tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29055704631719857562024-03-12T19:35:51.751-07:00Reflect Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-91731981339411086052020-09-11T13:55:00.002-07:002020-09-11T13:55:41.550-07:00The Heart of Yearnings<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A dreary morning slipping into bleak nightfall; day
after day. One cannot help but think:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“As soon as this ends…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“As soon as I move out…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“If only, I get that…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“If only, my relationship were…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Our eyes then crinkle with radiance, “…And I will be
happiest soul; guaranteed!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Necks strained, intoxicating gazes fixated on the
highest gleaming golden tip of the snow-kissed mountain; perceiving it to be
our final destination—bound to mercifully assuage infinite yearnings laid at
the very bottom of our hearts that drizzle through every trudge, sigh and
clench. Or, it may diluge—an outcry of enduring landslides and cold avalanches;
and yet still, rises unannihilated. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Life, as they say—is like an ascend; with every being
eyeing the top, Argus-eyed; for the highest peak overlooks the most splendid
view—a view of awe while one lords above it all. An unmatched feeling of
liberty. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The climb may be exhilarating; emitting a whiff of
euphoria tugged by trepidation while swirls of failure, though not necessarily
having vandalized the Heart of Yearnings just yet—lurks in the slithery gravel and
frightening steepness. In fact, it magnifies after you and I conquer every apex
and yet we aim to embark on the mission of lording the king of all apexes; only
to realize shortly after that the “king” were overshadowed by a divine
emperor—that which may be attainable; as is every ascend in life, but could it
hush the quivering Heart of Yearnings—the infinite heart? For each view seems
to lead to none other route but an inevitable descend; and the heart still
remains empty—quivering for more; for better, forever.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Why is it that the descend may be far less laborious?
Or, one could argue, why descend in the first place when the poor heart can
only be quenched at the peaks?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Having lorded at the peak for what may seem like a
fleeting moment, in comparison to arduous clambering followed by Augean
encounters with demons within the dark pit of the heart—and then, finally
mesmerized with that which lays below your feet for only a jiff; may seem as if
injustice were done to each and every pleading yearning. Even more so amplified
by the far less toiling descend. Disproportionate; rather disappointing is the
road towards fulfillment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Our saturnine eyes avert to the ground; downcast, we
question and doubt the principles of the Universe as well as distrust
Providence; for we need a blameworthy target to plaster our bleeding heart. If
only we possessed the courage to rebuke the actual culprit, “Oh, my heart; was
that not what you pleaded? Your yearnings seemingly diminish—only to later
discover rapid regrowth followed by insuppressible thirst which consumes
me!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, it is natural for one to ask: is a Heart of Yearnings
a curse? Does yearning lead to ineluctable doom? While you may expect a nod in
the affirmative, brace yourself when you hear, “Certainly not!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If only our aim were to revel the journey—pausing
after every long climb and breathing in the fresh summer breeze; baptizing our
eyes with equal splendidness around us in the deep greens of firs and abrupt
scuttles of shy deer. The smell of wildflower and clucking of dragonfly against
the foaming turquoise waterfalls; flickering bursts of color from fireflies
after sundown amidst the enveloping darkness and calming quiescence, are all
such views that can never be devoured from atop, can they? So why ascend
mindlessly and strenuously, dead-set for the tip only when a portion of
yearnings can satiate along the way? If only, if only we paused and embraced
every embodiment of beauty that came along our way rather than blinking if off.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The climb may be exhilarating—yes, but only for the
sake of the finish line; never the journey itself which is precisely why the
poor heart remains unfilled, always. For the end result is transient— while the
journey, if not enjoyed, can be tedious and monochromatic. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">***<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Hedonic Treadmill states that people eventually
