Childhood
1 in 3. Content Warning.
When I was teenager a hot topic between friends was “first time” stories. I was 13 when I gathered in a group circle shivering with the girls. The cold air nipped our noses, but the conversation was steaming. We were waiting for the doors to open at school and listened attentively as one of the girls spun a yarn about how romantic the night of the winter dance had been. They spent the whole dance/ activity night on the dance floor. Bumping and grinding, dry humping like untrained pups but there was slow dancing thrown in too. We stood beneath the curious, leafless red maple. The girls licked their lips and gawked as our friend spoke. I was uncomfortable that day. Partly because my converse were shit in the snow and now, my socks had become soaked from the icy slush on the sidewalks and partly because of the conversation, but I listened in anyway. And partly because the night before I was invaded by an unwelcome creep and I could still feel throbbing between my thighs.
By Theresa M Hochstineabout 23 hours ago in Confessions
Letters to the Grave
Have you ever felt the pull of the past—that quiet ache to return to the crossroads where words were left unsaid? Not to chase the echoes of the dead, but to face the living ghosts we carry—the ones who walked out of our days, or slipped from our minds, or were cut away like threads no longer meant to weave our story. These are the conversations that haunt the quiet moments, letters addressed to absences, sent to the spaces where people once stood before time, distance, or choice turned them into shadows.
By Jackie Fazekasa day ago in Confessions
The Unopened Letter: What We Never Tell Our Parents and Why the Silence Lasts Forever. AI-Generated.
There is a letter you will never write. It lives inside you, fully formed, every word chosen, every sentence complete. In this letter, you tell your parents everything. Not the edited version, not the polite version, not the version that protects their feelings and your safety. The truth. All of it. The gratitude you have never known how to express. The wounds you have carried since childhood. The ways they shaped you, for better and worse. The person you have become, in all its complexity, and how much of that becoming traces back to them. The love you feel, so deep it terrifies you. The anger you have swallowed, so old it feels like part of your bones. The forgiveness you want to offer, if only they would ask. The understanding you long for, if only they could see.
By HAADI3 days ago in Confessions
I Never Expected a Stranger to Teach Me This Lesson
I Never Expected a Stranger to Teach Me This Lesson BY: Khan Sometimes the people who know nothing about us leave the deepest impact. I used to believe that the most important lessons in life came from people we knew well — family, close friends, teachers, maybe even heartbreaks. I never imagined that a complete stranger would be the one to shift my perspective in a way no one else ever had. It happened on an ordinary evening that I almost didn’t remember. I was sitting at a small roadside café, exhausted after a long day that felt heavier than usual. Life wasn’t falling apart, but it wasn’t exactly coming together either. I had been working tirelessly toward goals that seemed to move further away every time I thought I was getting closer. Rejections had become routine. Motivation had turned into obligation. And somewhere in between, I had started doubting myself. The café was half empty. The sound of traffic hummed in the background. I stared into my untouched cup of tea as if it held answers. “Long day?” The voice startled me. I looked up to see an older man standing beside my table. He wasn’t dressed in anything remarkable — simple shirt, worn shoes, calm eyes. I nodded politely. “You could say that,” I replied. He smiled gently and asked if he could sit. Normally, I would have refused. I’m not the kind of person who easily opens up to strangers. But something about his presence felt unthreatening — almost comforting. So I agreed. We sat in silence for a moment. Then he said something unexpected. “You look like someone who’s carrying a question you don’t know how to ask.” That caught me off guard. I laughed awkwardly. “I guess I’m just tired.” “Tired,” he repeated. “Or disappointed?” I didn’t know why, but his words unlocked something. Maybe it was because he didn’t know me. Maybe it was because he had no expectations of who I was supposed to be. Whatever the reason, I found myself speaking honestly. “I’ve been trying really hard,” I admitted. “But nothing seems to work. It feels like I’m stuck. Like maybe I’m not meant for what I want.” He listened carefully. Not the kind of listening where someone waits for their turn to speak — but the kind where someone truly hears you. After I finished, he nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me,” he asked, “when you first started chasing this goal, why did you want it?” The question felt simple, yet I struggled to answer immediately. “Because I believed I could do something