happiness
Happiness, defined; things that help you find happiness, keep it, and share it with others.
Encouraging Quotes for Teens That Really Work
Why Encouraging Quotes Matter for Teens Teenagers often face an array of challenges that shape their personalities and influence their futures. It can be hard to stay motivated because of things like school pressure and social problems. This is where the importance of encouraging quotes for kids becomes apparent. Strong words can make kids strong, positive, and sure of themselves, which can help them face life with hope and confidence. This article has some of the most powerful quotes that can really change the life of a teen.
By Teenage Parenting2 years ago in Motivation
The Last Cup of Coffee
Today, I saw him once again. The same coffee shop. same seat in the corner. Hunched over a journal that appeared to have been to war was the same black hoodie. His name escaped me, and perhaps that was the goal. There are those that come into your life like a whisper and go out like a shout.
By Ahiyan Hridoy2 years ago in Motivation
How Do You Grieve?
I accompanied an older female to the clinic for her regular checkup. After getting her number and waiting for her to call to be registered, we sat in a line of blue chairs inside. A female came and sat in front of us. After telling us good morning, she sat down and began to do the puzzle in the Daily Star.
By Annelise Lords 2 years ago in Motivation
Italy Strengthening Its Global Agri-Food Leadership at TuttoFood Milano 2025
The 2025 edition of TuttoFood Milano opened with a bold message: Italy is not only preserving its culinary heritage but actively seeking the leadership global role in the agri-food industry. Running until May 8, the event brought together thousands of food leaders that are part of the Italian food ecosystem.
By Andrea Zanon2 years ago in Motivation
Speak Fearlessly: How to Conquer Public Speaking Anxiety and Master New Languages
Imagine standing at the edge of a busy stage, your heart pounding like a drum. The crowd waits, silent, as your mind goes blank. The microphone feels like a heavy weight in your hand. This isn’t a nightmare—it’s the fear of public speaking, a dragon that lurks in the hearts of millions. Now, picture another scenario: you’re abroad, trying to order coffee in a language you’ve studied for months. Your tongue trips over unfamiliar sounds, and embarrassment creeps in. What do these two fears have in common? Both stem from the fear of judgment. But don’t worry—this dragon can be tamed. Here’s how to slay it.
By Maaz Ahmad2 years ago in Motivation
The Day I Walked Away: How Leaving My Job with Just $200 Transformed My Life
I stood at the gate of my office for the last time, my resignation letter crumpled in one sweaty hand, my phone in the other. I had $200 in my bank account, no backup plan, and a dream I barely dared to believe in. Everyone told me I was crazy. Maybe I was.
By Inamullah Afridi2 years ago in Motivation
A Doctor Without Shoes
"A Doctor Without Shoes" A journey from barefoot poverty to healing the world—with nothing but hope and a mother’s prayer. Raheel never owned a pair of shoes until he was twelve. He grew up in a forgotten village in interior Sindh, where the summers were dry, the winters cruel, and dreams rarely made it past the village boundary. His father was a tenant farmer—working from dawn till dusk on someone else’s land, harvesting crops he could never claim as his own. His mother washed clothes for neighbors, often kneeling by the river, her hands cracked and bruised from the cold water and harsh soaps. They didn’t have a fan. They didn’t have a gas stove. There was no fridge or phone. But they had one thing: each other—and a fierce, unwavering hope. Raheel was the youngest of five siblings. His older brothers left school early to work in the fields. His sister was married off when she was sixteen. But Raheel? He was different. Every morning, he would walk three kilometers barefoot—across gravel roads and muddy fields—to reach the only government school in the area. The classroom had no proper desks, just mats on a crumbling cement floor. Sometimes the teacher showed up, and sometimes he didn’t. Still, Raheel sat quietly in the front row, with a pencil worn down to half its size and a second-hand notebook that barely held together. He asked questions. He listened carefully. And at night, he’d lie on the rooftop, staring at the stars, wondering how someone like him could ever reach the sky. One day, a free medical camp came to the village. It was the first