What you want?

You wanted a man with the only one property and by luck, and by chance and by God's grace you meet one. But . . . you have this hard, and obsessed feelings for him. You feel great amount of love and affection on him but . . . all in vain. They are crap to him; the one you feel these things for. You can't express that to him and say, "I love you." Life is really so complicated. Nothing is straight. It's so weird that we are compelled to live with so many parameters . . .

I have to silently bear this pain . . . I have to endure it, no way around.

God! Please give the one who thinks and feels the same for me with that single property embedded in Him. It takes a great deal of struggle to delete the feelings you have. It's so numb not to say a word to him and not able to . . . No matter how great I accumulate my energy I can't say this all to him. I fear . . . don't know what.

No risk no reward.

I am going to take risk, well, that's what makes life interesting. The risk, the fear of survival, the fear and humiliation of failing. I love to push myself a lot and lot. I am the progress record, and I am not at all happy about that. The way my skills are brushing and the way I am heading. I am slowing down, very slowing down. I need someone to inspire me. Well, that is the hardest part in my life. I don't get any one to inspire me, I have to motivate myself. I have to do it for myself.

I love who hates me, I just love them. They are the ones who make me so strong. And keep me alert. I love their complaints, I love their envy, I love their insecurity. They see my track and try to drift me from my actual path. But one thing they don't understand is I am very good in Chess. I can play it very well.They never see my moves, I sacrifice little stuff for the bigger target. No one gets it. I never met a perfect chess player in life. Never seen a person who takes the risk like me.

Smooth life is what scares me a lot and lot. And the weakness I got I have to overcome them, I am happy the way people help me in my play I enact. They wind it up my fire. I love them for that. Now if my relations burn in that why should I care? They don't care, never cared about me, I see only their selfish desires in them. Not every one, I am talking of my haters. They love to show me my place but sorry ya . . . to disappoint you. I am the person who does not give up that easily. I am not quitting that easily. I am not a person who quits so quickly.

I am not quitting . . . guys sorry to disappoint you.

I am just concentrating on the others hobbies to master in them. I want to be a multi - talented. Push myself so much that I should die or the fate should give up on me. And say take what you want. I am pursuing what it is called the impossible tasks. I give myself very impossible tasks, that is how I know how much far I can go or I can reach. No boundaries for myself. No way, there is no limit. I am wanna be the greatest girl.

I wanna be a great as a Cleopatra, the ultimate powerful lady! I have this desire to reach to her level. But . . . she got it via birth but I have to earn it. I am not kidding. Laugh if you want at me, laugh loudly so I can hear you all and fight that wrong perception in your head on me. I am gonna reach the heights of the top what ever defined in the crust of the earth. I am not quitting. I will never.

I will explode like a volcano and take over my territory.

Changing India!

Rj Arshad Saleem's photo.

After being raped, I was wounded; My honour was not: Sohaila Abdulali

"When I fought to live that night, I hardly knew what I was fighting for. A male friend and I had gone for a walk up a mountain near my home. Four armed men caught us and made us climb to a secluded spot, where they raped me for several hours, and beat both of us. They argued among themselves about whether or not to kill us, and finally let us go.

At 17, I was just a child. Life rewarded me richly for surviving. I stumbled home, wounded and traumatized, to a fabulous family. With them on my side, so much came my way. I found true love. I wrote books. I saw a kangaroo in the wild. I caught buses and missed trains. I had a shining child. The century changed. My first gray hair appeared.

Too many others will never experience that. They will not see that it gets better, that the day comes when one incident is no longer the central focus of your life. One day you find you are no longer looking behind you, expecting every group of men to attack. One day you wind a scarf around your throat without having a flashback to being choked. One day you are not frightened anymore.

Rape is horrible. But it is not horrible for all the reasons that have been drilled into the heads of women. It is horrible because you are violated, you are scared, someone else takes control of your body and hurts you in the most intimate way. It is not horrible because you lose your “virtue.” It is not horrible because your father and your brother are dishonored. I reject the notion that my virtue is located in my vagina, just as I reject the notion that men’s brains are in their genitals.

If we take honor out of the equation, rape will still be horrible, but it will be a personal, and not a societal, horror. We will be able to give women who have been assaulted what they truly need: not a load of rubbish about how they should feel guilty or ashamed, but empathy for going through a terrible trauma.

The week after I was attacked, I heard the story of a woman who was raped in a nearby suburb. She came home, went into the kitchen, set herself on fire and died. The person who told me the story was full of admiration for her selflessness in preserving her husband’s honor. Thanks to my parents, I never did understand this.

The law has to provide real penalties for rapists and protection for victims, but only families and communities can provide this empathy and support. How will a teenager participate in the prosecution of her rapist if her family isn’t behind her? How will a wife charge her assailant if her husband thinks the attack was more of an affront to him than a violation of her?

At 17, I thought the scariest thing that could happen in my life was being hurt and humiliated in such a painful way. At 49, I know I was wrong: the scariest thing is imagining my 11-year-old child being hurt and humiliated. Not because of my family’s honor, but because she trusts the world and it is infinitely painful to think of her losing that trust. When I look back, it is not the 17-year-old me I want to comfort, but my parents. They had the job of picking up the pieces.

This is where our work lies, with those of us who are raising the next generation. It lies in teaching our sons and daughters to become liberated, respectful adults who know that men who hurt women are making a choice, and will be punished.

When I was 17, I could not have imagined thousands of people marching against rape in India, as we have seen these past few weeks. And yet there is still work to be done. We have spent generations constructing elaborate systems of patriarchy, caste and social and sexual inequality that allow abuse to flourish. But rape is not inevitable, like the weather. We need to shelve all the gibberish about honor and virtue and did-she-lead-him-on and could-he-help-himself. We need to put responsibility where it lies: on men who violate women, and on all of us who let them get away with it while we point accusing fingers at their victims."

