Prabhas couldn’t save #RajaSaab Jr NTR couldn’t save #War2... #Devara. Vijay couldn’t save #JanaNayagan. But my man RamCharan strong 👑 He made #GameChanger watchable and gave #Peddi hit BB Now #RC17 choose the right script, deliver your best. 🙏 #AlwaysRamCharanshow more

What’s up Dream Chasers! 💫 Have you streamed my... new single “Today” yet? Please, stream now on Spotify! Save/like the song, follow and add me to your playlist! 🥰 👉🏻 thank you! You all are THE BEST! I couldn’t have asked for better, more supportive fans!show more

My heart is in pieces. I lost my best... boy yesterday. He was 13 but it still felt sudden. I know a lot of you know Homer as he was often in the background of my pics. He was the sweetest, funniest and most loving little guy, and I feel very grateful to have had spent such a good amount of time with him. Yesterday Homer had a massive seizure. I rushed him to the vet immediately and they tried for several hours but we just couldn’t save him. I know it was his time. And I know I did everything I could. But it still doesn’t take away the heartache. I will miss him so much. They are with us for such a short time but have such a huge impact on our lives. Rip my little guyshow more

So it’s completely fine for Ali to call Bozo... “the man who is now married to the woman he loves” a woman he still loves and keeps confessing to at every chance MY BROTHER just because Bozo once saved his life? Everyone supports their friendship so much that they’re even okay with Ceylan sacrificing herself for it. But when Ceylan says, “I couldn’t run away from Bozo. He kept finding me everywhere I went, so I had no choice but to say yes. But love is something else I love Ali,” suddenly no one can find even a little empathy for her. I’d understand this reaction if it only came from men who can’t accept that a married woman might still love someone else. But the same women who constantly defend Sultan as a victim can’t extend that same understanding to Ceylan. The double standard is obvious. And let’s be honest if Yılmaz had truly wanted to save her from Bozo, who was literally stalking her, he would have done it. He couldn’t protect Cey or even Melek. Or he didn’t want to so Ali will be forever stuck in Bozo’s house Just like Ali said in episode 1. #Yeraltıshow more

Flying Bodies My sister’s body flew in a blast.... Flew past two buildings and a street. Her husband — may he rest in peace — was found two days later, in a nearby alley. Early in the war, a neighbor’s house was hit. The people found a woman’s body, lying calmly on a bed… but on the fifth floor of the next building. Some said: “The angels carried her to safety. She was just sleeping.” I don’t know if “flew” is the right word. But the blasts are so strong, it feels like bodies try to save themselves — leaping out of the fire, running from hell. The air smells of blood, burnt flesh, and melted iron. The sound of explosions? Like the sky ripping open, shaking the ground, deafening our ears until fear howls inside our heads. God didn’t make bodies to burn, tear, or get crushed under concrete. A father told me once — the only survivor of his family — how he spoke to his child trapped under the rubble for half an hour. The boy’s voice faded… until he gave up and slipped away. Civil defense couldn’t pull them out. Like hundreds of others, they stayed under the ruins, breathing death. Beneath this surface now live 52 martyrs. The family changed addresses — the surface isn’t a surface anymore. “Nobody really dies. Souls just change their place.” Yesterday, I saw bodies flying through endless explosions. Fire mountains climbed over the towers, and thick smoke turned the sky dark red — as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Why do bodies run upward? Maybe at the peak of terror, they race the fire eating the earth. Maybe fear gives them wings, lifting them, even for a moment, to feel free. Now, after two years of this war, we know: no ambulances, no hospitals, no rescue teams can save us. Only the black bags wait for us — twenty kilos of burned flesh in each. I wonder: Doesn’t the world have gentler ways to kill us? Ways that don’t burn our bodies alive or scatter us into pieces? Why do we have to run from fate to the skies? Here, we do what the souls rising to God do: Forget the pain. “Oh God,” screamed a woman watching the bodies fly up, “the people are flying!” They fly, trying to find heaven’s door… forever, and ever. Dr. Saeed Mohammad Al-Kahlout Mental Health Specialist & Writer #Gaza, #Palestineshow more

