advice
Advice that will put you on the path to success; tips, tricks and nuggets of wisdom from trusted experts and motivational mentors.
The journey to life purpose and meaning
What if the life you’re living right now isn’t random? Maybe every struggle, every coincidence, and even every delay is part of something bigger — a pattern trying to tell you who you’re meant to become. Many people wake up one day asking, “Why am I really here?” That question isn’t a sign of confusion; it’s the beginning of awakening.
By DREAM 2 SUCCESSabout a year ago in Motivation
A Prayer at the Railway Station
A Prayer at the Railway Station By Alisha Aslam It was a long time ago, a chilly dawn at Multan Railway Station. I had just finished my morning prayer in the waiting room and was raising my hands for supplication when a young woman in a black veil entered the room. Before she could say anything, I quickly ended my prayer, stood up, and rushed outside without responding. At that time, my life was full of turmoil. I was caught in a dangerous land dispute. My opponents were determined to kill me, and I lived in constant fear. As I left the waiting room, I thought, perhaps this woman was sent by my enemies to trap me. The thought wasn’t unreasonable — the same men who wanted me dead had followed me from Sahiwal. When the midnight train left Sahiwal, they were there on the platform. I sat quietly on a bench, pretending not to notice, but they sat down just a few feet away. I waited for the whistle, hoping they would board first so I could slip into another compartment. But their sharp eyes didn’t leave me for a second. When the train was about to depart, I suddenly dashed across the tracks and jumped into a carriage near the engine. They came running after me, but before they could reach, I hid inside the lavatory. The train began to move, and when they didn’t find me, they entered another compartment. At four in the morning, the train reached Multan. I knew they would not give up easily. As I looked out from the carriage, I saw them taking positions near both exits of the platform. Somehow, I managed to slip past them unnoticed and entered the waiting room again — tired, scared, and hopeless. As soon as I finished praying, the same veiled girl appeared. My heart raced. I thought again — Was she following me too? But her trembling hands and nervous tone told another story. I asked sharply, “What business do you have entering the men’s waiting room at this hour?” In a soft, broken voice she replied, “I’m… I’m sorry. I just wanted to ask you something.” She was visibly shaken, barely able to stand. Seeing her condition, my suspicion turned into sympathy. “Alright,” I said gently. “Tell me, what’s the matter?” She hesitated, then began to speak — haltingly at first, and then all at once. Her story was heartbreakingly familiar. She too was a victim of injustice. Her family’s land allotment had been unfairly cancelled, and her rivals were harassing her just as mine had done to me. For a long time, we sat in silence after she finished. Finally, I said, “We are both victims of this cruel system. Don’t lose hope. God is just — He may be slow, but never blind.” We decided to go together to the Commissioner’s office to submit our appeals. But finding our case files was no easy task. As we waited, she told me her situation had become dire — her mother had sold her last piece of jewelry, leaving only fifty rupees for their survival. My own financial state wasn’t much better. Yet, I felt in my heart that our days of hardship were coming to an end. By afternoon, both of us had our case files ready. Now we needed a lawyer — but neither of us had the money to hire one. Fate intervened. My case was called first. The officer in charge was a fair man. He listened patiently, examined the evidence, and to my great relief, ruled in my favor. But as soon as my case ended, the girl’s hearing began. I stood near her, anxious. When her opponents began to twist the facts, I couldn’t stay silent. I spoke up, trying to explain her side to the officer. Her opponent’s lawyer objected immediately. “He’s not a lawyer,” he shouted. “He’s not even the claimant. What right does he have to speak?” The officer turned to me. Calmly, I said, “Sir, the poor cannot afford lawyers. This girl and her mother have no one to defend them. Please allow me to speak — not as a lawyer, but as a son speaking for a mother and sister in distress.” The officer nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. The rival’s lawyer argued for an hour, quoting laws and precedents. I spoke only for a few minutes, from the heart — about fairness, truth, and the cruelty of the powerful. When I finished, the courtroom fell silent. The officer leaned back in his chair and said, “Justice belongs to the oppressed.” Then, with a firm voice, he announced his verdict — in favor of the girl and her mother. As we stepped outside the courtroom, tears fell onto my shoes. The mother and daughter were crying — not from sadness, but from relief. The old woman kissed my forehead, and the girl clung to my arm, speechless. Just then, a man from another faction — enemies of their rivals — approached us. He offered us twenty-five hundred rupees as an advance to lease the disputed land. “Take the money,” he said. “We’ll handle the rest.” We accepted the offer, signed the receipt, and suddenly it felt as though a mountain had been lifted from our shoulders. Before parting, the girl’s mother prayed for me with tears in her eyes. I returned home that evening to tell my parents the good news — not just of justice served, but of faith restored. Even today, I can still feel those two tears on my feet — the purest gratitude I have ever known.
