu86j6R2-_A3-j9V00fwVJA6mxfppciJZIvdk8pInyFGsue8mxLIecl8K58LBVoTz4LuhkN1Y3YCgloNlW8zjJGQIRyb1ec/s320/Scary+Proletariat.png" width="251" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Listen as they whisper</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Their eyes cold, warm grasp</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ordering to instigate insanity</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Saving people by eliminating humanity</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Moulded the concept of love and loathing</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You kill your dears to fight your fears</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They say "do", then "why" they ask</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your deeds turned into the devil's task</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With taste of mud you try to rise</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mistakes you made not their's to judge</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Close they came and rectified </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bestowed anguish, when satisfied</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sickens the mind with utter disgust</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mature you became for sake of innocence</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Feeding on weak they became mighty</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Unravelled and naked the face of society</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Asjl Khan</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-39012608486051788232013-10-04T08:52:00.000-07:002013-10-04T08:54:33.511-07:00Footsteps On Sand By Ali Khan Niazi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><img height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEORZHsISpb-agfzc96EtB8zz5ZOVR9HfGrn3J52e4P8yzHO6m7x3-KqWwaxL7qyE5AlXbU4Gguz4EExKDCYe4JAz3JK1I_hnWgQITiIf2h6ig5Bn5rvAWV_yhK2IEjCj10vceIUAU4zX/s320/2010.08-Footsteps-in-the-sand.jpg" width="320" /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tiny light speckled from the sun,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The candle lights up,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It gathered the moonlight and the
dust,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A life is born,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fresh, untouched<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Memories start to flicker in the
flame,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Counting the footsteps, journeys,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Victories, arguments and blames<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And then a shadow,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Creaked opened the door,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Slowly strolling towards the candle,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cigarette lighted up from the flame,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The smoke of the candle,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Twirled and curled up in such a
manner,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That it made the word 'hate'</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hate twitching in its soul now,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Filling the spaces around,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Blisters on heart,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Blood lost its gush,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dead between the walls of violence,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Darkness prevailing,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Travelling down his heart,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Down to the valley of affection,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Warmth, emotions and love,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The soul is all polluted now,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With greed, shallowness and lust<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now he walks towards the desert of
wilderness,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With flame in his hand,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And all they found after were,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">footsteps on sand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Written By,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Ali Khan Niazi</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-78594267711814860742013-09-20T03:44:00.000-07:002013-11-22T08:03:11.118-08:00Advertising & You Written By Hira C.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaFTHeTy5bLGsSYsVAsuJDH6qwHFdCqffwUbLv_qtGhWHqEdrtSHPcye9Q-t7ulY8zpNaU_18Eed7J7Qa2yghEDUQr56Ljo5VoBVfdBWPEyu0PIT044XEx3vrcNPLVfYYRqSjxfpxIXzf/s1600/advertising+and+you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaFTHeTy5bLGsSYsVAsuJDH6qwHFdCqffwUbLv_qtGhWHqEdrtSHPcye9Q-t7ulY8zpNaU_18Eed7J7Qa2yghEDUQr56Ljo5VoBVfdBWPEyu0PIT044XEx3vrcNPLVfYYRqSjxfpxIXzf/s320/advertising+and+you.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">It is too simple to say that advertisements
are merely just marketing tools to sell products and services, although that
was originally the main idea. The earliest advertisements were important but
not a major source of income because most manufacturers produced similar goods
and there was no need to promote or compete between the products. Since
technology advanced, goods were packed, </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32.727272033691406px;">labelled</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"> and designed which then also
led to brand-labeling. Advertisements were then necessary to use when
competition grew between the new brands. At one point, ads were just
information for goods and services, now socialization is used as a tool to
advertise. Socialization is the lifelong process of creating and adapting to
norms, customs, and ideologies, providing a way for people to use skills for
participating within the society. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 32.727272033691406px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">The two dimensions of the advertisement
business today are money and social values. In order for the advertising agency
to achieve their goals, they must first get consumers to pay attention to the
message of commercials that pay for so much of the media we receive. Demographics
have to be studied in order to know what kind of consumers to attract and which
commercials to attract them with. If advertisers are going to spend money on each
minute of an ad, it has to be eye-catching. Commercials are produced that are
noticeable and motivating for the viewers to spend money. And indeed do they
pay attention to every second you watch something on TV to know what you like.
It takes serious skills, time, and money to understand how to get to peoples
desires and manipulate them. Ads work like persuasions that make people believe
if they know what product they want, they will find happiness. Human symbolism
plays a big role in commercials by making people feel good about themselves and
their life with more products as a way to fill some kind of void. Some
commercials may represent need of social acceptance, sexual attraction, and
self esteem. In this way, advertising acts as a social conditioning for
society, the process of training people to respond in a manner generally
approved.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 32.727272033691406px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Commercials have an effect on viewers’ perception
whether subliminal or not. Subliminal perception refers to the perceptions of
messages about which we have no awareness. Subliminal messages in videos and
advertisement can influence behavior in major changes in attitudes or behavior.