time Raheel had ever seen a real doctor—young, clean-shaven, wearing a white coat and speaking gently to the villagers. The doctor gave his mother free medicine and even took her blood pressure. That night, Raheel turned to her and asked, “Ammi, who was he?” She replied, “He’s a doctor. A man who heals people.” Raheel was quiet for a moment. Then he whispered, “I want to become him.” His mother smiled faintly and said, “Then become him. No one’s stopping you but hunger and fear—and we’ve survived both.” But wanting is one thing. Becoming is another. Books were expensive. Shoes were a luxury. Even school uniforms had to be stitched at home from leftover cloth. When Raheel passed his matric exams with distinction, his father was proud but worried. They barely had enough to eat—how could they afford college? Still, his mother sold her wedding shawl—embroidered by her own mother on the day of her nikkah. With trembling hands, she gave the money to Raheel and said, “This is our investment. The return will be your white coat.” Raheel walked to college too, often skipping lunch so he could save what little money they gave him. He would borrow textbooks, copy diagrams by hand, and study by candlelight when there was no electricity—which was often. He passed his F.Sc. with flying colors. When the MDCAT exam came, he didn’t have enough for a bus fare to the city. So, he woke up before sunrise, walked halfway, and then rode on the back of a sugarcane tractor to reach the test center. He gave the exam barefoot. A month later, the results were announced. Raheel had ranked in the top 200 students of the province. He had done it. He had gotten into Liaquat University of Medical and Health Sciences. When the admission letter arrived, the village gathered around his home to celebrate. But Raheel’s family knew the real struggle was just beginning. The fees, the books, the hostel—all out of reach. The villagers pooled together what they could. An old schoolteacher handed him a used laptop, saying, “You’ll need this more than I ever did.” Another neighbor gave him a suitcase. Someone from a nearby city sent him a brand-new pair of shoes. His first. He cried that night—not out of joy, but out of the weight of it all. The expectations. The love. The burden of dreams too heavy for one boy’s shoulders. Medical college in the city was a different universe. English lectures, anatomy labs, models, ward rounds, night duties—it was overwhelming. His classmates came from cities, spoke fluent English, wore branded clothes, and had expensive phones. Raheel would sit in the back, quietly observing, copying notes late into the night. He couldn’t afford extra classes or paid notes. But he made it through—one lecture, one prayer, one breath at a time. In his third year, he received a call. His father had collapsed in the fields during a heatwave and passed away before Raheel could return. It was the hardest moment of his life. He wanted to drop out, to go home and support his mother. But she stopped him. Over a crackling phone line, she said, “Your abbu always wanted to see you in that white coat. Don’t let his dream die.” So Raheel stayed. He passed his final professional exam with honors. At the graduation ceremony, he looked around and saw no family in the audience. His mother couldn’t afford the travel, and his siblings were working. But in his heart, he felt them all. Today, Dr. Raheel runs a free clinic near his village. He treats the poor, the forgotten, the ignored. Patients come on donkey carts, motorbikes, even on foot—just to be seen by “the barefoot doctor who made it.” He doesn’t take money from the poor. He remembers too well what it felt like to be helpless. Every Friday, after closing the clinic, he walks to his father’s grave and sits silently for a while. Then he returns home, takes off his shoes, and walks barefoot in the courtyard. It reminds him of where he came from—and of the mother who gave up everything so he could walk with pride. Because some doctors are born in hospitals. Others are made in huts, raised by prayers, and shaped by pain.
By Doctor marwan Dorani 2 years ago in Motivation
The Value of an Old Watch
Ali had always lived a simple life. Born into a humble family in a small town, he knew the meaning of hard work from an early age. His father, Ahmed, worked as a mechanic in a tiny roadside workshop, barely making enough to feed the family. But despite the financial struggles, Ahmed always made sure that Ali went to school and dreamed bigger than their circumstances.6
By Tahir Mehmood2 years ago in Motivation
