Life

What to eat in the morning to stay active and focused throughout the day.
What to eat in the morning to stay active and focused throughout the day The first few things we eat after waking up have a direct impact on the performance of our body and mind throughout the day. Our brain's focus, concentration, nervous alertness, and performance—all depend on what is eaten in the morning. Many people start the day without eating or by just drinking tea and coffee, while some eat heavy, oily food. Both are harmful to the body. In the morning, we want balanced, easily digestible, nutritious food that can fuel the body for a long time and keep us mentally sharp.
By Abdul Barikabout a year ago in Writers
He advises you so that you may remember.
The verse we will discuss today is not just a spiritual message—it is an eternal moral declaration, a beacon that guides humanity to the path of justice, honesty, and humanity. The verse is:
By Abdul Barikabout a year ago in Writers
I MARRIED THE FIRST GUY I MET
I MARRIED THE FIRST GUY I MET: From Wedding Nightmare to Unexpected Romance Imagine finding out your fiancé cheated on you with your friend two days before your wedding. And to make it even worse, it was in your wedding dress! This is just the beginning of Susan's wild story.
By Dr Sadiaabout a year ago in Writers
Rich Man Mocks Mom & Son
From Car Wash Clash to Corporate Climber: A "Rich Man Mocks Mom & Son" Story Breakdown It's a rollercoaster of social class issues, prejudice, and the surprising power of kindness. This blog post will break down the key moments and uncover the powerful messages hidden within this dramatic story.
By Dr Sadiaabout a year ago in Writers
Stepping into an AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOL
Hello everyone! Muhammad Kashif here, reporting live from Truckee, California! I'm an exchange student from Pakistan, and I'm excited to share my experiences with you on my YouTube channel. Today's a big day for me: it's my first day at an AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOL! It's a dream come true, and I want to show you everything I experience here. Come along and see what my first day at an AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOL is like!
By Dr Sadiaabout a year ago in Writers
The Many Experiences of "Cloud Atlas"
The video is attached below. Godspeed and be kind... "The lovelorn, the cry-for-helpers, all mawkish tragedians who give suicide a bad name are the idiots who rush it, like amateur conductors. A true suicide is a paced, disciplined certainty. People pontificate, "Suicide is selfishness." Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call it a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reasons: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one's audience with one's mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it – suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what's selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching. The only selfishness lies in ruining strangers' days by forcing 'em to witness a grotesqueness."
By Annie Kapurabout a year ago in Writers
Brain Forever Young
Eleanor Bennett stood at the edge of her garden, watching bees drift lazily over lavender blooms. At 72, her hair was silver, her joints a little slower but her mind, sharp as ever. She still solved crossword puzzles in ink, mentored young entrepreneurs in her community, and read two books a month. When people asked her how she kept her mind so fresh, she would smile and say, Its not luck. Its daily practice.
By wilderabout a year ago in Writers
The rise of the Abbasid Caliphate and the Islamic Golden Age
The Rise of the Abbasid Caliphate and the Islamic Golden Age: A History of an Era Illuminated by the Light of Knowledge The new era that began in the political history of Islam with the fall of the Umayyad Caliphate in 750 AD was the era of the Abbasid Caliphate—a time that is immortalized in history not only for its political and military aspects, but also for the advancement of science, literature, philosophy, medicine, and civilization. This caliphate, which lasted for almost five centuries, began with a revolution led by the descendants of Abbas ibn Abdul Muttalib, the uncle of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). This revolution was not only a change of power; it was also the beginning of a new state philosophy.