For example, people who are subliminally exposed to an image of a Coke can and
the word </span></span><b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">thirst</b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">, do later rate
themselves thirstier and they actually do drink more when given the
opportunity. However, they don’t particularly care if they drink Coke or
something else. If our motivation to carry out a behavior is already high and
the appropriate stimuli are presented subliminally, subliminal perception may
have at least some effect on our behavior.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 32.727272033691406px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Advertisers must sell themselves in
order to sell their product by using certain social media language and
expressions. The language and tone are coaxing,
exaggerating, informal, and somewhat sarcastic seen on ads today. This kind of
social media language proves that advertisers tempt people into giving into
their desires. Advertisers know what consumers want and they sell to them
without having them think about it. It’s a never-ending cycle in which tactics
are used to keep this kind of mentality inflicted on viewers.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 32.727272033691406px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Advertisement makes people
avid consumers so that the economy is steady and prosperous by using people and
their desires as tools.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"> Production of advertising caused
discontentment in people making them believe what they have is not enough. The idea that ignorance is bliss applies to when people
consume a product, when in reality the product consumes them. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">Written By,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36pt;">Hira C.</span></div>
</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-76033976925085987982013-09-19T12:06:00.004-07:002013-09-19T16:47:16.619-07:00What the eyes see, the camera defines: Take 3 By Marie Sch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Take 3:</h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Hey Baby, I had to mention,<br />That they got nothin' on you,<br />You're beautiful, it's true.</h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaJKAhHv4X1Lq7KHpqJXStXGzcSc0VUCMhyphenhyphenDocfysV-vPmZwuuBMsXEtEfyHOHw6lQ5gTvZ2i02NvhQvby4wXfD_E5YgC5L9MKzrZbaSM_rRF6dfMtKqCFXO71Q2PMcOyLOCEXbbzJlIV/s1600/IMG_0095+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaJKAhHv4X1Lq7KHpqJXStXGzcSc0VUCMhyphenhyphenDocfysV-vPmZwuuBMsXEtEfyHOHw6lQ5gTvZ2i02NvhQvby4wXfD_E5YgC5L9MKzrZbaSM_rRF6dfMtKqCFXO71Q2PMcOyLOCEXbbzJlIV/s320/IMG_0095+(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
Beauty comes in many forms. I've learnt, through my experiences, the very nature of any woman is beautiful. Let's take the picture on my left as an example. From her lashes to the natural sway of her hair, it defines the very word that we so carelessly say, 'Beautiful'.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyVaq6HXNxdbILOAlv-C7BwSxbb_srr29AKfXno5gR74QUoD48RvvN4KnCDLfw_xRLlxeAgD7cqy95O5j4lxALr7CA5J3a8_Cg2zYfLTCVxFNFdIvSsiJ9mMhHaJUkQXJHaDAw9mviYkG/s1600/IMG_1172+bis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyVaq6HXNxdbILOAlv-C7BwSxbb_srr29AKfXno5gR74QUoD48RvvN4KnCDLfw_xRLlxeAgD7cqy95O5j4lxALr7CA5J3a8_Cg2zYfLTCVxFNFdIvSsiJ9mMhHaJUkQXJHaDAw9mviYkG/s320/IMG_1172+bis.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
From the smile that she shows of the thoughts she could be thinking, the very mystery of a woman so elegantly shown and what might her thoughts be at the time. To the red dress resembling her passion for herself, how could we ever so carelessly say 'Beautiful'. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And then she took my breath away while the wind caressed her hair, she looked past that horizon and sees her definition of beauty. </div>
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Oh, how her eyes could play tricks on us. Her very glance at her own view. Oh, how silly we could be to so carelessly say, 'Beautiful'. </div>
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The very pride a woman holds for herself can be seen through her very stand. If that is not beautiful, then what is left?</div>
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Her dreams and ambitions she holds so calmly in her hands. Yet she idly waits for that someone, so easy is her patience. </div>
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Freedom personified</div>
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<br />
Then there were times I thought,<br />
how defeated are we compared to women.<br />
How can they so easily be free,<br />
how can they so easily be so beautiful.<br />
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And the sun would set for you,<br />
the stars would shine for you,<br />
time would stop for you,<br />
Death would sway for you.<br />
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<br />
The photographer who sees true beauty,<br />
If only she knew she was what she saw.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YYuJwuQoyaSoxji1iANgwXEXyRUy5CP6_iWKeTIgrVZ8pOIzVEiwguil6wwPu9zUMPm8y0WKijn-t61npf7Hb26fn7pqW-QRLkLFkro8dy6lW6RtG_gLzF5ru4XG4zUOt59yeM148Ke8/s1600/IMG_7252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YYuJwuQoyaSoxji1iANgwXEXyRUy5CP6_iWKeTIgrVZ8pOIzVEiwguil6wwPu9zUMPm8y0WKijn-t61npf7Hb26fn7pqW-QRLkLFkro8dy6lW6RtG_gLzF5ru4XG4zUOt59yeM148Ke8/s320/IMG_7252.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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Photography By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Marie Sch</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-63916458879439322192013-09-18T14:26:00.002-07:002013-09-18T14:52:22.220-07:00What The Eyes See, The Camera Defines: Take 2 By Marie Sch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Take 2: Black & White/White & Black</h2>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHQbNAG69Jgnl7euCZv2ptHfelSV-Mp7Rn20f8nZqbDMrt9TNYvWBVrgPn0dcgZu_gaYh3Q5ddBR6tYRMv-tWkV_F7OJz406CHisXNHd4tgOYfTCBX8AnDLPgyPNgAOhAn4Ir9SLFt1JZ/s1600/IMG_2346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHQbNAG69Jgnl7euCZv2ptHfelSV-Mp7Rn20f8nZqbDMrt9TNYvWBVrgPn0dcgZu_gaYh3Q5ddBR6tYRMv-tWkV_F7OJz406CHisXNHd4tgOYfTCBX8AnDLPgyPNgAOhAn4Ir9SLFt1JZ/s320/IMG_2346.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where is it?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8XqqO-yCoUbmsevbyjorrKdl1fnwDUx4pKaGMFOaHtVRH1WwoJKAGJ8XyJAif3pvzKS1uObdTZrnx2RhHrEj8RDriE8_JIOjfR9vCFlQYQgSaWpq64zZ5Q63HZZu0utT7lqdJVIHhL8v/s1600/IMG_6780.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8XqqO-yCoUbmsevbyjorrKdl1fnwDUx4pKaGMFOaHtVRH1WwoJKAGJ8XyJAif3pvzKS1uObdTZrnx2RhHrEj8RDriE8_JIOjfR9vCFlQYQgSaWpq64zZ5Q63HZZu0utT7lqdJVIHhL8v/s320/IMG_6780.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There it is!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVI9Qxys-x8-0djUjjkQrUViRrB8y_5CrI5kL_Hlf_nYHxpHwoD64nAotugiJZWei1khhkYt3zkcKBNKPysK8wg_yVh8Dvqf9rHq_YFSE1dd4wf5MP98eymYJYn3kMxGB1VxRspQ4Finy/s1600/IMG_3832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVI9Qxys-x8-0djUjjkQrUViRrB8y_5CrI5kL_Hlf_nYHxpHwoD64nAotugiJZWei1khhkYt3zkcKBNKPysK8wg_yVh8Dvqf9rHq_YFSE1dd4wf5MP98eymYJYn3kMxGB1VxRspQ4Finy/s320/IMG_3832.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">While the darkness surrounds me,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I hold on.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Holding on to a part of me,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I hold on.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglodszHqGqxDZnk-gK2_xvWzKsJWA2lVmj7pTrFBt7-oQgSmoE_6WZ3CTYqJrhT-wd57inoMEG52DlIiF9sTH2YDc8XYHUymHIS1A3x6ZDdsecE-CEJ19bO3BQi5y50jYcTaqCPY06xdLE/s1600/IMG_9471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglodszHqGqxDZnk-gK2_xvWzKsJWA2lVmj7pTrFBt7-oQgSmoE_6WZ3CTYqJrhT-wd57inoMEG52DlIiF9sTH2YDc8XYHUymHIS1A3x6ZDdsecE-CEJ19bO3BQi5y50jYcTaqCPY06xdLE/s400/IMG_9471.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Beginning to understand,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I am my shadow.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkynKg8IWRmrBxB73ZU2QfidI4GD5GbXLdlHY_8u2G95CTgCCMZBG-EGkJHimcYDxh8IIX4dzYjyh-NV1XS-MzhbxJ4rAcCBFeTYX_H0_UdIm2YXmYn6VCjlUlChuYVvkgMDrDsFx4BNDP/s1600/IMG_9417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkynKg8IWRmrBxB73ZU2QfidI4GD5GbXLdlHY_8u2G95CTgCCMZBG-EGkJHimcYDxh8IIX4dzYjyh-NV1XS-MzhbxJ4rAcCBFeTYX_H0_UdIm2YXmYn6VCjlUlChuYVvkgMDrDsFx4BNDP/s320/IMG_9417.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I embraced what I am,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I touch my shadows.</span></span></td></tr>
