Stream of Consciousness
Confusion and Clarity
When we make an attempt to cross the threshold of where we are right now and move into other experiences, a few things get mixed up. If you do not develop the necessary discrimination and balance within yourself, handling this mix-up can lead to lots of confusion. It is good if you are confused. It means you are constantly stepping into new territory. If you live with the familiar forever, there will be certainty but there will be no progress.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Humans
Navya Naveli Nanda's Achievement: A Mirror to Society's Gender Bias
Navya Naveli Nanda's Achievement: A Mirror to Society's Gender Bias Prejudice and discrimination based on gender persist because gender stereotypes are reinforced through a variety of channels, such as the media, socialization, education, and leisure activities. In addition to highlighting the pervasive prejudices that society still harbours against women, this article criticizes how modern society readily criticizes women who hold comparable success and power but ignore the accomplishments of powerful men. It focuses on Navya Nanda's experiences with online criticism regarding her achievements because of gender bias and examines different aspects of gender stereotyping and its effects on women's career advancement.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Humans
5 o' clock . Content Warning.
It was autumn, the leaves of the huge trees in the square were coloured in the different warm colours, it was quite cold, there was a little stand that sold hot coffee, and there were people in the square. She and the creature sit on a poorly painted bench.
By Penny Prada2 years ago in Humans
A Moment of Crisis at RYLA
The week-long leadership training organized by the Rotary Youth Leadership Academy (RYLA) was supposed to be one of the most exciting experiences of my life. I was 19 years old, eager to learn, and thrilled to be surrounded by like-minded young leaders from all over the country. We were 18 girls sharing a large hall, each with our own stories and dreams. Despite the packed schedule, we quickly bonded, our late-night talks often veering from leadership strategies to our personal hopes and fears. The days were intense, filled with workshops, group activities, and endless discussions about leadership. By the time we returned to our hall each evening, we were exhausted but energized by the day's lessons. It was on one of those nights, after a particularly challenging session, that everything changed. We had just settled into our beds, the room buzzing with low chatter as we recapped the day's events. I was lying on my bunk, halfway through a conversation with the girl next to me when I noticed something strange. One of the girls, Kamsi, who had been fairly quiet throughout the day, seemed to be struggling. She was sitting upright on her bed, clutching her chest, her breathing rapid and shallow. At first, I thought she was just tired or maybe stressed out. The program was demanding, after all. But as I watched her, I realized something was very wrong. Kamsi's breaths were becoming more labored, and her eyes were wide with fear. The chatter in the room slowly died down as more of the girls noticed her distress. My heart began to race, a cold knot of fear forming in my stomach. I had never seen an asthmatic attack before, but I knew instinctively that this was what was happening. My mind flashed to the stories I had heard about asthma—how quickly it could escalate, how dangerous it could be if not treated immediately. The realization hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I was frozen in place, unsure of what to do. "Kamsi, where's your inhaler?" one of the girls asked urgently, her voice cutting through the rising panic in the room. Kamsi pointed weakly toward her bag at the foot of her bed, but she was struggling too much to speak. My body moved before my mind could catch up, and I found myself scrambling to her bag, desperately searching for the inhaler. My hands trembled as I rifled through her belongings, pulling out clothes, notebooks, anything that got in my way. It felt like time was moving in slow motion, the seconds stretching out into an eternity as I searched. Finally, my fingers closed around the small, life-saving device. I grabbed it and rushed back to Kamsi, who was now gasping for air, her face pale and her lips tinged with blue. The room was deathly silent, all eyes on her as I handed her the inhaler. She took it with shaking hands, bringing it to her mouth with visible effort. We all watched, holding our breaths, as she managed to take a few puffs. The effect was not immediate, and for a terrifying moment, I feared it hadn't worked. But then, slowly, her breathing began to even out. The color started returning to her face, and the wild fear in her eyes gradually faded. Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, and I realized I had been holding my breath the entire time. As Kamsi's breathing stabilized, the tension in the room eased. Some of the girls sat down on their beds, their expressions a mix of shock and relief. I felt a strange combination of exhaustion and alertness, my body still buzzing with adrenaline even as my mind began to process what had just happened. "Thank you," Kamsi whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible but filled with gratitude. I nodded, still too shaken to respond verbally. The reality of how close we had come to a much worse situation was starting to sink in, and it left me feeling emotionally drained. That night, we gathered around Kamsi's bed, each of us trying to offer comfort in our own way. We didn't talk much; the experience had left us all a little shell-shocked. But in the silence, there was a shared understanding—a recognition of how vulnerable we all were, and how important it was to look out for each other. In the days that followed, we made sure to keep a close eye on Kamsi. We learned where her inhaler was kept, and we even talked through what to do in case of another attack. It was a sobering experience, one that reminded us that leadership isn't just about taking charge in a meeting or giving a speech—it's about being there for each other, especially in moments of crisis. The rest of the week passed without incident, but the memory of that night stayed with me. I couldn't shake the image of Kamsi struggling to breathe, or the helplessness I had felt in those first few moments. It was a lesson in the unpredictability of life and the importance of being prepared, not just for ourselves but for those around us.
By Morufat Olopade 2 years ago in Humans
Sometimes I Just Feel Like Giving Up
Man, I need a miracle. It feels like life has me down by 33 points in the 4th quarter and I have no freaking clue on how or if I can get back in the game. My apologies on the lame ass sports analogy but lately, I’ve just been so down in the dumps that I’m barely making it through the day.
By Digital_FootPrint12122 years ago in Humans
Where the Mind is Without Fear
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high, Where knowledge is free. These opening lines are a powerful invocation for a world where courage and dignity reign. A place where people stand tall, unburdened by fear or oppression, and where knowledge is not a privilege but a universal right. Imagine a society where every person is free to think, learn, and grow without the constraints of ignorance or coercion. A society where education is not a luxury for the few, but a birthright for all.
By cathynli namuli2 years ago in Humans
The Heart Still Remembers
Today, the morning light pours in through the windows, casting a bright glow across the room. The sun shines with a quiet brilliance, yet the air remains cold and still, almost haunting in its calmness. I try to embrace the serenity surrounding me, to align my thoughts with the peacefulness of the morning, but inside, there is a knot—a tightness in my chest that I can't shake. It clings to me, a shadow that won't disperse, much like the weight of grief that settles after losing someone dear, or the hollow ache that settles in when you realize their presence has slipped away into mere memory.
By Don-Oliver Nchetaomachi2 years ago in Humans
A Glimpse of Kindness
It was another hot day in one of Southeast Asia’s busiest cities. The streets were alive with activity, as usual, with the air thick from the smell of street food and the constant noise of honking cars. The city was always in motion, with people everywhere, moving from one place to another in a hurry. Among the most crowded places were the local buses, which were packed almost to bursting every day. It was a common sight in this part of the world—buses so full that some people had to hang onto the doors, while others stood tightly packed in the aisles, their bodies swaying with the bus as it made its way through the congested streets.
By Ahmed Riasat2 years ago in Humans