Dear Everyone, The last few days have been hell.... Losing Kiyo has not been easy and I’m not ok. Kiyo gave me the best time of my life. The level of joy you brought into my word and any space he was able to exist in was incomparable. Kiyo was my lover, my best friend, and my truth. He truly saw me for who I was and I saw him for who he was. I didn’t just love him, I believed in him, prayed for his victory. I cared for him. Who would have thought that bringing back a piece of Tupperware would invite me into the world of the purest, kindest soul in the world. Kiyo would do anything for anyone. He was my hero and I was his. We both kept our capes on for each other whenever we needed to save the other person. I am grateful that I got to experience a love like his. I am grateful I got to spend some of the best moments of my life with him. I am grateful that even I grieve I still feel his warmth and care. Kiyo taught me be more patient and understanding and no matter how we came into this world and no matter how bad the world treated us, it doesn’t give us the right to exact that same unkindness to others. He loves animals, anime, a good meal, Steven Universe, a really inappropriate joke, and you never had to guess how he felt about you. As he was goofy he was charming. I still feel his hands interlocked into mine and he was fearless. He loved like no other man I have met in this world could. The first night we reconnected he gave my cat Patrick the middle name Bayard. He gave me first Christmas full of love and laughs. The first man in my life to actually pay attention to me and surprise me with gifts that he knew I would love and were true to who I was as a nerd. Anytime I could get it, I was with him. He had full access to my home and my heart. To Mike and Rico thank you for always being there for him and caring for him, Mike you coming into town in March really lit him up. First time I got to dance with him. Rico thank you for taking him to there museum. He loved every moment of it. All he could do was rave about how much made his day. To Tony, his wife and his gaming community on Destiny 2, thank you for being patient with my baby and giving him space to be man that he was and to his Dad and his brothers. He loved y’all more than you know. All he wanted was for y’all to be ok. And to all his true friends and loved ones know that he always thought of y’all. I will never say goodbye to Kiyoki-D’Andre Marcel Toliver, I will say see you later because no matter where you are I know you are watching me because what we had was Immortal. As I grieve I will try to give any notice on his memorial service which will be in NYC because his grandmother sent him here to find the best version of himself and I know he truly did. I want to share this video I made months ago because I was so proud of the man I had. I want to share also the last video he took of me before we went to Brooklyn Comic-Con. If there are typos forgive me.show more

It wasn’t about the trade but it’s about the... confidence and mind set There are a lot of stories behind this account and it make the best of my trades of the year so far. A lot of nonsense happen this month after a long wait for something it came and you crashed it But as a resilience trader you ask for the last $6k that your client has and his response was Greatmann I believe in you and I am funding it now now … Most client lost trust in you because of loss they will call you names and insult you as if they gave birth to you. But you know o have never gotten a client that so much encourage me like Mr Dan He funded the $6k usd yesterday and as at today I made over $62,212 as profit Yes you hear me right 💪 It’s one of my best trade for a very long time in size it’s small compare to other account I am trading but this became the best because I was so careful that I pick losses in some places despite I know it will profit me but I just don’t want to take chances but all I want to say is any thing is posible in forex and so many of this type of account has been crashed by me but this one survived. So don’t because of this think I am a guru no But I am a resilience trading that will keep funding until I got it right like this 😂 🦁 I am the fxLion Your mind go dey Don’t try this as it is very dangerous Why am I sharing this ? Because I want you all to know that we have dofrent type of people in the world and we have different risk appetite and ways of handling losses Mehn I don over loose in this forex oo but we move Be encouraged that one day God will deliver gold into Your hand like this 😂 Another happy part is that I just hit over $50 billion trading volume with Exness therefore, it qualifies me to receive a gift of luxury watch worth $20,000 thanks Exness as I wait for the watch Make I flex it for December lol Forex no easy oo You can retweet to encourage someone but don’t risk more than your blood lolshow more