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Photography By,</div>
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Marie Sch</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-26505029342589456862013-09-18T14:16:00.002-07:002013-09-18T14:52:12.691-07:00What The Eyes See, The Camera Defines: Take 1 By Marie Sch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mysteries of our self</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beauty in everyday life</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unknown destination</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGFXoXC-yK4TAni3BRXYxZOtwr2-aJI2kcwSuXHAsPfk-QCp87g36FXRL0mPx7Qgxl43OUMtxmiuZ7N8FcD2D04jIcpc7VFL2Um91u2_dQkQILlKL8huYGTNke7DNLRrG2wxPrn6wcCwe/s1600/IMG_9769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGFXoXC-yK4TAni3BRXYxZOtwr2-aJI2kcwSuXHAsPfk-QCp87g36FXRL0mPx7Qgxl43OUMtxmiuZ7N8FcD2D04jIcpc7VFL2Um91u2_dQkQILlKL8huYGTNke7DNLRrG2wxPrn6wcCwe/s320/IMG_9769.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going Home</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSXJbAhxvunpLCDGYL2X3pvtFMD8enXpK0_EKkDMOJQPj8ySRC2O95xT1RZl5FBkts8Pz2zF7hs9lUE3UgHDRwDmc8YvUfVvclZDS3quPSApft_Q8PnTd_blfbzD5IL3vIL2qvlx0lL2j/s1600/IMG_9822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSXJbAhxvunpLCDGYL2X3pvtFMD8enXpK0_EKkDMOJQPj8ySRC2O95xT1RZl5FBkts8Pz2zF7hs9lUE3UgHDRwDmc8YvUfVvclZDS3quPSApft_Q8PnTd_blfbzD5IL3vIL2qvlx0lL2j/s320/IMG_9822.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reflections of yesterday and tomorrow</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-69589629569511022362013-09-15T08:06:00.000-07:002013-10-12T13:08:03.154-07:00Chapter 5: A Memory Long Forgotten (Part 2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h4>
Memories</h4>
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<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Love, I hope we get old. I hope we can find a way.' 'Love, I hope we can wait. Maybe not now, maybe not today.' 'Love? I guess we were wrong, I guess we changed.' 'I kept holding to our memories too long, doesn't really feel like love any more.' 'The mistakes we had made lets not repeat them again, lets walk our own way confident and strong.' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Son, make me proud. Let me hold my head high.' 'Son, listen to my words, learn from my mistakes.' 'You stumbled and strayed, now climb back up.' 'Maybe I was wrong, maybe you're not strong.' <i>-Silence- </i></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'You didn't wish me, that's okay you were busy.' 'I told you, I'll be there but she won't.' 'Who are you man, where are you?' 'Don't bother, I'm busy.' <i>-Silence-</i></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Who am I, where am I?' 'Damn.' <i>-Silence- </i></span><br />
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">A Fallen Angel</span></h4>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">‘He came in bringing scents from the past. A face that had changed but a scar so thick I could remember </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">a memory long forgotten.’</span></i><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">The lessons you learn about life, the mistakes not to make and the right path to walk. They all seem to be meaningless without those memories. Those memories that could either be hidden from others and yourself, or even those memories that you can cherish. When those memories long forgotten are remembered once again, it's as if all those other memories pour down on you until you're drenched. That unstoppable rain with all it's droplets hit the ground and creates an ocean around you. If you chose, you could swim out of that ocean but what happens if you chose to drown? What happens if you cannot swim? </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Rahal, it's time we talked.' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">My eyes needed time to focus, from what I could make out I could see a distorted reflection of a person through my mirror. My body froze in fear. I could feel my pulse pound, my hands and legs tremble and every nerve in my body tic. I could not move and all I could do was stare with an unblinking eye. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Who.. who are you?' My voice trembled in fear, I could not get myself to turn around. Was there really someone behind me? Or was my imagination playing a cruel and dark trick on me? </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'You really think I'm here to cause you any harm? That is not what I'm here for. My name is Harut and I am an angel!' He wryly smiled and then said, 'Was an angel, a long time ago.'</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'What do you want with me? Wha.. why are you here?' At that moment my vision had finally cleared. What I saw through that reflection was so vivid, I began to question whether this person was really a product of my imagination. If not then.. An angel? He stood behind me, on the darker side of the room, his face hidden within the black. I needed to fight this fear, I needed to turn around and confront this person. On the count of three I'll turn around, here goes nothing. One..two..THREE! </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I was ready to strike, ready to let out all that frustration I had bottled inside of me for all those long years. 'What!' He was gone. 'Where are you, you crazy psycho!'</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'What do you mean where am I, I'm right beside you.' Without seeing my target, I impulsively threw my fists towards the voice to strike him down yet I hit nothing. I looked towards the direction of the voice and finally saw him. I felt tired, exhausted and found it quite difficult to catch my breath yet with all my energy I kept my eyes open to get a good look at the so called angel. Eyes with no pupil, a scar so thick across his whole face, lips as dry as the desert and a complete black cloak that covered everything but his muddied boots. This person could be anything but an angel, his very appearance was frightful. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Why are you here?' I asked. He leaned against my bathroom wall, took out a cigarette and lit it up. 'You want one?' I declined, 'Trying to quit.' He blew out a cloud of smoke and then asked, 'Tell me something, what's your opinion on free will?'</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I also leaned against the opposite wall, watching his every movement, preparing myself for anything. 'Free will is nothing more than a dream, a façade that we believe to be as true as both you and me. Assuming that you are real that is.' The stranger smirked and then asked, 'Why are you caging yourself in this room and getting high on anti-depressants, why aren't you fighting for what you want?' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'No, first you tell me who the hell are you?!' I was beginning to feel irritated with these irrelevant questions with the situation I was in.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'I told you, my name is Harut and I am an angel. What, you didn't hear me the first time?' He carried on smoking, his whole careless behaviour, this whole situation was so unreal. 'That's it!' I ran towards him intending to punch his face as hard as I could. 