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Florida rapper "Foolio" is currently being acknowledge as Tampa, Florida's best performing artist as of now. The rapper was recently booked to perform as a special guest at a local nightclub along with Yo Gotti's new CMG artist Big Boogie, where they both delivered great performances. Many supporters took to social media expressing how Foolio gave them such an amazing, jaw dropping performance that many wasn't expecting from the drill rapper.
The weight of the world sat squarely on his back, pushing life free from his lungs with every passing second. Yet, even as he felt death's embrace, he showed them respect and kindness. He thanked them for their service and they squeezed the life out of him. That boy's name was Elijah McClain, and the Aurora Police Department murdered him. I learned about his death last year, but he had already been dead a year by then. As I stared at his face on my screen, all I could think was what if that were my son? When my son was born we planned on moving to Colorado, but the plan always got sidetracked. One minute we don't have enough money, the next the military called and then doctors diagnosed my son with Autism and we decided Colorado, the haven we dreamed about, was going to have to wait. What if it didn't? What if we moved when my son was born? We got a delightful house with a backyard where he and I would build a treehouse. I could watch him play and laugh from the window. Listen to him live his life to the fullest. Let's say we took the leap and ran from the racism that is the south for the beauty of the mountains. He would feel safe and we would feel safe. Then one night he'll walk to the store to get something to drink. A neighbor will call the cops because he's a young Black man at night. What if we went, and he lived his life to the fullest only for me to bury him? My son can't speak, he wouldn't be able to calm the police like Elijah. My son panics easily. He wouldn't have been able to understand the events like Elijah. It would terrify my son, like it did Elijah. He wouldn't have made it home like Elijah. What if I moved to feel safe? Only to find out there is no safety for people of my skin tone, wouldn't that be a terrible thing? So, I sit in the racist south. I hold my family close and I wonder what if that were my son?
Life is that journey which one can't predict. If you have strength to survive even in the toughest phase of the life then you are a real warrior. I mean up or down is a part of life. “Get busy living or get busy dying.” That's the choice which one has to make. Life has turned in an unexpected way for everyone on this earth. Everyone lives were affected because of Covid-19. Everyone had discussed the situation of every person who got affected but none had mentioned about the future generation i.e. students. Well the girl name is Bhanu. She is a final year student who didn't had any idea how her life was going to change. She is a little carefree, honest, hardworking and kind person. Her daily routine starts like a normal person waking up at 5.30, doing exercise, attending classes, spending quality time with her friends in hostel like by playing cards, by hearing out each other, by celebrating festivals like Holi, Lohri, Christmas. Once she had played a prank on her junior. She with the help of her friend Kajal executes the plan. That junior had feelings for a girl from Bhanu's Department. Bhanu saved her friend's number with his crush name. They both talked as if a senior which is not less than a friend now is talking with another friend. Bhanu said that Amar has feelings for you and he is a really nice person. To this Ana (actually Kajal) replied that I also have feelings for him. I also want to tell this to him. Bhanu took the screenshot of this and shared it with Amar. She convinced him strongly that it is the truth. That night Bhanu had a sound sleep but Amar was so restless, excited and nervous that he couldn't sleep for the single moment. He came to know that it was a prank the very next morning. All laughed a lot on him. Amar also laughed with all three. That's the bond they all four of them shares with each other. The fourth member of the group is Akbar. When the Lockdown started her life has changed completely. From student's point of view her future seems to be at the edge of cliff. She had lost the golden opportunity of being the volunteer in National Science Exhibition. She also couldn't clear the entrance for which she was preparing for past 4 months. Both the things happened on the same day. Obviously, any student would feel demotivated than lockdown started. Life seems to be more challenging to her now. She was now at her home with her family. Earlier her mornings were all about work-out. But now she plays badminton with her father. Most of the time she loses but sometimes she does win from her father. Her father teases her a lot about it and she smiles a lot on it. That's the bond between a daughter and a father. Earlier she used to get ready for classes now she is with her mother in the kitchen. Afternoons in the hostel were sharing lunch with friends but now she eats with her family. In the evening she used to go to guitar class with her friend and then for an evening walk in the ground. But now she just keeps on seeing her surroundings how the things had changed a lot. Sometimes she keeps on staring the beauty of Moon. After spending quality time with her family, talking to her childhood friends on phone and giving some time to herself. She came to know that Covid-19 is a blessing in disguise. She has regained her lost confidence. Everyone wants to secure their future but the action which one takes makes the all difference. Its not like she had achieved something big during lockdown. But the steps she took will definitely makes the difference. After all "Rome wasn't built in a day." She started writing again. She had started giving time to drawing also along with the photography. She tried to enhanced her skill to a next level during this Quarantine period. She sometimes misses her guitar which she used to play with her hostel friend. She started attending some webinars of her interest. She had also completed some of the courses. She won't be able to do all this if she didn't have plenty of time in her hands. She had learned her lessons from the situation. The most crucial lesson which 2020 had taught her and each person out there is to keep on appreciating the loved ones while they are with us. She also had learned that every situation is a door to a new opportunity. That's how a final year student deal with the situation. Sometimes life is not about profit or loss. It is more than that. I wish a very happy and a bright future to Bhanu. I hope just like Bhanu everyone out their find their path. Lastly live the life to the fullest as “Time once gone cannot be recorded.”
