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Life. What can we compare it to? A river overflowing with waves? A heavy rain falling from the sky? Or perhaps the sun that spreads its golden rays across the earth every day? Have you ever compared life to a road? If life is a road, then we are simply travelers on it. And life's paths are rarely smooth. Sometimes life is painful, full of sorrow. Other times, it brings moments of joy. At certain stops along this long journey, you may encounter bitter truths. But how we live along these roads is entirely up to us. We choose how to respond to every event, every situation. And I believe that's how it should be β because you will live the life you choose, not those who advised you. Most people go through life constantly looking for faults in others. But have we ever truly listened to our own hearts? Why are we afraid to share the love sleeping deep inside our souls? After all, love isn't something you can buy at a market. Tell me, when was the last time you hugged your mother and said, βMom, I love youβ? Sometimes, we feel the urge to cry deeply β yet we hold back because we're ashamed in front of others. We pretend we're happy. But to understand what real happiness is, we must first learn how to give it to others. I once came across a quote in a writer's book. It read: βIf you live every day as if it were your last, someday you'll most certainly be right.β That quote awakened a great sense of responsibility in me. Think about it: If today were your last day, would you still be doing what you're doing now? Would you walk the same paths? Would you say the things you've been meaning to say? If not, then let's spend our lives doing what truly matters to us. Our time is limited β don't waste it on regrets, fears, or problems that don't matter in the long run. Don't live someone else's life based on their opinions. Most importantly, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. Somehow, they already know who you are meant to become. Everything else is secondary. And never give up on your dreams or your goals. Don't say, βIt's not working, there's no more hope.β Every success is born from forcing yourself to keep going when it's hardest to do so. Success never comes easy. My art teacher used to say: βIf it's difficult, you're on the right path.β How true that is. Never lose hope. If it didn't work the 40th time, it might just work on the 41st. A person doesn't truly fail when they make mistakes β they fail when they stop trying. There's a popular saying we all know: βIf the plan doesn't work, change the plan β not the goal.β Every obstacle on the way to your goal can be turned into a lesson. Say, for example, you made 101 mistakes working on a project β and then finally succeeded. Don't call those mistakes; consider them 101 ways of learning how not to do it. Only when you think this way will the doors to real success begin to open for you. Let's take a look at the lives of world-famous people we all know today. Were things always perfect for them? Of course not. Take Steve Jobs, for example β one of the founders of Apple. Today, he's known as a man who changed the world of technology. But he, too, went through incredibly tough challenges. In 1985, he was fired from Apple β the very company he founded. Just imagine: being thrown out of something you built with your own hands. It was a crushing blow. But he didn't give up. Instead, he founded Pixar Studios β which later became one of the most successful animation companies in history. Eventually, he returned to Apple and created revolutionary products like the iPhone and iPad, changing the world once again. Or look at Albert Einstein. As a child, he was very slow. He started speaking late and was considered an average student in school. His teachers even said he showed βno signs of genius.β But he kept working on what he loved: physics and mathematics. Through his passion and dedication, he proposed a theory that changed the way we understand the universe β and rewrote the history of science with the formula E=mcΒ². Einstein always said: βImagination is more important than knowledge.β That's life, my friend. Complaining about it constantly is foolish. Instead, we must gather experience, not despair. Remember this again and again: Never give up. Hope blooms when you least expect it.
