Achieving dream and purpose In life, every person has goals and dreams, and they always move towards their dreams and goals. First of all, a person should clearly define his dreams and goals, and make a goal in life, not a dream. Because you can achieve the goal 90% of the time depending on the effort. Also, you need enough self-confidence, this is very important.The paths leading to any dream and goal will not be easy. These roads consist of ups and downs. You can get tired and fall down along the way, and this should be taken lightly. However, most teenagers feel depressed or blame someone else when they fail an exam. This is not a good habit or situation, at that time a person should analyze himself/herself and learn from this mistake. Mistakes develop a person.You should never stop trying. No one becomes a successful person by themselves. If we look at successful people like Steve Jobs or Elon Musk, the way to reach the current level was not easy, of course they also fell once but did not stop. Because it would not have reached this level when they stopped What level are you at now and what level do you want to be in the future? Act based on this because the clock is ticking, days are passing, months are passing years and your parents need to see your success. Because these people are the reason why you see this world. Therefore, it is necessary to act as soon as possible. #wrting_contest

The days far behind me I begin to move, only to be stopped not because of reluctant minds but because I cannot face it The time carefree, infinite like a wheel on an endless road like a rose ever-growing ever-glowing in majesty of life I don't wish to see it The moments forgettable yet, I still recall the details faint, almost invisible hard, yet... stone-walled in place The flash bright and blinding the sun turned resentful quick, yet, feels so long How long? So long, so very long no calm relaxes me Darkness I stare with eyes split open a blade of mind a base of life I am over... I am done Original by Owen Govender All rights reserved 😂

Today, I read a small introduction to a webinar I am taking through Friesen Press and it told me that I am an Authorpreneur. The term is very unique to me and it made me feel like my life long writing career has become just that, a legitimized career. I have been an Entrepreneur since the age of four with my first lemonade stand out side my parents house. I've always known I was a business minded person and today my writing career has really solidified it's position in my life. I am so overjoyed because the job part finally feels real and to be so open to the world is such an amazing and overwhelming feeling. I am humbled by this new experience. This is truly an amazing moment. In the next post, I'll have some examples of my work for You. My exciting novel "Viktor, Into the Light" will be coming out in the summer of 2020 and my Thanks goes to Friesen Press for making this lifelong dream come true. Viktor, called an "epic" good versus evil story by Friesen Press excites me to tell you about it. He's sexy and moral. He discovers a few things about his family and longs for one of his own. Look for it in the Friesen Press bookstore or eBooks and give a copy to your staff, friends, mother, sister, or your aunties. Viktor is a satisfying read for anyone 14+. Well, I'll post some examples of my work for you now. See you in the next post. Julie Ann

As a nine-year-old, I had no idea how long-lasting words genuinely are. Yet, nearly six years later, one afternoon that was routine for many still lies embedded in my memory like a fiery flame that cannot be extinguished. ________________________________________________________________________________________ I stood there, looking for a way out. No escape was visible, except to once again endure the torment. I knew that I did nothing wrong, yet rarely looked in the mirror anymore without disgust and resent. “Fluffy,” the boy teased as he poked my stomach. He ran away in laughter, only to return to his friends and report as if he were Hermes of Athens. The other boys listened intently, then erupted in hysteria. It is these moments that I wish I could take back, redo, and use my voice; my voice that I now know is so incredibly powerful, that can be used to either build or shatter within seconds. But of course, no such knowledge ever comes to you when you so desperately need it most. Everything that followed soon after would leave me questioning whether we truly are innocent until proven guilty. I was playing by myself, picking dandelions, when my so-called friends came over. They all stood at a distance as if I held a contagious disease. Then, the boy's sister, who had targeted me continuously for some time, walked up and stood alongside the others. For privacy purposes, I'll refer to her as Leah. For many months prior, I had endured her torment, filled with her calling me “fat,” “a whale,” “disgusting,” and so much more. I dealt with this on the bus, on the playground, and anywhere else out of an adult's earshot. When confronted by an adult, her reply was always, “I was just joking.” Remembering this all, I walked towards Leah with hurt in my eyes and shoved her with my shoulder. “Look what you've done,” I whispered. Leah then ignited in a fury, pushing me backward. In retaliation, I went to push back. After she thrust me a second time, I fell to the ground, filled with anger, hurt, and embarrassment. When I got up and walked over to reciprocate, Leah punched the side of my face, leaving me speechless. As any other fourth grader might do, I went to an adult. Later, this same adult whom I confided in would claim that she witnessed the entire exchange and would even argue that she made an effort to separate Leah and me. As I sat in the principal's office later that day, I was in sheer disbelief. I did nothing to deserve the treatment Leah had given me for many months prior, yet I was being treated with indifference and suspicion. Ultimately, I was suspended for several days, despite being a victim of bullying and harassment. This infuriated both my mother and I. I had been in the principal's office countless times, reporting the bullying I fell victim to, inevitably leaving with no solution. However, I was being punished in an identical manner to Leah when I finally stood up for myself. My mother, therefore, made many phone calls preceding my return, discussing this injustice. After much consideration, I was permitted to return to school a day earlier than Leah. Prior to my departure, I was asked one simple question by the two girls who I considered my true friends: “Did it hurt?” Although I understood what they were asking, I still replied with, “Yes.” Though, not because the impact physically hurt. It hurt that I was constantly a target and could do nothing to stop it. It hurt that it took people physically placing their hands on me for Leah's cruel actions to be recognized and dealt with. It hurt that an adult would blatantly lie, making me seem deceitful. But above all, Leah's words hurt. Not only in the moment did I feel their sting, but to this day I still bear some of the weight of her words and actions. Through the entire ordeal, however, one message has been made crystal clear: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words take incredibly longer to heal.