Happy 5th Anniversary to Everyone ❤️ Since the birth... of our NFSC, we’ve walked a powerful path through storms and sunshine and Mr. Miles Guo didn’t just help us - He awakened us and he taught us Truth, Love, Courage through the movement and this is more than a fight - This is Family, this is Faith, this is History in the making. I don’t have the right to speak for others and I never will but based on what I’ve seen - The Alliance and our Great Fellow Fighters didn’t just fight but they protected, they bled, they sacrificed, they stood tall when it hurt the most and their bravery has become the heartbeat of our movement and this is the reality, not a story or a rumor and from my point of view, it’s only going to get better and stronger. With all due respect to Brothers and Sisters, let’s take a moment to show more appreciation towards the great people around us, those in the Alliance, your Farm, your Fellow Fighters who are showing up with intelligence and courage, both online and offline activities and I truly mean this to everyone from every part of the world - One of the greatest way to stay United is by sharing Love, Respect, Support, Advice, Experiences with one another, all under the one and only important goal is to grow stronger together and fight against CCP, a journey that has been incredibly tough and long but deeply meaningful. For a very long time - I kept hearing the same question over and over again: People asked with worry, when will Mr. Miles Guo come out ? But ever since 3.15, my mind has been holding onto just one question that I keep asking myself every single day: Why would he choose to stay inside when he had the option to be free outside ? IN MY PERSONAL OPINION, it's because he wants to make it clear to everyone that he prioritizes his mission to TAKE DOWN THE CCP over his own freedom - That’s why I’ve never spent even a second believing he couldn’t get out because the people behind him is massive and there’s no such thing as 99% - It’s a 100% chance he could be released if he chose to make the call... Most importantly, please don’t misunderstand: the FACT is that he is a PURE, CLEAN, INNOCENT PERSON who has done absolutely nothing wrong and everyone knows it - CCP, the West, the Families knows it pretty well and they know far more than all of us combined and whether people agree or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he was a good person, a man of his word, a man who never backed down from doing what’s right and good for the Chinese people.show more

🇺🇸 He ran toward the burning World Trade Center... to save his sister. A fire truck became his coffin on the morning of 9/11. His name was Michael Weinberg. He was 34. A firefighter with Engine 1, Ladder 24, in Manhattan. September 11, 2001. He was off duty. Standing in the clubhouse at Forest Park Golf Course in Queens. Waiting to start a round. Then someone said a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Weinberg’s sister, Patricia, worked in the second tower. He didn’t finish his coffee. He didn’t call anyone first. He ran. Traffic choked every road leading into Manhattan. He abandoned his own car in Long Island City. He climbed onto a passing emergency vehicle instead. A stranger’s truck. Whatever got him there fastest. He reached his firehouse. He geared up. He headed toward the towers with the rest of his company. His sister was still inside. He didn’t know if she had made it out yet. She had. He didn’t. Weinberg took shelter beneath a fire truck when the South Tower came down. A captain was with him. So was Chaplain Mychal Judge, the department’s beloved chaplain, already gone by then himself. None of them made it out from under that truck. Weinberg became one of 343 New York City firefighters lost that single morning. His father, Morty, had been a firefighter for fifteen years himself. “I knew he was gone immediately,” he said. There was no ambiguity in his voice. Just the certainty of a father who understood exactly what his son had run toward. Five years later, neighbors in Maspeth still spoke about him like he might walk through the door. The golf clubs he never picked back up. The car he left running in Long Island City. The sister who made it out because, for one single morning, nothing mattered to him more than getting to her. He never got the chance to see that she had. A man who left a golf course mid-swing and ran directly into the worst morning in American history, because somewhere inside a burning building was someone he loved. He didn’t hesitate once. Not when the plane hit. Not when traffic stopped him. Not when a truck full of strangers was the only way through. Michael Weinberg made his choice in the time it takes to put down a golf club. The city he ran toward never got the chance to thank him properly. His name is etched into a wall of nearly three thousand others now, one line among so many, but behind every single one of them is a story just like his. A man who chose his sister over his own safety, in the space of a single phone call he never even needed to place. Rest easy, Michael.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ 🇺🇸💔🙏show more