By Khan about a year ago in Motivation
The Legacy of Blood and Sacrifice
The Legacy of Blood and Sacrifice Author: Riaz Ahmad Justice --- “Son,” the old man began, his eyes glistening with unspoken memories. “My father gave his life for this country in 1965, defending its honor with his blood. Your grandmother wanted me to follow the same path — to join the army, serve the nation, and, if destiny allowed, embrace martyrdom like my father and brother before me. But I was weak then… frightened. I ran away from home.” His voice trembled as the past unfolded. “I was barely thirteen. I left the village and went to the city, thinking I could escape my fears. Time passed. I grew older, busier, lost in the noise of life. But no matter how many years went by, I could never erase the voice of my mother calling after me: ‘Son, come home before sunset, or you’ll lose your way in the dark.’ That one mistake — that single act of cowardice — cost me my paradise. I left behind not just my home, but my heaven: my mother.” Tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. “Even after all these years, I can’t forget her. I still dream of kneeling to kiss her feet — but that wish will never come true. Life, my son, is only a temporary trust from God. I didn’t understand it then, but I know now: when a soldier sacrifices his life for his country, the whole nation stands taller. A martyr’s death gives life to his people.” He took a deep breath, holding a faded photograph close to his chest. “Today, we deny the very blood that runs in our veins. I wish I could tell the world that my mother was innocent — that she raised sons of heroes. My father, my brother, and later my mother too — they all offered their lives for this sacred soil. They watered it with their sacrifice so that we could live in freedom.” His son, Shahzaib, watched quietly as his father wept. He gently wiped his tears and said softly, “Father, Allah is Forgiving and Merciful. If you’ve repented with a sincere heart, He will surely forgive you. He knows what’s inside our hearts.” That night, Shahzaib placed the old photographs of his forefathers on the table and made a promise: “When I grow up, I’ll join the army — just like my grandfather and uncle. I’ll serve this country with honor.” Years passed. Shahzaib kept his promise. He grew into a brave young man and joined the Pakistan Army. Soon after completing his training, he was deployed to the Swat Valley, where the army was conducting operations against terrorists. One dark night, the enemy launched a sudden attack on their post. Shahzaib and his fellow soldiers fought back fiercely. The air was filled with the thunder of gunfire, but their courage never wavered. The attack was repelled, and the enemy suffered heavy losses. Among those who fought the hardest was Shahzaib. His heart burned with love for his homeland — a love passed down through generations of sacrifice. During the crossfire, a bullet struck his legs, shattering them, yet he refused to retreat. He kept fighting until the last of the attackers fell. When the battle ended, Shahzaib was critically wounded. Both of his legs had to be amputated. The army honored his bravery, but his active service came to an end. After recovery, he was retired with full respect. Instead of sinking into despair, Shahzaib found a new mission. He turned his pain into purpose. Using the land his grandfather had once received from the government as a reward for valor, he built a religious school, a hospital, a playground for children, and an old age home. That old age home became a sanctuary for the forgotten — the poor, the abandoned, the elderly who had no one left in the world. Shahzaib opened offices across the country to find such people and bring them to his care center, where they were treated with dignity and love, completely free of cost. When he grew old, someone once asked him why he had chosen this path. He smiled and said, “These lands were once a gift to my grandfather from the government — a reward for his service. I simply returned that gift to the nation. I fulfilled my duty by using what was entrusted to me for the good of others. You could say that I’ve returned the government’s gift back to its rightful owner.” He paused for a moment, looking toward the horizon where the sun was setting — the same sunset his grandmother had once warned about. “Life comes full circle,” he whispered. “Those who decide to live for others never die. Their names become light for generations to come.” Indeed, Shahzaib’s story became a beacon of hope — a living reminder that real heroes don’t just fight wars; they heal their nation’s wounds. And as his life drew to a close, people said of him what he had once said of his forefathers: > “The blood of martyrs never dries — it blossoms again and again, in the hearts of those who still love their land.”