bounce back to their baseline level of happiness—even after acquiring that long-wished
goal of yours. Our Heart of Yearnings shall always pour; but we certainly do
possess the ability to prevent it from overflowing by not just remaining
dead-set on attaining a prestigious degree, perhaps, rather also allowing
oneself the privilege of feeling wholesome amongst pleasant individuals or
experiences which may cross one’s path during the academic year—rather than
shutting them out and choosing only to beat brains. Our yearnings are, as a
matter of fact, bound to remain undue should we only labor through efforts for
that promotion without the thought of laboring in a way which could spike
interest and fun; or else, our heart shall reject the advancement and deem it
unworthy of painful efforts for ephemerality—as are all aspects in life. One
may regard their beloved as the epitome of contentment—picturing their shared
lives in perpetual bliss; but the joyful efforts in chasing it—if dispensed
with unfeigned intentions is the main key to unrivaled limpid felicity rather
than the attainment itself.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Heart of Yearnings—if kept from inundating; is
like a beatific river set towards unknown mesmeric sights that unveil
themselves along the way, having never been discovered before by any man; unlike
the destination aimed for which is known by the world to the very end of its depths.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZcT02QOgkckpWaL2tlSpA-MXCmpZ3ADt4UFMTz6_Qbd3nd_puZKgxoE58xBrriFkHOzhlBBGd_WeCjjLkqMN62762qsYFH89dnJ5tEzENPBCkSSUDNRXrgLfsD94VOFinShZ2ZNLK40/s500/heart+Robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZcT02QOgkckpWaL2tlSpA-MXCmpZ3ADt4UFMTz6_Qbd3nd_puZKgxoE58xBrriFkHOzhlBBGd_WeCjjLkqMN62762qsYFH89dnJ5tEzENPBCkSSUDNRXrgLfsD94VOFinShZ2ZNLK40/s320/heart+Robert.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">image copyrights: https://www.robertburridge.com/hearts/page17.html</span><p></p>Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-350622762639530952020-04-15T03:54:00.000-07:002020-04-15T22:58:03.296-07:00The Constructors<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nose submerged in beads of sweat and taking in
long, deep breaths of chilly autumn air, I set my foot abut the trunk of an
alpine. Amber rays break through the tawny midday sun at its apex—blanketing
the small, lonely yet serenely beautiful town I call home; revealing its
classic simplicity in all glory whilst highlighting innate imperfections
admired just as much as its untouched beauty running abreast. Eyes aglow and
transfixed, taking in the panorama view with nature’s ambient music of a
trickling stream afield, striking stridulations of mountain crickets ambushed
behind Chir Pines with their soft rustlings and sweet singing of House
Sparrows, kindling every nerve in my body while drawing it into an eclipse
with my soul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I feel the gush of wind from
northward lovingly caressing my cheek—perhaps having passed through a myriad of
solemn towns, happy towns— cities throbbing with warmth and life, districts
with heart-wrenching tales—carrying the atoms of every one of them; each with a
history and unique stories shrouded behind walls of penurious quarters and
seaside mansions. I murmur a soft greeting; and allow it to carry an amalgam of
me as well while it travels beyond and forever—for my story and history too, is
universal and unshared by none other.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 440.2pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Soils beneath me, having
outlived tens of generations by aiding its undying crutches to man—withstanding
every stomp of great haughty emperors and frustrated mendicants as well as trots
of foals now lost and extinct, while mothering unnumbered seedlings. As the
months dance away, the winds would bring the air of spring. Colonies of poppies
crumpled in buds await their bloom; and when the season arrives, they would
unveil the peaks of their beauty—and then wither while their off-springs scatter
away with the winds, unhindered and unquestioned; unknowing of the soils before
them which securely held the roots of their parents. Somewhere further away, I
too sprouted; but blossomed in the soils of this town. But my descendants
ripened elsewhere. Nature and Man—both beautiful creations with courses of life
remarkably synonymous to each other since the beginning of time; yet only one
of them can be hailed as triumphant in adhering to Providence’s laws. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I stay a little longer—dew lingering over my shut
eyelids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In contrast to the present moment, perhaps every
being including I come into contact with brief awakenings that inevitably creep
