Humanity

Hidden Layers. Honorable Mention in Pride Under Pressure Challenge. Content Warning.
"I'm completely straight," I told myself while sitting in the school classroom trying to keep my eyes on my work to avoid staring at the beautiful girl sitting on the table opposite me.
By Carol Ann Townendabout a year ago in Pride
I’ll Always Dress I Suit
Dressing in suits has long been associated with professionalism, sophistication, and a sense of personal style. Suits have evolved over centuries from functional garments to symbols of authority, elegance, and social status. Today, understanding the importance of suit dressing involves exploring its history, components, styles, occasions, and tips for choosing the right suit to make a lasting impression.
By obadiahabout a year ago in Pride
Velma Was Always LGBT, Stop Pretending She's Not
When I called out a wave of cancellations of shows that featured massive amounts of representation of marginalized communities, one of the many things I said at that time was that there were two shows that I was the most fearful for: Chucky and Velma. I wish I could be wrong about something for a change. Sure enough, both shows had been cancelled since I wrote that piece. While the Chucky cancellation angered me more, I want to focus on Velma, because I've been sitting on this for many months.
By Clyde E. Dawkinsabout a year ago in Pride
The PERSON Who Never Told a lie In His entire Life
In the golden heart of Arabia, amid the sands of Makkah, a light was born not to illuminate just a single land, but the entire world. Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) came into a society divided by tribal wars, choked by ignorance, and drowned in injustice. But he came not to condemn, rather to uplift — with words as soft as a breeze and a heart vast enough to hold the burdens of all.
By Manatwal Khanabout a year ago in Pride
Unchained Horizons
The sky was bruised with clouds, swollen and heavy, hanging over the broken link of chain that lay abandoned on the asphalt. Beyond it stood a wall—tall, whitewashed, cruelly clean—ringed with barbed wire and crowned with silence. A metal ladder leaned against it like a whisper of rebellion. This was not just any wall. It was a divider of lives, of truths, of past and future. And the chain, once taut with containment, now lay slack and shattered. I. The Crack Luca remembered the first time he heard the wall speak. It didn’t speak in words, but in sounds—the shuffle of boots, the dull thud of fists on stone, the sharp shriek of sirens. He had grown up in the shadow of it, believing it to be eternal. But one day, after the rains, he noticed a crack at the base. Thin, defiant. It wasn’t much, but in a place like that, hope had a habit of seeping through the smallest fractures. II. The Chain The chain had bound more than just bodies. It had anchored dreams, weighed down thoughts, rusted the idea of change. On quiet nights, Luca and the others would sit around it, not speaking of escape—no one dared—but instead sharing memories of sky-wide places, of childhoods in motion, of books that smelled like possibilities. Each link held a story. Each story fed the fire. When the first link finally snapped, it didn’t break with a bang. It groaned, almost mournfully, as though reluctant to release what it had held. But once broken, the rest followed in silence. III. The Ladder No one saw who placed the ladder against the wall. It appeared one morning, as if conjured by belief alone. Worn and weathered, it leaned with tired dignity. Some said it was a trap. Others called it a test. But Luca saw it as an invitation. It didn't promise salvation—only the chance to rise. The night he chose to climb, he told no one. He moved like a shadow, heartbeat loud against the hush. The ladder swayed beneath him, but his hands gripped with purpose. Halfway up, he paused—not in fear, but in reverence. Below, the world he had known. Ahead, the unknown. He climbed anyway. IV. The Wall From above, the wall looked different. Less impenetrable, less monstrous. Just a thing. A relic. On the other side stretched a road, cracked and lonely, but open. Trees lined its path, trembling slightly in the wind like they were trying to remember how to grow wild. The air was different too—not freer, just fuller. He realized then that escape wasn’t a destination. It was a decision. V. The Break By morning, others found the broken chain. Rumors rippled. Some feared punishment, others clung to the moment like a miracle. But no guards came. No sirens screamed. The ladder stood tall, quiet as a promise. One by one, others followed. They didn’t run. They walked. Proudly, painfully. Carrying the weight of what they'd left behind, but walking still. VI. The Vignettes They called them “vignettes” later—these fragments of escape. Each person’s climb, each tear shed at the top of the wall, each breath drawn on the other side. They were stories passed down, painted on underpasses, whispered into the ears of newborns. No one remembered who placed the ladder. But everyone remembered what it meant. They never tore down the wall. Instead, they painted it. Murals of chains unlinked, of ladders reaching stars, of eyes looking forward. It stood as a canvas for memory and a warning to power: that no wall was forever. That freedom, though fragile, had teeth. VII. The Beyond Luca never returned. Not physically. But his story did. Carried by those who followed. His image stenciled on city walls, his words etched into benches and bridges. And though some days the road still felt uncertain, the sky above remained open. The chain was broken. The wall climbed. The silence pierced. And the people—once bound—had learned how to move again.
By Usman Ali about a year ago in Pride
Unbound: A Personal Journey of Gender Identity and Expression
Introduction In this narrative, we delve into the profound experiences of an individual navigating the complexities of gender identity, societal expectations, and personal transformation. Through a series of poignant reflections spanning several years, we explore themes of body autonomy, societal perceptions, and the pursuit of authentic self-expression.
By Lila Hartabout a year ago in Pride
My Best Friend Disappeared 10 Years Ago-- yesterday,She Liked My Post
Ten years ago, my best friend Emily vanished without a trace. It was the last day of summer break before we were set to leave for college. She said she was going for a walk to clear her head—she never came back.
By MALIK Saadabout a year ago in Pride
Hugging as a Culture: A Global Perspective on the Power of Touch
**Hugging as a Culture: A Global Perspective on the Power of Touch** Hugging, a universal gesture of affection, comfort, and connection, transcends borders, languages, and cultures. While simple in form—a wrap of the arms around another person—it carries profound cultural significance and varies widely across societies. Exploring hugging as a culture involves understanding its historical roots, social functions, regional differences, and the evolving perceptions surrounding this intimate act. This essay delves into the multifaceted nature of hugging as a cultural phenomenon, highlighting its role in human relationships and societal norms worldwide.
By obadiahabout a year ago in Pride
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
Protect The Dolls. Top Story - May 2025.
On April 16, 2025, the UK Supreme Court ruled that the "legal definition" of a woman is based on biological sex. Despite stating that transgender people are protected from discrimination under UK law, the Supreme Court continues to put forward laws that directly impact their safety. Equality Act 2010 " seeks to give statutory protection to people who are at risk of suffering from unlawful discrimination". It defines woman as:
By choreomaniasabout a year ago in Pride
Scottie. Top Story - May 2025.
Scott Monroe Baker was made of sunlight and stardust. And he was my best friend. We spent much of our youth together, tripping in and out of each other’s lives, living together, travelling separately, sending letters, meeting up again with open arms.
By Marie Wilsonabout a year ago in Pride
Turkish Cypriot court’s historic statement on pride parade day
Nicosia — As the calendars mark the 17th of May, the International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia, the historic court case concerning hate speech against lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and intersex (LGBTI+) individuals was heard before Judge Jale Dizdarlı Ergüden in Nicosia’s Turkish Cypriot District Court in breakaway northern Cyprus.
By The Spotlightabout a year ago in Pride