There's something special about words. Everywhere one can point to on a globe has one of those " words " that represent it. Everywhere you see , your brain interprets using these arranged letters. You hear noises , and try to put a label on what they are - where they come from .. Smells, tastes ; often times best described when words themselves can't define them. Touch. Even if one can't see, they can use their hands and translate a vast amount of bumps that represent something much more. Hands. We use them to write, we use them to type. If one can't hear, they're used to communicate. SO many languages are out there, most of which have a sub-language using only hand movements - each one a word, apart of sentence that helps describe, define and navigate the world around us. Words. Words, they transcend the senses we've evolved around them. Words, will find a way. Words, are the human experience. From the time we are born, we listen. Most cannot remember being an infant, and we often wander why! One is told about them self during these all essential stages, shown picture, home videos, yet no recollection. Most babies don't have their first word until they're 1-1.5 years old, and that first words is in the language of those who speak to them the most. Most of us, as a whole, can't recall any memories before the age of 2. 2 is a magical age. A lot of in and out, remembering bits and pieces if anything at all. We can walk at this point, we're almost able to do a lot of things on our own, however, we can't quiet hold a conversation. 3 years old. By the age of 3, we can at least understand whats being said to us, and we can respond with some coherence. For many, the fading in and out stops and this age becomes the age where a majority of people can begin remembering things. Why? Whats changed? Sure , a 3 years old is .. older, they're no longer using their knees and hands to get from one napping point to another. There's something else that triggers this point in life that makes one be able to be " conscious ". Words. Being able to associate the world around them , with more than just instinct. Dogs have been along side humans for 1000's of years. Even with different DNA, different anatomy, evolution has led them to be some of the most teachable and domesticated animals on Earth. Why is that? Dogs are mans best friend, the bond an owner has is poetic. We can raise a puppy from beginning to end and love them as a part of our family. There's got to be a reason why there so trainable, so lovable!? Communication. Dogs have the intelligence of a 2 year old, meaning they can understand around 250 words and gestures, and like humans, any language they're taught in they will adapt too. We love them so much because they listen, they understand. 2 year old humans , though, continue to progress. Eventually, 2 becomes 3, and three becomes .. that magical age. A 2 year old ( and some dogs alike ) has the ability to understand whats being said, but often can't communicate outside of noise, and body language. Memory. Memory, in my opinion - is something special. Memory is what makes life worth living. Memory often starts at age 3. Consciousness as a whole stops fading in and out and is more consistent. Connections. When we , as humans, can put words to things we observe, we make memories. A hot stove becomes something we know not to touch, people start having names and before we know were talking in sentences. Language. When one can describe the world around them, the observations they make become concrete. The grass is green and the sky is up. The sun is bright and boo-boos hurt. The ability to digest information and internally/externally describe & define it is what makes us human. Humanity. Being able to discuss what life is, is what separates us from every other species. Being able to talk in so many languages, with our voice, hand movements, with music. Being human, is being able to put our senses into thought - being able to take our thought and share them with the world , if we so choose. We're different from animals and everything else on this planet because of many, many things. The thing that really separates us and helped us ascend primal existence of our ancient heritage: Words. A life without words is the life of the animal kingdom. A life without the ability to define what the human experience is , is a life without memory, without meaning. To give meaning, is to define. To define, is to articulate, something no creature that will roam the 7 seas can do except the ones able to read this. Words - ( are ) The Human Experience

