If you can fill your heart with compassion for friend, foe and stranger alike; if you can out of your soul hatred strike and instead resolve kindness to fashion… If you can embrace with every fibre of your being empathy for each suffering living thing; if your soul can of love and tolerance sing and vow to only the good in all be seeing… If you can sincerely forgive and forget every slight and slur hurled like words of stone darts; if you succeed in mending broken hearts and offer solace to those running in fright… Then have you conquered your nature cynical, Raised your mere humanity to heaven's pinnacle.

My eyes trail his beautiful features. His tanned skin compliments his plump pink lips. My fingers outline his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones with sullen cheeks. Sometimes, I can't believe he's mine, an ordinary girl with boring pale skin and inky black hair compared to the red flames on his head. I swipe through other pictures, especially the ones we take together. My insides turn to liquid at the way he stares at me like I'm his entire world. I dial his number, every fiber of my being craving his voice. “Hey you,” He says, and electric currents surge through my veins. For a few seconds I go numb. “Vivian, you there?” “Brad,” I whisper, recovering. “I want to see you tonight.” “Babe, but I told you how busy I've been lately.” “Yes, two weeks now and I haven't seen you.” “Don't be like that. I call you every day.” I groan. “I want you, tonight.” “You want me? Like, want me, want me?” He confirms, getting the picture I'm trying to paint. A smile quirks at the side of my lips. “Yes, I want you, want you.” He chuckles. “What? Are you serious? Wow, I can come over now if you want.” “No!” I snap and suck in a sharp breath to relax. “I have to prepare first.” “I don't care how you look.” “I do. I've got to get ready, because tonight, I'll show you a different side of me.” He growls. It vibrates through my phone and the hair at the back of my neck stands. “I don't know what changed with you but I like it.” “See you soon.” I hang up. Quickly, I hurry to the shower, pull out my drawers, and browse through different products that belong to my roommate. She's out of town for a week. Good, I need to be alone with Brad. First, I go with facial cleansers, then scrubs to exfoliate dead skin, and a snail mask to give me a glassy look. After spending over two hours in the shower, I sit in front of the mirror stand. “Ahh, makeup,” I whine. I've never really done it before. But not tonight. Tonight, I've got to take his breath away. Finally finished with makeup, I dash into the kitchen to make his favorite meal. Mashed potatoes and beef stew. Just as I turn off the stove, my doorbell rings. He's here. I open the door. He pulls me in for a long kiss, sucking my tongue as though savoring my taste and etching it to his brain. “You look beautiful tonight,” he compliments, then sniffs the air and lets out a sharp exhale. “Gosh, I love you. You made me my favorite.” “Just the way you like it,” I announce, proud of myself. I lead him to the kitchen and he perches on a stool beside the counter. “I'd rather have your other food.” He winks. I smile, loving the attention. “You should eat first.” “I'll eat later.” “Brad...I've got bad plans tonight. Very bad plans.” I dish the food, filling up a glass with orange juice, and handing it over to him. His cheeks turn pink at my confession, and his mouth drops open as he processes my words. “Hmm. The things you say. What do you want to do with me tonight?” I smirk. “Bad things.” “You want to leave me speechless.” I lean forward, peering into his enchanting green eyes. “You'll be more than speechless when I'm done with you.” He groans, as though stifling an urge. “I'm on fire for you tonight. Do whatever you want with me. You can tie my hands to the bed stand. I won't complain.” I laugh. “Don't worry, I'll try other things.” He gobbles down his food, like it were a food competition, and chugs his glass of juice in one go. Brad rushes over to me, sweeps me off my feet, and lifts me from the ground. He carries me in a bridal position and takes me to the room, throwing me on the bed, and unbuttoning his shirt like his life depended on it. He gets on top of me and smothers my neck with wet kisses. “No, I want to be on top of you,” I tell him. “Whatever you want, baby.” He turns over and I climb on top of him. His eyes are on me and I smile. His hands caress me, impatient for some action. Action. I slip my hand under the pillow and retrieve the dagger I had hidden. His eyes widen in shock but before he can react, I plunge the blade in his chest, squeezing deep with all my strength. He coughs and red liquid gushes from his mouth. “You shouldn't have cheated on me.” I spit on his face, leaving the buried knife and getting off him to watch at a distance as he struggles. Soon, his arms are tired, slumping down and his head falls to one side. His gaping eyes stare accusingly at me. I sit in a curled position, rocking myself back and forth, whispering in tears. “You shouldn't have cheated on me.”