in and leave a whisper—reminding you and I of our odd existence amidst a moving
picture with its surroundings and people in unison. If not oftener then at
least <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">once</i> in a lifetime. Or maybe
oblivion forbade conscious to confront reality: that is at first, unbearably
ugly to cope with; but once seen, it cannot be unseen for it is the epitome of
the winds’ and soils’ pleading chants: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh
Beloved</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">look</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">beyond—beyond! </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">A chill runs down my spine, springing a train of
thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 440.2pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Many times, we may have
been asked—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> do you belong</span></i>? Some may distinguish themselves with their
land of birth. Others, the land they grew up in; and some, the land that bred
their birth givers and forefathers. Oh, the fickleness of humans. When
disclosed, it unforgivingly constructs an identity; while the innermost true
being within gasps, every single day. Shadowed and shackled beneath
<b>constructions</b> of higher edifices of plastered personas within, muted amidst
strings of ringing and persistent ad infinitum utterances of "how one <i>ought
</i>to act here" or "the personality <i>expected </i>out
of a person like you belonging here" and "the way you are <i>supposed
</i>to think or believe in" destructs the obscure yet incandescent facet
closeted between crusts of "the known, the forecasted and the
recognizable"—unconsciously embedded in us by countless convergences. So
man wonders: if I had blanketed my land of birth and instead, roped myself to
the land I flowered in—could their attitudes have softened? If, say, I told
them that I belonged to the far-away land of my primogenitors where they lived
instead of the land where I bloomed—could I have galloped on my equine through
life’s spheres with my head held high? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Man precariously hangs on
branches of a world offering empty solace— scurrying frantically hither and thither;
seeking consolation through a sense of belongingness, a trusted harbor—some
root, somewhere. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 440.2pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">When we sail through various
seas of the earth, tread along its soils and feel its air brushing our
cheek—all the same in every soil and sea, we gain a perception; that perhaps,
the key to the "closeted facet" laid in the hearts of men for
themselves rather than the hands of other men—for the earth is one and we, as
its scattered children utterly compeer in dignity, deserve to feel at harmony
with our mother in whichever lap. Color, heritage, creed and nationality
("The Constructors") were never at harmony with the "closeted
facet" for they always found unrest and a rift with it since the beginning
of Adam, our Father. The Constructors' innate motives live within us; for they
have engulfed us concretely. They include, confining the capabilities and drive
of an individual by peeking in their history of forefathers and evils committed
by their creed; deciding to freely suspend or narrow down expressions of
optimism and support only after analyzing the color of a particular's skin;
labeling an entire nation "rotten" based on the actions of only a
mere handful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The inner facet is innately
distinct with its signs of existence reeking through us—from varying
fingerprints of billions that came before us, live among us and are yet to form
ahead of us, with none ever alike; to the vast variety of faces, each one
sculpted by the Higher Power Himself and shared by none other in generations
that had ever flashed ever since the beginning of the Universe and until it
lives. Miniscule, complex genealogy with its elaborate and perplexing
convolutions passed down from a manifold of bloodlines of people to you and
I—with a part of every human living within our flesh-and-blood, is none other
than actual veracity that we were meant to carry the layers of human races
collectively as they breathe within our flesh-and-blood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Such, and countless other
signs display the brilliance of the inner, indistinguishable jewel that lives
at the heart of the soul. The only Constant. It thrives; but only barely. It
may arise as to why, or how with the answer to it being quite pellucid: Mankind
collectively and mutually allowed one another to build, polish and parge
identities for one another. And then, inevitably become each other’s prey—with
the predator being themselves, to their own selves; shattering individualism.