The benefit of writing is allowing your mind to speak and unburden your soul to bring yourself to new emotional heights once the emotional burdens of thoughts are lifted. Writing is a wonderful way to unload the mind of useless chatter at three in the morning and play friend to yourself. Writing allows one to communicate their thoughts and exercise themselves Spiritually thus allowing healing to occur and can help bring closure in many situations. Calming the mind helps to refocus your thoughts when times are deeply stressed or simply to convey a spontaneous creative thought for use at another time. Writing out your thoughts can be both relieving and satisfying. This also allows one to reconnect with themselves; opening themselves up to self confidence and self nurturing by allowing their mind to freely express its most secret self as it is most liberating and promotes emotional well-being. Another benefit of writing is that it provides a mentally physical job or hobby for someone incapable of physical exercise or daily movement. Having a way to express oneself is a great way to combat against depression and mood swings and is not limited to any one kind of person. Writing is for everyone. Writing may provide keeping a language alive. Through writing you may build bonds of friendship or earn awards thus promoting your own mental health. Writing soothes the mind and balances your psyche. Another benefit of writing is that another perspective may be sought out or brought to light. This engages conversation. Writing is a mutual alliance with your soul and mind joining both in a place where emotions are equal and transforming; creating spiritual healing in some cases or you're just flourishing out in some kind of story telling. In either case, writing anything; even if it sounds silly, is an excellent deterrent for other health problems like dementia and Alzheimer's. Writing is a great way to exercise the recesses of the mind and in that, you may find emotional well being and better understanding of one's self. Writing sets you free to explore your world and it's surrounding without bias. You can love or hate anything and in that comes the ability to identify with the pros and cons of reality possibly transforming that into your greatest work of art. Writing is soulful and expressive leading one to experience Spiritual Peace. Writing is creative art. Writing is essential to success in life. Lastly, writing is the best tool for communicating with others whether it's in the sand or on paper. Every line is valuable. Every word needed. So remind your mother, brother, sister and friends to write for their life, loves and hates. For in that we all Live.

A snake swallows the dream, and somewhere in the distance I hear laughter before I open my eyes. There's sand on my lips. The wind rises and whispers something in softly-spoken Spanish. Pounding and throbbing, my head feels like an ancient war drum.\nThe laughter resumes and the children of the desert encircle me. Vibrant skulls are painted on their sweet faces. They are beautiful. They are curious. They speak in laughter. One of them leaves the circle and walks slowly up to me. He covers my eyes with his small brown hands.\n\\"Wake up,\\" I hear a familiar voice coming from the lips of this strange child, and I open my eyes. The hands are gone. The dunes are gone. The children of the desert are gone, but my head still hurts.\n\\"Hey. What happened?\\"\n\\"Too much tequila,\\" she giggles.\n\nJaundr\u00E9 van Breda \u00A9 2019

When happiness whispers don't be afraid to beckon its call. Run with your heart facing outwards, You will go on, you have the soul. Take the wild ways not the right ways. You should heed the advice you dream of in between twilight and sleep. Hear your heart assuredly tell you that all will be more than fine, You will be wonderful. Sing yourself a song using only the good notes And in the intricate episodes, when you smile inwardly to your beautiful self, Shake off the guilt like a dandelion shakes its seeds And realise happiness is your heritage as much as Spring bequeaths unto summer. In the windmills of your mind you see mocha hearts, sepia tainted memories of children's shoes and strawberry fields, Laughter shading the soft hum of the midday heat. Heed the women before you and listen to the brag of your own heart; You are, you forever will be, let your mind mend, It is all all right, it is not the end. The only weight you need to feel is the one being lifted off your shoulders, and replaced with another body next to yours. There are no lucky ones. Only the undulating optimism of love, of hope. Contentment arrives at the doors of the humble, the vulnerable, The ones whose hearts plead more at the perishing of others Than the affliction in their own. Affection lacks originality so don't dwell on your verbal incompetence, But instead take pleasure in the blessing that whatever you say will be yours, As words belong to you