I think I can say that what I love most about him, by far, is his weirdest characteristic. He likes to climb trees. I like that. I think I mainly enjoy the peculiarity of it. It's a different hobby, quite unique. It's amusing. I also enjoy watching. The actual action is fascinating. First, he places his hands on the trunk, the skin in direct contact with the dry bark of the tree. He scratches the tips of his fingers in a rough caress over its surface, measuring age and resilience. It's important to know the path he's about to venture. This is also a ritual of concentration, hands on the plant's body and his forehead resting on his wrists. He takes a deep breath once, twice. A small jump is necessary to gain momentum. His knees are bent, and his body propels upwards, floating in the air for milliseconds as if he could fly. Before returning to the ground, however, he defies gravity. It requires a lot of strength. When he jumps and embraces the tree, every part of his body needs to exert force. He remains there, suspended for a second, clinging to the large trunk. The next step is made with his hands. He grabs the nearest branch, carefully ensuring it doesn't break. His feet begin to find imaginary footholds, and the tree could easily be mistaken for a ladder. He touches the dirtied shoes against the trunk as if climbing rungs, but all the force is in his arms clinging to the tree's rough skin as he pushes upwards, stretching his fingertips to grasp the next branch and support his elbows wherever he can. His body rises as if it had no weight, or as if all the world's strength resided in the arms pulling him up. He climbs, each movement calculated to maintain the rhythm and avoid making a mistake. Falling from such a high tree is unpleasant and borders on dangerous. From there, he smiles, his feet in the air, sitting like a child on a swing. He looks down, one hand on the branch where he sits and the other resting on the tree's surface as if thanking the host for the warm welcome. His eyes shine as brightly as the sun casting light through the leaves. He lets out a childlike laugh, happy for another success. He enjoys the view from afar, every corner of the city visible from that height. Being at the top of the tree he climbed is a rewarding exercise, a way of planting his flag on new ground and declaring success. It's an accomplishment he takes time to appreciate. He rarely tries to climb the same tree twice. He knows that most trees allow reaching the top only once, paralyzed by the great surprise of being used as a toy. Next time the tree will be aware, already expecting the attempt as soon as it senses his presence. It will know how to break the right branch that will cause an inevitable fall. Every tree becomes aware after the first time. So, after declaring victory over one, he seeks another novice, some innocent plant distracted by the monotony of everyday life. The thing is... He has never climbed a tree. At least I have never seen him do so. I don't know if he likes it, or if he has ever done it in his life. I only know that I don't know if it's true or not. I've never seen any of this happen, but I described every detail. Why? In the vastness of my love that doesn't define itself, doesn't diminish, and doesn't change over time, I often feel the need to write about him. Him, who is my favorite person in the whole world. Him, whom I love so much, and who, by loving so much, takes all my words away. Sometimes I want to write so much about him, that I don't know what to write about, and with no ideas left, I am left only with the incredible urgency and need to describe him with my poor words. I feel so suffocated by what I want to say and I don't know how to express it. Anything will do. It might be this. The activity of climbing trees, something I've never seen anyone do, not him, nor anyone else, but the poetry within me reinvents it into real scenes and makes me see. I can describe something that never happened because creativity flows through my body until it reaches written words. My love flows and invents stories like this, which are infinite. And for him, who taught me to live independently of life and that each moment is a farewell, I can write a million words, even if they can never be eternal. It's okay, I keep in my heart the certainty that my love doesn't end, and I will continue to love every characteristic of him, even those that don't exist and I invent, like his fondness for climbing trees. He has never climbed a tree, but he might as well try.