meaningful,” I finally said. “Because it felt right.” “And now?” “Now it feels exhausting.” He smiled softly. “Sometimes,” he said, “we don’t get tired of the dream. We get tired of doubting ourselves.” His words stayed in the air. He went on to tell me a brief story about his own life — how he once left a stable job to start something risky. How he failed. How people laughed. How he almost gave up. And how the lesson he learned wasn’t about success or failure — it was about identity. “I realized,” he said, “that I was measuring my worth by outcomes. But outcomes are temporary. Effort is character. Persistence is character. Even failure is character. If you only feel valuable when you win, you’ll feel worthless most of the time.” I felt that sentence deeply. For months, I had been tying my confidence to results. Every rejection felt personal. Every delay felt like proof that I wasn’t good enough. I had forgotten that growth rarely looks glamorous. “You know,” he added, finishing his tea, “the world doesn’t decide who you are. It only reacts to what you keep showing up for.” That line shifted something inside me. We talked for another fifteen minutes. Nothing dramatic. Nothing life-changing on the surface. Just calm conversation. When he stood up to leave, he gave me one last piece of advice. “Don’t quit on yourself during a slow chapter. Stories need those parts too.” And then he walked away. I never saw him again. But I carried that conversation home with me. That night, instead of replaying my failures, I replayed his words. I realized that I had been expecting progress to look loud and obvious. I had been expecting reassurance from the outside world. What I truly needed was internal steadiness. The stranger didn’t solve my problems. My goals didn’t suddenly become easier. But something important changed — my mindset. I stopped asking, “Why isn’t this working for me?” And started asking, “What is this teaching me?” The difference was powerful. Weeks later, opportunities began appearing — not because life suddenly felt sorry for me, but because I showed up differently. I stopped carrying desperation. I carried quiet confidence instead. Sometimes I wonder who that man was. Maybe he was just someone passing through. Maybe he had no idea how much his words mattered. But that’s the beauty of it. We don’t always get lessons from people who stay in our lives. Sometimes they come from those who cross our path briefly, say exactly what we need to hear, and disappear. I went to that café feeling stuck and unseen. I left realizing that my value was never on trial — only my patience was. And all it took was a stranger to remind me.
By Khan 7 days ago in Confessions
A Life Story (For Carmen)
Part 1: The Story Everybody has a story. This is mine. It’s a very personal one. It’s a story that I never thought I could or would write. It’s a story about a childhood memory, heartache, and longing. It’s about a small act of kindness that can change a person, that can affect them for the rest of their life. It’s a story about a person, a girl. I wrote the story for her. It’s also a story about me. The the only reason I am sharing it now is because the person that it’s for will never see it. I also wanted to write it so that it’s now free, outside in the world, and not locked up inside my heart anymore.
By M8 days ago in Confessions
Religious Affiliations
The air was so warm I could feel my pores consuming the warmth and sweat began to pour out like mist. “It’s so hot” said my little nephew as I was playing with him. I decided to roll down the window for us. As I took a look around to see how the other people around me were taking in the heat. A lady with bright brown eyes approaches the car as we are sitting in the steamy parking lot.
By Cerina Galvan12 days ago in Confessions
The Gaddafi Model Revisited: Is Iran the Next Target in a Global Power Strategy?
The Gaddafi Model Revisited: Is Iran the Next Target in a Global Power Strategy? In recent geopolitical debates, a controversial phrase has resurfaced: the “Gaddafi Model.” Originally linked to Libya’s decision in the early 2000s to dismantle its weapons of mass destruction programs, the model is now increasingly referenced in discussions about Iran. The implication is clear—intense pressure, isolation, and forced dismantling of strategic capabilities may once again be used as tools of regime control. As tensions rise in the Middle East, the question is no longer theoretical: could Iran be facing a similar fate, and what role do regional powers like Pakistan play in this unfolding strategy?
By Wings of Time 12 days ago in Confessions
The Family Curse — Or So We Thought
The First Time I Sensed Spirit In the summer of 1975, my aunt Jane began unraveling — or so everyone said. She heard voices, answered them, predicted things that later came true, and spoke of things no one else could see. Fear swallowed her life. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia; and admitted to a psychiatric hospital in her early twenties.
By Debbie's Reflection13 days ago in Confessions