We were in a barren city. The storms kept hitting. Nobody knew when they were coming next. Blackened sky. Disastrous rain. Wailing sirens. Police officers, yelling orders into their PA systems - their voices blaring through the speakers. Debris flying. Them: “Hands up!” Us: “Don't shoot!” Them: “Hands up!” Us: “Don't shoot!” Them: “Hands up!” Us: “Don't shoot!” Over and over and over again. We ran into the stores and warehouses, hiding under retail carts and equipment made of iron that might keep us safe but not for certain. We maneuvered the industrial carts from one side of the space to the other to escape the bullets....but they wouldn't stop. They came for us. They came for our skin. The bullets sinking into our yellow and tearing holes through our black. We were hurting; broken on the inside, but brave on the outside. We were angry but we were together. The flag waved tattered and tired in the background, grayed by the smog. When the war on the foreground was over we would walk, looking for younger children that didn't belong to us - not because we were covetous but because they were our allies. They looked ivory as bone, helplessly washed in glistening shades of white by the hands of God our maker. Some were painted a dark red. Others were dipped in bright yellows and fine golds. Most of the children were polished in the prettiest brown and black tones; a stony trail of ebony by the wayside. We walked. Then we sped. Then we ran. Them: “Hands up!” Us: “Don't shoot!” Them: “Hands up!” Us: “Don't shoot!” Them: “Hands up!” Us: “Don't shoot!” Again, we sought for cover, trying our best to remember the “duck-and-cover” protocol from our lock-down drill days in grade school. We were adults on the inside who knew righteousness apart from injustice but we wore the bodies of fifth graders, and seventh graders, and eighth graders. We were us, but the us from our youths, staring each other in the eyes as if to scream, “fight for your life! It is our God given right to live!” Imagine that? A God given right. The upmost right that not a single white man had the right to strip away, but he did so in plain sight because he could. Their stark hands collected the muscle memory of the last lynchings; their craving for the next victim....insatiable. We fought for the right to breathe the same air as these white law enforcement officers. We were not privileged enough. To them, black or yellow meant filthy and unpardonable. They counted us as unworthy. We hid for the sake of preserving our right to bleed red. They saw us. We owned our anger. They opened fire. The color of our skin didn't inspire the crime; it was the crime. They raged, offended that we were still awake. They seethed for fear that we were not yet left for dead in pools of our own blood. They wanted us asleep forever. They were scared of us, threatened by a beauty that challenged their white privilege. They called our skin dominant so their society made us inferior. We became a part of it, having no choice but to play the role of the weaker vessel. How did I not know that this series was on repeat for over 400 years? Yet, the world remained quiet about our dread. Instead of defending us, they eyeballed our ascent into a Heaven that called us home too soon. Glory demanded us. We carry on, filling up the streets as if nothing ever happened; traveling on threadbare feet that were tired of amounting to the stereotype that “all minorities do is run.” They blame us for running but it's the only option they offer us. We run until we see Heavens gates swing wide, shadow-less and full of acceptance that our prior world ruled we didn't deserve. God waits on the other side to meet us and we grow nervous, buckling before His bigness. Were we ready all along? Did He count us as so from birth? Either way, He doesn't shun us. He doesn't know how to, so instead He bear hugs us. Deep in my soul, I can feel hundreds of thousands of God's children fling their eyes open from the same nightmare, all at once and in different time zones. They feel like my friends. One, by one, by one, we wake up with a disturbed kind of energy that sends elastic waves from the Earth's epicenter to its opposite poles. We sense that the racists could feel the aftermath of our torment. “Why can't the nightmares remain nightmares?” we ask rhetorically. Our voices echo from different bedrooms. We ache for dreams only to wonder if they are worth writing down or fighting for. The media tells us, that we might not ever survive to see our dreams. They don't tell us verbatim of course, but the reports all end on notes that shrill with dissonance and screech with injustice. For the first time at age 26, I am unsettled by my indigenous features, alarmed that I am a double minority, who can't scrub the color off of my skin. I am Latina. I am a yellow woman.