What does it mean to be a patriot? Many people have Ideas of what it means. But I believe right now many people are confused. With the recent assassination attempt of former president Donald trump, it brought to light the very distinct beliefs of many people. Some people might think that he was just messed up or maybe his decision was induced by drugs or peer pressure. But I believe he knew what he was doing. Everyone has their own beliefs although some are wrong, they still believe them. Some with powerful zealous. I know captain America isn't the most influential person in the world, but he said something that resembles my thoughts exactly for this man Thomas crooks. In a conversation he was talking to maria hill when she called the twins nuts for letting a scientist experiment on them. Captain answered with “right who would let a German scientist experiment on them to help protect their country.” Maria hill replies with “were not at war captain” “they are” was his response. Did you catch that? He told her that their zealousness was the reason they did it. It was because of their love for their country that they would go to such lengths. Crooks shouldn't have done what he did but he did it because he thought it was for the best. He didn't think trump was the best thing for his country and when he deduce trump was going to win the election. He decided to take things into his own young and capable hands. He knew it would most likely mean his life would end but he was willing to sacrifice his life because of what he thought was right. I by no means am happy about the assassination attempt. But I do know everything happens for a reason. I know God has a plan for trump and for Thomas's family although they might not see it yet. Ok back to patriotism. So obviously trying to kill the former president isn't what patriotism is, I think we all can agree. So what is it then. I believe it is knowing what the founding fathers meant when they created the constitution. Why they made it and why they created this country in the first place. What are the answers to these questions? Well, they created the constitution to protect our freedoms to keep our country inline. to remind us of why they created this amazing country we are fortunate to live in. They wanted us to have the freedom they didn't have when under British rule. They wanted us to know our worth and to know how great of a people we could be if under God. They wanted to show the world how strong we can be when united as one nation. They knew how to work together, to communicate and to sacrifice all they had for the good of all people. There are people in this country who are accusing the founding fathers and other historic men/women, of genocide. However, we know that without sacrifice there is no reward. Yes, the American forefathers' hands were dripping in the blood of men who fought against there freedom. But they did it to protect the lives of millions of others. Evey country has blood stains that can't go away, no matter how hard you scrub. True patriots should know the history of your country. Why we believe in what we believe in and why others believe what they believe. Being a patriot doesn't only mean wearing a don't tread on me shirt or a I plead the 2nd although exhibiting freedom of speech is definitely needed at times. We need a filter, something that tells us what is acceptable and what is not. That is why we have laws and morals and the knowledge of right or wrong. Some men and women have abused this filter turning off crucial factors in it. I as a Christian have the holy spirit to filter my thoughts and feelings to give me control over my actions and irrational decisions. That is why the founding fathers called us “one nation under God.” They knew without him this nation wouldn't stand. That is why I believe our country is falling at a rash and horrifying speed. We got rid of our filter. Being a patriot is not about killing for what you think is right it is standing for freedom, not only for yourself but for your family and whole nation. Not backing down when they press you against the wall hoping you will lose your beliefs and faith in the creator of the world and people you are fighting for. That is what being a true patriot means. Stand strong, hold fast, and keep believing.

The Joy of Motherhood: A Journey of Unconditional Love and Selfless Devotion Motherhood is a profound and transformative experience that brings immense joy and fulfillment to a woman's life. It is a journey that requires unwavering dedication, unconditional love, and selfless devotion. From the moment a woman becomes a mother, her life is forever changed, and she embarks on a path filled with challenges, triumphs, and unparalleled happiness. The joy of motherhood is rooted in the unconditional love and connection a mother shares with her child. This bond is unbreakable and transcends words, emotions, and actions. A mother's love is pure, selfless, and unwavering, accepting her child for who they are, without judgment or condition. This love is the foundation of motherhood, and it is what makes the journey so incredibly rewarding. As a mother, the joy of watching her child grow and develop is unmatched. From the first smile to the first step, from the first word to the first day of school, every milestone is a celebration of life, growth, and achievement. A mother's heart swells with pride and happiness as she witnesses her child's progress, knowing that she has played a significant role in shaping their life. Motherhood is not without its challenges, however. The journey is often fraught with sleepless nights, tantrums, and moments of uncertainty. But even in the midst of chaos, a mother's love remains unwavering, and she finds joy in the smallest of moments. The first cuddle in the morning, the sound of her child's laughter, or the simple act of reading a bedtime story together – these moments are the threads that weave the tapestry of motherhood, filling it with beauty, warmth, and joy. The joy of motherhood is also found in the personal growth and transformation that occurs as a woman becomes a mother. She develops a newfound sense of purpose, strength, and resilience, discovering depths within herself she never knew existed. Motherhood teaches her patience, empathy, and understanding, molding her into a more compassionate and selfless individual. Furthermore, the joy of motherhood is not limited to the mother-child relationship alone. It extends to the entire family, creating a web of love, support, and connection that is unparalleled. The bond between siblings, the relationship between grandparents and grandchildren, and the unity of the family as a whole – all are strengthened and enriched by the joy of motherhood. In conclusion, the joy of motherhood is a precious and irreplaceable gift. It is a journey that fills a woman's life with purpose, love, and happiness, transforming her into a stronger, wiser, and more compassionate individual. The bond between a mother and her child is unbreakable, and the memories created along the way are treasures to be cherished forever. Embracing the joy of motherhood is embracing life itself, with all its challenges and triumphs, and finding beauty, love, and happiness in every moment.

