advice
Advice that will put you on the path to success; tips, tricks and nuggets of wisdom from trusted experts and motivational mentors.
The Art of Emotional Agility: Navigating Life's Ups and Downs. AI-Generated.
Introduction: The Invisible Compass of the Human Experience Life rarely moves in straight lines. It zigs and zags, lifting us high in moments of triumph and dragging us low in periods of grief or confusion. What determines how we cope isn’t just intelligence or strength, but something subtler—emotional agility. Unlike emotional intelligence, which is about understanding emotions, emotional agility is about how we engage with our emotions, especially the uncomfortable ones.
By Md. Atikur Rahamanabout a year ago in Motivation
Why You Should Stop Chasing Overnight Success (and What to Do Instead)
You want it fast. The results. The recognition. The rewards. You scroll through social media and see someone hit a million views in 3 days. Someone else made $10,000 from their first product launch. Another person “accidentally” went viral. It looks effortless. And suddenly, your own progress feels... slow. Too slow. But here’s the truth no one tells you: **Overnight success is mostly a myth.** What you’re chasing might be the very thing keeping you stuck. Let’s break down the illusion — and why real success looks (and feels) very different from what’s trending. - - - - - - ### The Lie Everyone Buys Into We live in a world addicted to speed. Apps promise instant results. Courses promise 30-day transformations. People sell blueprints to “make 6-figures in 6 weeks.” So we start to believe that if it’s not happening fast, it’s not working. That success should be sudden. Explosive. Obvious. But that’s not how things are built — at least not the ones that last. The truth is, most “overnight success stories” have **years of quiet struggle behind them**. You just didn’t see it. - - - - - - ### What You Don’t See Behind the Scenes You see the follower count — not the years of posting with zero engagement. You see the big launch — not the dozens of failed ones before it. You see the highlight — not the heartbreak, doubt, and late nights. Everyone’s success has a version that isn’t glamorous. And no one posts that part. So don’t compare your Day 20 to someone’s Year 5. The finish line is louder than the starting line. But the work? It’s usually silent. - - - - - - ### Why Chasing Quick Wins Slows You Down When you're obsessed with fast results, you cut corners. You switch strategies every week. You try to “hack” your way through. You look for shortcuts instead of skillsets. And ironically, **this keeps you from making real progress**. Because while you’re busy chasing viral moments, someone else is building something solid — one day at a time. And when your latest trick fails? You’re back to zero. Again. - - - - - - ### What Actually Works (But Takes Time) Here’s the unsexy truth: **Repetition. Consistency. Boring execution.** You want to get good at something? Do it badly, then do it again. You want an audience? Show up when no one’s clapping. You want to grow a business? Serve five people well before chasing five hundred. The people who win aren’t the ones who explode early. They’re the ones who stick around **long enough to matter**. Longevity beats luck every time. - - - - - - ### How to Stay Patient When Everyone Else Seems Ahead It’s hard, isn’t it? You’re doing the work. You’re not slacking. But still… they’re growing faster, earning more, getting noticed. Here’s what helps: - **Mute the noise.** Stop tracking 20 people’s highlight reels. Focus on your lane. - **Measure what matters.** Don’t just look at likes or money — track effort, skill growth, impact. - **Zoom out.** In five years, will it matter that you “started slow”? Or will it matter that you didn’t quit? Success isn’t a sprint. It’s not even a marathon. It’s a lifestyle. The moment you stop rushing is the moment you start building. - - - - - - ### Final Thoughts: Build Quietly, Win Loudly Fast fades. Loud trends die. But what you build with intention — with depth, with patience — that lasts. You don’t need to blow up overnight. You need to show up every day. So forget the fireworks. Be the one laying bricks. One post, one video, one sale, one email at a time. And one day, the world will call it “overnight success.” But you’ll know better. You earned it. Quietly. Slowly. Relentlessly.
