advice
Advice that will put you on the path to success; tips, tricks and nuggets of wisdom from trusted experts and motivational mentors.
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Motivation is easy when the results come fast. But what happens when they don’t? You set a goal. You start strong. You’re energized, focused, and excited. But then comes the quiet part—the plateau. The part where the scale stops moving, your code keeps breaking, your writing doesn’t get reads, or your applications are met with silence. And suddenly, you’re not sure if what you’re doing is working anymore.
By Ahmet Kıvanç Demirkıran2 years ago in Motivation
The fragrance of the veil
foot of the mountains lay a beautiful village where the seasons were pure and the hearts even purer. In this village, a simple girl named Ayesha was born. Her mother, Bibi Halima, was an ordinary woman, but she carried the light of faith in her heart. Poverty and hardships were part of life, but Halima never compromised on her daughter’s upbringing. Since childhood, Ayesha often heard her mother say: > "My daughter! Success in this world is not achieved by abandoning modesty but by safeguarding your dignity and honor. A veil is not just a piece of cloth; it is a woman’s crown." Ayesha would play, laugh, and study, always keeping her mother’s words close to her heart. When she started school, Bibi Halima dressed her in a neat shalwar kameez, draped a light shawl over her, and advised: > "Remember, a veil is never a burden. It is your shield, a testimony of your honor." Every day Ayesha remembered this. Even when other girls came to school in jeans, T-shirts, and without covering their heads, Ayesha lovingly carried her shawl. Some laughed at her, others teased: > "Forget these old traditions! Who wears a veil in this age?" But Ayesha would simply smile and say: > "My success cannot be complete without my modesty." Time passed. Ayesha studied with dedication and topped her district in matriculation. When she moved to college, the environment became even more challenging—fashion trends and immodesty surrounded her. Yet Ayesha’s veil became her identity. People were amazed to see a veiled girl so confident, polite, and successful. One day, during a college assembly, the principal said: > "Our student Ayesha has proven that religious boundaries are not obstacles to success; they are the true secret to it." Ayesha went on to complete her Bachelor's and then a Master’s degree, excelling everywhere she went. During this time, she received an attractive job offer—on one condition: > "You must give up the veil and adopt a modern dress code." Without a second thought, Ayesha refused. People said: > "You’ve missed your chance. A little compromise is necessary for progress." But Ayesha replied: > "Any success achieved at the cost of my modesty is failure in the eyes of my Lord." Her unwavering stance changed her life. Soon, another organization that respected Islamic values offered her an honorable position. Now, she lived a successful life while preserving her veil and dignity. Meanwhile, in her village, a wave of immodesty swept over the younger generation. Girls began considering mufflers, jeans, and western dresses as symbols of progress. Bibi Halima grew distressed, fearing for the future of their daughters. Ayesha realized that reforming herself was not enough; she needed to spread awareness. She started a small informal class called "The Fragrance of the Veil." This was no typical classroom. It was a gathering of love and wisdom, where she shared stories, Islamic teachings, and personal experiences, showing that a woman could be successful without abandoning her faith. Initially, only a few girls attended, but soon the numbers grew. Innocent hearts started transforming. Some girls adjusted their shawls properly, some began covering their heads, and others embraced modesty with pride. Mothers tearfully prayed: > "May Allah bless you, dear Ayesha. You have saved our daughters." Ayesha always responded: > "This is not my success. It is the fruit of my mother's prayers, who taught me that modesty is a blessing, not a burden." Eventually, Ayesha married a righteous, understanding man who respected her veil and dignity. He never pressured her to abandon her modesty, rather he protected and supported it. Her life became a story of love, honor, and true success. Gradually, the entire village transformed: Immodesty at weddings decreased. Girls started wearing shawls to school. Vulgar trends faded from the streets. And the fragrance of the veil once again filled the air. --- Moral of the Story: > Never consider religious boundaries an obstacle to success. The veil is a woman's crown, and whoever safeguards their honor, Allah paves the way for their success both in this world and the Hereafter. > Start nurturing modesty in your daughters from an early age—with love, awareness, and prayers. Otherwise, regret will be the only thing left when it’s too late. --- Final Words: True love for your daughter is not dressing her in expensive, revealing, drama-inspired clothes, which later become a habit you regret even in your grave. Teach her, if not complete hijab, then at least the practice of wearing loose, modest clothing with a clean scarf or shawl. Keep reminding her of the sin and dangers of shamelessness and negligence in covering. > If you practice these teachings today, you will be protected from the torments of the Day of Judgment and will be able to prevent the worldly problems arising from immodesty.