'AAAARRGGHHH!' My hands went straight through his head and hit the wall behind him! 'WHAT THE HELL MAN!' I exclaimed. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Told you I was an angel. Now can you stop trying to hit me and talk to me, when I think our conversation is over I'll go.' I stepped a few steps away from him holding on to my wrist. 'I didn't choose to be caged ya' know, you dumb son of a bitch.' I replied while gritting my teeth, I felt so angry at my helplessness yet I continued, 'I have no control over my father's decisions, everything around me just happened. I..' I didn't know why I was telling a stranger about how I felt but I couldn't help myself. I needed to let it all out. 'I just wish that I could make all of this better but I can't! I wish my family would talk to me, or that she wouldn't leave me, or even my friends at least took me as a friend but I can't control what I had done. I can't go back in time and fix this. It's impossible.' I paused and then said, 'I wish I had known then what I know now.' I slowly moved back to the opposite wall that I had leaned on and sat down on the ground. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Omnia ad opinionem suspensa sunt' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'What the hell does that mean?' I asked.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Everything depends opinion, in other words, how we interpret the great & important facts of existence depends upon our style of life.' He looked at me and then said, 'the fact is everybody thinks very poorly of you and that your father told you he does not want to see you. However, how you interpreted this fact is that nothing is your fault and external factors got you in the situation you are right now in. So tell me, why don't you get up and try again?' I replied, 'Since the world withholds my triumph from me, I will retreat.' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">He grinned at my answer, 'Nicely said but a long time ago I had a friend called Adler, he once told me that individuals that give up or not even try are the result of maternal indulgence.' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I grinned back and replied, 'Yeah right, my parents were never at home most of my life let alone smother me in love.'</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'But you were given everything you ever wanted, money-wise, and you never had to work a whole day in your whole life.' </span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I discarded the thought of why this person knew so much about me and carried on listening. 'For the first time in your life Rahal, you were thrown into a lot of negativity and you didn't know how to react hence you drowned. I wouldn't say it was your fault entirely as your style of life was never to stand up and try again as you had everything.'</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">There was a moment of silence where his words were ringing in my head, I felt as if someone had stabbed me with a dagger of realization. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'But what you do now, the choice that you make now can greatly impact the fact of tomorrow. If you chose to follow your heart and succeed then the fact of tomorrow could be much brighter.' The stranger finally stopped. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'Choice? Choices are never there, if I had to make my situation better then I know what I would have to do. I would have to forget about my dreams and ambitions and follow my father's dreams to make my tomorrow better. There's no choice in that, so how is it my choice when I am left with just one!' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'A few moments ago I offered you a cigarette and you declined saying that you were trying to quit. When did you choose to quit and why?' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'What does that have to do with anything?' I replied. 'Just answer Rahal.' 'Aah, I guess I decided to quit when exercising became a lot more strenuous.' 'So you chose to quit then?' </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I realized what he was trying to get at, 'Yes, but that has nothing to do with this situation.'</span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"> </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I glanced at him to see what he would say, he seemed as if he was in a deep thought. He had that same look I had when I would drift in to my most regrettable memories. 'What do you see yourself becoming? What are your ambitions?' He asked. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">'I never really thought about that?' I replied. Throughout all these years, not once did I think about who I would want to be. I guess I had not seen enough of the world to make that decision yet. However, I couldn't help feeling this emptiness in me and I never knew how to fill that dark hole up. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">The stranger then said, 'A very long time ago, I had a dream to make my father proud of me. I would have done anything to see him smile. Unfortunately, my father would see this world and all it's bloodshed, how could he ever smile when that is all he saw. I used to believe that I had no choice in reaching my ambitions as my father had shunned me out but now I think differently. I decided to atone for my actions, hoping that one day he'll greet me again. That thought makes me strong in my resolve. That is why when one has fallen; one must stand, survive, strive and succeed.' With his cigarette now at an end, so was the conversation. And just how he had appeared out of nowhere, he once again vanished leaving no traces of his existence in my reality. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;">I thought long and hard on what this so called 'Fallen Angel' had told me and began to write my experience in a journal I had once bought from the Bodleian library gift shop but never once wrote in. After I had concluded my experience, I continued writing until writing became a part of me. The more I wrote, the more pages lied upon that page I had written my experience in. The more I pursued my ambition, the further I forgot about how it all started until one day that memory became, a memory long forgotten. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.18181800842285px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
The Voice in My Head</h4>
<div>
I had not seen him again, I had carried on living and slowly cast away that memory. That memory that stood once again in front of me & Elena in that hospital room. Reminding me to 'Stand, Survive, Stride & Succeed'. I acknowledged the message he said to me without having to say anything. Once again he looked at me and wryly smiled and then disappeared leaving me to carry on with my destination. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Little did I know, where I was going, I was going to meet that very person that spoke to me in my mind. I was going to walk past the very person who would save me in all the places I was broken. Before entering my apartment she had walked past me in the corridor but I did not know then. I did not know until she would enter my life in the craziest way I couldn't have even imagined. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-5596912726059656932013-08-30T09:54:00.002-07:002013-09-16T11:30:05.393-07:00Picture Perfect By Hira Choudhry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkABLtIPf56cRoicK7TSJZyQBPrGt9R7aaZOjtP8qIynUYOVcmTCywFili4qX2XpIkYE_t2G7hWUpm0uNrdRpiVBZijdqvZVFx5KythKubmEoyaYl9LpyALp2v35gSXJjHSgRV6vQi5Pi/s1600/victimofbeauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkABLtIPf56cRoicK7TSJZyQBPrGt9R7aaZOjtP8qIynUYOVcmTCywFili4qX2XpIkYE_t2G7hWUpm0uNrdRpiVBZijdqvZVFx5KythKubmEoyaYl9LpyALp2v35gSXJjHSgRV6vQi5Pi/s400/victimofbeauty.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Images
come in many forms that portray different ideas. Whether a picture, art, or
advertisement, they all effect people mentally or emotionally and even
subliminally. Not only do images affect people but society as well as a whole.