Dear Mr. Policeman You made my mom cry. She didn't know I was standing behind her. She was sitting on the couch watching the t.v. I was in my room and heard her saying no no no. So I went to see if she was ok. She was hugging the couch pillow and crying. She was crying really really hard. It scared me. I saw you on the t.v. Mr. Policeman. You had your knee on that mans neck. He kept saying that he could not breathe. Didn't you hear him? And how come you stayed on him for so long? Why didn't you listen? My mom was so so sad. It made me cry to see my mom like that. But I have seen her like that before. Like the day my dad went to prison and when my uncle was killed in that drive by on Crenshaw and when my granny died from cancer. My mom has cried a lot. I went to my mom and gave her a hug. She hugged me really, really tight. It hurt a little bit but it was ok because I'm strong. My granny use to always tell me that. I told my mom that it was going to be ok because God is watching over us. I asked her if she wanted me to pray. She said yes and hugged me harder. So I prayed. I prayed for my mom first. I asked God to stop the tears from coming and to help her to be happy again. Like she was before we lost our family. Then I prayed for all of the people who are crying because of what you did. And then I prayed for you Mr. Policeman. I asked God to help you. I asked him to help you to know that it is not right to hurt other people. I asked him to help you to know that we are suppose to love each other and to be helpful and kind. Then I asked him to help you listen. Mr. Policeman can you please listen next time? And can you please tell your policeman friends to listen too? Thank you photo- Santi Vedri on Unsplash
Ignorance. Privilege. The cost of a life. These are the topics I considered as I sat down to write. It's hard to know where to start right now. Ignoring that we are still in the throes of a pandemic minimizes that reality and all who have and continue to suffer. And yet, the pressing issue of racism and the related unrest in the country seems to require immediate attention. There is no question that we are in turbulent waters and sadly, there seems to be no calming in sight. People are angry. People are divided. People are hurt. People are dying. Through it all, our leadership is fanning the flames of divisiveness rather than encouraging unification. A friend has said to me on more than one occasion that ‘an optimist is merely a pessimist who has had his heart broken too many times.' This sentiment might be attributable to someone else, but its meaning is most important. Beyond the obvious implications, this thought conveys the notion that what occurs around us has a profound and lasting affect that can be far greater and longer-lasting than what is surface level. I feel sad about what is occurring in this country. I feel forlorn contemplating systemic and pervasive racism. I feel horrified witnessing some of the current response. I am not caveating or disclaiming when I explain that I am not judging, nor am I condoning. I know that I do not believe violence is the answer. I also know for certain that I have no idea what it is like to be a person of color in a country that is plagued by racism and discrimination. This is simple. The murder, degradation, and injury perpetuated on and against people of color in this country is heart-wrenching and sickening. It's time for it to stop. The destruction and harm caused to property, businesses, and people, is tragic, devastating, and unnecessary. 100,000 lives lost is a staggering figure. The media's desire to mostly publicize the negative to support an agenda is disappointing. The inability of many representatives to put country before party and people before schemes is mind-boggling. The lack of accountability that has infected our society for decades and our inability to break free of certain paradigms, no matter how little they continue to serve us, is confusing. So, what now? What do we do in the middle of a pandemic as we watch our country burn around us? Well, now we start to do the work. This work is challenging because it is fairly intangible. It's difficult because it is different for everyone, so no universal standard exists. It can seem impossible because it requires patience, courage, and determination. The work means being uncomfortable. It means taking responsibility. It means holding each other accountable. It means asking tough questions. It means acknowledging and putting a spotlight on the broken parts but also making room for the goodness. It means standing up for what's right. Every single time. No matter what. The work is not a hashtag. It's not posting on social media. It's not trendy. It doesn't take one day or even one month. The work is a lifelong commitment. The work will connect you to folks you may never have known, but it will also probably lose you some friends. The work is not clean, it's messy. It's emotional. It will break your heart, knock you down, and then help you get up again. Here's the thing. Without some of us doing the work, we are totally lost. If some of us roll up our sleeves, take a deep breath, and dive in, we can find our way to a much brighter future. My father told me this morning that he sees my despair and he knows it well, but wanted to offer the