School
Snaked by my own kind. Top Story - October 2025.
The value of loyalty can not be overemphasized, it is one of those things we all enjoy and which brings us great comfort. Whether it's our parents and how loyal they are to us, or our friends and the commitment they have for us. I don’t know about others, but it's something I value a lot in all the friendships I have because I understand just how important and valuable it is in society. It is also one of those pleasurable gifts we can get from anybody, and de-facto we expect it from everybody we get to interact with.
By real Jemaabout a year ago in Confessions
The Difference Between Hatred and Holy Intolerance
There is a dangerous confusion in today’s world. People are told that loving others means accepting everything they say, everything they do, and everything they believe. But love without truth is not love. It is surrender and cowardice disguised as compassion.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout a year ago in Confessions
My Life Story. Content Warning.
It all started as a two-week-old baby. At two weeks old I had to deal with my own immune system, and my immune system collapsed. I was on the verge of death. No doctor really understood what I had. They thought I was born old, because I had no hair, no eyelashes, not even nails. I was born with nothing. And my sister thought I was some kind of alien.
By MyStoriesabout a year ago in Confessions
A Situationship. Content Warning.
October 15th It’s 2 AM. The city outside my window is a sleeping beast, all quiet hum and distant, lonely lights. I can’t sleep. My skin feels too tight, my thoughts too loud. It’s on nights like these that the memories don’t feel like memories at all. They feel like ghosts living just under my ribs, pressing to get out. And tonight, the ghost is him. Aarav.
By Chahatabout a year ago in Confessions
How Time Doctor Helps You Manage Your Time Effectively and Boost Productivity
Introduction In today’s fast-paced work environment, managing your time efficiently is no longer just a skill—it’s a survival strategy. Whether you’re a remote worker, business owner, or team leader, mastering productivity can make all the difference between growth and burnout. This is where Time Doctor comes in—a powerful time-tracking and productivity management software that helps individuals and teams stay focused, accountable, and efficient.
By AWAIS TARIQabout a year ago in Confessions
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 Gazoabout a year ago in Confessions
New York rapper who joined Trump campaign rally sentenced for attempted murder | AP
## What is the case about? This news concerns a New York City rapper known professionally as **Sheff G**, whose legal name is **Michael Williams**, and his sentencing for **attempted murder** and **conspiracy**. The rapper, who previously joined **Donald Trump** onstage during a campaign rally in 2024, admitted to using proceeds from his music to fund gang-related violence in Brooklyn. ([AP News][1]) The case stems from a broader federal and local investigation into a gang network operating in Brooklyn. More than 30 individuals associated with the **8 Trey Crips** and an affiliate gang known as **9 Ways** were implicated. At least 23 of those charged have pleaded guilty, while others remain under criminal proceedings. ([AP News][1]) --- ## What was the outcome and sentencing? Sheff G was sentenced to **five years in prison**, followed by **five years of supervised release** once his prison term is completed. ([AP News][1]) When he pleaded guilty earlier in the year, prosecutors had sought a significantly harsher penalty, pushing for a **20-year sentence**. ([AP News][1]) However, the judge and defendant agreed on a lesser term, perhaps reflecting pleas, cooperation, or mitigating factors presented by the defense. ([AP News][1]) Brooklyn’s District Attorney, **Eric Gonzalez**, commented after the judgment: > “This defendant had talent and opportunity, but chose to use them to fuel violence instead of building a better future.” ([AP News][1]) ---
By America today about a year ago in Confessions
The Last Promise of a Mother on the Burning Train
The Last Trust of a Mother BY: Ubaid It was nearly two years ago when I, Professor Dr. F.H. Farooqi, was traveling by train from Karachi to Lahore with my son after attending a wedding ceremony. The train crossed Rohri station, and after having our meal, we both lay down on our berths to rest. The rhythmic motion of the train was soothing, but suddenly, a wave of panic spread through the coaches. People began shouting hysterically—“The train is on fire!” The flames had erupted in two coaches near the engine. Because the train was moving at high speed, the fire rapidly spread from one carriage to another, growing more ferocious with every second. People desperately pulled the emergency chain, and after a violent jerk, the train screeched to a halt. Chaos broke loose. Passengers were jumping from the burning coaches to save their lives, while others rushed to help the weak and those trapped inside. Despite the horror, humanity shone bright in that moment—strangers helping strangers, risking their own lives to save others. My son and I, too, joined in the rescue efforts. Fortunately, our coach was farther from the engine, so the heat and smoke were less severe. Soon, villagers from nearby settlements also rushed to the site, bringing water and helping the injured. The night echoed with cries of pain and fear, but amidst that turmoil, my