Sometimes images have more than one meaning.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As Arthur Brisbane once said, “A
picture is worth one thousand words”, refers to the notion that a complex idea
can be conveyed with just a single still image. It is up to the people how they
want to interpret the messages conveyed in an image. Images like the Victim of
Beauty make a statement about women who are always thriving and competing to
reach for a certain kind of apparel approved by media. </span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
image I’ve chosen shows a beautiful woman with a black eye and a text bolded, “<b>VICTIM OF BEAUTY</b>”. I believe this is a
controversial image because of the title and the woman expressing that title.
The black eye represents physical and mental abuse. Her hair is done in a way
that it is very neat and perfectly put together. The structure of her face and
upper body shows how thin and fragile she looks, as how a doll is delicate. She
is wearing a red dress along with red lipstick and eye make-up. There is no
real expression on her face but there is a sense of discontentment and a kind
of emptiness picked up from her photo. </span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
audience this image is trying to get attention from is women. I think this
image would be very much effective for the intended audience because it is a
direct message to women and some may feel they can relate to it. As Leo Tolstoy says, “Every work of art causes the receiver
to enter into a certain kind of relationship both with him who produced, or is
producing, the art, and with all those who, simultaneously, previously, or
subsequently, receive the same "artistic impression”. The art in this way has an effect on women because it
shows a relationship between them and what is seen in the image. For women, the
relationship is between the woman in the image and the audience themselves.
What the photographer intended to do and what the women understood from it, the
artistic impression of the image is therefore understood. </span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This
image plays a role in contemporary society because it portrays an idea that
women are victims of beauty. A victim of beauty means that someone feels
obliged and bullied to look in a certain way. As the images of the media define
their own meaning of beauty, women compete to reach that image. Women often
feel the need to look and dress in a certain way that is the acceptable meaning
of beauty in contemporary society. Each and every part of someone’s looks are
supposed to be perfect, hence why women strive so much to obtain this beautiful
image. Due to so much emphasis on appearance, women only express themselves
through their appearance rather than their personality and qualities. Since
most women feel suppressed because of such efforts, they often compete with
other women to look just as beautiful or more. They compete by comparing
themselves with what is seen on media and what they see in the mirror, which
then leads having to obtain that certain look. Such a mindset only proceeds to
discontentment and endless shopping of accessories and make-up with such
competition.</span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">An
example of such images in contemporary society at work would be how images in
media have an effect on not only women, but girls too. At such a young age,
girls learn to act and dress like ‘Barbie’. Nowadays, mothers encourage and
doll-up their daughters to go for beauty pageants. A known show called,
‘Toddlers in Tiara’ also portray the image of girls trying to depict what is
beauty. There have been such cases in which girls say they want to get
face-lifts to stay beautiful. For example, Barbie’s impact on young girls
contributes to an increased risk of disordered eating and weight cycling
(Helga, Halliwell, Ive). When these girls grow to be women, they imitate the
images of fashion seen in ads and magazines. These images portray women as sex
objects and women try to reach that kind of look. A woman is considered
beautiful if she presents herself in a hyper-sexual way with such revealing
clothes and layers of make-up. Because of this kind of mindset, it is an
obligation for women to represent themselves in such a way society expects them
to. Fashion magazines provide the most common form of media targeted towards
women and beauty magazines have been accused of portraying the thin ideal.
Thin-idealed images in magazines stimulate body disturbance in girls and women.</span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Images
have a strong impact on people in our contemporary society, whether if they are
subliminal messages or not. An image can be an idea that is implanted in an
individual’s mind or of the functions in society. The ways images are portrayed
is an easy strategy of stating a thought and spreading it out in mass media. </span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To
understand messages conveyed in pictures, it’s important for one to have media
literacy and analyze discreet meanings. Media literacy is very much important
to anticipate the different mediums used to portray and convey messages of
those who want to share ideas with the society. Without such literacy of the
media, one cannot understand and disclose the true intentions and ideas of
certain information. Such as this picture of the black-eyed female, it
represents repression of women in society and its meaning of beauty. The victim
of beauty had an artistic impression and meaning behind the image which was to
be translated through observation of women in the materialistic society. People
need to be aware of the photographer’s intention of the image and the message
conveyed through art. </span><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Written By,<br />
Hira Choudhry</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Works
Cited<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span lang="EN-US">Tolstoy, Leo. "What Is Art."</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><i><span lang="EN-US">"What Is Art?" by Leo Tolstoy (excerpts)</span></i><span lang="EN-US">. Copyright Julie C. Van Camp
1997, 1896. Web. 28 Feb. 2013.</span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span lang="EN-US">Harper, Brit, and Marika Tiggemann.