By Khan about a year ago in Motivation
Healthy Peanut Butter Oatmeal Balls for Quick Energy
When it comes to simple, nutritious snacks that deliver a burst of energy, Peanut Butter Oatmeal Balls top the list. These bite-sized power balls are tasty and filling, and they're also full of protein, fiber, and healthy fats. They're ideal for busy mornings, refueling after a workout, or hitting a slump in the middle of the afternoon. In this article, we’ll explore how to make healthy peanut butter oatmeal balls that taste amazing, keep you full longer, and provide that quick boost your body needs.
By Bloom Boldlyabout a year ago in Motivation
Are coloring pages suitable for reducing stress caused by overthinking?
Introduction Overthinking has been universally described as the habit of dwelling too long on thoughts, circumstances, “what-ifs,” or past moments. Everyone believes that thinking harder — thinking more, canvassing all the options — will result in more sound decisions or avert poor ones. However, it does not function that way in everyday life: overthinking merely creates stress, erodes clarity, and harms emotional well-being.
By Shenal Jayabout a year ago in Motivation
The IShowSpeed Phenomenon
There was never a quiet day in Darren’s life. From the moment he could walk, he ran. From the moment he could talk, he shouted. Everything about him... his energy, his reactions, his emotions... was dialed up to the max. His teachers called him “too loud.” His neighbors called him “too much.” But deep inside, Darren wasn’t trying to be a problem... he was trying to be heard.
By MIGrowthabout a year ago in Motivation
The Brass Pot
The Brass Pot and the Billionaire A tale of greed, guilt, and the awakening of a buried conscience BY: Ubaid --- Long ago, in a bustling city, there lived a wealthy merchant named Faqir Chand. He was the richest man in town — and also its stingiest. His plump belly jutted out like a ball, his short legs shuffled beneath it, and when he walked, it looked as if a football were rolling down the street. Faqir Chand’s wife, however, was a kind and generous soul. Every Tuesday, she distributed flour to the city’s poor — the blind, the crippled, the hungry. On those days, the gates of their grand mansion would be crowded with beggars waiting for her alms. The merchant despised this habit but dared not object openly, out of respect for his wife. Once, he tried reasoning with her. “These beggars waste your charity,” he grumbled. “They sell the flour for a few coins, smoke opium, and laugh at our foolishness.” His wife smiled gently. “It is because of this giving, Faqir Chand, that God has blessed us with wealth. Have you forgotten the days when you had nothing?” Faqir Chand winced. He hated being reminded of his poor past. He fancied himself a man of noble lineage — not one who once pawned his belongings to survive. Like most rich men, he was obsessed with making more money. His warehouses overflowed with rice, sugar, salt, oil, and grains. When prices rose, he rejoiced; when they fell, he lost his sleep and appetite. Then one year, the rains failed. Drought spread across the land. Crops died, and the price of food shot up. Faqir Chand saw his chance and stopped selling grain altogether, waiting for prices to soar even higher. His wife’s weekly charity was also stopped — not a grain of flour left the mansion gates. One morning, while he was enjoying his breakfast and puffing his hookah, a poor man appeared. Folding his hands humbly, he said, “May you live long, Sethji! My children are starving. Please spare a few handfuls of chickpeas. I will feed them and pray for you forever.” Faqir Chand glared at him. “Get out! I will not give you a single grain.” The man left quietly. But the next morning, he returned — holding a small brass pot in his hand. Before the merchant could shout again, the man spoke calmly. “Sethji, perhaps you don’t recognize me. But maybe you recognize this pot? Look — your name is engraved on it: Faqir Chand, son of Ghasit Chand. Twenty years ago, when you came to this city penniless, you pawned this very pot to me for four annas. You even wrote a receipt in your own hand.” The color drained from Faqir Chand’s face. He quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Yes, yes, I remember now,” he muttered nervously. “You did the right thing bringing it back. Here, take four annas and give me my pot.” The man laughed softly. “Four annas? Sethji, the world has changed in twenty years. When you pawned this pot, you were a beggar. Now you’re a millionaire. How can the price remain the same?” “Fine,” snapped Faqir Chand, “take five rupees!” The man twirled the pot in his fingers. “Oh no, Sethji. I think I’ll auction it in the bazaar. Imagine — ‘The brass pot once pawned by the great merchant Faqir Chand!’ I’m sure it will fetch at least a thousand rupees. The whole city will learn how its richest man once pawned a pot for four annas.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the stunned merchant speechless. That night, Faqir Chand could not eat or sleep. His mind burned with shame and fear. What if the man really told everyone? What if people discovered that the mighty merchant had once been a beggar? His past came flooding back — the hunger, the long walks, the hopeless search for work. He had indeed pawned his only possession, a brass pot, just to buy a meal. Later, through hard work, he became a clerk for a wealthy trader. But greed had crept into his soul. When his master died, Faqir Chand secretly stole a pouch of gold and used it to start his own business. From that one dishonest act grew the empire he now owned. The next morning, unable to bear the anxiety any longer, he went to the poor man’s shop — a small, broken stall on the edge of the market. The brass pot hung from the ceiling on a piece of rope. “Ramu,” he said quietly, “I’ll pay you a thousand rupees. Just give me back the pot.” Ramu smiled sadly. “Sethji, you don’t have to pay me anything. I will return your pot freely. But listen — I am not as foolish as you think. I only wanted to remind you who you once were. You were a poor man like me. Now you hoard grain while people starve. You care more for your pride than for human life.” Faqir Chand lowered his head. “What do you want me to do?” “Save the starving,” Ramu said. “That is your duty. That is real wealth.” The merchant’s eyes filled with tears. “You are right, Ramu. You’ve opened my eyes.” That very day, Faqir Chand ordered his warehouses opened. For a whole week, he distributed food freely to the poor. He also donated money and clothes to the needy. His act of generosity inspired other merchants in the city to do the same. His wife rejoiced. The poor blessed his name. But only one man knew the true reason behind this miracle — Ramu, and the brass pot that had awakened a miser’s buried humanity. --- Moral: True wealth lies not in gold and silver, but in compassion and remembrance of where we came from.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Motivation
The Gift of Eid
The Gift of Eid : By: Nazeer Anbalvi The last day of Sha’ban had arrived. Rehan’s mother had already completed all the preparations for Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr. She had new clothes stitched — three outfits for Rehan and two for his father. She believed in working ahead of time. “Wise people always prepare before the time comes,” she often said. By the middle of Sha’ban, she had also bought twenty outfits to give as Eid gifts to people around her — the watchman, the housemaid, and even the milkman. Each one received their gift with joy and heartfelt prayers. Rehan’s mother even had special clothes stitched for a widow and her children living in a nearby slum. Rehan, who was eleven years old, would go to the Gulzar Mosque with his father every day to pray. His mother sent white clothes for the imam, muezzin, and mosque helpers as Eid gifts, delivered through Rehan’s small hands. --- A Stranger in the Mosque One Friday, as worshippers rushed inside for prayers, the mosque guards noticed a nervous-looking man trying to enter. Security guard Noor Muhammad stopped him. The man wore deep blue clothes and was visibly trembling. “I… I have nothing. You can search me,” he stammered, raising his hands. Noor Muhammad and another guard, Masroor, searched him carefully but found nothing. Still, Noor wasn’t convinced. “Show