My brother in his eyes Her brushes hadn't been touched in 4 months. Although the art room smelled the same, there was no inspiration or happiness now. Like herself. Four months ago, Seren and her family faced a huge incident. The car crash. She is physically okay now, but her brother didn't make it. The only one who could truly understand her. Now, he's not here. Probably in heaven. No one knows why she blames herself for his death. Even if she hadn't been on headphones, would it have saved him? Since then, no one saw her smile again. She hasn't entered her art room. Hasn't listened to music. Once the best student with the most cheerful vibe, now she barely attends school. Her friends are too afraid to approach her. Her silence is louder than anything. Her eyes speak clearer than words about all she's gone through. A normal school day. Or not. An unfamiliar student entered the classroom. Another new face. When the teacher asked him to introduce himself, he only said his nameβKian. What a coincidence, he sat next to her. But stayed silent. Time moved like a shadowβunnoticed, but always present. Seren liked observing people. Kian wasn't like others. Quiet, respectful, a bit mysterious. He spoke only when needed. Never distracted her. Like he knew his lines. Finally, big break. Her favorite part of the day. A moment to read in peace. She was always alone during breaks. But not today. He was there too. On his headphones. The song finished. Then came an instrumentalβfamiliar. Too familiar. Her brother's favorite. Her hands began to shake. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Kian noticed. He didn't speak. Just handed her a tissue. Like he understood. The following week, some things changed. From that day, Kian didn't leave during big breaks. He sat there, headphones off, gazing at the ceiling. Seren found herself wonderingβwas he waiting for something? Maybe her? Next week? Same thing, but with snacks and quiet βhiβ s. Kian's greeting became familiar. Unremarkable, yet comforting. She started nodding. Whispering βhiβ back. It wasn't much. But it was something. Something she hadn't done in a long time. Days, weeks passed. Hope had been a foreign feeling. But now, she stopped bringing books to school. Because something else mattered moreβconversations. They talked about anything. Frog organs, flag meanings, monkey brain functions. She still spoke little, but interest returned. She felt alive again. Some days, she thought she saw her brother in Kian's eyes. Not literally, but the presence. The comfort. The quiet encouragement. His glance told herβmove on. For the first time in 5 months, she laughed. Over something silly. Her laugh was cracked, but it was real. That night, she looked for her headphones. A month later, she almost forgot the pain. Almost. Until one day, Kian asked something unexpected. βI heard you're good at painting. Can I see the art room?β She hesitated. What if the memories returned? What if she couldn't handle it? Still, they agreed to go after school. The sound of keys. Then the door. The scent of paint, old paper, dried acrylics. The room felt frozen in time. Kian didn't speak. Just looked around. After some time, he whispered, βYou've put so much of yourself in hereβ¦ it's beautiful.β But Seren was lost in her world. Then she spotted something on the groundβa drawing. Her and her brother, bright colors, joyful strokes. Had he drawn it? Maybe. She didn't cry. She picked it up, placed it on the table, and began searching. Two canvases. Two brushes. She handed one to Kian. βYou can't deny I'm better than you.β He smiled. βOkay, but this isn't over. I'll get you next time.β They got lost in that room for over 3 hours. She painted a dove soaring in a bright sky. He painted a familyβfour figures. But their faces were blurred. All but one. She noticed. Confused. Worried. He saw it. βIt's hard to put into words,β he said quietly. βMy houseβ¦ it burned down. I wasn't even there.β His voice cracked. βWe had a big fight. I was angry. I left. And when I came backβ¦ firefighters were there. White tarps... covering them. I didn't even know what to feel. I didn't know whether to scream or cry.β Tears fell, no matter how hard he tried not to. She spoke softly. βWe were in the car, fighting over the seat with the best headphones. You know, the ones with the best sound. Always arguing over it. It's so dumb. I was selfish. I wanted the better seat.β Then he added, βSometimes, we think we control everything. The fight, the outcome. We blame ourselves. We kill our hope. Stop moving on. But too late, we realize it's not our fault that we survived.β
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When I was little, everything felt fun and interesting. Life was colorful, beautiful, and unique. We grew up in a village where people were judged based on their social status, wealth, family background, and ancestry. I remember being easy to love β even when you beat us, punished us severely for our mistakes, or scolded us harshly. No matter what, we always apologized. We always crawled back to you, seeking your attention, your love, your time, and your acceptance. You were our hero; you were everything. However, as time passed, I began to see other people and their families. They lived lives far better than the one I had known. I kept failing, again and again. I fell into depression, blaming everyone around me. At some point, I became a person without any feelings at all. I had no choice but to wake up to a reality I had never truly seen before. I once thought I loved my father more than my mother, but now I realize that was only a reflection of my longing β a longing for someone who was no longer there. It made me forget the pain and disappointment that remained unresolved. I questioned myself over and over: Why did you do this? Why did you say that? I told myself I would never forgive you. I was overwhelmed with sorrow, resentment, and anger. I was ungrateful β too blind to see how lucky I was to have a mother like you. I carried so many broken pieces within me, and I had to find my true self beneath the mess I had gathered over the years. It was hard β so hard β to accept everything. I always dreamed of a life that was simple and beautiful, where happiness lasted forever. But reality was different. It's painful to live in an environment where you want to forgive but the same wounds reopen again and again. One day, I found a quiet place to sit and think. I realized: everything in this world is created through love. Love is the reason we are alive. Yet the most important question is not whether we love β but how we love, and in what way we express that love. That determines who we become. Every time you punished us, you used to say, "I know you will hate me one day for this, but I have to do it for your own sake. There is no other way I can raise you without you being hurt by your own envy, your own fears." I thought about that β deeply. Was every embarrassment, every pain, every harsh word truly the only way to prevent me from ruining my future? Was punishment the only tool? Must it always be pain? And then I realized β the greatest fear I have is that one day, my own children might hate me. But you, my mother, were willing to risk losing my love, to risk living with my resentment, all for the hope that I might one day survive and thrive. I was overwhelmed with tears. I remembered everything I had once forgotten: how I loved you, and how you loved me. How we spent time together. How you held me in your hands and kissed me. Until that moment, I had only remembered what I wanted to remember β the pain. I convinced myself that you hated me, and I refused to allow myself to love you again. But that day, I found the courage to gather myself and go to your home. Of course, we argued. Of course, I cried β and so did you. But I said to myself: I cannot change her. I may not be able to fully accept her as she is. But at the very least, I can learn how to love her β not by punishing, not by hating, not by scolding. And for the first time, I said to you, "I love you β no matter what happened in the past or what will happen in the future. You are a part of me, and I will always love and admire you." You cried and hugged me. From that day forward, yes, there are still struggles. But it has become easier to face difficulties, easier to love beyond boundaries. As long as we are alive, we grow, we learn, we change β and most importantly, we love.
