Bad habits

The Last Confession: I Burned the Box of Unsent Love Letters, And This is What Happened Next
For ten years, it sat in the back of my closet—a plain, battered cardboard box, stained at the corners from a forgotten spill. It wasn't full of letters I’d received, but letters I’d written, but never mailed. Love letters, apologies that choked in my throat, bursts of rage that evaporated into cold silence, and desperate pleas for attention. All directed at people who, thankfully or regrettably, never read them. It was, in essence, an archive of an alternate life I was always too terrified to step into.
By Hussein Gazo11 months ago in Confessions
The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli – Full Summary & Analysis. AI-Generated.
📘 Introduction: Why The Prince Still Matters Written in 1513 and published posthumously in 1532, The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli remains one of the most influential works in political theory. Often misunderstood as a manual for tyranny, the book is actually a pragmatic guide for rulers navigating the volatile politics of Renaissance Italy.
By TAPHA12 months ago in Confessions
The Cat and the Milk Pot
The Cat and the Milk Pot BY:Khan It was only a few months ago, yet the memory remains fresh in my mind — strange, mysterious, and unforgettable. My BA exams were just around the corner when, quite unexpectedly, I fell seriously ill. For days, I couldn’t even get out of bed. Weakness had taken over my body completely; every time I tried to stand, the world around me would spin, forcing me to lie back down again. Naturally, my studies suffered. I could barely read or revise anything. After several days of medication — strictly as prescribed by the doctor — I began to feel slightly better. But by then, I had already lost an entire week. My strength hadn’t returned either. A few days before my exams, my mother sternly instructed me to take care of myself. “Every night before sleeping, drink a glass of milk,” she said. “And don’t stay up late studying. Whatever you need to revise, do it early in the morning.” She was careful about this routine. Every night, she would boil the milk and place the metal pot — the garvi — in my room so it could cool slightly. Once it was lukewarm, I’d pour myself a glass, drink it, and then put the rest in the fridge. Two nights later, something happened that I can never forget. That night, I finished my studies, poured myself a glass of milk, and drank it. The milk was still warm, so I thought I’d put the rest in the fridge after a few minutes. I lay down on my bed — and must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it. I don’t know how long I slept before a loud clang startled me awake. It sounded like a metal pot falling onto the floor. My heart started pounding. I sat up, my eyes darting around the dimly lit room. Something felt off. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement — something small, dark, and fast. At first, I thought I was imagining things. But then I saw it again — a black object bouncing rapidly across the floor, knocking into things and making a noise like tumbling metal. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that the object was near the milk pot. And then it hit me — the pot was moving on its own! My breath caught in my throat. The garvi was jerking up and down as if some invisible force was trying to lift it. My entire body froze in fear. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I couldn’t decide whether to run or stay put. Gathering what little courage I had, I reached over and switched on the light. The scene that met my eyes made me gasp out loud. “Oh my God!” It wasn’t a ghost or anything supernatural. It was a black cat — her head completely stuck inside the milk pot! The poor creature must have smelled the milk and, out of curiosity or hunger, pushed her face too far inside. Now her head was wedged tight, and in her panic, she was jumping and thrashing around the room, making the pot clang loudly each time she moved. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The sight was both hilarious and terrifying. The cat kept crashing into furniture, knocking over a stool and a few books from my study table. She was in such distress that it was impossible to go near her. Just then, my mother and brother rushed in, alarmed by the noise. “What happened?” my mother shouted, her eyes wide with shock. I pointed toward the chaos. The cat, still trapped in the garvi, was now spinning in circles like a wild creature. None of us knew what to do. My brother tried to approach her, but she hissed and leapt away. Then, as if nature itself decided to intervene, the cat ran straight into the wall. There was a loud thud, followed by a sharp jerk of her head — and finally, her head came free from the pot! For a few seconds, she just stood there, dazed and confused. Then, realizing she was free, she let out a low growl and dashed toward the door. But in her hurry, she collided with the room cooler and got tangled in the hardboard placed above it. With a frantic leap, she freed herself again and bolted out of my room. My brother quickly opened the lounge door to give her a way out. The moment the door opened, the cat shot past us like an arrow and disappeared into the night. Silence filled the house once again. We all stood there, breathing heavily, trying to process what had just happened. Then, almost at the same time, we burst into laughter. Later, when the excitement settled, we tried to piece together how the cat had ended up in my room in the first place. After a bit of “family investigation,” we concluded that she must have entered through the cooler vent sometime during the night. Drawn by the smell of warm milk, she probably climbed up to the table and dipped her head into the pot — only to find herself trapped. That explained the mysterious noise that had woken me. I remember standing there, staring at the overturned pot and spilled milk, thinking how something so small could turn into such chaos. That night taught me two things: never underestimate the curiosity of a cat — and never leave milk uncovered in your room overnight! Even now, whenever I see a black cat walking along the boundary wall or sitting near the kitchen, I can’t help but smile. Maybe it’s the same mischievous visitor from that unforgettable night — the one who turned my quiet study session into a midnight adventure.