"The Effect of Thin Ideal Media Images on Women’s Self-Objectification,
Mood, and Body Image."</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><i><span lang="EN-US">Sex Roles</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US">58.9-10
(2008): 649-57. Print.</span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span lang="EN-US">Dittmar, Helga, Emma Halliwell, and
Suzanne Ive. "Does Barbie Make Girls Want to Be Thin? The Effect of
Experimental Exposure to Images of Dolls on the Body Image of 5- to 8-year-old
Girls."</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><i><span lang="EN-US">Developmental Psychology</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US">42.2
(2006): 283-92. Print.</span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-49829850671398103032013-08-24T01:24:00.000-07:002013-09-16T06:33:54.583-07:00Chapter 5: A Memory Long Forgotten (Part 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDZrNFr6WyFwhSxzPKizx4m3d8D5yalYBW-w0xo8g0I-ieWBowcSRXgoeSl2P0z2-CeRk3hcwL2MHRmevl5g3C0NWue9_noZOS037TnWUuJXfh5CCnmmpiz5M8S3e8E9iuSLzq33FTzk2/s1600/Guardian+angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDZrNFr6WyFwhSxzPKizx4m3d8D5yalYBW-w0xo8g0I-ieWBowcSRXgoeSl2P0z2-CeRk3hcwL2MHRmevl5g3C0NWue9_noZOS037TnWUuJXfh5CCnmmpiz5M8S3e8E9iuSLzq33FTzk2/s400/Guardian+angel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>'It was when the darkness and the light collided, there was harmony. </i></div>
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<i>The question I ask myself every day is, on which side do I reside?'</i></div>
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A long time ago in Babylon, under the rule of King Solomon there was confusion. The noble King had shunned away Lucifer with all his power from God and hid away under his throne the very books on black magic the devils practised. Lucifer, the satanic King of hell, could not bear this defeat and hissed in to the people's ear of King Solomon's betrayal to his Kingdom. Lucifer told those people, 'Go now and see what is under the king's throne. You will see books on black magic that your so called noble King practices to fool his people into believing he is a Prophet.' And so the people saw, believed that they were betrayed by their noble King and finally began to practise black magic themselves. Throughout all of this chaos, the one question that the angels would ask is, 'Why do these people sin when God tells them the truth?' Some stories tell of God replying that the angels would also sin if they were in the position of humans, in the position of making a choice. The angels chose between themselves two angels, Harut and Marut, to see the outcome of angels in human form. In the end, the two angels were over powered by the lust of every man and then they were either shunned away from heaven or they got killed. Either way, damn that shit's crazy. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3 years ago, from the moment where I currently lay in that hospital room near Elena and the person who had saved my life, I was closing the doors of my wardrobe with me in it. Prior to this specific memory, I was taken to a country that I did not consider home. I had failed my exams and I had lost the love of my life because I was no longer who I used to be. I don't know what it really was but I felt that the person I was before, the funny and eccentric boy, that boy had left and replaced itself with a hole so deep I could not find anything to fill it with any more. I tried becoming someone else and to begin anew, a person that I had always wished to be. I wanted to be mysterious, cool, serious and definitely toned up. When that look would not work for me, I would suddenly change into someone else over and over again until I no longer knew who I was. I had to keep lying about my past to fit my persona but with all those lies I began to deceive myself on what was really true. I became a person with no strong resolve and with all those failures in my life, my family began to take me as a failure. They stopped talking to me, my friends kept their distance as they could never understand who I was going to be today. After everyone had discarded me from their lives, my everyday became as lonely as the other. Now, the only reasonable solution I had in my mind at that time was to sit in my wardrobe where there was just me and the darkness as my companion. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I kept the clothes in my wardrobe as a cushion for my head. It was difficult to breathe but that was okay, the anti-depressants and the sleeping pill made every worry feel like a distant memory soon to be long forgotten. In the pitch black surrounding I could see a bleak ray of light enter through a small gap between the doors of my wardrobe. I focused my thoughts on that ray of light and the darkness I rested in. I saw a battle to see which would be the victor, the light was outnumbered. Yet the light did not stop fighting, it did not give up. Damn you light! Why are you still fighting when you know nothing you do will work? Those moments of watching felt like hours where I could see small troops of light warriors form a strategy, I could see dusts of light vanish and turn into darkness. I kept watching not in hope that maybe the light would win but because I was so curious. Then something strange happened, the bleak ray of light that wished to enter grew stronger. So strong even I could finally see my surroundings. How did that just happen?!<br />
<br />
'Rahal'<br />
<br />
Was that a voice I just heard? I heard no one open my door let alone any footsteps. I guess the lack of oxygen and the pills are making me crazy. I listened for a few more moments and went back to my own thoughts.<br />
<br />
'Rahal, don't you think it's time you come out of that wardrobe?'<br />
'Whose there?!' I screamed.<br />
<br />
I kicked the door open preparing to attack and run, the door flung open nearly shattering on impact. I flung myself out of the wardrobe and was ready to attack anyone or anything that moved but there was no one. My breathing quickened and the short hit of adrenaline sure got me to stand up but now I felt the pills beginning to take effect. I slowly made my way to my bed looking around to see whether anyone was there, I felt so dizzy and my vision was blurred. I did not have my glasses on but my vision had never been this blurred before. I saw a vague silhouette of a man at the other side, the brighter side of my room.<br />
<br />
'Haha, I'm not there!'<br />
<br />
'Whose there! Answer me!' I shouted.<br />
<br />
'Here, wear your glasses. They're right beside you.' The stranger replied.<br />
<br />
I felt my glasses right next to me and put them on. My vision focused on my surroundings yet I saw no one. What is happening to me? Am I hearing voices in my head? Am I seriously going crazy? I ran to my bathroom with every ounce of strength I had in my legs and turned the tap on. I took off my glasses and washed my face, dried and put my glasses back on. I saw my reflection through the mirror in front of me and it was just me.<br />
<br />
'Al-right, you cannot be losing your mind right now Rahal.' I said to myself. 'I'm okay, nothing is wrong with me.'<br />
<br />
There was dead silence, all I saw through that mirror was a reflection of someone I no longer knew. I knew it was me but why do I feel like I was a complete stranger to myself. I began to cry, tears fell down the drain of the sink.<br />
'God, what's happening to me?'<br />
<br />
I closed my eyes and took a deep and long breath. I breathed in all the insanity, all the pain, all that tension and all those memories I wished to forget. I then breathed out what I thought was clarity, I opened my eyes hoping that I saw a person that I could recognize, me. What I really saw, if I had been able to have time to think about what I saw, I would have defined it as the darkness in that wardrobe becoming one. I would have described 'it' as fear in it's truest form. However, I did not have time to understand what I did see at that moment. When I opened my eyes, I saw myself and him.<br />
<br />
'Rahal, it's time we talked.'<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Special thanks to: Hira Chaudhary & Ameena Nasib for helping me write this chapter. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-20484638520218371552013-07-25T10:10:00.000-07:002013-09-16T06:34:08.960-07:00Chapter 4: Bronte, I'm In The Red Room! / Who's there? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Part 1 - Nightmare</div>
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'Wake up...' 'Wake up...' 'Wake up...'<br />
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The scene is mundane, silent. <br />