following wisdom: “We've been here before. Our country has been in a place of chaos and pain and darkness. I have witnessed what is seemingly this country being burnt to the ground in the most literal and metaphorical ways. What I have learned is that what has seemed like the end, is never the end. What has seemed like the worst, is never the bottom. What comes from this pain is hope and love. We are in a bad place, but we are also in a unique position to turn it around. But we can't do that without deciding first that all hope is not lost. We must first acknowledge that there is room to grow. So much room. Have faith in the goodness of people. Sometimes it seems like there is more bad than good, but I've lived on this earth for nearly 67 years and I can tell you that just is not the truth.” I can't think of a better message. There's no easy way out of all of this. That's the reality. We each have a responsibility here if we want more. We have to do our part. Buildings will be rebuilt, bodies will heal, hospitals will be reconverted, and graffiti will be washed away. However, we can only truly heal as a country, a society, and as humans, if we decide that that the value of a singular life cannot be assigned a dollar amount, that we are all truly equal under the law and in each other's eyes, and that the work is always worth it. Always.
There are millions of unpredictable things in the world. But the one which I had found most unpredictable in my 18 years of life is “The Life” itself. Life is so unpredictable that you can't even tell that after next 10 seconds you will be reading this essay or not. It seems quite funny that no one in this world is ready for what next is going to happen with you? Are you ready? I don't think so, and even I'm not ready for what's going to happen next with me. But, what we can do is “Be ready to accept the reality”; we can't deny the reality and live in the dreams. We must be ready with a thought in our mind that is “I might not be ready for what is next? But I'm ready to give my 100% in any situation of my unpredictable life”. Life is very simple but complicated to explain but still I try doing that, by explaining more in fewer words. Life is a game (Suppose any game which you like the most). It begins with the day you are born and ends on the day of your death. But, in those years while you were actually living, you did anything which can make you live even after your death? Seems quite confusing?? Let me help you, do you know William Shakespeare, Mother Teresa, Mahatma Gandhi, Bill Gates, Albert Einstein, Muhammad Ali and Silkworm? I guess you know all of them except the silkworm, right? We'll come on the silkworm later first let's discuss about the famous personalities we have mentioned above. These all people were normal like us the only thing that made the difference is their thinking! They thought, they believed, they took action, and did something which was unbelievable, but it was the reality and it is the reality and we all accepted it! And in fact we initially never accepted it, see how unpredictable life is. We never believed we can talk through phones, we never thought we can have light; we never thought we (Indians) will be able to get independent and we never thought a million things but they happened. And this is how the people who thought and did these things are still living even after death. They are remembered and that is what exactly I want to convey through this essay. We should do something to be getting remembered. Maybe not as big as they did but at least something to be got remembered, let's get back to the example of Silkworm. Simply I say it's born, live and then die, but in that period of time it gives the Silk and that silk is so precious that somehow it's remembered. You may not be able to be like the people mentioned above but at least you can do something even on a small scale like the silkworm to be remembered even after death. You won't take your money when you will die; it's a waste in Heaven. This thing is a universal truth and predictable that you can't take money to the heaven, you'll go there empty hands. In the unpredictable life it is easy to move on a negative path. But very tough to move on positive path because (it's not predictable but in most cases) it doesn't give quick happiness, it might be filled with struggles and it might be having huge challenges. But, negative path is struggle less because it's not quite tough to become a bad person. But still there's a way this unpredictable life can be lived with happily and that way is simply summed up in a single word i.e. Satisfaction. Even in the hardest times which came in your life because you couldn't predict it earlier you can still live with happiness if you are still satisfied and accepting the reality. Happiness is directly proportional to Satisfaction, the more you are satisfied, the more will be happy. So, while summing up this essay about unpredictable life I would like to say three things. First, stay satisfied even in the hardest situations. Second, if you face any fall back then try to accept it, learn from it and improve as soon as possible. Third and the last… Try to do something to live even after death, in positive way. And by doing all this you can handle all the situations of this unpredictable life.
