A story not to be missed.
"My dad is a fruit seller on a street in Karachi. He made sure my brother and sister and I go to school because he believes education will improve our financial situation and also help level the playing field for many others like me. It’s been a long journey for me from school to O’levels and A’levels from one of the most prestigious institutions in Karachi which was possible through a part merit based scholarship and part sponsorship by a wonderful ex teacher who believed in me.
Last month, I got my acceptance letter from McGill University.
All I dream of now, is finding enough funding or being granted a full scholarship so that I can actually go.”
He did not let me click his face. His friends and peers who he studied with do not know his story because all he really wanted was to fit in. He still believes his journey is incomplete and there is much to be achieved. He also wants to be able to sponsor someone like himself one day.
This photograph was taken at his father’s fruit cart where this boy sat (and still sits) every evening after school (and now work) to help his old man by giving him a break and asking him to go rest while he takes over his work.
It’s a metaphor, see: you hold a pen with your homework in front of you, but you don’t do it, you don’t give it the power to do its killing
My mother learned
the english language
so when she spoke,
others would listen.
When she cries,
I hear her
When she cries,
I know how long
she has been silent.
"It is 3 am and we are sitting in your midnight blue Honda, In an empty elementary school parking lot, talking.
-Key Ballah (via keywrites)
You are telling me stories from your childhood.
You tell me that Somali mothers
know how to grin and bare it better than any other women you know.
I listen to you tell me how your mother bared her way through raising four kids alone, in a country that didn’t want her.
You speak of her so delicately, that I almost mistook the word Hoya for a sliver of glass that you were trying not to cut your mouth on.
I imagine your mother,
grinning through the absence of your father and trying to turn you into the man she hoped he’d be.
You say that she says you are just like him when ever she’s mad.
I wonder if he taught you how to pick up and leave behind women as broken as she is.
Women who ache hard for everyone else forgetting to ache for themselves.
I watch your mouth as you tell me how much she worried for you,
how in Somalia, sheikhs would come asking her opinion on Islamic Rulings for women, but how in this country she is an immigrant, with no husband and traditional ways.
You say this place has turned her bitter, it has dried up her youth and her ability to trust.
You say you are nothing like your father.
That you could never destroy a woman so viciously.
And as I watch the beard on your face make everything you say sound pure,
I secretly pray to God that, that is the truth."
"I love you in waves,
-Amanda Helm (via thedanksideofthemoon)
everyday has been a hurricane."
"If you find yourself making excuses not to pray Salah, then you better realize that your soul is in serious trouble."-(via moeyhashy)
The son of the shaheed Muhammad Mantash distributed sweets at the funeral of his father. So we received our martyrs…..