1- My 1- love 2- for you 3- has kept growing, 5- continues soaring to new heights, 8- and will never stop expanding to galactic scales. 13- As the Fibonacci sequence tends to infinity, so does my love encompass eternity. I could read his letter repeatedly and still wonder how his words are reflected in his actions. We have been romantically together for almost two years now, yet I keep falling in love with him every single day. I never thought that I would feel this kind of love in my whole life- a love that's selfless, worth fighting for, inspiring, something that teaches me to be a better person everyday. A great blessing that I consider is to have that love be reciprocated and even more. I am writing this short story for us. Someday, we may go back to this page and be reminded of our beautiful love that I believe is worth a story to tell. Our story begins in a simple first meeting at a McDonald's branch in Kraków, Poland, 2016. We were Erasmus Mundus masters students back then. My fellow Filipino classmates, who happened to be his former workmates in the Philippines, introduced us to each other as we all decided to travel and explore some European cities together on that Christmas school break. It was only a week-long trip, yet a memorable one. A trip with fellow Filipinos is always an enjoyable one- sharing jokes, laughter, meals and even money, and not worrying about any cultural differences. I got to know him as a friend of my friends, but not yet to a personal and up-close level. We haven't contacted each other again after that Poland trip, until some time in 2018 when our Filipino group planned another trip together again. This time, it was in Switzerland. Such a nice trip and great company, wandering in the green pastures and picturesque Swiss cities. We talked, but again not to a personal and up-close level yet- maybe we really didn't think about each other nor we consider ourselves friends when we are not travelling together. Anyway, how I loved my experiences as an Erasmus Mundus student. Little did I know that through this scholarship grant, I would get to know the person whom I will love for the rest of my life. We had another travel experience together, in 2020, after the lockdown, when we visited our common friend in Germany at the same time. We were not Erasmus Mundus masters students anymore in 2020, rather we were 2nd year PhD students in our own fields. I would say that it is in this travel where we got more comfortable with each other. We started talking on casually like good friends, sharing stories and experiences back when we were still in the Philippines before our master studies, drinking beers together, and talking about PhD lives. It is in these travel that I sensed how true and kind person he is. He loves his family. He always stands for what is right and just. He values education. After 2 years, we met again in Germany. This time, he has just finished his PhD and just started in his first job in Europe. Yet he was the same humble man I got to know better in 2022. As for my status, I haven't finished my studies at that time. I had just resigned from my work contract as a PhD student, and found my first job in Europe as well. I was so down with my PhD that I had to quit it and moved to a new country. I was suffering from mental and emotional challenges and all I wanted was to start a new life somewhere, alone, and far away from my PhD life. I have worked so hard for in the past 3 years, yet somehow I was not able to manage well and ended up feeling I have not accomplished anything. We met in Germany, we started to talk more often as we are sharing experiences in moving in to a new country and starting our first jobs in the industry. I was able to share to him why I had to quit my PhD studies, but little did I know that he was so concerned with me. He truly understood what I had to go through, yet he wanted to motivate me again. He didn't want me to just give up my PhD. He knew perfectly all the struggles, yet he still believed in me. During those times, he encouraged me to keep fighting. I explained to him that I was having anxiety and depression with finalizing my PhD and it was a hard time for me. There were time when he would remind me of my Chemistry knowledge in order to explain my analytical results, read my discussions and comment on them, and asked me practice questions in preparation for my defence to the examination board. He guided me until I was able to pick myself up again. Fast forward, I finished my PhD in 2023 with flying colours, and we are still together in Germany, working in our same respective companies, and living our lives together in the best possible ways we can, and always with smiles in our faces. To love, to inspire, to motivate, to keep learning- these are, I think, the greatest lessons I'm learning from him since then and until our lives remain.