"At first, I thought someone had heartlessly abandoned their... dog outside the grocery store. The real story broke my heart. “Look at him — he’s freezing! You can’t just leave him out here,” I yelled at the security guard, pointing toward a golden retriever tied to the metal railing. The dog was shaking violently in the bitter cold. The wind chill had dropped far below zero. People rushed in and out of the store, heads down, coats pulled tight, acting as if they didn’t notice the trembling animal. I sat in my car with the engine running and the heater blasting, watching him for nearly forty-five minutes. No one came for him. Not a single person stopped. Finally, I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stepped out, untied the anxious dog — his fur stiff with ice — and lifted his heavy, shaking body into the backseat of my car. Anger burned inside me. Who would leave a loyal dog outside during a snowstorm and simply walk away? Once we reached my small apartment, I dried him off with every clean towel I had. I cooked an entire pack of plain hot dogs in a pan, and he ate them eagerly before curling up at the foot of my bed, finally warm and safe. The next morning, I planned to take him to the county shelter and report the situation as animal cruelty. But while drinking coffee and scrolling through a neighborhood app, one post made me stop mid-sip. “PLEASE HELP. My elderly neighbor George’s dog Rocky is missing. George is in the ICU.” My hands trembled as I dialed the number attached to the post. A woman answered, her voice breaking with emotion. She explained that George, a seventy-eight-year-old widower, had collapsed during his evening walk near the pharmacy. He’d suffered a massive heart attack on the icy sidewalk. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital to save his life. They couldn’t take the dog with them in the ambulance. Someone nearby had offered to tie Rocky up somewhere safe and contact animal control. But in the confusion of the storm, that promise never happened. Rocky had simply been left there and forgotten. Instead of driving to the shelter, I went straight to the county hospital—with a very large golden retriever sitting beside me. Getting a sixty-pound dog past security and into the cardiac ward required a little creativity and a lot of quiet pleading. One compassionate head nurse saw the tears in my eyes, sighed softly, and decided not to stop me. I slowly pushed open the door to Room 402. George looked fragile in the hospital bed — his skin pale, tubes connected to machines that beeped softly beside him. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Rocky let out a soft, desperate whine and gently placed his front paws on the edge of the bed. George’s eyes flew open. He didn’t notice the machines or the wires. Instead, he reached out with trembling hands and buried them deep in Rocky’s fur. Pressing his face into the dog’s neck, he began to cry — deep, emotional sobs that made the heart monitor spike. “I thought I lost you, boy,” he whispered through tears. “I thought I was going to die alone.” His wife had passed away five years earlier. His children lived several states away, busy with their own lives. Rocky was the one companion who gave George a reason to get out of bed every morning. Without him, George was just another elderly man fading quietly in a world moving too fast to notice. I stayed with them for hours, holding George’s fragile hand while Rocky slept peacefully across his feet. Four days later, George was finally discharged from the hospital. No family came to pick him up. So I took the day off from work and drove him home myself. These days, I don’t just rush past my neighbors anymore. Every Sunday, I stop by George’s little house with a bag of groceries. We sit on his porch, drink cheap coffee, and throw a tennis ball across the yard for Rocky while we talk about anything and everything. If you want to see how brightly Rocky’s tail wags now and how happy George is every time he sees himshow more

My faith journey! I grew up Baptist but was... disfellowshipped from the church I grew up in in 2014 due to being in an interracial relationship. We went to different denominations until the missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on the door. I had been studying anti-Mormon and anti-JW literature and apologetics so I was ready to debate. I did fairly well, missionaries left discouraged but left me with a Book of Mormon. I decided to read it and underline mistakes or doctrinal errors. I was heavily convinced by the time I reached 2 Nephi 25:26 that this was true and I needed to reach out to the missionaries, so I decided to get baptized and my fiancé did too. We were married a couple of weeks later in the chapel. We received a blessing that next year and ended up with twins but we went inactive before we could be sealed. In 2020, my wife and I separated due to my ego and selfishness. I wanted to experience the world. I wanted the fast life; the women, parties, and recognition. It was empty happiness. The happiness always faded and I went to bed alone with no kids or wife. The alcohol always wore off. We ended up getting back together in the fall of 2020 before we finalized the divorce. She was a believer, I considered myself agnostic. She couldn’t attend church because we lived 40 minutes away from the chapel and it was a huge burden to carry 3 kids to church by herself (our 3rd child was born in 2018). On February 1, 2024 one of my best friends took his life. I was devastated. I had nothing to lean on. This guy was very strong and we worked out together all the time. He showed no signs of depression or self-harm. If someone that strong could get so low that they’d take their own life, what hope was there for me? I gave my life to Christ that day. I didn’t go back to church until a month later after his funeral. We went to Little Rock on the Saturday of his funeral. We stayed the night and went to a park with the kids to play. A stranger walked up and started talking to us. He asked if I was a member for some reason. I told him I used to be, but struggled to reconcile science and religion. He was a scientist! He studied non-Hodgkin lymphoma at UAMS. He really helped to increase my faith and I started reading scripture again. We went back to church that next week and was baptized about a month and a half later, rejoining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m preparing to receive the Melchizedek priesthood now, and ultimately to receive my endowment and be sealed to my family. No matter how far you’ve strayed, or how far way you get from God, he is always waiting with his outstretched arms ready to welcome you home. Check out my new TikTok: mglunsford #LDSx #Christianshow more