Writing has always come easily to me. That isn't to say that my writing is anything special, only that when it comes to sitting down and putting a bunch of words together I think I'm pretty dang alright at it. I've met people that say they have such a hard time writing but it's difficult for me to understand that. Those same people always try to attribute my lack of understanding on the matter to my education (I have a degree in English) but the truth to that is I wouldn't have pursued a degree in this subject if I wasn't already good at it. I'm being 100% honest – being pro-active is not my strong suit. If it comes between making a decision of taking the “easy” route or the “hard (but, in the long run, more beneficial because it teaches you about hard work, perseverance and blah blah blah)” route I'm not going to think too long on which one I'd prefer to take. Essays in college were a breeze, although I'm still sometimes shocked at the quality of work I was able to produce under the circumstances I put myself in. Example: its 8pm the night before my 16 page essay on [insert some literary debate here] is due. I have yet to open a word document. Sure, I've put some thought into what I want to write. That's the hardest part, right? Sitting down and putting all my thoughts into words in one cohesive structure just came so easily to me. I think it has something to do with the amount of privacy you have while writing. No one is listening to you stumble through your words or hearing your attempts at constructing a well worded sentence. You have complete privacy to say what you're thinking. You have the ability to rewrite and reorganize your words. You can take a minute to think on exactly which word best articulates the thought you are trying to express and, if you don't like it, can decide to change it later. You can't do that when you're talking. Well, I suppose you could but it would be weird. This brings me to my road bump when it comes to writing – who will be reading my words? Because, like I said, I consider writing very private. Concern of who will read my writing once I'm finished is a huge deal to me. With college essays it didn't matter much because I knew the person reading my essay would be someone educated on the subject I had written about and would be judging my words based on my display of knowledge on the subject. That isn't too intimidating because it's not creative writing. It's not something that would unveil ideas and thoughts that completely originated in my mind. I once took a Science Fiction class in college and for the final we had to write a creative sci-fi short story. That terrified me. Completely and utterly terrified me. I couldn't hide behind facts and information that were accessible to everyone on a subject that has been widely discussed for years. These would be words and thoughts that were 100% my own. Had this not been an assignment and I was writing something for myself that I could decide who, if anyone, could read it I think I would have enjoyed writing it much more. Once the story was done I began second guessing all of my ideas. Is that really original or am I completely ripping something off? Is this plot even believable? Does it make sense at all? Those were my road bumps. The actual process of writing the story came effortlessly – thoughts into words. Easy. Having to deal with my thoughts on them afterwards – yikes. Turns out my instructor thought it was great and so did the select few I shared it with. They all told me I had a “gift” and should be very proud. This made me feel uncomfortable. Receiving praise for something that came so easily to me didn't seem merited or earned. I truly felt as though I made no effort. I've always sort of blushed when people make comments like these and brush them off faster than they can be laid on me. Only recently have I decided to try to embrace this “talent” I have and attempt to open myself up to the possibilities it may grant me. The catalyst for this change of thought occurred yesterday when someone told me how talented and gifted I was after reading a cover letter I wrote for a job. A cover letter. A simple, short, nothing-special piece of writing that I was trying to use to convince someone to hire me. I finally decided that I should try to start sharing my writing with people. So here I was with this brave (ha) new confidence. I went online to see where I could put this bravery to the test. The first think I came across was Biopage, and they were asking for people to submit writing on the subject of… anything they wanted. Well shoot, if there's anything else further from a prompt I don't know what it is. This project called for me to come up with something 100% on my own for others to read and it was perfect. So here I am. I sat down and just started writing. I figured talking about why I was here was as good as anything else I could come up with. So now I'm ready to get my ideas out there, terrified as I may be.