Buddha Purnima marks the auspicious occasion of Buddha's birth, enlightenment, and nirvana, guiding humanity towards peace and enlightenment

As I handed him my writing, a part of my heart started to ache. Not because I was handing him my very own writing, a piece I never really shared, but because it was him who was judging my work. He grabbed it and stuffed it in his book bag, one that I often found cute. I remember him thanking me for giving him a chance to proofread my work and saying that he wouldn't take long to edit my short story. I was fascinated by him. Someone who was smart, misunderstood by a lot of people, and had a hard family life.  The minute he told me he was having a hard time in his home, with his parents fighting and taking it out on him, my arms reached out. I wanted to hug him in the moment. But would he accept me? I couldn't risk it, tucking my arms away. The only time I ever got close to him was when we met. I was heading out of class on my first day back in school. I had a hard time making and keeping real friends, but just like any other fanfiction story, I bumped into him. "I'm so sorry!" He cried, as if it were his fault. At lunch, we met again, seeing him sit next to me and a bunch of others. He was neat, someone who loved tea and baking. Someone I really liked.  As time went on, we exchanged foods and baked goods. He'd be the perfect boyfriend, I thought—someone who'd bake me brownies and bring them to school for me. Someone who'd see a coffee shop and think of me. I remember walking into his class and seeing him smile and hand me a coffee. "I remembered you said you'd like vanilla-flavored coffee, so I got you some!" He said, handing it over. And boy, was it good.  I loved him. I really did. I think, from the moment I laid eyes on him and from the moment we bumped into each other, I always had. His brown, chocolatey hair, his hazel eyes, and his smile will be sketched in my mind for ages. And even though we never dated, let alone expressed how we felt about each other, there will always be a part of my heart left for him. 

I should have known I should have known you were hurting but I was blinded by my pride I should have figured something was wrong by the way you held your eyes. I lived in fear and confusion, but this is no excuse. I should have known how much it hurt you, the pain of this verbal abuse. I was so involved in myself and my seemingly “unbearable” feelings. To recognize your obvious grief. When you would flip, I'd say it because you were dramatic. Your brothers and I would laugh about it. We were blinded because of our sarcasm. You hid your fear and depression, with your ecstatic enthusiasm. I should have known it was all a lie. But every time I would just walk on by. I felt you hated me for so long. I never knew it was because of your desperate time. I should have learned to read the room and to use my words with wisdom. You were always smiling, but now I know it was all a mask. Then all your feelings tried to come down, in a crash. That night you tried to end it. I swear I would have been the one. If I had only known about it. But instead, it was the friend, the one who cared enough to know. With a phone call, he ended your decision. When the police came to the door You hid it from everyone, your mother doesn't even know. I found out about 9 months later when I swallowed my pride. We are great now, the hole in our relationship sewn. I just wanted to tell you how much I wish I had known.

At break of another blessed day, No matter how you might feel, Bird song and bright light, I pray, You shall awake, your heart shall heal. My heart beats in gratitude fervently, For my soul is reminded it has you: You offer succour and love patiently, Remind me of many blessings anew. Even in abysmal depths of despair And indescribable moments of fear, Your voice knows how me to repair, How to soothe me, call me “dear”. Dawn brings the lightness of being, For soon, I know, I shall you be seeing.

When you are the sun, I am the moon. The space is our stage, Our audience is the Earth. Where you are the heroine, And I am the hero. You are the source that illuminates me, Without you, I am nothing more than a normal rock. I may be closer to our audience, But without you, they cannot exist. As we dance around the earth, It gets emotional and cries like a child, creating the oceans. The oceans also have their highs and lows because of us. Sometimes the Earth gets jealous of us, And comes between us, Which makes me angry and makes me turn red. Our audience will see my different phases As I revolve around them and While they revolve around you.