By Khan 12 months ago in Confessions
The Things I Never Said Out Loud
The Things I Never Said Out Loud By Hasnain Shah I’ve always believed silence could be an act of kindness. If you don’t say the harsh truth, you won’t hurt anyone. If you keep the bitterness locked inside, you protect the people you love from the sting of your words. At least, that’s what I told myself every time my chest felt heavy with things I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
By Hasnain Shah12 months ago in Confessions
The iPhone 17: A New Chapter in Apple’s Legacy
When Apple launched the first iPhone in 2007, it didn’t just introduce a new device; it revolutionized the way humans communicate, connect, and create. Every generation since has been more than just a phone—it has been a cultural and technological milestone. With the release of the iPhone 17, Apple continues to honor its tradition of innovation while pushing the boundaries of what a smartphone can be.
By Fazal wahid 12 months ago in Confessions
When Stardom Meets Separation: The Truth Behind Nicole Kidman & Keith Urban’s Breakup
In late September 2025, the entertainment world was shaken by news that Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban, one of Hollywood and country music’s most admired power couples, had separated after nearly two decades of marriage. Their love story, which had once stood as a rare testament to stability in the often turbulent world of celebrity relationships, suddenly came to a close.
By Lynn Myers12 months ago in Confessions
The Self-Proclaimed Captain Who Learned a Hard Lesson
The Self-Proclaimed Captain BY:Khan “Listen, friends! I’m the best cricket player among all of you. That’s why I should be the captain of our team!” Amir stood proudly on a raised platform in the middle of the playground, looking down at his group of friends. His tone was firm, his chest puffed out with self-confidence, and his eyes glittered with the satisfaction of his own words. The group of boys sitting in a circle on the grass exchanged doubtful glances. They knew Amir well—his voice was always louder than his performance, his confidence always bigger than his contribution. But Amir didn’t notice their silence. He was too busy repeating the same line over and over again, as if sheer insistence would turn his claim into an undeniable fact. “I play the best cricket,” he declared again, “and because of that, I must be the captain!” The boys hesitated. None of them wanted an argument, and truthfully, they were tired of Amir’s endless speeches. Finally, one of his closest friends shrugged and said, “If Amir insists this much, let’s just make him the captain. Maybe then he’ll prove what he says.” “Fine! Fine! Let’s make Amir the captain,” the others echoed in unison. Some of them smiled secretly at each other, as if waiting to see what would happen next. And just like that, Amir became the captain of his cricket team. --- The First Challenge The very next day, a match was arranged against the team from a neighboring street. For the boys, this wasn’t just a game; it was about pride, respect, and the right to claim themselves as the better players in the neighborhood. Amir, wearing his newly found authority like a crown, walked toward the pitch for the toss. He tried to appear calm, as though leadership came naturally to him, but luck was not on his side. He lost the toss. The rival team chose to bat first, and Amir had to send his bowlers in. “Don’t worry,” Amir said confidently, “I’ll take care of this. I’ll show them how a real captain bowls.” But the ground soon echoed with the sound of boundaries. Ball after ball, Amir’s deliveries were punished by the batsmen. His friends bowled well, keeping the runs under control, but Amir alone gave away 52 runs in six overs without taking a single wicket. Each hit against his bowling felt like a hammer striking his inflated pride. By the time the innings ended, Amir’s team was already under pressure because of his poor bowling performance. --- The Fall of a Captain Now it was Amir’s turn to shine with the bat. He placed himself in the opening position, believing that a captain should lead from the front. He walked toward the pitch with his bat held high, imagining cheers that weren’t really there. The first few balls went by cautiously. Then came a delivery that clipped the stumps perfectly. Amir’s bat missed, and the bails flew into the air. He had scored only two runs before being bowled out. The walk back to the pavilion felt longer than any distance Amir had ever covered. His teammates avoided meeting his eyes. He sat down quietly, watching the rest of the match unfold. Though some of his friends fought hard, the target was too high, and eventually, the team