- Sohaila Abdulali.

One Pissed off Canadian Housewife!

 

One Pissed off Canadian Housewife
This is very good PLEASE read....

Thought you might like to read this letter
to the editor. Ever notice how some people
just seem to know how to write a letter?


This one surely does!


This was written by a Canadian woman, but oh how
it also applies to the U.S.A., U.K. and Australia .


THIS ONE PACKS A FIRM PUNCH

Written by a housewife in New Brunswick , to
her local newspaper. This is one ticked off lady...


"Are we fighting a war on terror or aren't we? Was
it or was it not, started by Islamic people who
brought it to our shores on September 11, 2001
and have continually threatened to do so since?


Were people from all over the world, not brutally murdered
that day, in downtown Manhattan , across the Potomac from
the capitol of the USA and in a field in Pennsylvania ?


Did nearly three thousand men, women and children die a horrible, burning or crushing death that day, or didn't they?

Do you think I care about four U. S. Marines urinating on some dead Taliban insurgents?

And I'm supposed to care that a few Taliban were
claiming to be tortured by a justice system of a
nation they are fighting against in a brutal Insurgency.

I'll care about the Koran when the fanatics in the Middle
East, start caring about the Holy Bible, the mere belief
of which, is a crime punishable by beheading in Afghanistan .


I'll care when these thugs tell the world they are
sorry for hacking off Nick Berg's head, while Berg
screamed through his gurgling slashed throat.


I'll care when the cowardly so-called insurgents
in Afghanistan , come out and fight like men,
instead of disrespecting their own religion by
hiding in Mosques and behind women and children.


I'll care when the mindless zealots who blow
themselves up in search of Nirvana, care about the
innocent children within range of their suicide Bombs.


I'll care when the Canadian media stops pretending that
their freedom of Speech on stories, is more important than
the lives of the soldiers on the ground or their families waiting
at home, to hear about them when something happens.


In the meantime, when I hear a story about a
CANADIAN soldier roughing up an Insurgent
terrorist to obtain information, know this:

I don't care.

When I see a wounded terrorist get shot in the
head when he is told not to move because he
might be booby-trapped, you can take it to the bank:


I don't care. Shoot him again.


When I hear that a prisoner, who was issued a Koran and a prayer mat, and fed 'special' food, that is paid for by my tax dollars, is complaining that his holy book is being 'mishandled,' you can absolutely believe, in your heart of hearts:

I don't care.


And oh, by the way, I've noticed that sometimes
it's spelled 'Koran' and other times 'Quran.'
Well, Jimmy Crack Corn you guessed it.


I don't care!!


If you agree with this viewpoint, pass this on to
all your E-mail Friends. Sooner or later, it'll get to
the people responsible for this ridiculous behavior!


If you don't agree, then by all means hit the delete
button. Should you choose the latter, then please don't
complain when more atrocities committed by radical
Muslims happen here in our great Country! And may I add:


Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering, if
during their life on earth, they made a difference in
the world. But, the Soldiers don't have that problem.

I have another quote that I would like to
share AND...I hope you forward All this.


One last thought for the day:


Only five defining forces have ever offered to die for you:


1. Jesus Christ


2. The British Soldier.


3. The Canadian Soldier.


4. The US Soldier, and


5. The Australian Soldier


One died for your soul,
the other four, for you and your children's Freedom!

Deeply rooted.

I have this fear . . . silly but it is there so deeply rooted and daily influences the way I think of you.

I think you look at me and see a perfect girl. You made a picture of me in your mind so strong and impeccable, and one day you would finally get a very good look at me and find out I am flawed - think that I am not as strong and as good I am, you opined or pictured about me; and I would disappoint you.

I fear, that point of time, you would expunge the feelings you have on me. I think they have the ability to drift the way you feel about me.

Near or far, I love you life.

Sometimes I think you are so near, sometimes I think you are so far. Why are you so cruel? Why are you so indifferent? Why are you so merciless? I am dying every second here, without you and without your memory. I even try to construct how it is with you . . . around me in my life? I look back every time I walk in streets with a blind belief you would follow me. But every time I do that I get a stroke, a pinch of acute pain in the heart and a dry tear in eyes. I feel I am the unluckiest girl in this world. Who is so desperate to meet you and talk to you.

What have I done to you? All I have done is to love you from my soul . . . and you give me this deep shit. But what can I say? Just to silently endure it, drink it as if it's a elixir.

It saddens when I see a couple every time having fun! This kills me, and every time it does I shout with vehement cry. The happiness around you . . . I miss it. I miss talking to you. I miss laughing with you. I miss playing with you. I miss teasing you. I miss taking you in the arms. I miss you consoling you. I miss you all of it, every part of it. And everything about it.

I don't care I being with you is a lie, but all I have is this lie. This lie of the memories is what keeps me alive. But I cannot embrace it . . . It so unreal. Reality scares me fantasy gives me breath. Now you tell me how can I be so happy in the real world? Your pain is too much to take. It's beyond the containment. I will not be handle it any further, a saturation point is nearing me. I am crying for you . . . dying for you . . . what why do you care? What for you? It's so hard to see you in silence and not able to talk to you!

I am not able to cut you off from my life. You don't care how I suffer the pain of you . . . you are so happy there. Without even a hiccup of my hell!

An 87 Year Old College Student Named Rose!

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know.

I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned round to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, “Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?” I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze. “Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked. She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…” “No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age. “I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months, we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up. At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.”

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change.

Have no regrets. The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.” She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.” She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be .When you finish reading this, please send this peaceful word of advice to your friends and family, they’ll really enjoy it!"