In the end, none gain. How woeful. Such is the universal tragedy of the short
sweet life of you and I. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">You, I and the poppies were
born with a gift—a gift of flowing with the winds of life and spring unhindered
and unquestioned—a gift of an unshared and distinct identity, unanchored to the
lands, seas and skies of this world for they belong to you; and you and I belong
nowhere but everywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Mankind collapses, quarrels,
terrorizes and breeds seeds of injustice and of disharmony—big leaders, menial
workers, loudmouthed women, bigoted men, arrogant adolescents, every one of
them. But Nature thrives as One; as well as intrinsically indifferent just as a
mother to her children. And when the golden grains slither from Man’s hourglass,
then Nature, having been entrusted with a principal duty by Divine Providence
to its twin creation, shall bodaciously execute it without even the slightest
of miscues since Adam till the very last of his children; admirably in
obedience to the laws of the Universe unlike Man— who too, always had one
devoir to the former in return but chose instead to violate and be deemed an
aberration to the Universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Enclasping every corpse just
the same— knows none, or rather pretends to be unknowing of its fellow’s
“background” or physical characteristics: blue-eyed, brown-eyed, black-skinned,
white-skinned, Nordic, South Asian—all the same to the soils, executing
exemplary impartiality; for they assumed we were untethered and indifferent,
too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Where are The Constructors,
now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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image copyrights: <a href="https://www.tuttartpitturasculturapoesiamusica.com/2015/10/Irina-Rumyantseva.html?m=1#more">https://www.tuttartpitturasculturapoesiamusica.com</a></td></tr>
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<br />Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-85254161469427867402018-07-03T15:18:00.002-07:002018-11-29T00:24:28.821-08:00<h2>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: ".sfuitext";"><i><span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">~Majestic & Magical </span></i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-size: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am su</span></span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">re you have romanticized cliché towns and cities all across Europe and America and yearn to visit them all, one day. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Speaking from my personal experiences in Europe— which holds a very special place in my heart because of majority of my early and late childhood summers spent there at long stretches; I would say that certain places you may have heard not much about showcase such uniqueness and beauty of a peculiar kind which I never saw in France, Belgium, England, Holland, Luxembourg, and even Germany– to some extent. No doubt the above listed is wonderful and even more spectacular than what one sees on media or through another person’s eye, but there is one place that sets apart. So much that it was even spared by Hitler because of its rare aestheticism. You may even have heard much about it but not on an overrated scale and that is the city I can describe accurately in two words—</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;">majestic</span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">and</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;">magical!</span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It is none other than Prague– Czech Republic. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Words fall short of my memorable visit there back in August 10, 2017. It is a memory that would always relive and remain immaculately vivid whenever my mind fetches to three things over there– architecture, people and the weather. Many people say,</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;">“Walking around the Prague is comparable to being in a fairytale: except for one minor detail: it’s real.”</span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And I cannot describe how accurate this was for me. It is the city of alchemists and dreamers. If you are a person who is visually sensual to surroundings and highly appreciates and loves beauty of diverse people coupled with rich history, then walk with me down my memory lane of this place! </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">One thing, which is worth noting is that as soon as I crossed the border into Czechia, instant disappointment ran over me at first sight– to be quite honest. You might ask</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;">why</span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">, it is because it did not present itself to be artificially dreamy or splendidly glamorous like how touristy visitors expect out of European countries nowadays because of pressed marketing. It presented cracked roads; overgrown nature, flawed walls and poverty reeked on streets in some spots. But in no way does that mean Prague itself can not beat the beauty of Paris or Berlin and any other popular city you can think of. Paris no doubt has its charm, but only the excessive extravagant kind. Prague, on the other hand, proved to be modest and less showy but I feel as if its value surpasses in great abundance. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Walking through a dim-lit cobbled alleyway in New Town while carefully scrutinizing people I saw from afar, beside and even those with whom I unconsciously shoved shoulders, one could say that several natives seemed to be of Russian descent– plum pink cheeks, puny eyes and of moderate height. If I had to describe them in two words, it would be— different and murky. Some might be compelling and talkative; others might look at you with a teasing expression and a smirk. However they are, I concluded the people to be of a very interesting kind— the kind I would find intriguing to interact with on a minimal level. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Bicycles eagerly wheeled below the Old Town Bridge Tower, snow-white pigeons pecked upon the ancient bronze glass lamps hung on every consecutive lamp post, and the turquoise clouds floated about in the whitish Czech skies– such were candid little moments of people and nature I felt lucky to witness while my eyes wandered in the lost grey water currents below Charles Bridge. I then look up at a prominent, perennial structure ahead of me— the Prague Castle; encircled by other ages-old cathedrals, arched halls and pointed towers. The stunning view was one of a kind— simply timeless.</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">After missing a subway and catching three other later while drenched in freezing cold rainwater, I scurried past the Royal Garden and entered St. Vitus Cathedral– making my way to the centre of the Prague Castle, which dates back to the ninth century founded by Prince Bořivoj of the Premyslid Dynasty. I had also later on learnt that it is the largest coherent castle complex in the world. As soon as I reached the foot of the Castle, my eyes ran from the bottom up till it’s tip and it felt as if it were a puzzling gothic mystery with a multitudinous of Romanesque unsolved pieces yet to be explored and taken in with appreciation of its unexplainable brilliance. Even if one had ample time without commitments just to observe every dimension and convolution, it would result in a head spinning because of its exclusive magnificence. Even the inside was inviting in its own courtliness with completely stark geometry spread evenly on the internal walls compared to that on the outside with a multitude of bright paintings and embellished works on its arched windows– each giving off its individual loveliness and unusual sinisterness. And when I squeezed out through the scrummage at the opening of the Castle, immediate intense ache rippled through my body as raindrops gracefully engulfed my eyelids while the pink skies blurred alongside the complex towers. I had found myself on the ground of the sheeny argentine slope that led out. As I felt a bunch of people grip me, holding me mid-air with their mixed murmurs of “</span><i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;">hey, are you alright?”</span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The beauty of the Castle spiraled around me while the sun kissed its tip and all I could think of at the very moment was—</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> </span><i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;">can there be anything more magical and majestic than this edifice in a city with so much depth and wonder? </span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext-italic"; font-size: 17pt;"><span style="color: #bf9000;">“The ancient splendor and beauty of Prague, a city beyond compare, left an impression on my imagination that will never fade.” – Richard Wagner</span></span></i><span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc293-AYofQWO-W1FJ05BfwPSXzF48JDX5ctEChVoKuHJNGD-UP51OneDJv_9SS7mx_Mrv7y25zTi7HIat3MxfLyxpIiNxbysLsNtj5pzQGZgGtMyJMEy6330GmVwexa07-6eV37a4dzM/s1600/Prague.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc293-AYofQWO-W1FJ05BfwPSXzF48JDX5ctEChVoKuHJNGD-UP51OneDJv_9SS7mx_Mrv7y25zTi7HIat3MxfLyxpIiNxbysLsNtj5pzQGZgGtMyJMEy6330GmVwexa07-6eV37a4dzM/s400/Prague.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: start;">Prague</span><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; font-family: sans-serif; text-align: right; white-space: nowrap;">―</span><span style="text-align: start;">the </span><span style="text-align: start;">heart of Europe</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ilsa Tariq</span><br />
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Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-80274791189313300972018-06-20T14:59:00.005-07:002018-06-20T14:59:54.457-07:00<br />
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<span style="color: #741b47; font-family: .SFUIText; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><i>~The Elements Of Admiration</i></span></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">You walk around in a frantic flood of thought of your own, come across a person– dynamic. Either they are central to your life or merely an acquaintance. A hidden part of you intensely admires them on the inside. It could be the way their voice, as soft as silk– caresses the mind of any being, including you, making everyone feel as though they are glorified and loved by all. Every day, you pass by them– probably while obliviously walking your dog or hurriedly running through your backyard as you prepare for mornings and work. Perhaps you sleep by their side or maybe even share blood with them. They stay uprightly attentive mostly, and maybe rarely or usually even await your presence with an expectation– but every single time, as the words try hard to effortlessly slip out of your mouth: <i>“Can I take you out for tea today?”</i> Or <i>“I appreciate how you somehow make my life more important,”</i> or even something as small and simple yet genuine as— <i>I love you</i>, some bright red traffic signal appears and develops a feeling in you– Selfishness. </span><br />