lost. --- Whispers After Defeat The boys were quiet as they walked home together, dragging their bats and balls behind them. Defeat always stung, but this one hurt more because it could have been avoided. As they reached the corner of the street, Amir overheard two of his friends whispering. “Did you hear how Amir kept praising himself before the match?” one said. “Yes,” the other replied with a small laugh. “But when the time came, his performance was zero. He was just making himself a hero in words.” Amir felt his face burn. The pride he had worn like a crown now weighed heavy like a stone. He wanted to shout, to defend himself, to remind them of all the chances he might have if he played again. But deep down, he knew they were right. --- The Lesson That night, Amir couldn’t sleep. He replayed every moment of the match in his mind—the lost toss, the boundaries off his bowling, the stumps flying after his mistake. His friends’ words echoed like a drumbeat: all talk, no proof. For the first time, Amir admitted to himself that confidence without effort meant nothing. If he truly wanted to be the captain, he had to earn it. Not through speeches, not through insistence, but through performance, discipline, and hard work. The next morning, Amir woke up early. Instead of making another speech, he picked up his bat and ball and walked to the empty ground. The sun was just rising, and the field was silent except for the sound of his footsteps. This time, he didn’t tell anyone that he was the best. He just practiced quietly, promising himself that one day, when he spoke about being captain again, his game would speak louder than his words. --- Moral of the Story Leadership is not claimed by words; it is earned by actions. Amir’s experience shows us that overconfidence without preparation leads to disappointment. True respect comes not from demanding authority but from proving oneself through dedication and performance.
By Khan 12 months ago in Confessions
Five Uncomfortable Truths About Power and Human Nature They Never Taught You
For most of us, the lessons passed down by fathers, teachers, or society are incomplete. We’re taught to “be nice,” to “stay loyal,” and to “avoid conflict.” But the reality of human behavior doesn’t operate on those rules. Over 500 years ago, Niccolò Machiavelli exposed raw truths about human nature so dangerous that his writings were banned by the Catholic Church. Today, those same principles are quietly studied by world leaders and influential men—while the rest remain blind to them.
By 10X race | Strictly for Sigmas12 months ago in Confessions
Timeless Stories of Allama Iqbal: The Poet Who Inspired Nations
The Timeless Stories of Allama Iqbal BY: Ubaid Allama Muhammad Iqbal, the national poet of Pakistan, was more than just a poet. He was a philosopher, thinker, visionary, and above all, a man of deep humility and spiritual strength. His life was filled with remarkable incidents that continue to inspire generations. Here are some timeless stories from his life that reflect his wisdom, simplicity, and greatness. --- The Deer Skins at Raja Narendra Nath’s House Once, Raja Narendra Nath invited Allama Iqbal to a gathering at his residence. When Iqbal entered the room, he noticed that deer skins were spread across the floor. Instead of walking over them, he carefully stepped aside and avoided touching them. Puzzled, the Raja asked why. Iqbal smiled and replied, "Sitting or walking upon deer skins unknowingly instills arrogance in man." The Raja was astonished by the depth of this remark and stood silently, deeply moved by Iqbal’s insight. --- The Famous “Complaint” Poem In 1911, during the annual session of the Anjuman-e-Himayat-e-Islam in Lahore, Iqbal recited his famous poem “Shikwa” (The Complaint). His father, Sheikh Noor Muhammad, was also present, silently watching his son’s brilliance and rising fame. The hall echoed with applause. Overcome with admiration, a devoted admirer, Khawaja Safdar, placed his expensive shawl over Iqbal’s shoulders. Yet Iqbal, in his humility, immediately handed the shawl to the organizers of the Anjuman, requesting them to auction it for charity. The shawl was sold to the highest bidder, and the proceeds were donated to the Anjuman. --- The Nobel Prize Question One day, a group of students came to meet Iqbal and curiously asked, "Why were you never awarded the Nobel Prize?" Their reasoning was simple—if Rabindranath Tagore, the great Bengali poet, could receive the Nobel, why not Iqbal? Iqbal listened patiently and then replied with a smile, "If I had received the Nobel Prize, people would have questioned what I had done to deserve it. But since I did not receive it, that question does not even arise." His answer