This is the Kuqa beacon tower. Not a penis...understand. It was build in the Han dynasty to protect both the Han empire and the travellers. I have a feeling that I may have been a soldier on that tower who was very protective in a past life. For the simple reason I have a cronic obessession with this tower and its landscape. I have always been protective of my family and friend and penpals. This tower reminds me of my new found self protectiveness on line. I am a weeding out the assholes just like the people on that tower just different country and era. I can imagine me be on top of this beacon tower trying to weed up friend from foe.
Too much love to give Means too much love to hide And too much self approval Means too much indulgence and strife Too much water given And the water is turned to wine Too much sharing present And it is never thine But ever mine ever ours Excess of April Showers Brings only floods in May And Draught in June. You, lift up thy face to the Hoary head And stop. And wait. How long? Until you realise that pain is seldom evil As it forces one to acknowledge The beating of their own heart
They got us black folks dying When us black folks trying Cop put a gun up to his head Now us black folks crying Then they sitting around wonder Why us black folks riot Saying a nigga had a gun You know us niggas ain't buy it I ain't lying This stressing on my chest made me defiant Now they want me to believe all lives matter But the black man tried to climb the ladder Then they shot him down on a silver platter All it do is make us madder Make them mothers even sadder And the worst part we got our hands up Screaming please don't shoot And they mad cause the black man don't wanna stand and salute Salute to what? A country that never gave a fuck Now we got a president that rather see more niggas in the morgue Man never mind, If you don't see the racism you color blind Stevie Wonder can see through this shit it's televised They tellin lies I seen this before with Rosa Parks in 55 Only difference is nah there's no difference we still dying But none the less I'm still out there with picket signs and I protest Meanwhile hate running through my chest And these white folks still want to put my patience to the test And all I wanna do is take a gun and rip bullets in they chest But I can't because God told me keep my head up and stay blessed Now another brother dies and the son that a mother has to lay to rest And the media tells me black people need to just hope for the best And something I forgot to mention 3 years ago the media said only uneducated women voted for Mrs. Clinton So what you tryna say I'm a black woman with no intentions A black woman with no intuitions A black woman that's too indifferent But if I say something to ignorant You might think it's to belligerent But really you wouldn't comprehend it Cause America to rich to wanna listen And I get it If I was white and rich I wouldn't give a damn about no black folks business But I'm Black and this my business To go out and make a difference I'm young black and educated 28 and got a business But for you that ain't okay So is it to ignorant for me to say the only people that voted for Donald J is Mrs. K Mr. K and little K that's a whole family of KKK all they do is want to slay another black man into his grave So we have to stay awake and just pray for a better day I mean we tried to change the world Maybe we should just try and save our state I mean vote for a better chief that would put police into they place I'm just waiting for that day I'm in front of Heavens gate And I get to ask God What happened back on November 8th? And he get to tell me America to scared to wanna grow We put money over respect And we forgot about our goals We forgot black people and white people we fighting as a whole Our skin may be different but what's same is our soul The blood running through our veins is the same as the rose And where we go after death good god heaven knows So we better make friends cause he ain't gone open up his door to that white power bull and no racist ass foes In my eyes we all the same But to you we at the bottom of the chain You rather call us out our name then to look at us the same You wanna take away our rights, and see our ankles wrapped in chains Even though I'm fighting for equality if you call me a nigger I swear that would be the day I'm starting to see change, or all this racism got me going insane because H&M went and thought blacks and monkeys were the same Now Gucci and Prada got a black face with a nigga name And Joy Villa thinks wearing a build a wall dress will make America great again The only great that I see is SEGREGATED Because you have whites on one side and a wall stopping the Mexicans So how can we open up our hearts when American doesn't want to let us in The way I see it, we need to learn how to love before America is great again!