By SHADOW-WRITESabout a year ago in Motivation
The Broken Slippers of Hope
In the heart of a forgotten town, where the streets were filled with potholes and dreams often died before sunset, lived a boy named Iqbal. He wore broken slippers, torn at the heel, but he walked as if he wore gold beneath his feet. The town called him “the slipper boy” — not out of mockery, but because he never complained, never looked ashamed. Iqbal lived with his mother, Naseema, in a single-room clay house with no electricity and only one window. She stitched clothes for wealthy homes and cooked in other people’s kitchens. Her fingers were always sore, her eyes always tired, but her heart beat only for her son’s future. His father had passed away when Iqbal was only four, leaving Naseema with nothing but debts and sorrow. But sorrow never stayed long in their home. Naseema was a woman of faith, hope, and unshakable will. “We may be poor,” she’d say, “but we are not without purpose.” Iqbal never went to a formal school. He studied under the flickering light of a borrowed kerosene lamp, with second-hand books donated by a kind old teacher who visited the slum every weekend. That teacher, Mr. Rehman, saw in Iqbal something rare — hunger not for food, but for knowledge. Iqbal dreamed of becoming a teacher himself — not for money, but to give children what he never truly had: a guide, a chance, a voice. One winter, Naseema fell ill. Her lungs, worn from years of dust and smoke, gave in. But she hid her coughs behind a smile and kept stitching late into the night. Iqbal noticed, but she always said, “It’s just the cold. You focus on your studies.” That year, Iqbal was selected for a scholarship test in Lahore. The exam was in three days, but he didn’t have money for the bus, or decent clothes, or new slippers. Still, he studied harder than ever. The night before the test, Naseema quietly removed her only piece of gold — a tiny nose pin given by her mother — and sold it to a neighbor. She gave Iqbal the bus fare, a clean shirt, and warm parathas wrapped in cloth. “I sold a memory to build your future,” she whispered, placing her hand on his head. Iqbal cried silently that night, holding her hands, rough and cracked, like old parchment. The love in those hands carried more weight than a thousand comforts. The next day, he reached the city. Among hundreds of clean-cut, English-speaking boys, he looked like a shadow — dark, silent, unnoticed. But when the paper came, he saw nothing but light. The questions danced before him, and he answered each with the voice of his mother in his ears, urging him to move forward, to succeed. Two months passed. He never heard back. Naseema grew weaker, her cough deeper, but her faith remained strong. Every day she asked, “Did the letter come?” And every day Iqbal shook his head, though his heart sank a little deeper. Then, one morning, just after Fajr, the postman knocked on their door. A single envelope lay in his hands. Iqbal tore it open with shaking fingers. He had won. The school was a prestigious academy in Lahore, offering free education, a hostel, even a monthly stipend. Iqbal ran to his mother, who was lying under a thin quilt. She couldn’t speak, but her eyes filled with tears. That moment — that shining moment — was the brightest light in their life. Three weeks later, Naseema passed away in her sleep. She never saw him wear the new uniform. Never heard him recite his first English poem. But Iqbal kept going. He rose like the morning sun that had always missed their window. He studied day and night, knowing that every lesson was a tribute to the woman who gave everything she had — even her life — for his dreams. Years passed. Iqbal became a respected teacher, known for his gentleness and wisdom. He opened a school in the same slum where he grew up, naming it “The Naseema Foundation for Education.” Hundreds of children walked its halls, each wearing new shoes, each carrying a backpack full of hope. But in his office, on a high shelf, he kept a strange item in a glass case: his old, broken slippers. Beneath them, a small golden plaque read: “These carried me through darkness, on the shoulders of a mother’s prayer.” He would often stare at them when times got hard, or when he missed her. They reminded him that strength didn’t come from wealth or privilege — it came from love, sacrifice, and belief. Today, people see Iqbal as a symbol of inspiration. He speaks at universities, writes books, and mentors countless students. But he always tells them one thing: “Never forget where you started. Your roots are not your shame — they are your strength.” And he never replaced those slippers.
