Fazal Maula
Stories (14)
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Title: Rise Beyond Limits: The Journey from Struggle to Strength
Ahmed was born in a remote village nestled among dry fields and narrow dirt roads. The people there lived simple lives, where the days revolved around farming and labor. For most families, education was a luxury, something they couldn’t afford to prioritize. Ahmed’s family was no different. His father worked tirelessly as a construction laborer in a nearby town, while his mother washed clothes for local households to earn a few extra rupees. Their combined income was just enough to keep food on the table. From an early age, Ahmed was different. He was quiet, observant, and endlessly curious. While other children played outside after school—on the rare days they went—Ahmed would sit under a tree with torn books, trying to understand the mysteries they held. He didn’t have a proper school bag or new shoes. His notebooks were filled with pencil-scribbled notes, often borrowed from older students. But what he lacked in resources, he made up for with determination. In school, Ahmed quickly caught the attention of his teachers. His ability to absorb concepts and solve problems was far beyond others his age. But he was also frequently absent—his parents couldn’t always pay the fees, and sometimes, Ahmed had to help his father at work. Yet each time he was sent home, he returned with more resolve. He began working odd jobs—carrying bricks at construction sites, delivering groceries, and even shining shoes—anything to save money for school. By the time Ahmed reached his tenth grade, he had become one of the top students in the region. He studied by candlelight, using second-hand textbooks, often falling asleep with his head on his notebooks. His dedication paid off when he ranked among the top scorers in the state-level board exams. This moment, as small as it seemed to others, was a turning point in his life. It was the first time someone from his village had made such an achievement. With his score, he received a scholarship to a prestigious college in the city. Moving to the city, however, was like stepping into another world. The students spoke fluent English, used laptops, and lived comfortably. Ahmed, with his modest clothes and rural accent, felt like he didn’t belong. He faced humiliation, mockery, and isolation. There were moments he cried alone in his dorm room, questioning if he had made a mistake. But every time doubt crept in, he remembered his mother’s calloused hands and his father’s tired eyes. He wasn’t just studying for himself—he was carrying the weight of their sacrifices. Ahmed doubled down on his efforts. He attended lectures in the day, worked part-time jobs in the evening, and studied late into the night. He struggled with language and technical terms, but slowly, he began to catch up. He visited libraries, watched tutorials, and reached out to professors for help. Over time, not only did he start performing well, but he also began mentoring other struggling students. In his final year, Ahmed topped his university’s engineering program and was awarded a gold medal. Companies offered him jobs, and newspapers wrote about his journey. But Ahmed had different plans. Instead of joining a corporate firm, he returned to his village. Many people questioned his decision—why would someone with such potential return to a place with no future? But Ahmed had a vision. He wanted to build the future. Using his savings and some help from well-wishers, he opened a learning center in the village. The center started with just five students under a tin roof. But word spread. Ahmed taught math, science, and English, but more importantly, he taught the children how to dream. He shared his story, made education engaging, and gave hope to families who had long accepted poverty as destiny. Within a few years, his center expanded into a fully functioning school, supported by donations and NGOs. Dozens of children from nearby villages enrolled. Some of Ahmed’s earliest students went on to pursue higher education, becoming teachers, nurses, and even engineers. Ahmed never sought fame. But when asked to speak at education conferences or on television, he always told the same truth—that his journey was not a miracle. It was built on sleepless nights, relentless hard work, and an unwavering belief that he could rise above his limits. He would often tell his students, “You are not your circumstances. You are your choices. I chose not to give up. And that choice changed my life.” Today, Ahmed’s story continues to inspire thousands. Not because he became rich or famous, but because he turned his struggles into strength, and his strength into service. He didn’t just lift himself up—he became the ladder for others to climb.
By Fazal Maula 8 months ago in Motivation
Beneath the Surface: Battling Burnout and Anxiety in a Post-Pandemic World
Morning light spilled through the window, but my heart was racing. It’s been over two years since the lockdown ended, but life hasn’t gone back to normal. The thought of stepping outside fills me with unease. News channels still talk about the pandemic’s aftermath—it feels like the world changed forever. They say this is post-pandemic anxiety. I'm not alone—but even knowing that doesn't bring peace. Lying in bed, endlessly scrolling through my phone feels easier than facing the world, even though everything inside me feels tangled. At the office, everything feels heavy with pressure. From morning till night, Zoom calls don’t stop. Our boss expects us to be available 24/7. My eyes burn from staring at the screen. The fatigue is constant and creeping. They call us the “burnout generation”—and it’s true. Deadlines and invisible responsibilities sit like weight on our shoulders. Social media is always on, yet even posting feels like a chore. Being constantly connected isn’t as simple as it sounds. I saw a message on Instagram in my own language: “Take care of your mental health.” Hashtags like #MentalHealth and #Burnout fill my feed as people share videos—“drink water, meditate, take a walk.” It gives me hope that I’m not alone, but sometimes it feels like the pain runs deeper because real change is still so slow. I saw a short video on breathing techniques, but my thoughts drifted again. Therapy is becoming more normalized now—people talk about their sessions and self-care routines online. For me, just thinking about therapy feels brave—and terrifying. One day, I told my sister I was feeling anxious. She laughed and said, “Are you joking?” In our society, mental distress is seen as madness. People say, “Don’t worry, get married or go to a gathering—it’ll be fine.” This mindset is damaging. It silences you before you can even speak. I sometimes wonder if it’s just me or if everyone is quietly suffering. This silence is what scares me the most. It was a sunny afternoon when I decided to step away from the screen. Walking on the grass, the sunlight gently warmed my face. The wind whispered through the green branches above. For a moment, peace felt within reach—as if the world had paused. I took a deep breath and thought maybe therapy is something like this—natural and slow. Sitting on a bench in the park, I watched kids play freely. They seemed so untouched by the weight adults carry. A quiet hope bloomed that maybe I could feel that peace again. For now, I just needed this break. Eventually, I began searching for an online therapist. I found that mental health counseling is more available now. Even free helplines showed up in the results. Taking the first step felt hard, but I realized doing nothing wouldn’t change anything. I messaged a friend: “I’ve been feeling really anxious.” She replied instantly: “Me too. Let’s talk about it.” Her message gave me a strange comfort. Now I know it’s okay to ask for help when I need it. This journey hasn’t been easy, but every step has mattered. The way people talk is changing. Even in our WhatsApp group, friends now share their struggles openly. We talk about burnout, the pressure of social media, and mental exhaustion. I hope one day the stigma will fade completely. I still have hard days, but I’ve learned that saying “I need help” is not a weakness—it’s strength. The post-pandemic world has taught us that health, especially mental health, must come first. Maybe one day, when I say, “It’s okay—you’re tired too,” they’ll understand. Until then, I’ll keep breathing, keep walking, and slowly keep building myself back up.
By Fazal Maula 9 months ago in Petlife