Many people think that to live at home is better. My homeland is Kyrgyzstan. I know the Kyrgyz language, Kyrgyz culture, and Kyrgyz customs. I am used to Kyrgyz nature and morals. I'm used to my home town, its streets, trees, roads, and buildings.My relatives and friends live in Kyrgyzstan, I have adjusted and adapted to the life in this country. But i want to tell you a story about my journey to the Unknown,the story about growing up and living independently. -Maybe I'll put you more warm socks? - Mom, do not worry, I have those woolen socks that my grandmother tied up. With these words, my journey to the Unknown began. I was not afraid, I did not want to run away, like the boy who was brought to the dentist. It seemed to me that everything should be like this... 2 years ago I flew to Krasnoyarsk to study at the Siberian Federal University at the Biological Faculty. I understood that I would face difficulties. I need to get used to the foreign language, the culture, customs, morals, laws of another country. I will have to adapt to a new place, a new country, a new city, a new home. I will have to fall in love with this country.And it happened. I was able to become a part of society, I could feel comfortable. It always seemed to me that gloomy people live in Siberia. But I've never been so wrong. Of course, in Krasnoyarsk terrible frosts, but the city lives by the warm hearts of city dwellers. Krasnoyarsk is considered an industrial city, but its true wealth is the people living here. Nordic looks on the outside, hot character inside. I felt like one of them. In fact, living abroad is the best thing that's ever happened to me. The cold has taught me to appreciate the warmth, people have shown how they love and live. During the years of my life here I have found many friends and associates, a huge amount of life experience, both good and bad. But most importantly, I've learned to appreciate the little things, like a loved one's smile, warm socks, and hot tea. Finally, I want to say that the fear of the unknown is the most justified fear. If you get the chance to go through the same thing I did, don't think about it. Go ahead, and who knows, maybe the unknown will be your second home. P.S.: Now I'm 20 years old, I'm a 3rd year student, I'm in love with a real Siberian beauty. Her name is Polly. And this essay I dedicate to her.
We live in an interesting period when every man and every woman has a chance to be himself or herself. It is the main reason for the diversity of hobbies. Nowadays you can be a builder and go dancing in your free time or be a teacher and go boxing after the lessons, while in the Victorian Times every man had to have either a masculine hobby such as hunting or enthusiasm for politics and a woman had to grow children and cook. I think it is awesome that we have so many opportunities for self-realization, because our world has become freer, more accessible and tolerant. My hobby is not so unusual as in the examples above. I love writing poetry. Poetry for me is a place where I can open another side of my personality. For example, my poetry is often about love or secret love, hard relationships and life, betrayal or something like that while in real life I am a cute small girl who carries a plush puppy in a backpack and has good long relationships with her boyfriend. Sometimes something wakes up in my soul or in my mind and I feel something to another boy or conjure up a remembrance about someone who was important for me and whom I can't see now. In this way, for example, I wrote one of my last poems about my dead granny. It was a weekend, I was walking with my boyfriend when I saw an old poor woman in the street who looked like my granny and when she began singing I started crying. I gave her some money and went away. When I returned home and was left alone, I remembered that situation and began crying again. At that moment inspiration came to me and I wrote my poem. This poem is entitled «Бабуля» or «Granny» in English and is about a hard life of every woman in all times, about disappointment in life and people who surround us. It consists of a small dialogue between a small girl and her old granny who had a picturesque life. The girl asks her questions about the meaning of the words «life», «pain» and «death» and the grandmother replies, recalling her whole life. When she talks about «life» she recollects laughter near the fire with her friends, roundelays, forests, voices that called to themselves and then banished her, how she tried to help everyone and find near and dear ones and how winters and voices were constantly changing. When she talks about «pain» she describes how her close people betrayed her and how she felt loneliness in a remote place without any man nearby. And when she explains the meaning of the word «death» she describes the same situation as mine when I saw that old woman: she speaks about an old song which can conjure up a remembrance about you in your relatives or friends mind and they will remember you and their heart will begin to beat more often. In the end of the poem the girl says that it is very difficult to be alive. This poem is one of my most favorite because it was written by a sincere feeling and this work makes all mature