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T<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">he chaos in your mind and the havoc in your routine turns you into a self-absorbed, and sometimes even an excessively egoistic person. <i>Self</i> is all that concerns you. And while you may occasionally think of their charisma and it’s positivity on you or their efforts, you would not ever give even a small piece of mind to thought towards appreciation or return. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">And one day— maybe days, months or even several years later, you would one day see their body lifeless and soul parting. All that was with them– the crinkles of their eyes as they smiled when they sensed comfort creep back into you or how their greets were never dull or tired– it would all end right there and then. And maybe then only, your stubborn little friend– Selfishness, would reach its limit and also depart, putting you in permanent remorse; not only because of refusing to extend your part to them but also because all that was seconds away from being said reminded unspoken, forever. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>There is that girl– unbelievably beautiful. How is she so ravishing in very crowd? </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>Look at that guy– how can he be so intelligent and smart? </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>That widowed woman in red– how did she impeccably raise her four kids to be perfect, independent individuals? </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>How can that man earn humungous five figures every month without putting in blood and sweat at all? </i></span><br />
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">While you come across one, two, or even all categories, again, you admire. But is not like the kind of admiration you felt for people who genuinely cared for you like before, no; it is the other kind that kills you– pushes you into a want of attention from those certain people because of </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: .SFUIText; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);">idolization</span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">. What drove you into it is easy to comprehend– you like a certain aspect of them and it is natural that it leads to a wanting of adopting it as well. Though it is likely that at the end of the day, you would not exactly be just as they are but because of being deeply inspired by their aspirations, appearance, personality or abilities, mimicking is inevitable and would cause your instinct to ask: <i>“I really like the way you are and how you do it!”</i> Or <i>“How can I also be that way?”</i> But then again, you hit another pressing red signal and it produces two difficult twins– Ego and Envy. If that were said that to those certain people, you believe that something inside you would cease-- a dignity of some sort or self-respect. You think that greatness belonged to you only and it would be belittled by their charm. The result is obvious— in your field, you would soon breed and cultivate hatred due to these twins and the crippling feeling of having to move further ahead of all becomes a milestone and would replace all other far more important accomplishments of yours. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Such is the huge dilemma you and I deal with in everyday life. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Abort these twins and quit racing; follow your pace. Transform your envious admiration into a lovely compliment– straight from the heart. Love yourself and people for being true to their self and do not ever, ever hesitate if you have to ask them for advice or insight– your self-respect can only expand and grow that way; not by conserving it through plain silence and jealousy. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Admiration grows three elements— Selfishness, Ego and Envy. Carry them cautiously and tackle all three soonest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><i><span style="color: #351c75;">"Failure comes from ego, greed, envy, fear, imitation. I have success not because I am smart, but because I am rational." - Warren Buffet</span></i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69);">It is never too late to say something; be open and honest and learn to express before the toxic takes over.</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "vladimir script"; font-size: large;">Ilsa Tariq</span></div>
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Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-61572433861676401042018-06-05T14:22:00.002-07:002018-06-05T15:25:15.847-07:00<h2>
<span style="color: #7f6000; font-size: large;"><i>~Golden Grains</i></span></h2>
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Our life is an hourglass-- hours pour out like grains of golden sand, little by little. Now if you did something worth the hour, then you would not feel devastated at the lost hour. Just as how one feels content and fulfilled after spending time of blissfulness with a friend and then the hour pours out and you ought to let it go and say 'good bye'. I am pretty sure that you would feel the great weight of worth of that hour spent.<br />
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And then, very frequently you may collide with the passing hour of guilt and regret because of not doing justice to that hour by spending it improperly. Sneaky glances at the wall clock, nervous and repeated tapping of the foot and empty promises to yourself of <i>"Just one last episode," </i>can put you in deep, deep trouble-- I mean it.<br />
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Procrastination is like a drug; you would never recognize its intensity unless it is over with. Its high tides hit you like <i>Megatsunami</i>. And it is appalling how it does not seem to sink in until that hour of ecstasy elopes with another valuable hour and leaves you in an existential crisis.<br />