<a name='more'></a>Suddenly, the dark red velvet curtains held the wind at bay. The windows, half-opened, shuttered violently from the wind's growl. The wooden oak flooring creaked with every step I took whilst the pictures on the walls stared with disappointment in their eyes. All four walls painted in red so wet yet the room felt oh so ancient, so old even that the room appeared to be laid out from the Victorian era. Whispers could be heard from spirits that longed to rest. I had heard of such rooms from stories told to children to keep them in their beds fast asleep. I had heard of the room's supernatural presence but never held faith in any one tale. No, what do I remember last this cannot be where I am. This eerie feeling causing a chill run down through my spine is something I cannot stand. To think irrationally in this situation will only make me lose my mind, I must focus and listen closely and let the light behind the walls shine. </div>
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'I'm here for you, Rahal. It's going to be okay.'</div>
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That heavenly sound rang from every corner of this bloody red painted room. It cracked the walls till the walls began to cry so it could try to get through. Still the walls would not hinder from place, stood strong from all attacks. Now the pictures that held so carefully in place balanced their sight with mine. Their lips began to animate and whispered a deadly command. They wished for me to stay in place forever and grabbed my hand. This feeling of death made me gasp for breath yet my lungs would not be satisfied, I fell to my knees on the flooring made from trees and suddenly I cried.</div>
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'God no! Stop I beg you! LEAVE ME ALONE!' I screamed.</div>
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Again that heavenly sound repeated</div>
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'Wake up...' Wake up...' Wake up...'</div>
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My movements so violent, my eyes begged for escape and finally I found the door. I pulled my hands away reached towards escape, escaping on all fours. I felt my legs lose strength but my arms had caught the handle. With a twist and swing the door flung open and I saw red brick walls held to place. Now I have lost my breath and my sight fading away with only darkness to accept. That darkness so cold, so empty so alone it froze everything but one thing. From the depth of my mind came a warmth that could shine, so bright even darkness grew scared. It shielded my thoughts then my senses of course and now I felt a presence so pure so clear.<br />
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'Rahal, you must awake, live your life that you make and then you may rest. Till then keep fighting, for the sake of your writing wake up right next to me.' It said.<br />
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This sound that cried, I could not recognize. The wall made of bricks fell and crumbled down to open a new path. The suffocation stopped, gravity shifted and there I stood terrified, not calm. I sucked in the air reassured my heart that all will be well. I walked through that dusty doorway and heard for the third time again.. </div>
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<br /></div>
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'Wake up...' 'Wake up...' 'Wake up...'<br />
<br />
Where am I?</div>
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<br />
Part 2 - The Past That Saved My Future</div>
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I opened my eyes quite suddenly only to be weakened by the glare of the light bulb. Logic still with me, this time I slowly took in my surroundings. My body felt so weak but my right arm I just could not move. Motioning my head, I saw a person burying their head on my arm crying quietly by my side. Slowly but surely I realized whom that was.<br />
<br />
'Elena?!'<br />
<br />
'Rahal? Oh my god you're awake! I was so scared because I was waiting for you at the station you told me and then I got a call about you being attacked and unconscious. I didn't know what to do and I ran and I found you and you were like just lying there and I was so scared...!' Elena sobbingly said.<br />
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'Ellie, you said that already. Calm down.' I said patiently. ' Now, tell me what happened after I was knocked out.'<br />
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'Well um ah oh yeah basically because I'm like your emergency call that you keep in your wallet all the time, well ah the person that like saved you from the lunatic cab driver called me and told me how he's taking you to Saint Mary's hospital so I quickly came here. She replied. But how are you feeling?'<br />
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'I feel a bit weak and could you please let go of my arm for a while because it feels really numb. Elena, who saved me?' I asked wanting to know the person who saved my life.<br />
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'Yeah, he's outside let me call him in.'Elena said then heading outside the door, she gestured someone I could not see to come in.<br />
<br />
He came in bringing scents from the past. A face that had changed but a scar so thick I could remember a memory long forgotten. The man that stood in front of me, that had saved my life was a man who owed me a debt he had finally found a chance to repay.<br />
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'You?!' I exclaimed.<br />
<br />
'Nice to see you again, Rahal.'<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Written by,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
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<br /></div>
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(Special thanks to Elizabeth Clay for a wonderful pic!)</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-28812926677560278482013-07-09T11:10:00.000-07:002013-09-16T06:34:38.988-07:00Chapter 3: One Subjective Reality<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Realism, the art to depict things of a visual, social or emotional nature accurately. Thinking realistically requires the individual to think objectively and seclude the mind from the heart. Reality can be seen as the state of things as they actually exist as a whole. However, our reality can be seen as what we see and what we see is the product of our choice of action. <br />
<a name='more'></a>Think about it, by going out and experiencing our today, by opening up the newspaper and reading something new about the world, by conversing and knowing a new fact about your social group or other people; we chose to be apart of that. We chose to read the newspaper or we chose to go out and live today. That becomes our reality, the product of the choices we make every day. Hence, our reality can be different to someone else's reality and therefore our way of thinking of this world will be different to how others see this world.<br />
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By taking this into perspective, you could either be disgusted or praiseful to see a white, male cab driver holding a fire arm against my forehead while demanding I lay on the ground with the back of head buried against the concrete floor declaring, 'I'll kill the lot of you, fucking disgusting terrorists!' For some, this action is absolutely loathsome but for others it would be an agreeable act. For me, well myself personally, I was pissing my pants thinking what the fuck is going on! While at the same time thinking why did I have to be the Pakistani, Muslim Asian sitting with a pissed off at my type of people cab driver.<br />
<br />
Readers, one thing you have to know about me is that when I'm in an uncomfortable situation, I tend to become a lot more humorous than usual. So the first thing I said was,<br />
'Dude! I mean sir, listen man I'm not a terrorist I swear! I mean I don't even have a proper beard, look there's bum fluff on my cheeks. Bloody hell I have a girlfriend! Please..'<br />
'SHUT UP!' The cab driver shouted while waving his gun as if it were a part of his body that he had absolute control over.<br />
'When I kill you, all your little terrorist friends will know that we can kill too so not to mess with us. HA, I'd love to see your beloved Osama Bin Fucker bomb me now! Oh wait, he's dead because we won! By killing you, I'm only following the act of God so don't think I'm taking revenge over what you Paki's, Iraqi's or wherever the fuck you terrorists like to huddle up at did with our people. It's not revenge when it's the will of God, right?'<br />
<br />
I realised that Jacob, the supposed cab driver, was kind of unintentionally asking me whether what he was doing was right. Then I realised what I was doing. Succumbing to fear is like letting go of everything you believe in only to survive in any means necessary. See, fear can lead to a person hating that reason of fear. If left unsolved, that fear can turn into this deep dark hatred for everything related to it. At that time, I had no clue of this one single reality of this individual.<br />
<br />