left no room for further debate, reflecting his wisdom and detachment from worldly honors. --- The Cigarette as a Relic Once, while traveling by train to Lahore, Iqbal met an elder from the Kakayzai family. Overjoyed at meeting the Poet of the East, the elder accepted a cigarette from Iqbal but instead of smoking it, he carefully put it in his pocket. Surprised, Iqbal asked why. The elder replied, "This cigarette is a sacred relic. I will preserve it for my family." Iqbal smiled warmly and offered another one, but the elder placed that too in his pocket instead of smoking it. Iqbal chuckled and let the moment pass. --- A Meal with a Mughal Prince During his visit to Hyderabad Deccan, Iqbal stayed as a guest of Maharaja Sir Kishen Pershad. While there, a Mughal descendant, dressed in old-fashioned attire, came to meet him. He humbly invited Iqbal to his modest home for a meal. Despite the simplicity of the invitation, Iqbal graciously accepted. When he arrived, the prince welcomed him at the door and, overwhelmed with emotion, recited a poignant verse of Mirza Zauq: "At the moment of death, to see one’s beloved is like Eid." Hearing this, Iqbal’s eyes welled with tears as he reflected on the fallen grandeur of the Mughal dynasty. --- A Poet in Simplicity One day, Iqbal sat in his verandah dressed in a simple vest and dhoti, smoking his huqqa while chatting with friends. Two tall soldiers, likely from northern Punjab, entered quietly and sat down. After some time, one of them whispered to a guest, asking, "Where can we find the great poet and philosopher, Sir Dr. Allama Iqbal?" At this, the entire gathering burst into laughter, including Iqbal himself. The soldiers were astonished to realize that the great philosopher they sought was the very man sitting humbly before them in such simplicity. --- Standing Before the Viceroy Before the creation of Pakistan, the rulers of princely states were under the authority of the British Viceroy. Once, the Nawab of Bahawalpur sought Iqbal’s legal help against a Prime Minister imposed on his state by the British. Iqbal agreed to represent him and traveled to Delhi. When he reached the Viceroy’s office, the secretary asked him to register his name in the visitor’s book. Iqbal refused, saying, "If the Viceroy wishes to meet me, he will do so after seeing my card. If not, I will return." The secretary had no choice but to present the card. The Viceroy agreed to meet Iqbal. With great logic and courage, Iqbal persuaded him to remove the Prime Minister and appoint someone acceptable to the Nawab. So impressed was the Viceroy that he invited Iqbal to dinner. But Iqbal politely declined, saying he must return to Lahore that very day. Such was his confidence and independence, even before the British rulers. --- The Mysterious Midnight Guest Iqbal’s loyal servant, Ali Bakhsh, once shared a strange incident. Late one night, he noticed Iqbal restless in bed. Suddenly, Iqbal got up and opened the door facing McLeod Road. To Ali Bakhsh’s astonishment, a noble-looking man in shining clothes entered. Iqbal respectfully seated him on his bed and began pressing his feet. When asked what he would like, the guest requested a glass of buttermilk. Ali Bakhsh was confused—where could he find buttermilk at midnight? Yet as he stepped outside, he saw a market he had never seen before. A milkman handed him fresh buttermilk, saying, “Our accounts with Allama Sahib are settled.” Ali Bakhsh returned, and the guest drank two glasses before asking Ali Bakhsh to drink the third himself. Soon after, the mysterious guest left. When Ali Bakhsh followed, both the guest and the entire market had vanished. Later, Iqbal revealed to him that the noble guest was none other than Hazrat Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti (R.A.), and the milkman was Hazrat Data Ganj Bakhsh Ali Hujwiri (R.A.). --- A Legacy Beyond Words Allama Iqbal’s life was not just about poetry or philosophy. It was a reflection of humility, spirituality, and courage in the face of power. His simplicity inspired those around him, while his wisdom left even rulers speechless. These stories are more than historical anecdotes—they are reminders of a man who lived with dignity, loved his nation, and continues to inspire generations across the world.
By Ubaid 12 months ago in Confessions
The Day I Finally Faced My Fear of the Dentist’s Chair. AI-Generated.
The first time I walked through the dentist’s door, I didn’t even make it to the chair. The smell of antiseptic, the distant hum of tools, and the memory of every horror story I’d ever heard hit me all at once. My chest tightened, my hands started to sweat, and before anyone even called my name, I turned around and walked right back out.