Once upon a time, in the divine realms beyond human comprehension, there were two angels in service to the Almighty. As imagined in human dreams and visions, these celestial beings were adorned in radiant garments, their presence a harmony of grace, beauty, and unwavering devotion. They resided in a heaven free from sorrow, pain, or hardshipβa paradise that mortals could only long for. Their sacred duties were assigned by the Almighty Himself, and they carried them out with perfect obedience. But one day, a question stirred in the heart of one of the angels. βLord,β he said, his voice trembling with reverence, βYou created humans and granted them a status even higher than ours. Yet they stumble, again and again, falling into sin and error. Still, You forgive them, granting time and grace instead of swift punishment. Why?β The Almighty looked upon His angel and replied gently, βIf you were human, you would err just as they do.β The angel, in his pride, could not accept this. βNo, my Lord,β he said. βI would never fail You as they do.β So the Almighty gave him a chanceβnot as punishment, but as revelation. The angel was sent to Earth, stripped of all memories of his heavenly origin. He was reborn among humans, granted the role of a wise and respected judge, known for his fairness and virtue. Years passed. One day, a womanβyoung, breathtaking, and burdenedβcame seeking his help. From the moment their eyes met, he felt something stir deep within him, something new: love. She told him she could not be with him unless he did one thing for herβsomething against his principles. βThis is forbidden,β he said, disturbed. βHow can you ask this of me?β She leaned in, her voice soft and persuasive. βEveryone in this town does it. No one is punished. Why are you so afraid? Isn't love about sacrifice? About choosing someone else over yourself? I know it's wrong, but I also know you. You're kind, powerful, intelligentβ¦ Any woman would want to be with you. But unless you do this for me, I cannot be.β Blinded by love, he surrendered. For her, he crossed the line he swore he never would. Together, they built a lifeβfilled with laughter, wealth, children, and joy. For a time, it all seemed like bliss. But as the years passed, the happiness they once knew began to fade like mist in the morning sun. The joy became routine. The love, quiet. Something felt missing, though neither could say what. Eventually, the manβonce angelβfell gravely ill. He lay in bed, his body frail, but his mind adrift in memories. He thought of the woman he loved, the children they raised, the life they built. He had tasted joy, sorrow, pride, and failure. And through it all, he was grateful. Then, one quiet evening, a light descended from aboveβsoft, golden, and otherworldly. It hovered above his home, casting a gentle circle on the ceiling, like a whisper from a forgotten realm. Slowly, the light entered his forehead, awakening everything he had once been. His memories returnedβthe heavens, the promise, the pride. Tears welled in his eyes. βI could not walk the path,β he whispered. βNot as I thought I would. I did not understandβ¦ until now.β He looked up, not with regret, but with a quiet awe, as if something larger than words had settled in his soul. And for the first time, perhaps, he saw humanityβnot as flawed creaturesβbut as something else entirely. But what that was... he could not say. And maybe, neither can we.