DRAFT. WILL WRITE LATER

I sit on the soft grass, the Oak tree behind me providing shelter from the raging sun. My fingers trace the bark behind me, my toes burying into the dirt. I can't help but wonder, Oak trees live for hundreds of years. This one has probably seen just as many humans sit under its boughs. This is when I wrote my first letter. Dear Ms.Forgotton, It's the 1840's. You've got curls pinned to the back of your head that keep getting caught in the bark. Chesnut hair, tired eyes, and a threadbare dress. You look like something out of a Christmas Carol. But more than that, you look human. I want to know what your favourite perfumes are. I want to see the hairstyles you dream of wearing, but were too lazy to pin up. Did your hands get sore from setting hair rollers, like mine do? Even though we're years apart, how different can we be? I'd give anything to speak to you, girl to girl. In another life, maybe we could have been friends. I feel a certain twang in my chest as I watch tears come to your eyes. They're fiery, defiant. The look of someone who has something to prove, but nobody gives you the chance, right? For what it's worth, I'm sorry. It's hard to be a woman, no matter what time you're in. I hope you were happy in the end though. I burn it that night. I don't know why, but I feel like it might find it's way back to her. In some way. The next letter I write on a secluded beach. Dear Sir Forgotton, It's the middle of the night, 1775. I'm watching you pace the sands, running your hands through your haggard hair. Little do you know, I'd be here one day, sitting against the very rocks that you now plop onto. You're stressed right now about your store and taxes. There is a book in your satchel, Thomas Paine. I bet you'd be surprised to know it's in a museum now. Our historians obsessed over your signature on the inside cover. I think you and I would have gotten along well. I own a small business too, just like yours. And let me tell you Sir, it doesn't get any easier in the future. You seem like a friendly man. I want to offer you some tea and chocolate, sit on the sand and lament about life with you. We may be decades apart, but how different can we be? We're both human, after all. After writing to him, I burnt his letter too. I couldn't stop thinking about whether he'd went home and heated coffee, or milk. Whether he'd stayed awake all night, or slept fitfully. I wondered what he did for his birthday, since mine was later that week. Then, I wrote my most recent letter. Dear Mrs.Forgotton, I'm your great-great-granddaughter. I don't know much about who you are. Only that you came from India. And you never went home. I think of you as I pull on my deep blue sari. It's my favourite one. As I wait for my mother to finish getting ready for your other great-great-grandaughter's wedding, I pick up a book to read. Then I remember you couldn't do that. I remember you couldn't read or write. That you spoke a different language entirely. My name is still Indian, Grandma. But our family only speaks English now. I wonder what you'd make of it. The world was wicked to you. I can't dream up your happy ending. I don't know where you died, or what your name was. I don't even know where you're buried. I wonder if you had pin straight hair like my father. Or wavy locks like my sister. Did you pin it up in braids like me? Was your favourite fruit mango? What songs did you hum under your breath while you worked? Did you like stories? It's strange to think that the same moon you looked up at, I did too. I don't think we're that different, though the centuries divide us so. I can't explain what it is to be human. That's something I'll leave to the scientists. But in my opinion, to be human is to want to be remembered. From the beginning of time, humans have dug their fingernails into everything since stone scribbles. Dresses in museums were tried on by girls who wanted to look pretty in it. Books were read and marked to say ‘This was mine. When you read it, remember the hands that held it before you.' We have walls with scratches, engraved jewelry boxes, embroidered jackets. All from humans who made their mark on something. Even if it was small, it was something. We idolise these things, put them in glass cases. Because we know that we want that, too. The sand and the grass may not remember us, but we remember eachother. Immortalization in the form of history. And even those, like my grandmother, who didn't leave anything tangible, gave us something anyway.