🚨New: Garnacho on Manchester United and Chelsea: • Reporter:... Alejandro, you’ve been through Manchester United, Chelsea, and now Aston Villa. How do you reflect on that journey? 🗣️Alejandro Garnacho: I won’t lie, it has been difficult. From my perspective, Manchester United gave up on me too early. Leaving Old Trafford gave me a different kind of motivation because I wanted to prove that they had made a mistake. When Chelsea came for me, I honestly saw it as my answer to United. I wanted to become a top player there, succeed at the highest level, and make people at United look back and think they had let the wrong player go. But football doesn’t always follow the script. Instead, Chelsea became another setback. That’s the reality. Two massive clubs, two opportunities that didn’t end the way I imagined. Now everyone has their opinion. United fans will probably say they were right to let me go. Chelsea fans will probably say I wasn’t good enough. They’re entitled to think that. My job isn’t to argue with them, it’s to prove both of them wrong on the pitch. And despite everything, I don’t regret the path I’ve taken because every setback has taught me something. I also understand the pressure I’m under. If I fail here, people will say the problem was always me. I know this loan could define the next stage of my career. There were people who questioned different parts of my game. Some at United felt I lacked discipline. At Chelsea, I felt there were doubts about my consistency. Whether those opinions were fair or not, this is my chance to show that I can be disciplined, consistent, and deliver every single week. Football gives you second chances, but it rarely gives you a third. That’s why I see Aston Villa differently. This isn’t just another move, it’s my reset button. It’s the perfect place to rebuild my confidence, rebuild my reputation, and remind people why they believed in me in the first place. Working under Unai Emery gives me confidence because he’s a manager who improves players. I believe he can help unlock the best version of me. At the end of the day, I don’t need to win arguments with Manchester United or Chelsea fans. I just need my football to do the talking.show more