eyes fell upon a sight I could never forget. Near the corner of a coach lay an elderly woman, pinned under a heavy trunk. Her body was bleeding badly, her face pale, and her breath weak. I quickly rushed to her side and, with great effort, removed the trunk from her fragile body. She opened her eyes slightly and, in a faint whisper, gestured toward me. “Son,” she said weakly, “there is a black bag… It is my daughter’s trust. Please deliver it to her.” Her words were broken, her voice trembling. I tried to ask for her daughter’s full name and address, but all she managed to say was: “My daughter… her name is Razia… she lives in Multan… She is a school teacher…” Before she could say more, her breathing slowed, and in the very next moment, she passed away in my arms. I stood frozen, holding her last words in my heart. Turning to my son, I instructed him to keep the black bag safe among our belongings. “If the police come, they will not allow us to take anything,” I said. We carefully hid it, intending to fulfill the promise made to a dying mother. When we returned home to Lahore, I was determined to find Razia and hand over her mother’s belongings. But the address was incomplete—just a name, a city, and the fact that she was a teacher. Despite the odds, my son and I traveled to Multan, visiting different schools in search of a teacher named Razia. Each visit brought disappointment. Nobody knew of her. After exhausting our efforts, we returned to Lahore, but my heart remained restless. Months later, fate brought us to Multan again. This time, with renewed determination, we started asking people in neighborhoods if they knew of a woman named Razia whose mother had died in a train accident. Finally, someone told us, “I don’t know her name, but in our locality lives a woman whose mother died in that terrible train fire.” Guided by that man, we reached a modest house near a school. There, we met Razia. Upon speaking with her, we discovered the truth. Her mother had been traveling to deliver some savings and jewelry she had been keeping for her daughter. The accident had robbed Razia of her mother’s life, but the precious belongings were still missing—until now. Before handing over the bag, my son asked her to show a picture of her mother for confirmation. What Razia did not know was that during the chaos of the accident, my son had secretly taken a picture of the dying woman on his phone. When Razia showed us her mother’s photograph, we compared it to the image on my son’s device. The faces matched perfectly. Tears welled up in Razia’s eyes. Her voice trembled as she said, “Yes, this is my mother.” We then brought out the black bag. Until that moment, neither I nor my son had dared to open it. In Razia’s presence, we unzipped it for the first time. Inside were bundles of currency notes and carefully wrapped gold jewelry—her mother’s lifetime savings, preserved for her daughter. As we handed it over, Razia broke down in tears. Those tears were not just of grief for her mother’s loss but also of relief and gratitude that her mother’s final trust had been safely delivered. For me, the incident was more than just about returning money or jewelry. It was about honoring the dying words of a helpless mother, about fulfilling a promise when it seemed almost impossible. It was about faith—that even amidst tragedy, humanity can shine, and a trust can be preserved across fire, chaos, and death. That day, I realized something profound: wealth can be replaced, and lives eventually end, but the trust of a loved one—once fulfilled—becomes eternal. Razia may have lost her mother, but she gained back her mother’s last gift, and with it, the assurance that kindness and honesty still exist in this world. And for me, the memory of that burning train will forever be linked with the image of a mother’s love, stronger than death itself.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Confessions
Hysterectomy
Tamara tapped her coffee mug nervously with her pointer finger. The matte black nail polish on her fingers were chipped and her nail edges were jagged, sharp from repetitive biting. Her foot tapped the linoleum floor the way a woodpecker hammers a tree. The kitchen was dim, only a single bulb on the three-bulb ceiling fan was lit, and the light was weak but reflected off the lavender colored walls shone like gold. Tamara could hear the cat’s water fountain echoing sound fading into the distance. Her mind was far from easy. “I never wanted kids anyway,” she silently reminded herself as she read over the procedure guidelines for her upcoming hysterectomy. “1. Read and follow all pre-operative instructions. 2. Drink plenty of water and fluids. 3. Get all your prescriptions filled. 4. Shop for any necessary food. (Try to get prepared meals that just need to be placed in the oven.) 5. Choose an advocate.” Choose an advocate, it says. Well Tamara knew right away who that advocate would be. Her younger sister, Lottie. The Skelling sisters were best friends, and they were always each other's advocates. Her tapping stopped and a slight, momentary smile came to her face. Almost like a smirk but without sarcasm. Tamara was looking forward to spending the few days with her. And as if summoned by her sister's thoughts, Lottie’s car pulled into the driveway. She grabbed her gym bag, water bottle and keys then walked out of her house, locking the door behind her.
By Theresa M Hochstineabout a year 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 about a year ago in Confessions