You've got a letter. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs in my house with my birthday crown falling off my head, I had an idea of who the letter was from. I took the letter in my hand and held it close to my heart and took a deep breath of air. I looked down at the brown envelope and there it was my birthday letter from dad. I opened the letter to see pink and blue balloons as the background on the card. I felt the butterflies fluttering up my throat as I read… Overwhelmed with emotions and confusion I ran into my room and cried, not understanding why things were the way they were. As I drifted into a fitful sleep, I remembered the story of my father's cry. February of 1993, while traveling, the car was stopped and searched by police officers. The officers found weapons and drugs. My father's life as well as mine would never be the same. My mother received a phone call days later from him where he explained the occurrences. The trial lingered on for weeks; the verdict came back, and he was sentenced to 52 years in prison. Being able to understand what happened was not difficult, but being able to talk about it was the hardest thing. I grew up knowing the most caring man in the world, and to think he was in prison, was mind blowing. I was ashamed that my father was in prison. I hid it or avoided talking about family because of reactions. I felt disappointed and angry because of his position. He made a decision that cost me the relationship that I crave for now. I wondered if he thought about my mom and me? I was 11 when I sat down and really talked about this with my mom. She told me it was okay to talk about my dad's situation.To me, this situation my mom and I were in just made us stronger together. My mother was both parents. My mother's sacrifice and ability to provide for me was a great achievement. She took care of me, worked, went to school, and loved me all at the same time. When he calls, we talk about anything and everything; he teaches me what I need to be taught like boys and making the right choices in life. Despite of my dad's position and what he did, I still love him and no one can change that. My mom also promotes our relationship. She knows that I am the only thing that keeps him going in prison. While my mother is supportive, I have encountered many people who have said hurtful things about him. Some even said I should turn my back on him. How would turning my back on him benefit me or him? I do not love my father because my mother says so or because that is the right thing to do, I love him because he has done a lot for me without him actually being here. I realize that he made a bad choice and is paying the consequences for it. I am proud that my father keeps his head up during his ordeal. I know that his arrest and imprisonment has changed him for the better. He will be a changed man and father when his time is up. Before I visited my father in prison, the thought of going to a prison freaked me out. Going to see him was so hard for me, I kept thinking, I could not face him. Before, I did not want to look at him I give him sympathy or make him feel worst about his situation. I knew that was selfish of me but it was a hurdle I had to get over and I did. In 2009, I drove deep into New Jersey to see my father. I was never this afraid ever in my life. I cried all the way there. For some reason I could not get it together. When I walked into the prison, I had to get processed and checked. During this time I think I took about 100 trips to the bathroom trying to get myself together. Looking around everyone seemed calm and content as if this was easy. I sat in the chair waiting for my number to be called. The door open and I knew that was him, my daddy, my father. I rose and hugged him and he kissed my forehead, I felt relieved. We sat for almost four hours talking about anything. I studied his features and realize I looked just like him. I smiled to myself. I love my father. I felt rejuvenated, like a new person. I was happy that I made him happy. He has not seen me in 17 years and I finally made that happened for him. My heart smiled. I was a new person. As time passes and I continue to grow and appreciate my life, friends, family and my freedom, I still keep in mind that life is a journey and my journey has many obstacles. I am determined to overcome my obstacles. Throughout my journey, I can say that I have parents that have loved me unconditionally. My father's incarceration has had a positive impact on my life. I feel that his presence in prison helps me stay on track and focus in everything I do; knowing he only wants the best for me. I do suffer as I wish he could start his life over and have him spend every day with me. I believe that life's obstacles can either make a person stronger or weaker. My father's incarceration has provided me with the motivation to be triumphant and look at the position I am in as a reminder of the meaning of life and the cries we all have.

Instagram has simplified our lives, and made it much easier to win people's love and attention, because normally you post a beautiful picture, and limited description, usually also beautiful or even leave without any description. My Instagram is the same. I want to share only nice things that happens with me, pictures where I look beautiful, or moments when me and my boyfriend are happy together posing in front of the cathedral in Venice. But there, in my Instagram you will never find a picture of me, smoking the 20th cigarette, with a text, that i haven't smoke for a year and started because my boyfriend left me. Instagram is a game, and I'm not blaming it. I think it's a beautiful game. The life we see in Instagram makes us want for more, looks better, train more, eat healthy food, work harder. As someone said, a weapon can either kill or safe. Same with social media, where normal people can be motivated and encouraged by what they see. Why I still believe in the value of written words, even if it's only a description of the beautiful photo you posted, to show and share the experience you are paling through. I want to see a picture of a woman with a trained body, where she wrote that for having this she had to totally revise her food habits, limit herself in everything, train 3 hours a day instead of having a dinner with friends with a bottle of wine. I want to see a story under a beautiful baby picture where his or her mother describes that she hasn't slept 8 hours in a row in last 1.5 years, because this beautiful baby doesn't sleep well. I, for sure want to see and be able to post, that even beautiful relationships, once filled with love has ended. I want to see it, because 30 post later, after month, you see a new post on the pages of those people, saying that there is a new day. Your legs will go again despite the pain. Even difficult moments pass, and future brings you a new beautiful moments/posts.