By Rahat naz2 years ago in Motivation
The Forgotten hands
The man whom I called "father" had completed seventy-two long, tireless years of life. The scent of dust, dirt, and cement had long ago settled into his breath. His hands, once strong and calloused from endless labor, were now full of wrinkles, his bones frail, yet his resolve remained unbroken — as if time had never slowed him down. Each crack in his skin told the story of decades spent under the unforgiving sun, of winters endured without warm clothing, of countless days when his own needs were buried under the weight of his responsibilities. He spent his entire life laboring. Day and night, drenched in sweat, hands cracked and bleeding, he moved like a man possessed — driven by one dream alone: to see his children stand on their own feet. Even when he burned with fever through the nights, he would rise with the morning sun, fastening his worn-out shoes and picking up his tools again — just for a few meager coins. Without any expectations. Without any applause. Without any complaints. He had three sons. Yes, sons — the pride of his youth, the treasures he had poured his life into. For them, he had sacrificed countless dreams, countless comforts. For them, he endured sleepless nights, half-empty stomachs, and aching limbs. He had once dreamed that his old age would be adorned with their care, that his worn-out hands would finally find rest in the strong, loving hands of his sons. But fate had played a cruel, heart-wrenching game. The very sons he once took pride in, today were his deepest, bleeding wound. The eldest son never worked a day in his life. An ocean of excuses, a desert of effort — he lived expecting others to provide, his pride untouched by shame. The youngest son drowned himself in the poison of intoxication, wasting not only his own life but also scattering disgrace upon his father’s worn shoulders. And the third son — sharp-tongued, stone-hearted — could offer nothing but rebukes, rolling his eyes at the very sight of his parents’ needs. When father returned home, exhausted from a long day's labor, he longed for even one of his sons to stand up and say, "Father, sit down. Let me earn for you today. You have done enough." But he was only met with cold glances, walls of indifference, and a silence that screamed louder than words. No one held his trembling hands; no one offered to share the heavy burden crushing his aging shoulders. Every scar on his body screamed silently, telling tales of sacrifices that had long been forgotten. Yet the sons, immersed in their own luxuries, their own small worlds, remained blind and deaf to the silent cries of the man who had given them everything. And the daughters? Ah, those daughters — always considered second-class citizens, always treated as burdens by a society too blind to see their worth — they were the ones who stood at the forefront of every sacrifice. Whenever father fell ill, it was the daughters who stayed awake through the long, fearful nights, sacrificing their sleep, their peace, their comforts. When he needed medicine and money was short, it was they who removed their bangles, sold their jewelry — the very ornaments given to them for their marriages — without hesitation or complaint. When his heart ached, it was their arms that gave him strength, their laps that offered him the peace he never found elsewhere. Their eyes held a love so pure, so selfless, that words could never capture it. Married and managing their own households — managing their own children, their own struggles — yet these daughters still cared for their father's home with unmatched devotion. Every festival, every celebration, every sorrow — it was they who thought of him first, who returned again and again, as if his home was still the center of their world. Sometimes they would send food prepared by their own hands. Sometimes they would rush in with medicines, ignoring the distance and the hardship. Sometimes, leaving their own sick children behind, they would spend countless nights by his side, wiping his forehead, whispering words of hope and prayer into his fading ears. And the sons? It seemed they had lost even the slightest awareness of their father’s suffering. To them, he was just another burden — an inconvenience, a fading relic of obligations they no longer wanted to carry. Father watched with his own broken heart — The same hands that once taught his sons to walk, to stand, to dream — those hands now trembled in the air, searching for an anchor that would never come. The