By Alexandra Willis 12 months ago in Confessions
Once Upon a Time in Dubai A Journey Down Memory
There was a time when bread was sold unsliced, and crossing the creek from Bur Dubai to Deira meant sitting in a rowing boat, long before engine Abras became common. On Thursday nights, the Indian Association would bring families together with free Hindi movies shown in the open-air theatre opposite the Dubai Museum. The community was small, but it felt like one big family.
By Izhar Ullah12 months ago in Confessions
The Cost of Ignoring a Mother’s Advice
The Cost of Ignoring a Mother’s Advice BY:Khan “Osman, my dear son, don’t play with Nasser,” Mama said firmly one afternoon. “He is not a good boy. I’ve heard he steals, skips school, and spends his time wandering with bad company.” “But Mama,” Osman protested, “he is my classmate and, more than that, he’s my cousin. I meet him every day.” Mama’s face grew serious. “My son, never underestimate the influence of bad company. A person is shaped by the people he spends time with.” Osman tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Mama. Your son will never do wrong. I’ll even try to guide him and make him understand.” She shook her head in doubt. “Stealing and roaming the streets have become his habit. Do you really think you can change him?” “Mama, don’t stress yourself. I’ll handle it.” Osman kissed her hand and left the house. Both boys were in seventh grade. During school recess, when students went out to eat snacks, Nasser was always the most active among his group of friends. Four or five boys followed him like shadows. They would devour spicy chickpeas, crispy gol gappas, or cold ice cream—and Nasser was the one who always paid. Osman was puzzled. Sometimes he joined in, sometimes he used his own allowance, but he kept wondering: Where does Nasser get all this money from? Osman only received ten rupees a day, barely enough for a small snack. He knew Nasser’s parents weren’t wealthy enough to give him fifty or sixty rupees every day. Finally, his curiosity overcame him. “Nasser,” he asked one afternoon, “tell me honestly, where do you get all this money?” Nasser lifted a finger to the sky and said, “From the One above.” “That’s true,” Osman replied, “but He gives to everyone. I mean, really, where from?” With a sly smile, Nasser snapped his fingers. “Eat the mangoes, don’t count the trees, brother.” But Osman pressed him. “No, tell me. I want to know.” Nasser narrowed his eyes. “You’re too soft-hearted. You won’t have the courage to do what I do.” “Why not? I also want to spend freely like you.” “It costs nothing to wish,” Nasser laughed. “Look, Nasser, please. I want to be your partner. I want to make money too.” After a pause, Nasser leaned closer. “Are you sure? Think carefully. Once you’re in, you can’t back out.” “I’m sure,” Osman said eagerly. The next day, Osman met Nasser at the appointed place. Together they headed toward a poultry farm at the edge of the village. Nasser carried a sack. He crawled through a broken section of wire fencing and disappeared inside. Moments later, he emerged with the sack full of eggs. Handing it to Osman, he said, “Take this to Sheru’s grocery store. He’ll give you cash. Then go home. Don’t worry, he already knows.” Osman’s heart pounded as he sneaked through the fields, clutching the sack. At the store, Sheru handed him the money. As Osman felt the crisp notes in his hand, his fear faded into excitement. Within half an hour, the boys had earned two hundred rupees. Osman’s hesitation melted quickly. After several trips, he was the one climbing through the fence, filling the sack, and running off boldly. The thrill of easy money drowned his mother’s voice in his memory. But as the saying goes, “The goat’s mother cannot celebrate forever.” One day, the poultry farm’s owner came to inspect. He noticed the egg count was lower than usual. Suspicious, he decided to watch the next day. The following afternoon, just as the boys slipped inside with their sacks, the owner hid nearby. Osman filled his sack and left while Nasser stayed to grab more. Suddenly, the owner appeared. He caught Nasser red-handed. Meanwhile, Osman was on his way back from Sheru’s store with the money when he saw a motorcycle approaching. On it sat the furious owner, gripping Nasser tightly. Osman froze. The owner pounced on him too. Both cousins were beaten severely before being dragged to the police station. A theft report was filed. News spread quickly. At school and in the neighborhood, children mocked them, crowing like roosters whenever they passed: “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Both boys burned with shame. Osman’s parents rushed to the station, pleaded with the farm owner, and paid compensation to secure their son’s release. Nasser’s family did the same. But for Osman, the humiliation cut deep. He remembered his mother’s warning: “Don’t play with Nasser. Bad company corrupts.” If only he had listened. That day, Osman learned the hardest truth: ignoring wise advice—especially from parents—can lead to disgrace and regret.
By Khan 12 months ago in Confessions