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Motivation
From Rags to Respect: The Unseen Journey of a Poor Man's Rise
In a dusty corner of South Asia, nestled between scorched fields and forgotten roads, lived a man named Arman. Born into poverty, his life began in a crumbling mud house where hunger knocked more often than guests. His father, once a skilled woodworker, had died when Arman was just ten. His mother, thin as the shadows that danced across their walls, toiled endlessly to keep the family afloat. Arman sold boiled eggs on a roadside cart. His hands smelled of coal and his clothes bore the dust of despair. But his eyes? They were alive. Alive with dreams far larger than the narrow street he called his world. Every evening, after selling what little he could, Arman sat beneath a banyan tree with torn newspapers, reading stories of people who made it—who climbed out of poverty using only their ideas and grit. One article, in particular, caught his eye. It told the story of a boy who sold handmade toys online and built a small empire. Something stirred inside Arman that night. He couldn’t sleep. The next morning, with trembling hope, he visited his late father’s old shed. The tools were rusted, but still recognizable. He practiced for days, crafting crude wooden shapes. Using the last of his savings and a borrowed phone from a kind friend, Arman created an account on an online marketplace. He uploaded pictures of his toys, praying for a miracle. Nothing happened for a week. Then, suddenly, a message popped up: One item sold. That one sale changed everything. He rushed to a courier office, packed the item in reused cardboard, and shipped it with care. He couldn’t afford fancy wrapping, but he poured his soul into every detail. Days later, another order came. Then three. Then ten. Soon, his tiny room was filled with shavings of wood, half-made toys, and notes from customers praising the “honesty in his work.” He named his collection WoodSoul — a tribute to the spiritual connection he felt with his father’s craft. But growth wasn’t easy. Jealousy reared its head. An old neighbor accused him of copying his design. Rumors spread. Arman could’ve fought back. He didn’t. Instead, he worked harder, creating toys that told stories—an elephant that raised its trunk for good luck, a horse that galloped with dreams, a giraffe that stood tall like his ambitions. Months turned into years. An investor, touched by Arman’s journey shared in a viral blog, offered to fund a small workshop. Arman hired five young boys from his village. “No one should leave school like I did,” he told them. “Learn and earn.” Soon, WoodSoul Creations was a brand. His workshop expanded. He hired women, trained them in finishing and packaging. His toys reached cities he’d never heard of, then crossed borders. One winter, a journalist visited him. Her article, titled “The Boy Who Built Castles with Carved Dreams,” became a sensation. Orders flooded in. Interviews followed. Arman, the once barefoot egg-seller, now wore a tailored shirt and traveled by car. But he still visited the banyan tree every Friday. He didn’t build just a home for his mother. He built a school for children, a small hospital for the village, and a shelter for widows. When asked why, he simply said, “Because someone once trusted me when I had nothing.” His success story became a case study in universities. He was offered awards, titles, even political offers — which he politely declined. “I’m still Arman,” he’d smile. “Just with cleaner hands.” But perhaps his proudest moment came when he placed his father’s worn-out tools in a glass case in his office. Beneath them, a plaque read: “From these hands began the journey.”g GooD G
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Motivation
8 Habits for Better Time Management and Less Stress. AI-Generated.
In today’s fast-paced world, mastering time management is more than just a productivity hack — it is essential for sustaining long-term success and reducing stress. The ability to manage your time effectively can elevate your performance, improve mental clarity, and significantly reduce anxiety. Below are eight habits that form the cornerstone of efficient time management and help minimize daily stress.
By Diana Merescabout a year ago in Motivation
11 Life Lessons
By the time he turned 28, Ryan had already crossed the threshold most people spend a lifetime chasing: he became a millionaire. But his journey wasn’t paved with silver spoons or overnight success. Instead, it was built with grit, sacrifice, sleepless nights, and countless lessons learned the hard way.
By MIGrowthabout a year ago in Motivation
How to Use Mirrors to Double Your Manifestation Results (Shocking Trick!)
Are your manifestations taking too long? Do you feel stuck? What if I told you a mirror could fix that? I used to struggle too. Then I tried this. My results doubled in weeks. Keep reading.