daughters, once dismissed as weak, had become the iron pillars holding up his final days. One day, father fell seriously ill. Burning with fever, unable to move, he lay helpless like a fallen tree. His sons sat nearby, absorbed in their glowing phone screens, giggling at jokes, checking scores, posting meaningless updates. And the daughters? They rushed from far and near, placing wet cloths on his forehead, changing his clothes, whispering prayers of comfort into his ears that could barely hear anymore. Tears rolled down father's cheeks — Tears not just of fever and physical pain — but of a lifetime of heartbreak, betrayal, and shattered dreams. In his final days, when even standing up became impossible, he still mumbled: "I must go to work... my children are hungry..." A thought so deeply rooted in sacrifice that even death could not erase it. Hearing this, the daughters wept silently, biting their lips to suppress the cries that would have shattered the fragile peace. "Father, you rest now. We are here. We will take care of everything," they pleaded. But the sons? Not a trace of shame. Not a flicker of regret. On his deathbed, father finally saw the truth with painful clarity — The daughters weeping at his side, clutching his hands, refusing to let him slip away alone. The sons nowhere to be found — their seats empty, their hearts closed. And then, he closed his tired eyes for the last time. A man who had sacrificed everything for others died with only the love of his daughters lighting his path to the next world. Even at his funeral, it was the daughters’ tears that soaked the earth over his grave. It was their trembling hands that offered prayers of forgiveness. And the sons? Perhaps they returned to their distractions, their phones, their petty entertainments — unmoved and unchanged. --- Moral True love and sacrifice are not bound by whether one is a son or daughter. Serving and honoring parents is not just a tradition — it is a sacred duty, a divine trust. Giving parents respect, love, and support while they are alive is the true inheritance — otherwise, only mountains of regret will remain. Because when you are blessed with your parents' presence, you should carry their weight not as a burden, but as a blessing. A blessing that once lost, no wealth, no success, no tears can ever replace.
By Rahat naz2 years ago in Motivation
Stop Putting It Off: Real Talk on Beating Procrastination
We’ve all been there. You’ve got a deadline looming, a project staring you in the face, or a sink full of dishes, and instead of tackling it, you’re scrolling through TikTok or reorganizing your spice rack. Procrastination is that annoying friend who shows up uninvited and won’t leave. But here’s the deal: you can kick it to the curb. I’m not about to throw some robotic, cookie-cutter advice at you. These are real, human tips that actually work—stuff I’ve tried myself when I’m dodging writing deadlines or avoiding life’s boring chores. Let’s dive in and figure out how to get stuff done.
By Padm R2 years ago in Motivation
Do What You Are Capable Of, and in the Future, You Will Be Successful
Overview: The Drive for Achievement It is simple to fall victim to the notion that success is only for the highly gifted or those who can handle everything at once in a world full of high expectations and a never-ending stream of social media success stories. However, what if achieving success is easier, more private, and quieter than we typically think?
By MD.ATIKUR RAHAMAN2 years ago in Motivation
"The Journey of Ashish: A Seed’s Story of Hope and Resilience"
A modest village situated in the center of one of the Commonwealth nations contained this neglected dry forgotten piece of land which lacked every sign of living beings. The vacant piece of land served two dual purposes as villagers used it as their shortcut while both kids and stray animals used it for their activities. A tiny seed hidden beneath the ground remained unnoticed by all village inhabitants who used this section of land to pass through. Ashish unknowingly carried an exceptional future role as he unknowingly planted himself on that neglected piece of land.Ashish arrived into the world without a namesake and he received no predictions of development from gardeners or cultivation labor from farmers who would tend crops. His timeless rest took place beneath the earth's quietude while all periods of wakefulness vanished into oblivion. Sunlight and rain and sky lay hidden as a forgotten ancient memory that beat softly inside his core. A will to live.