readers cry. Another poem of mine was a verse about a man whom I unfortunately fell in love with. This feeling worried me for a long time, about some months, and I often fell into depression because of this incredible love. It was impossible because I saw that he would never feel anything to me and I had reliable long relationships with another man at that time. The reason for writing was my homework in Literature where the theme was "courtly and impossible love" which was very similar to my then-thoughts. This work is entitled « Год, как сон» or «A year is as a dream» and every first line in a strophe of the poem begins with the name of the poem and then illustrates it, making a story during a year, where every season has its own significance. The lyric heroine of this poem is a young married woman of the Middle Ages, who falls in love with a knight. The story begins in summer, when all was amazing and there were no signs of trouble. Then autumn comes and a storm arises with the advent of the knight in our heroine's mind. Next comes winter, there is darkness in her heart and she wants to burn all things around her for him and for being with him. However, when spring comes, the storm calms down, her pain goes away, she loves her husband again, feels innocent and kisses the knight goodbye. The poem ends with the words «Наш год, как сон» or «Our year is as a dream» that means that she felt connection with the knight but she understood that this was a temporary feeling. My teacher appreciated this poem what was amazing for me because I did not believe in myself. In the end of the essay I want to say that a hobby is a very significant thing for every person which can help us to understand ourselves, our vision of this world and to find like-minded people, who will make our life brighter and more interesting. I think self-awareness and self-development are very important things and you shouldn't hesitate about your hobby because it reflects your individuality and if you change or hide it to please anyone, you will change and betray yourself in this way.
By Dave Holmes, Esquire Now we're getting somewhere. This Saturday, roughly half a million people are expected to descend upon Washington, D.C., for the March For Our Lives, a student-led demonstration to curb gun violence in America. There are over 800 satellite marches being planned in cities and towns across the country. As the gun control and school safety issues reach a critical mass, the teenagers who forced the conversation will make their voices heard. And their voices are furious, clear, and absolutely correct. We have marched before, but this one feels different. This one feels like we've reached a tipping point. The National Rifle Association is on the ropes. Just one year ago, 45 percent of Americans viewed the NRA positively, with 33 percent viewing them negatively. According to a poll taken earlier this month, now it's 40 percent negative to 37 positive. Maybe it's because they've chosen as their public face one Dana Loesch. Maybe it's the apocalyptic overreach of NRA TV, in which the world is a bullet-riddled hellscape that can only be survived by stockpiling military-grade weapons. Or maybe it's just that the truth can't be ignored this time: we are the only country on Earth where mass shootings happen with anywhere near this frequency, and that fact is directly attributable to the NRA's influence on our government. They are shoveling money toward our politicians, while our kids and their teachers go through active-shooter drills and wonder whether they'll be next. God help us. It is not like we're incapable of action. Just this week, Broward County Schools Superintendent Robert Runcie announced new security measures, which include identification badges which students will be required to wear at all times, and—I swear to God—government-issued clear backpacks, which will be the only backpacks students will be allowed to use. In a letter to students and their families, Runcie said, “We want to assure you that the safety and security of our students and employees remain our highest priorities.” Think about that: prioritizing kids' safety and security means requiring clear backpacks, which incidentally are too small to house an AR-15, before lifting a finger to limit access to assault weapons. That's where we are right now. The image is almost too perfect: We are literally forcing our baggage on these kids. In an op-ed for NBC News this week, Bill Murray compared the Parkland teenagers to the college students who led protests against the Vietnam War: "It was the students who made all the news,” Murray wrote, “and that noise started, and then the movement wouldn't stop.” And he's right: sometimes it takes the petulance and moral clarity of a teenager to make an adult see the truth. That we are still, in 2018, openly debating whether there should be more or fewer guns in schools, while we force privacy-obliterating luggage on them, stands as proof that the adults in the room have dropped the ball. We can move this thing, but we all have to start pushing. Show up this weekend. To find out where your local march is taking place, put your zip code in here. We've failed our kids for long enough. Now we have to get in line behind them.