By Abdul Barikabout a year ago in Writers
A Village Boy’s Journey to become writer
It has been a long journey—one that began seven years ago, when a boy from a quiet village stepped into the chaos of a city, carrying nothing but dreams and a quiet determination to make something of himself. I was that boy. Back in the village, life was simple. We didn’t have much, but we had routine, we had familiarity. I worked in my father’s small shop and barely had time to study. I was a bright student, but my reality didn’t allow me to focus on books the way I wanted. My hands were always busy with customers and shop keeping. Still, I dreamed of something bigger. Then came the day I left for the city. I had no experience, no social connections, no understanding of city life. I didn’t even know how to navigate a public bus properly. But I carried with me a quiet kind of confidence—that no matter what, I would learn to survive. The city was a world of Its own. I remember standing on a street corner, completely overwhelmed by the noise, the traffic, the people rushing to work in suits and uniforms, some even working night shifts. I had never seen such fast-paced living. Back in the village, time moved slowly. In the city, it raced. After many failed attempts, I finally passed the entry tests and got admitted to a university. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. I believed this was the beginning of something good. But soon, reality hit me with a weight I hadn’t imagined. The education I had received in the village was poor in quality. Suddenly, I was in classrooms where professors spoke in English—most of which I didn’t understand. My classmates had polished communication skills. I felt like a ghost in the room—unseen, unheard, and barely able to keep up. Worst of all, I had no money. City life isn’t kind to the poor. I struggled with every single thing—from paying rent for a small hostel room, to buying proper shoes, clothes, and books. I remember skipping meals just to save a few rupees. Sometimes, I went to bed with an empty stomach and a mind so full of worry that I couldn’t sleep. But I was not ready to give up. It took me years—yes, years—to learn English properly. I joined grammar classes, writing workshops, and practiced late into the night. I used to listen to English news channels even when I didn’t understand a word. I memorized vocabulary like it was my only lifeline. Eventually, I made progress. I became good enough to teach the basics—ABC, grammar, vocabulary, sentence structure. I started teaching at local institutes and academies. For a while, I thought I had made it. But then came another heartbreak. After all the hard work, the salary I was offered was so low it barely covered my daily meals. I remember holding that offer letter in my hand and breaking down in tears. All those years of struggle, late-night studies, starvation, rejection—and for what? A job that couldn’t even pay for a pair of shoes? I cried so loud that day. But there was no one to hear me. No one to tell me it would be okay. Still, I didn’t stop. I took the job, learned from it, and moved on to the next. Then another. And another. I kept working, kept learning. But I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t sleep. Bills, rent, books—my mind was always racing. Even when I lay down, my thoughts were louder than ever. After nearly a dozen years of fighting, surviving, and pretending I was fine—I realized I was depressed. Not just tired. Depressed. Stress had consumed me like a shadow that never left. I didn’t know back then that what I was feeling had a name. I only knew that I was always on edge, always anxious, always afraid of losing everything I had worked so hard for. I never told anyone. People around me had their own battles. And in this fast-paced world, who really has time to listen to someone else’s pain? So I kept it all inside. Until one day, I picked up a pen. Writing gave me something I had lost along the way—a voice. A way to speak, to be heard, even if no one was physically listening. I began writing my thoughts, my stories, my struggles. And in those pages, I found a strange kind of peace. I decided I wanted to become a writer—not for fame or money, but because I had something to say. Something that might help others who feel unseen. Writing helped me process what I went through. It helped me connect the dots of my life, and finally acknowledge that I was not weak—I was tired, and I had every right to be. Today, I still live with challenges. But I no longer let stress control my life. I’ve learned to pause, to reflect, to be kind to myself. I still work, still chase dreams—but I do it with awareness, not fear. If you’re reading this, maybe you’re going through your own version of this story. Maybe you’re tired too. I want you to know: it’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to cry. But don’t give up. You are not alone, even when it feels like it. Hold on to your dream. One day, your pain will become your power—and your story will be the reason someone else finds hope.
By Sajid about a year ago in Writers
Hookah and Mixology: Perfecting the Art of Hookah Cocktails
Hookah smoking has long been a cherished social activity, a way to unwind, relax, and enjoy the company of friends. But now, as modern hookah trends continue to evolve, there's an exciting new way to elevate your hookah lifestyle Blog: pairing it with cocktails. Just as the world of mixology has become an art form, so too has the experience of smoking hookah. Combining these two passions allows you to explore a new dimension of flavor, creating a truly unique experience for any gathering.
By meganwilliamsabout a year ago in Writers
Wrecked
An open letter to the woman who almost wrecked my whole world, I don’t know if you believe in God. Not like a deity that rubbing rocks and getting enlightenment come from. But as in I Am. The Lion of Judah. Jehovah. Yahweh.
By Samantha Coxwellabout a year ago in Writers
The Broken Clock
I am a broken clock. I see the other clocks always proudly displaying what time it is. With confidence, and unwavering belief in self, they boldly state that it is 8:15. I am sat here shamefully mumbling that it is 2:47. I know that it isn't 2:47. I have no idea why I said it's 2:47. I have regrets that I've said it's 2:47. I have hurt others with my misinformation. The man is late for work. The woman forgets a call with her sick mother. The child wakes up early and unrested. The couple misses their flight. Despite this, I continue on. Minute after minute. Hour after hour. Relentlessly letting the world know that it is 2:47. I will not stop. I will not yield. I will not allow myself to take the time to discover the true time. I will simply be wrong, with every choice I make.
By jonathan carverabout a year ago in Writers