Stories are what make the world go around, whether you are a writer or a reader. In the fall of 2011, I had the privilege to travel to Morocco for a couple days. What really struck me about Morocco was the community there. One of my most memorable experiences was the historical Bahia Palace in Marrakesh. If one paused one could almost feel the stories seeping from the cool walls, despite the warm outside temperatures. I stood with my camera in hand for a moment just feeling the history. A snapshot of a snapshot, I was intrigued by the colorful tiles, the refreshing breeze, tickling the gardens, and the curious kittens peeking around the corner. Kittens were everywhere in Morocco. Street cats yes, but also community cats. From what I observed, they were not seen as pests, but rather members of the community. Not to be coddled or pampered within an inch of their life but rewarded with a small dish when they caught something. Staying out of the way unless tempting young tourists with delightful play. Like accent marks adorning letters the felines often marked cute snapshots waiting to happen. The unexpected details that form stories and new snapshots always await. One just has to find the kittens.
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A few days ago, my cousin called me to express his frustration about losing his job with an international organization due to the policy shifts under the new U.S. administration. As we reminisced over the video call, I tried to reason with him and, in the process, educate him on the broader implications of donor funding and the need for self-reliance. I asked him pointed questions: Do you pay your taxes in dollars? Is the aid money your money? Did you vote in America? I reminded him that it's called aid money for a reasonβit's not our money I drew parallels between the U.S. political system and Nigeria's, where each administration has its own agenda. I reminded him of how a sitting Nigerian president once changed the currency just weeks before an election, causing widespread disruption, yet Nigerians adapted. Similarly, the U.S. has the right to prioritize its interests, including reallocating aid funding. So I said to him let me burst your brain, There's an African country where a few months ago,the president awarded a road contract for $9.8bn to a construction company that has the president's son on the board The citizen of the country are currently on Twitter crying because Trump just withheld $500m worth of medical aid that they were expecting to receive in 2025, is that amazing because the same citizen cannot see the contradiction between paragraph 1 and 2. The conversation then shifted to the role of USAID and other donor agencies in Africa, particularly Nigeria and Plateau State. While USAID has undeniably created jobs and improved livelihoods in some sectors, its impact has been a double-edged sword. For instance, the insurgency in Nigeria's northeast has persisted, partly because the humanitarian aid industry has become a multibillion-dollar business. Beautifully written proposals often overshadow the real issues, and the narrative keeps changing without addressing the root causes of insecurity. I also highlighted the ethical dilemmas tied to donor funding. Despite these challenges, we cannot ignore the positive contributions of USAID. It has funded critical projects in health, education, and agriculture, creating opportunities for many Nigerians. However, the time has come for African countries, especially Nigeria and Plateau State, to focus on sustainability. The Way Forward: Building Self-Reliance and Accountability 1. Documenting Success Stories: Every state and NGO should document their field experiences, creating a repository of lessons learned and best practices. These documents can be translated into multiple languages and sold online, showcasing the impact of donor-funded projects. For example, Plateau State could create a digital museum highlighting its transformation from a region plagued by ethno-religious conflicts to a united community. This would not only preserve history but also attract tourists and investors, much like Rwanda has done. 2. Leveraging Cultural Heritage: Nigeria is rich in cultural heritage, yet this potential remains largely untapped. NGOs and local communities can collaborate to turn cultural assets into sustainable sources of income. For instance, traditional crafts, festivals, and historical sites can be marketed to the global community, creating jobs and fostering economic growth. 3. Strengthening Institutions: Accountability begins with strong institutions. Nigerians must learn to vote based on competence rather than ethnic or religious sentiments. Paying taxes and demanding transparency from leaders will strengthen governance and reduce dependence on foreign aid. After all, the countries providing aid achieved their development through proactive policies and strong institutions. 4. Corporate-NGO Partnerships: The NGO sector has created numerous opportunities that can be leveraged by the corporate world. By partnering with NGOs, businesses can fulfill their corporate social responsibilities while supporting sustainable development. For example, a tech company could collaborate with an NGO to digitize educational resources in rural areas, bridging the digital divide. 5. Embracing Technology and Data: The world revolves around data and technology. African countries must invest in these areas to compete globally. During his NGO journey, my cousin witnessed the beauty of Nigeria's cultural heritage. How can we use technology to preserve and monetize these assets? For instance, virtual tours of historical sites could generate revenue while promoting cultural understanding. Conclusion The ultimate goal of developed nations is to keep developing nations dependent on them. However, Africa, and Nigeria in particular, has the resources and potential to break this cycle. By focusing on sustainability, leveraging our cultural heritage, and strengthening our institutions, we can reduce our reliance on donor funding and chart a path toward self-reliance.
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