Advocacy
The Window That Never Opens Again
The Window That Never Opens Again There are some stories that live in the shadows of our memory, waiting for a quiet moment to speak. This is the story of a unique mother — my mother. By the time you reach the end, your eyes may well up too. For the longest time, I never understood how my mother always knew when I was coming home. As a child, when I returned from school, the door would open even before I knocked. During my college days, the moment I’d reach the gate, I’d see her face light up with joy, her warm smile waiting to welcome me home. She would greet me with love and prayers, then guide me to the courtyard where I’d sit near our brick stove while she made fresh roti. Her hands worked gently and skillfully — rolling, flipping, serving. And whenever she cooked my favorite dish, she’d challenge me in a playful tone. It became our routine. She’d place the hot roti into the basket and tease me to see whether I could finish it before she made the next one. Somehow, just as I took my last bite, the next warm roti would land on my plate. I never knew who really won, but I always left the meal feeling full — not just in my stomach, but in my heart. We had rules in our house. After sunset, we were not allowed to go outside. But time moved on, and after finishing my education, I got a job in Lahore. It required me to come home late at night. Yet, one thing remained the same: my mother’s routine. Even if I returned at dawn, I never had to use my key. I tried to be quiet so as not to disturb her sleep, but just as I reached into my pocket, the door would open. I would ask her how she always knew I had arrived. She would just smile and say that she could sense me. Then one day, she was gone. Her absence echoed through the house. The warmth, the light, the familiar scent of her cooking — all had vanished. The house felt like a body without a soul. One night, not long after her passing, I came home late again. I stood outside the door with my key, waiting. Nothing happened. I knocked softly. Still nothing. I waited longer, then knocked again. No answer. Eventually, I sat down on the steps by the door, leaning against the wall. I felt exhausted — not just from work, but from something deeper. I didn’t even realize when I fell asleep. The morning call to prayer woke me. As I rubbed my eyes, our neighbor — my mother’s close friend — opened her door and saw me. Concerned, she walked over and gently placed her hand on my head. She told me that my mother used to spend hours watching from the window facing the street. The moment she saw me entering the alley, she would rush down to open the door before I even got close. She said my mother never slept until I came home, no matter how late it was. Others in the house would get disturbed by the sounds in the kitchen late at night, but she didn’t mind. Her son was coming home. Then the neighbor looked up at the window, now firmly shut, and said softly that it would never open again. In a world where love is often measured by words or gifts, my mother’s love was different. It was quiet and unconditional. Even after she was gone, her presence remained in the corners of that house, like a faint scent in the air. Now, every time I come home and unlock the door myself, I feel the emptiness — not just of a house, but of the warmth that once lived there. And sometimes, I glance up at that window. And for a fleeting moment, I hope — hope that she is still there, watching over me.
By Habib Ullah about a year ago in Pride
Roundup Legal Claim: What You Need to Know
The herbicide Roundup, widely used in agriculture and home gardening, has become the center of significant legal controversy. At the heart of the issue are claims that long-term exposure to Roundup’s active ingredient, glyphosate, may cause cancer—most notably non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Thousands of lawsuits have been filed against Bayer (which acquired Monsanto, the original maker of Roundup), resulting in multi-million dollar settlements and widespread public concern.
By Henry jonesabout a year ago in Pride
Rigour & Flow Podcast
Rigour & Flow is a new podcast that began in early April from Dr. Tamanda Walker and Aiwan Obinyan. A married couple, they are part of a dream team of creative invention that runs AiAi Studios, a storytelling and production studio based in Leeds, UK, but working for clients globally such as Nike, GAY TIMES, gal-dem, Amazon, Channel 4, and Audible. The studio started 12 years ago and has been incorporated for the last four years, signaling that they plan to be around for a long time.
By Frank Racioppiabout a year ago in Pride
"Beyond the River"
In a small village nestled along the banks of a mighty river, there lived a young boy named Zayn. His life was simple yet full of joy. He had everything he needed loving parents, a warm home, and the company of his older sister, Layla. The two were inseparable, spending their days by the river, playing, laughing, and dreaming of adventures beyond the horizon.
By Muhammad Hayatabout a year ago in Pride
"The Last Light of Zoreon"
"The Last Light of Zoreon" In the year 3098, Earth was no longer the only home for humans. People had moved to many planets in the galaxy. One of those planets was Zoreon a beautiful world with silver trees, blue rivers, and two suns that lit the skies with golden light.
By Muhammad Hayatabout a year ago in Pride
Pope Francis: A Life of Service, Compassion, and Justice for the World
Pope Francis, born Jorge Mario Bergoglio on December 17, 1936, in Buenos Aires, Argentina, lived a life full of kindness and strong moral leadership. His passing on April 21, 2025, marked the end of a historic papacy. Pope Francis became a symbol of love, peace, and justice across the globe. His great contributions touched people from all walks of life.
By Adam Smith2 years ago in Pride
EGO: A Smart Perspective, like a double-edged sword
UNDERSTANDING EGO: The simplest definition of ego is the feeling of self, or the "I" that characterizes a person. The ego, which has profound roots in psychology, philosophy, and daily life, serves as a bridge between our inner wants and the outside world.
By Madisetti Raveendra kumar2 years ago in Pride