This reality began with Jacob's mother and sister taking a stroll down the city of London. His sister wanted to buy a gift for Jacob's birthday and she had no clue what to get him. His mother was convinced she knew the perfect gift for him and that it could be bought from Alfie's Antique Market located near Edgware road train station. Jacob and his mum were really close, so close even that he still felt the need to eat dinner made by his mum even though he had a place of his own and his own beloved family to take care of. His parents were so proud of him in becoming a successful police officer and that smile he saw from his family only made him stronger in all ways. That unfortunate day, a bomb went off at that very train station and a few other places. Jacob lost his sister and his mother in one go, that very event was known as 7/7 and he was one of those people who lost his everything. That fear of losing the remains of his family led to hatred. A hatred that could only be dissolved through an act of revenge. Revenge that slowly crept onto his soul, forcing him to lose his position as a police officer and made him a cab driver only so he could still feed his wife and children. Revenge against those 'supposed' extreme Muslims that caused him to lose nearly everything.<br />
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When I did learn the reason for this hatred later, I began to fear and if I had not resolved this fear in my heart, that fear could have probably turned into hate and that hate could have made me become that Jacob holding that firearm to someone else's forehead. Who knows, If I had thought of violence as the best solution for revenge, I could have been those 'supposed' extreme Muslims causing chaos only because my reality told me that it was the right thing to do. If I had thought differently to what I did, I could have easily said to myself that the only way to get rid of those who hate me when I am not the reason for their hate, to make my life easier I must get rid of those who made my life difficult to live in the first place. The ripple effect.<br />
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And so, going back to that dark alley way where the taxi cab had been parked. Where two figures were hidden within the shadows of the walls. Where one figure stood underneath the moon while the other laid down with his eyes closed. Where a sign post with an arrow pointing in a direction read, 'Edgware road tube station' firmly held to the ground. Where a firearm camouflaged with the darkness and where the fast nervous breathing could be heard in the dead silence if there was anyone to hear it. The cab driver said smirking,<br />
'This won't hurt a bit. Who knows, I might get lucky and it might hurt a lot.'<br />
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I kept my eyes closed, tensed every part of my body, controlled every breath I took and finally prayed to God, 'If this is how it's going to be, I want you to know I'm yours. You gave me life and now only you have the power and right to take it. From the beginning till the end I will only pray to you.' And in Arabic I slowly said, 'There is only one God and Muhammad (P.B.U.H) is his messenger.'<br />
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With the click of a gun and the hatred he had sowed and the loud bang that made even insects hide in their homes. I lay quietly on the ground while I bathed in blood. My eyes opened wide and saw another reality extinguish one. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Written By,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jawaad Saleem</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(P.B.U.H - Peace Be Upon Him)</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0London, UK51.511213899999987 -0.1198243999999704151.195100899999986 -0.7652713999999704 51.827326899999989 0.52562260000002958tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8301157628206952634.post-34289412278681688602013-06-30T03:55:00.000-07:002013-09-16T06:34:52.317-07:00Chapter 2: A Promise To Be Kept<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Century, serif;">It’s
well remembered; the verses of the wise men, rehearsed a thousand times in our
minds. Locked with gates made of the strongest metal no man can find. Yes, the
verses of those wise men were so wise of their times, now we strike thunder for
change but yet in vain, knowing we shall walk through those verses in time.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Rahal, where are you going at this time?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">She stood there, confused with where her son could be going at this time of night. Her face illuminated by the moonlight shining through the open door way. I could still hear the sound of every car passing by, now the sound somewhat resembled calm ocean waves and in front of me was a face that could justify the beauty of those soothing ocean waves. </span><span style="font-family: Century, serif;">Her eyes travelled from my face to what I was wearing and finally rested at the suitcase beside me. I grasped the handle of my suitcase as if scared my mother would pull it away from me but her expression said otherwise. The confusion across her face told me that she just could not conclude in her mind I was leaving. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Ma...I..." I stuttered. I could not find the words I wanted to say. Maybe because I myself did not know what I wanted to say to her. I promised myself I would not bring tears to her and yet here I was in a situation where my mother will cry if I told her the truth. In those moments where she wanted to hear what I had to say, in those moments of dead silence, I could see a glimpse of the sadness this house would be consumed in because of what I'm intending to do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Ma, I'm leaving. I need to do this.. I just.. I can't stay after what I've done to you and dad.. I" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">I could feel it, that small drop of tear slowly running down my cheek and in just a few seconds that tear became a waterfall. I silently cried and she listened to me cry. Even though she was standing so far away from me, her eyes alone could comfort me as if she were hugging me. I tried so hard not to cry, my mind felt as if it was ready to explode yet there was silence. All she did was stand there and not say a word. I had no clue whether she was trying to find her own words or whether she just did not want to say anything. Maybe she expected me to walk back into the house and go upstairs to sleep but I could not do that any more. I had to leave. I had to be who I wanted to be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">I turned around and took one more step outside but stopped, I could hear the sound of my mother. She finally began to cry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Rahal, I love you my son. I love you so much my Rahal. Don't go Rahal.. don't.." Her hands were hiding her face and she trembled yet it did not feel as if she was talking to me. She was praying to God as if a last minute prayer might change this situation. As if she expects to wake up any time now. She fell down to her knees and silently cried. I left my suitcase and everything else I carried to hold her. I ran as fast as I could just so my mother knows I'm there. My arms were wrapped around her. We both sat there, we both were on our knees comforting each other. We both sat there silently crying. </span><span style="font-family: Century, serif;">My lungs were gasping for breath yet I just couldn't let go of her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Just because your dad got angry you want to leave? Rahal, please... please don't do this." My mum's tears drenched my shirt until even my heart wished to part with me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"I have to do this." I said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">She continued to hold me and my phone vibrated yet again. My transport lay wait outside, yet I did not want to break this moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"I love you Ma." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;"> I got up took my things and closed the door behind me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"I'll be back in your arms soon, I promise"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">With those last words and with those last moments passed by, I stood in front of my transport. Behind me I could see the window of my mum and dad's room. The curtains were closed but I could vaguely see the lights turned on, I remembered that whenever the lights are turned on in my mum and dad's room, it most probably always means my mother is praying. I felt happy because I knew she was praying for me, to find my way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">I had called for a taxi cab. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Where to?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"Oxford circus train station in central London please." I replied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"At this time of night? I hope you got someone waiting for you there."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">"I do." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">Written By,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Century, serif;">Jawaad Saleem</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840503792029320438noreply@blogger.com0