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Do you not know how precious your grains are? Prolong its escape in order to help yourself thrive longer.<br />
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You may ask-- how can one possibly <i>prolong </i>its escape?<br />
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I say, sow that grain and have patience-- spend the hour in meaningfulness. The hour maybe strenuous, effortful and highly demanding of your input but have patience as you invest your grains and I promise you-- the remainder of your hourglass will never be short of golden grains.<br />
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Meaningfulness is transparent to all-- it varies and may be in the form of a good deed, quality time with people you love, cultivating the best in you, building a fortified future or even simply peace.<br />
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Find your meaning and sow your grains to hold back your hours.<br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>"And in the end its not the years in your life that count; its the life in your years." - Abraham Lincoln</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The secret of your Hourglass: you are oblivious to the quantity of your grains-- this maybe your last hour.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "vladimir script"; font-size: large;">Ilsa Tariq</span><br />
<br />Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-82173177422400145952018-06-04T06:14:00.000-07:002018-06-05T15:52:39.549-07:00<h2>
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;"><i>~Are You Truly Patriotic</i><i>?</i></span></h2>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Upcoming cricket match or FIFA? Beast mode. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Paint your nation's flag across your face and arms and leave no sign of skin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Honk your horns across the city, loud enough for even the deaf to hear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Go wild over each wicket or goal. </span><br />
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Throw parties for your "beloved" country after each victory.<br />
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Call yourself a patriot!<br />
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Independence Day soon? Great!</h4>
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Start thinking hard on your oh-so-tearful status update on your "beloved" country.</div>
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Spend hundreds of bucks on clothing of your flag colors.</div>
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Prepare for that two-long hour drive to catch a glimpse of fireworks.</div>
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And yes, do not forget to shout to the world on being a proud citizen.</div>
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Call yourself a patriot!</div>
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Politics? Rage.</h4>
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Spit your opinions.</div>
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Enforce your views-- convince.</div>
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Become a know-it-all and an "expert" all of a sudden.</div>
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Do not forget to vote because after all, you want the best for your "beloved" country.</div>
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Call yourself a patriot!</div>
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New job offer overseas? Acceptance from a renowned university abroad? War? Wait a second...</h4>
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Pack your bags.</div>
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Think no more.</div>
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Run after opportunity, build your future!</div>
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Who cares about one's roots anyway?</div>
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Why live in the past, this is the new age!</div>
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Should I call you a "patriot" now?</div>
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On what grounds do you deem yourself patriotic? Just because you can become a maniac on a sporting match, Independence Day or in regards to country politics does not mean that you are a patriot.</div>
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Would you turn down a job/university offer-- no matter how tempting, and live in your motherland for the rest of your life and serve its needs before catering to yours? </div>
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Would you <b>die</b> for your nation? Would you fight for it and sacrifice all that you have?</div>
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No? Then think thorough before calling yourself a "true patriot".</div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>"A man is a patriot if his heart beats true to his country." - Charles E. Jefferson</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyk7nuslHpf4ZKhmpuJTe8kVMoFH_nPYcHyNdzS2wZpsr7lrYG-0VGxHmNGd7B-xXLV2sdQiD4HbzuPoQljPsaZosHRzA4hbcoTEU4SKTxl5iNvMTFjGxqasikZNKpsIvaelm789-89Bg/s1600/soldier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="173" data-original-width="292" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyk7nuslHpf4ZKhmpuJTe8kVMoFH_nPYcHyNdzS2wZpsr7lrYG-0VGxHmNGd7B-xXLV2sdQiD4HbzuPoQljPsaZosHRzA4hbcoTEU4SKTxl5iNvMTFjGxqasikZNKpsIvaelm789-89Bg/s400/soldier.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Young men on a journey to defend their nation— leaving behind all that they have; are you one of them?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "vladimir script"; font-size: large;">Ilsa Tariq</span><br />