me your ID card,” he demanded. “Here… here it is,” said the man nervously. The guard read the name aloud — “Shaukat Raza.” Shaukat explained that he lived near the canal in a nearby settlement. After a pause, Noor Muhammad nodded. “You can go in,” he said, though his eyes followed Shaukat closely. That was the first time Shaukat Raza had ever entered Gulzar Mosque. What no one knew was that he was there with a hidden purpose — a mission that even he didn’t fully understand. --- The Old Friend A few months earlier, Shaukat had lost his job when the company he worked for went bankrupt. While sipping tea one day at a roadside café, he ran into an old classmate — Raju, whose real name was Riaz Ahmed. “Shaukat Raza! I can’t believe it’s you!” Raju exclaimed, shaking his hand. “It’s been twenty years since school!” They talked for a while. When Shaukat mentioned his unemployment, Raju leaned in and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. You already have a new job. You’ll just need to do something small… and you’ll earn good money.” “What kind of job?” Shaukat asked cautiously. Raju lowered his voice even further and explained. The plan involved the Gulzar Mosque. He gave Shaukat 20,000 rupees in advance and instructed him to start praying there regularly to gain everyone’s trust. “For one month, go there five times a day,” Raju said. “Talk to the guards, give them food or drinks. Become one of them. And then…” “And then what?” Shaukat asked. “Then,” Raju smiled darkly, “we’ll finish the job and get paid.” --- Trust Earned Following the plan, Shaukat started praying at Gulzar Mosque every day. At first, the guards checked him thoroughly. But over time, they stopped searching him and began greeting him warmly. He often brought oranges or bottled water for them. The guards started trusting him — except Noor Muhammad, whose instincts told him something wasn’t right. As Ramadan began, the mosque became busier. Rehan and his father came for Taraweeh prayers every night. Three armed guards stood alert outside the gates. By mid-Ramadan, Shaukat had become a familiar face in the mosque. Even the imam recognized him and would sometimes chat with him after prayers. Raju had told him that the operation would happen after the fifteenth of Ramadan. The promised payment was ten lakh rupees — more money than Shaukat had ever seen. --- The Turning Point One evening, as Shaukat approached the mosque, he saw little Rehan standing with his father and the guards. Rehan was handing them white packets wrapped neatly in plastic. “These are Eid gifts,” Rehan said with a smile. “From my mother.” The guards thanked him warmly, holding up the gifts marked “Eid Mubarak.” Shaukat froze in his tracks. Something broke inside him. That night, during prayer, tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t focus. The image of Rehan’s innocent smile and those white Eid gifts haunted him. After Taraweeh, Shaukat quietly shook hands with the guards and walked away — but instead of going home, he headed straight to the nearest police station. There, he confessed everything to Inspector Waseem — the plan, the money, and Raju’s role. The inspector listened carefully and then said, “You did the right thing, Shaukat. You’ve saved many lives tonight.” Within hours, Raju and his accomplices were caught. They had planned to carry out a deadly attack during Eid prayers. Shaukat’s confession had saved hundreds of innocent worshippers. --- Eid Morning Shaukat was kept in protective custody, but the inspector arranged for him to attend Eid prayers at Gulzar Mosque. That morning, the mosque was filled with four hundred worshippers, all dressed in white, their faces glowing with peace. As the imam led the prayer, Shaukat felt an indescribable calm fill his heart. He had given the mosque a different kind of Eid gift — not of fabric or money, but of life itself. The prayer ended with the words: “Allahu Akbar… peace and blessings upon those who choose truth over fear.” Shaukat wiped his tears. This was the first Eid he had ever truly celebrated.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Motivation
How a Simple Morning Routine Changed My Life Forever. AI-Generated.