By PhilipM-Iabout a year ago in Motivation
Rising from the Ashes: How One Setback Sparked a Journey of Triumph
The rain poured down in heavy sheets as Mark sat alone in his car, staring at the rejection letter clutched tightly in his hands. This was the third one this month—another door slammed shut in his face. He had poured his heart and soul into his work, yet it seemed like the universe was conspiring against him. He felt defeated, like his dreams were slipping further out of reach with every passing day.
By Ishaq Ahmadzai about a year ago in Motivation
" two souls, one heartbeat" . Content Warning.
In a quiet town nestled between whispering forests and the gentle curl of a silver river, there lived two people who, at first glance, seemed like strangers fated never to meet. Aiden was a musician—brooding, quiet, and lost in melodies only he could hear. His days were spent crafting haunting harmonies on his weathered piano in the attic of an old stone cottage, once belonging to his grandmother. He barely ventured out, save for the occasional walk at dusk when the sky burned orange, and the town was bathed in golden hush. Lena, on the other hand, lived in light. A paramedic, always on the move, her hands carried life and hope, her smile a promise that everything would be okay. She lived in the now, grasped every fleeting second, and believed time was too fragile to waste. But deep inside, where no one could see, Lena carried a grief she never spoke of—the loss of her twin brother, Liam, three years ago. He had been a musician, too. Quiet, like Aiden. Lost in sounds that only he could hear. It was a late September evening when they met. A storm had swept through the town, knocking out power and cutting off the main road. Lena, on her way back from a late shift, took the forest trail—the only way home. The rain made the path slippery, and just as she rounded a bend near the river, her car skidded and slammed into a fallen tree. She wasn't hurt, just shaken. Phone dead, she stepped out and looked for shelter. That’s when she saw the faint glow of a lantern through the trees. It flickered from the attic window of an old stone cottage. Aiden wasn’t expecting company. He rarely did. When he opened the door to find a woman soaked to the bone, rainwater dripping from her lashes but eyes burning with life, he just stared. “I crashed,” she said simply. “I saw your light.” He stepped aside wordlessly. Lena spent the night in the warmth of the old cottage, wrapped in a woolen blanket, listening to the sound of rain and an unfamiliar tune from the attic. She followed it, quietly, and found Aiden at the piano. His fingers moved like memory—soft, sure, aching. “Your music,” she said softly, “sounds like someone I used to know.” He turned, startled. “Really?” “My brother. He used to play like that.” She didn’t say more. In the days that followed, their lives began to thread together. The storm had caused a landslide, closing the forest road indefinitely. Lena stayed in town, took a short break from work, and slowly found herself returning to the cottage—not out of necessity anymore, but something unexplainable. Aiden, too, changed. He began leaving his attic to meet her on her walks. He laughed—awkwardly, at first, like someone remembering how. He played music just for her. And when he played, Lena listened with eyes closed, hand on her chest, as though feeling something stir that had long been buried. They learned each other in quiet moments—over old records and tea, through shared silences and the brushing of fingers in passing. Aiden discovered Lena hummed while she cooked, that she tilted her head when she read, and laughed without restraint. Lena learned that Aiden only composed at night, that he never wore socks, and that the piano was the only thing left from his grandmother. One evening, as autumn painted the trees amber and gold, Aiden showed Lena a piece he had been working on. “It’s called ‘One Heartbeat,’” he said, handing her the sheet music. She studied the notes. “It’s beautiful. Sad… but full of hope.” He looked at her then, deeply, as though seeing something that had eluded him for years. “I didn’t know what it was about until I met you.” She looked down, heart thudding. “Aiden, I need to tell you something.” That night, in the attic under a sky full of stars, Lena told him about Liam. About how he had died in a car accident on the same road where she crashed. About the silence that followed his death, how she hadn’t listened to music since. Until Aiden. Aiden listened, eyes glistening. Then, without a word, he sat at the piano and played the piece again—but slower, softer. And Lena cried. Not because of pain, but because in that music, she felt Liam again. “You brought him back to me,” she whispered. “I think you brought me back to life,” Aiden replied. --- Winter came. The river froze. The forest wore white. And inside the stone cottage, love bloomed. It wasn’t loud or fast. It was patient, kind, healing. Aiden kissed her like she was his first note. Lena held him like he was the answer to a question she had long stopped asking. They were two people, different