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Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2905570463171985756.post-36464544876344306292018-06-03T08:29:00.002-07:002019-05-11T08:52:24.947-07:00<h2>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">~Judgement without Experience</span></i></h2>
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My hollow stomach twisted in crippling anxiety as my thoughts fled to my expected travel to the United States on January 25, 2017.<br />
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Why?-- you may ask. I had quite a few valid reasons that explain my extreme paranoia. First of all, the fresh emergence of widespread Islamophobia across the west which would certainly target me because of my recent adoption of a headscarf. Not just that, the most bigotry of all took office of such a diverse nation which I truly looked up to as my second-home and sadly, it could now be lost. It does not end just here; the very day I flew out, Donald Jr. Trump passed an executive order of banning Muslims from seven countries-- most of them neighboring my country, Pakistan (thankfully not among the seven). So you see, my panic was genuine as discrimination against me was definitely inevitable.<br />
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Fear and uproar spread across social media, violent protests and marches dominated Washington D.C-- also coincidentally being my destination out of all the other several American cities I usually choose over the Capital.<br />
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As we zipped into U.S airspace, I could feel my confidence and identity shrink with every descend. And when I set foot on the "land of the free" and breathed in its air, I rather felt a strain on my freedom instead of experiencing relief like how I always did before. Sad.<br />
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The immigration queue was never-ending, as usual. I did not mind it, though-- it is not like I were looking forward to it. When the train of people ahead of us started dwindling, My turn was inescapable. To be honest, it was that very moment when paranoia and fear overtook me even more intensely. I shivered; and it was noticeable.<br />
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However, slowly and gradually, my fear decelerated. I thought to myself-- the border protection officer is just like any other person. He probably watches soccer with his pals on Sundays or plays Fortnite all day. He might even disagree with some of the stark measures. Not everyone is desensitized like their leader. In my homeland, our leaders are utterly corrupt, but that certainly would not do justice if we too, were considered or assumed as <i>“corrupt people” </i>by the outside world.<br />
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I was right. The man did not even possess the slightest form of intimidation or a hardened look. He was a humorist and did not refrain from cracking any joke that came to his head. I felt more relieved than before.<br />
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Late in the night-- towards midnight, I prompted to visit central D.C and surprisingly, did not hesitate despite tightening security measures and threats. Being the one and only soul in front of the caged White House apart from Police and the Secret Service, I whirled around at exact 12 AM, peering through the bars to get a good view of the lightened windows of the White House. There-- I spotted a lit room, guessing that Mr. Trump would probably be contemplating another executive order. If only he could peek out for a second and catch a view of me-- a frivolous veiled girl who crossed thousands of miles just to say <i>“hi”</i> and teach how to love (just kidding, ha-ha).<br />
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My heart sank and jolted as a voice behind me rippled, <i>"Do you want me to tell 'em Secret Service to call the man out to chill?"</i> It was a cop. Amazed by his silly remark in such a sensitive situation and tense environment, I could not help but laugh.<br />
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No one minded my presence and nothing stopped me from being "me".<br />
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If there is one lesson I had learnt out of this, it would be not to be dreadful and fearsome and embrace the little hope in people that there is. Of course, racism does linger along with hatred-- a great deal of people have come across it, but not every person is abhorrent. Good people with understanding minds still exist amidst the turmoil in this world.<br />
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One can never be a judge without having experienced a situation in reality and being completely blinded by everything the media states.<br />
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Sometimes, not all has drained.<br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><i>"I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe." - Dalai Lama</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFayIXAFOWcyaiArs8IlVw0F-elGQAUb6OQ6XgupoNNdTrW4N1jSa3wV-6MvIKsM0-_Rmt1tfv4_AmYWUw5JtRm9SPMXkK1ggTy0tU-DJjP9uPyBuWmeIlyBup0ddNI7kzAdpdjKk5U0/s1600/IMG_3596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFayIXAFOWcyaiArs8IlVw0F-elGQAUb6OQ6XgupoNNdTrW4N1jSa3wV-6MvIKsM0-_Rmt1tfv4_AmYWUw5JtRm9SPMXkK1ggTy0tU-DJjP9uPyBuWmeIlyBup0ddNI7kzAdpdjKk5U0/s400/IMG_3596.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 1, 2017-- The White House, Washington D.C</td></tr>
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<i> </i><span style="font-family: "vladimir script"; font-size: large;">Ilsa Tariq</span><i> </i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Reflecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09643499102221650176noreply@blogger.com0