By MD. Saif Safwan2 years ago in Motivation
How to Heal from a Breakup
Breakups. We've all been through them—some of us more than once, others maybe just once—but no matter how many times it happens, it's always painful. We often think we’ll be ready when the time comes, but we're never truly prepared for the emotional rollercoaster that follows. A breakup is the end of something you've built, a connection filled with emotions, hopes, time, and dreams. And even though it may feel like the world is ending, I can tell you from personal experience that it’s not.The Beginning of My Journey Through a Breakup
By Sen Sab2 years ago in Motivation
The Biggest Misconception of Human
The biggest misconception of a person is that he has not yet died, he still has time. This is also the biggest lie told to himself. According to me, the habit of sleeping is an exercise in dying every day. But the return ticket is fixed, friends! No one will listen to you or give you any respite. Shut your mouth for some time and hold your nose, the fair is only till the next breath. For a good life, you have to understand the difference between needs and desires. Therefore, lighten the burden and turn towards the side of living. The meaning of living is only this, that despite having the ability, do not choke on the needs or desires. If you fill it in your pockets or fists at the time of return, it is far from a thing, but you should not take it with you even after swallowing it, because even the next coin from the flowers is taken away. Those who are lying on the body and those who cry your name will immediately start calling the body lying on the floor a body, they will rush to cremate your own body, those who will stop you from taking it to the crematorium and will plead to see it for a few more moments, in the evening they will only worry about whether the cremation was done properly? Usually 2-3 people will be left in the crematorium, just so that the whole cremation does not go un-cremated. Now your status, houses, cars and all worldly goods, enmities and conflicts will turn into dust. You will stand by your side for years but nothing will be done. The pain of separation from blood relations will remain for the rest of your life, but the next day there will be a pile of newspapers worrying about Punjab along with the talk of the Indo-Pakistan war. The day of flowers will be fixed, seeing the compulsion of many relatives and the leave of the children, the day of the Bhog will also be fixed on Sunday. The relatives will now put you aside for once and worry about their noses and decide the menu of the Bhog. The effort to make the Bhog a rally will begin. The name of the speaker will be decided. Many women who throw the gladiator will secretly get a new suit. Yes, it is true, the wedding album will be taken out and your photo will be enlarged. The big leader will give false speeches. This will be the first time when all the people will tell you good things but unfortunately you will not be able to listen because people want peace of soul and not of the person. While returning from the Bhog, many relatives going in the vehicles will find fault with the speakers along with the discussion of the gathering, many will be angry because the Ardas was late, there will be ngochas in the bread, some songs will also be playing in some vehicles, many relatives will also have a wedding of a close person on the night of the Bhog. Many will post regretful posts on Facebook and then enjoy the reels. On the other hand, there will be a discussion about donating your bed, blanket and clothes to someone from the family because what ghosts are there in land, property or gold? Who is the new man in the bank? How will the will of the land be made? Where are the property papers? How will the shares be? But your illusion will be dispelled that without me there is no shelter for anyone or the family will not run without me. All the above are the same people because of whom you are not living even though you are alive.
By Nikita Angel2 years ago in Motivation
The Nature of Incidents: Coincidence or Predetermination?
Life, as we know it, is a series of events, some of which are pleasant and some of which are challenging. The concept of incidents—unexpected events that shape our paths—has been a topic of intense debate across various disciplines, including philosophy, spirituality, and science.
By Jassila 2 years ago in Motivation
5 Unconventional Hobbies That Can Change Your Life
Discovering a pastime that not only makes you happy but also changes your viewpoint can be a game-changer in a society where the stress of everyday living frequently takes precedence. While typical pastimes like painting, reading, and gardening are great, pursuing unusual interests can result in unexpected professional prospects as well as personal development and new friendships. These five unusual pastimes have the power to transform your life.
By Shahjalal Shakik2 years ago in Motivation