rhythms, but somehow, in each other, they found the same beat. When they lay together, heart to heart, they often said they could feel one heartbeat between them. It was a joke at first, but soon it felt true. One night, as snow fell silently outside, Aiden woke gasping, clutching his chest. Lena rushed to him. “Aiden?” “My heart,” he choked. “Something’s wrong.” She drove him to the hospital in the middle of a blizzard, hands trembling on the wheel. The doctors ran tests. Hours passed. “It’s a congenital condition,” they told her. “Rare. He was likely born with it. It’s a miracle he’s made it this far.” Aiden needed a heart transplant. Time was running out. Lena refused to leave his side. She gave up her job. Sat by his hospital bed with a suitcase full of music sheets and love. And then came the call. A donor had been found. The surgery was scheduled. The night before, Aiden asked for a piano. The hospital staff brought in a keyboard. Wires trailed from his chest, but his fingers found the keys. He played One Heartbeat for her. Slow. Deep. As if engraving it onto time. “If I don’t make it—” “You will.” “Promise me, Lena. If I don’t… keep playing. Keep living. For both of us.” She kissed his forehead. “We are not two. We’re one. I’ll feel you in every beat.” He smiled. “Two souls…” “…One heartbeat.” --- The surgery was long. Complicated. Lena sat in the waiting room clutching the sheet music. Hours passed. Then, the surgeon appeared, eyes tired but warm. “He made it.” She collapsed into tears. --- Months later, the forest trail reopened. Spring returned. Lena and Aiden stood where they first met—beneath the trees, beside the river. He held her hand. His heart, stronger now, beat firmly beneath her palm. They had survived the silence, the sorrow, the storm. And now, every moment forward would be shared. He built her a studio next to his attic. She returned to medicine part-time. But at dusk, they always came together—hands on keys, breath in sync. The music they made wasn’t just beautiful. It was alive. Because it came from two souls. One heartbeat.
By D A R Kabout a year ago in Motivation
The Beauty Behind the Delay. AI-Generated.
From the time he was a child, Ayaan had a dream—not of riches or fame, but of wearing a white coat and saving lives. He wanted to become a doctor, not because someone told him to, but because he had watched his mother suffer in silence from an illness they could never afford to treat. Living in a small village with no hospital and barely enough money for school, Ayaan’s dream seemed like a star too far to reach. But he never let go. While others slept, he studied by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp. He gave up cricket matches and birthday parties, choosing instead to tutor younger children just to help his father buy him books. “One day, I’ll wear that coat,” he whispered to himself each night, clutching a worn-out biology textbook like it was a lifeline. After years of hard work and sacrifice, Ayaan applied to one of the most prestigious medical colleges in the country. He had pinned all his hope, prayers, and sleepless nights on that one acceptance letter. He waited every day by the door, imagining the moment he would hand the letter to his father, and see his eyes light up with pride. But the letter never came. Instead, a cold email arrived: “We regret to inform you…” Ayaan felt like the ground had been pulled from beneath him. He locked himself in his room and cried—not because he was weak, but because he had given his everything. He had sacrificed his childhood, his comfort, even meals at times—only to be told it wasn’t enough. He stopped praying for a while. He stopped believing. It felt like God had closed the only door that ever mattered to him. But his father, weathered and quiet, sat beside him one night. “Sometimes, when God doesn’t give us what we want, it’s not a punishment,” he said. “It’s a redirection.” Ayaan didn’t understand it then. But he nodded. With no admission and no money, he accepted a scholarship for a public health diploma at a smaller college. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was something. Reluctantly, he moved to the city, keeping his head down and his heart guarded. He began to study global health, learning about rural diseases, waterborne epidemics, malnutrition—problems that reminded him too much of his own village. He started visiting slums and remote towns as part of fieldwork, treating people, educating them, and helping in small ways. The white coat still felt far away—but slowly, he started to find purpose again. Years passed. Ayaan completed his studies and joined an international aid organization. His work took him across borders—to war zones, disaster sites, and villages worse off than his own. He wasn’t a doctor by title, but he was saving lives. Hundreds of them. Then one day, he was invited to speak at a global health summit in Geneva. Standing at the podium, wearing a modest suit, Ayaan looked out at a crowd of doctors, ministers, and health leaders from across the world. He spoke not just from research—but from experience. From pain. From