Life is a canvas waiting for a unique brushstroke, a journey filled with twists, turns, and moments that define your resilience. Life is interesting. The person who was jumping in front of you and playing with you yesterday may not be around tomorrow. I didn't think about such things before, because I didn't want to, but life forces us to realize these concepts. On the ceaseless snowy day of December 18. 2023 our bustling preparation for my mother's birthday added an extra layer of anticipation to the atmosphere. We were all happy and having fun celebrating my mother's birthday with my family. Only my brother had not yet come and we were all eagerly waiting for my brother. Suddenly, the distressing news we received on that fateful day plunged us into a collective state of shock, transforming what was meant to be a joyous celebration into an unexpected period of mourning. I got a call from my brother's phone saying that my brother was brought to the hospital in a serious condition and there was a strong possibility of death. For me, that day was a massive blow and no comfort could ease it. Once a week before, this incident happened, my brother and I had a big fight. And even without knowing it, I looked at him and said:" It would be better if you were not in our lives, you were created only to harm us. I wish you would die sooner." Each utterance I directed towards him in a tone of reproach reverberated so loudly within the confines of my mind that I found myself grappling with the challenge of justifying and consoling my troubled conscience. Around 2 a.m. in the morning, my brother was taken to a major surgery. My parents and I begged God at night not to take my brother's life and return him to us. At that time, my mother's struggles weighed heavily on my heart. . All my mother's prayers to God were very touching, even my heart was broken. At that time, I truly came to believe in the profound difficulty of being a mother. Around 5a.m my brother left this world. Darkness enveloped my vision, leaving me uncertain about what steps to take or what the future holds. My mother's cry resounded so painfully throughout the hospital that no one didn't cry. My parents, even I couldn't say a word that day. I couldn't wish such intense pain, such profound loss, even upon my enemy. In the following days, I realized that simple tasks became arduous, and the weight of loss pressed heavily on my shoulders. Amid these dark times, I sought solace in memories of happy times spent with my brother. One day, I stumbled upon a box filled with mementos from our happiest days. Photographs are frozen in time, capturing smiles, silliness, and the essence of our unbreakable bond. Each picture told a story, a testament to the love and joy we shared. In solitude, I began to discover myself through these memories. I found strength in the love we had for each other and gradually the pain started to subside. While the ache of loss never completely faded, I learned to navigate the world without my brother physically by my side. I carried his spirit with me, finding comfort in the knowledge that the happy times we shared would forever be a part of me. After this incident, I made a conscious effort to treat everyone in my life with equal kindness, learning from my mistake with my brother. Recognizing the fragility of life, I began to invest more time in my family and express my love and appreciation more frequently. Discussing this matter and recalling the circumstances from that time is a challenging task for me. However, such is life. It presents us with numerous highs and lows and we should brace ourselves for each. In sharing this story, my sincere intention is for you to value your dear ones and express your love to them regularly, because, in the end, they might not be with you tomorrow.

First of all i want to explain my language of love and my view on it.\n\nLove? What is love? How we fall in love? And why we desire our feelings to be mutual. Struggling, shattering and suffering? So why we choose these ways while we can just live and breath. Isn't it enough for us?\n\nPeople choose love but i choose war! Why? Because it's more interesting it's more appealing. We choose war instead of living a peaceful life or just be loved by someone who is in love with us. Why most of the girls love \u201cbad guys\u201d? Isn't it dangerous? Why we choose it and choose a war inside us? You know what, girls always want someone who is stronger, caring, and introverted one who has only one or two friends. We want boys to be obsessed. We want to manipulate, we want obsession, we want psychic love. Is it so difficult? This is war, war between eyes between hearts. Jealousy is the most sweetest feeling and the most fatal feeling at the same time. It was the main cause for the most of the couples. In relationship boys must be a dominant, and they must experience a posessive jealous. It makes girls happier and help and them to understand that they are important and an only one for them.\n\nThis is ok, but how can we deal with the words of Pushkin \253\u043c\u044b \u043b\u044e\u0431\u0438\u043c \u0442\u0435\u0445 \u043a\u0442\u043e \u043d\u0430\u0441 \u043d\u0435 \u043b\u044e\u0431\u0438\u0442 \u043c\u044b \u0433\u0443\u0431\u0438\u043c \u0442\u0435\u0445 \u043a\u0442\u043e \u0432 \u043d\u0430\u0441 \u0432\u043b\u044e\u0431\u043b\u0435\u043d\273 which means \u201c we love people who don't love us, we destroy people who are in love with us\u201d . Is this a rule of love? Why always it is the same? Why we can just fall in love who is already in love with us? Why we want an admit of someone who can' t see our beauty our secrets and our demons?