1. I Was Always Tired and Unmotivated For years, my mornings looked the same. I woke up tired, grabbed my phone, and scrolled endlessly before even getting out of bed. My body felt heavy, my mind was foggy, and every day started with the same thought: “Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel better.” But tomorrow never came. I was stuck in a cycle of exhaustion, coffee, and stress. 2. The Day I Decided to Change One morning, I looked in the mirror and saw a version of myself I didn’t like — dull eyes, messy hair, and a restless mind. I realized I was wasting my mornings, and maybe my life. That day, I made a small promise: “I’ll step outside tomorrow morning, just for ten minutes.” No fancy plans. No motivation quotes. Just one small step. - 3. My First Morning Walk The next day, I left my phone on the table and walked out into the cold morning air. The streets were quiet. The world felt new. I took deep breaths, and for the first time in months, I noticed the sound of birds. I didn’t run. I didn’t jog. I just walked. And when I came back home, I felt strangely alive — like I had taken control of something invisible. 4. Starting Small — Just Ten Minutes I kept my promise the next day, and the next. Those ten minutes slowly became my favorite part of the day. After one week, I started sleeping better. My mornings didn’t feel heavy anymore. Then I added another habit — drinking a glass of water before checking my phone. Then another — writing one line of gratitude in my notebook. One habit at a time, I was rebuilding myself. 5. The Change After One Month Within a month, I noticed changes that no supplement or app had given me. My energy doubled. My focus improved. I smiled more. Even my friends noticed. “You look different,” one of them said. “What are you doing?” I laughed and replied, “Just walking.” But deep down, I knew it was more than walking. It was self-respect. 6. The Mental Shift The morning routine didn’t just heal my body; it healed my thoughts. I realized I was addicted to distractions — my phone, notifications, noise. That quiet walk taught me to listen to my thoughts, to breathe, to slow down. Now, when life feels too loud, I go back to that morning silence. It reminds me that peace doesn’t live in a vacation or a weekend. It lives inside us, waiting for attention. 7. Adding Purpose to My Mornings Once I built the habit, I started adding purpose to it. Sometimes I listened to motivational podcasts. Sometimes I practiced gratitude, listing three things I was thankful for. Some mornings, I simply watched the sunrise in silence. Each version of the routine helped me discover a different part of myself — stronger, calmer, and more hopeful. 8. The Secret Behind a Healthy Life People think being healthy means working out hard or following diets. But the truth is, health begins with the mind. If your mornings are peaceful, your whole day follows that energy. A simple 10-minute morning routine changed my mindset more than any expensive course ever did. It wasn’t about discipline — it was about love. Love for my mind. Love for my body. Love for life itself. 9. What I Learned If you feel tired, lost, or unmotivated, start small. Don’t wait for a perfect plan. Don’t wait for motivation. Just step outside, breathe the morning air, and let the silence speak to you. Because sometimes, the smallest habit can change everything — even your future. 10. Final Thoughts It’s been six months now, and that morning walk is still my favorite time of the day. I no longer chase motivation. I create it. Every sunrise feels like a reminder that life gives us a new chance every morning — we just need to show up for it. So, if you’re reading this and wondering where to start, remember: You don’t need a gym, a plan, or a miracle. You just need ten minutes — and the courage to begin. 🌅
By Najeem Ullahabout a year ago in Motivation
Before It Ends: Who Are You, and Where Are You Really Going?
Who are you — really? And where are you going? Not just your name, job, or latest goal. I mean in the stillness — beneath the noise, beneath the opinions, beneath the programming. When you close your eyes and drop the mask… what’s left?
By Randolphe Tanoguemabout a year ago in Motivation
Rise Beyond the Storm — How to Turn Struggles into Strength and Build an Unshakable Life. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Life does not hand us a script. It unfolds with beauty and brutality intertwined — victories and failures, love and loss, calm days and raging storms. Yet among all these, one truth remains universal: those who rise again after the storm are the ones who truly grow.
By Chilam Wongabout a year ago in Motivation