the heart. His talk received a standing ovation. Afterward, a senior medical professor from the very college that once rejected him approached him. “Mr. Ayaan, I remember your application,” she said. “You were brilliant—but we had limited seats. I see now we made a mistake. The world needed you somewhere else.” That night, Ayaan sat in his hotel room by the window, staring at the stars. He thought about the boy who once wept over a rejection letter, and the man who now carried more impact than he ever dreamed. He whispered a quiet prayer—not asking this time, but thanking. He finally understood what his father had said. When God didn’t give him what he wanted, it was never cruelty. It was mercy in disguise. Moral Ayaidn’t become the doctor he dreamed of, but he became the healer the world didn’t know it needed. His story was not of failure, but of faith—tested, delayed, and ultimately rewarded. Sometimes the doors that close are the ones that lead us to the rooms where we truly belong.
By Sajid about a year ago in Motivation
Ashes and Hope. AI-Generated.
In a crumbling mud house on the outskirts of a forgotten village lived a boy named Joseph with his father, Rahim. Life had never offered them much—just a leaking roof, one pair of shoes between them, and a daily battle against hunger. Joseph’s mother had died during childbirth, and since then, Rahim had raised him alone, stitching shoes by candlelight and working odd jobs to keep his only son alive. They shared everything—food, clothes, even silence. When there wasn’t enough to eat, Rahim would pretend he had already eaten. “I had something at the mosque,” he’d lie with a smile, while his stomach growled like a wounded beast. Joseph knew the truth. He knew his father was feeding him hope while starving himself. Despite the poverty, Joseph was a bright student. He would borrow torn books from the village school and read them under the moonlight, his eyes fueled by dreams too big for his surroundings. He wanted to become someone important—not just for himself, but to lift his father from the trenches of misery. One winter night, when the cold crept in through the cracks in the walls, Rahim handed Joseph a rusted tin box. Inside were a few crumpled notes and coins—their entire life’s savings. “Take this,” Rahim said, “and go to the city. Study. Work. Fight for your dreams. Don’t look back until you have something worth coming back with.” Joseph’s throat tightened. “But what about you, Baba?” Rahim smiled, a tired curve on his weathered face. “I’ve lived my life in the shadow of hunger. I want you to walk in the light.” With nothing but a bag of clothes, a tattered notebook, and his father’s dreams, Joseph boarded a bus to the city. The journey was cold, long, and silent—but his heart burned with purpose. City life was ruthless. Joseph slept on footpaths, washed dishes at roadside stalls, and studied under flickering streetlights. He skipped meals to save money and walked miles to attend free evening classes at a community college. At times, hunger felt like a ghost, clinging to his ribs and whispering doubts. But he remembered his father’s eyes—the quiet pain, the hidden hope—and pushed on. Years passed. Joseph graduated with distinction. He got a job as a junior accountant, and slowly climbed the ladder through hard work and integrity. Every promotion, every raise, brought him closer to his goal—not wealth, but dignity. Then, on a rainy afternoon, he returned to his village—not as the boy who left, but as a man transformed. In his hand was a suitcase, in his heart, a storm of emotions. He found Rahim sitting outside the same crumbling house, his back slightly more bent, his beard whiter. The moment their eyes met, time stood still. “Joseph?” Rahim whispered, as if saying the name might shatter the moment. Joseph dropped to his knees and hugged his father. “I’m home, Baba. And I’m never letting you go hungry again.” Tears streamed down Rahim’s cheeks—tears not of pain, but of peace. Within weeks, Joseph built a new house for his father with a proper kitchen, warm beds, and shelves full of books. But more than the house, it was the moments—laughing over tea, walking in the fields, reading together—that mattered. He also started a scholarship program for underprivileged village children, naming it “Rahim’s Light,” in honor of the man who taught him the value of sacrifice and love. At the opening ceremony, Joseph stood before the village, his voice firm yet full of emotion. “I once lived in the shadow of hunger. My father shielded me from it with his own hands. Today, I stand in the light—because of him. And now, it’s time to pass that light on.” The villagers clapped, many with tears in their eyes. And Rahim, sitting in the front row, looked up at his son—not as a poor man anymore, but as a proud father of a legend. In the shadow of hunger, Joseph found the strength to rise—not in spite of his hardships, but because of them. And through his success, he rewrote not just his fate, but the fate of others, proving that even in the darkest corners of poverty, the light of love and sacrifice can illuminate the world.
By Sajid about a year ago in Motivation
Believe in your self
What is done is done, it can never be undone Yes, you will suffer, but life's journey's just begun We have to rush and run, through trials and strife Plucky discernment will help you navigate life Tap your soul, go for what's true Don't make your dreams just a fleeting pursuit Be confident, step forward with might To get what you want, shine with all your light Believe in yourself, you'll have won the fight And your dreams will be begun, shining so bright Life is a journey, we all must take With ups and downs, and mistakes to make But learn from them, and don't be fake And you'll find your path, for your own sake So don't give up, don't lose your way Keep pushing forward, come what may And you'll find success, in your own day And your dreams will be here to stay You have the power, to make it real To turn your dreams, into the way you feel So go for it, with all your might And you'll shine so bright, like a beacon in flight Don't let doubts creep in, or fears take hold You've got this, you're strong, you're bold The worst time of the year, exams are here All the fun and enjoyment seems to disappear It's time to open all the books that you own So much syllabus, so much to learn, it's overwhelming to know So many chapters, my brain is going to burn No more Netflix, no more sleep, only stress that yearns The examination sheet, a source of anxiety and fear But I'll push through, and do my best, and wipe away each tear When the exams are finished, the stress will vanish too And I'll breathe a sigh of relief, feeling brand new But then the waiting game begins, it's time to wait For the results to come, and my fate to participate Will I pass or will I fail? The uncertainty makes my heart sail I've studied hard, I've done my best, but will it be enough to prevail? The doubts creep in, the what-ifs start to play But I'll keep my fingers crossed, and hope for the best day And pray that all my hard work will be blessed And I'll emerge victorious, with a sense of success Life's journey is full of ups and downs But with determination, I'll wear the crown So I'll keep pushing forward, through trials and strife And I'll shine so bright, like a beacon in life I'll learn from my mistakes, and grow with each new day And I'll find my path, in my own way With every step forward, I'll find my stride And I'll reach my dreams, with a heart full of pride So don't give up, don't lose your way Keep pushing forward, come what may You have the power, to make your dreams real To turn them into reality, and make them feel Like they're meant to be, like they're yours to own So go for it, with all your might, and make them known Believe in yourself, and your abilities too You've got this, you're strong, you're capable, it's true Don't let anyone bring you down, or make you feel small You're a shining star, with a light that stands tall So keep shining bright, and never give up the fight You'll find your way, and reach new heights And when you do, you'll look back on your journey with pride And know that you made it, with a heart full of joy inside Life's journey is full of twists and turns But with determination, you'll learn To navigate through, and find your way And reach your dreams, come what may So don't lose faith, don't lose hope Keep pushing forward, and never cope With the doubts and fears that creep in at night You've got this, you're strong, you're shining bright You'll find your path, and make it real And your dreams will be the way you feel So go for it, with all your might And you'll shine so bright, like a beacon in flight.
By Nadeem ullahabout a year ago in Motivation