As I lay there on the highway, he came... close, still pointing the gun at me, but I lay still, praying in my mind, “Don’t shoot again.” My Blood was everywhere, and he confirmed I was dead before rushing back to the car and driving off, leaving me in my pool of blood around 1 a.m. I lay there in agony, thinking I was going to die. I asked myself why they had to shoot me again. I wasn’t a threat anymore; why shoot me again? That question echoed in my mind. Cars continued to pass without stopping, avoiding my body in the middle of the road. I waved my hands for help as they drove by, but none stopped. I couldn’t move any part of my body except my hands. Over 30 cars passed without anyone stopping. I realized no help was coming; my motionless body lay in the middle of the road. After some time, I tried shaking my legs, and to my surprise, they moved! I was relieved because I thought they were numb. I decided to move my body out of the road. I attempted to stand but fell because the bullet passed through my hip, only my flesh on the right was holding it. I could feel the pain; the other side was swollen. I wasn’t sure how bad it was, but all my waist was on fire. Some drivers nearly ran over me, forcing me to move my body away from the center of the highway toward the pavements that divide the road. That night was brutal. I lay there, bleeding and in pain, for about two hours, knowing that help wasn't coming. I felt sure I was going to die. As I lay there helpless, my life flashed before me. I thought about my family and how I had come to Awka to bury my mom, now I will be buried. I feared for my siblings, who depended on me, and I called on God for help. Only the sounds of birds and the occasional passing car broke the silence, and I realized no human was coming to help me. I called on my late parents, especially my sweet mom, telling her I was coming because I was so tired. My vision blurred, my throat was dry, and I was too exhausted to wave. I prayed, accepting my fate, gave my life to Christ again, and asked Him to accept my soul. Looking up, I saw only darkness, no hope anywhere, just my blood-soaked body. I was becoming weaker, dizzy, and had a strong urge to sleep, knowing that if I closed my eyes, all the agony would go away. So I decided to let go, imagining my friends finding my body in the morning and taking me to the morgue. I imagined being buried beside my mom and how heartbroken my friends and siblings would be. But still, no help came. I could only guess the time, but I knew the night was long, and daybreak was far off. Just as I was about to close my eyes and accept my death, I saw a torchlight in the distance, about 500 meters away. Hope surged back into me. I knew I could get help if I could reach the light, but I was weak, how can I move my motionless body with damaged waist. I tried to stand, despite the pain in my waist. I moved to the pavement divider, trying to pull myself up, but I fell, hitting my waist painfully on the ground. I tried again, holding onto the pavement, moving slowly toward the light, but the pain was too much, and I fell again. Finally, I decided to crawl toward it. Pushing my body along the rough highway surface with only my elbows and arms, I kept low. Whenever I spotted a car, I lay flat, pretending to be dead, hoping they wouldn’t come back and shoot me a third time. The friction against the rough ground gave me cuts, and my arms began to bleed, but I kept moving. Eventually, I reached there and it was aluminum company near the highway and I began shouting for help. I was so cold, shivering, and very thirsty. I kept calling out, “Help! I need a hospital!” After about 30 minutes, they pointed a torchlight toward me, and a few men came out, cocking their guns—around four armed men. Terrified, I started screaming, “Don’t shoot!”show more

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝒊𝒕 𝑷𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺⛑️ 𝐺𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙~𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 2 😇🙏... After a botched summer assignment to a new collegiate league in Texarkana, TX that saw Grant Scholzen sleeping in his car and no host family provided as promised, Grant came home and waited patiently for a summer league call. The MGF Marshalls (who by the way is one of the best run orgs in the country, more on that in a future post!) called and in his 1st game and 2nd AB with a 1-2 count in a left on left matchup with the shadows in play, Grant took a 92 mph FB off the shoulder and into the right side of his face. The only time in 5 years w/o a face shield on his helmet, it’s the only time he’s been hit above the shoulder. Was watching the game on live stream, and it was hard to tell where it actually hit him? Grant immediately started walking to the dugout and I couldn’t figure out why he was doing that, because he should be either staying at home plate gathering his bearings or going to 1B. What you don’t see is the catcher and pitcher who are close friends of Grant’s growing up facing each other in HS and teammates throughout their CBA summer/fall travel ball experiences, looking on with what just happened? The pitcher and catcher who I’m close with as well, are in shock and the pitcher then walks into the opposing dugout to see if Grant is okay? Grant was okay, but he wasn’t okay?! That helpless feeling again when you’re not there and your son has something almost tragic happen?! I was calling friends who I knew were at the game and they said he had ice on his cheek in the dugout. After the game Grant was going to drive 4 hours home and get home at 3am to attend his cousin’s church service to listen to him speak at his 2 year church missionary farewell. He got home late as I said and woke up yesterday with his face extremely swollen and his eye already black, so we saw his uncle at church, who is a pediatric dentist and he scheduled a CT Scan with an oral surgeon buddy. Grant went in this morning for the scan and to our surprise, NO broken bones. Thank you to the countless people who text and reached out with worry and wanting updates. The baseball circle is small, but big at the same time and is a comforter! Once again his mother Heidi was working overtime to protect her kids, just like my daughter’s car accident 3 weeks ago. When it rains it pours! #SwarmingBees 🐝show more

An Eyelash and 3 Dandelions In Room 8, my... eyelash fell upon my father’s face, resting upon the bridge of his nose, as I held his hand and whispered into his ear, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I repeated the words he had said in life: “Salam. Shalom. Shanti.” Peace. Peace. Peace. “Salam. Shalom. Shanti.” And, transcending identity, he responded: “Shanti.” Peace. Soon after, my father, Mohammed Zafar Alam Nomani, 93, a man of faith, humanity, humility and love, took his last breath. Through the dark of the night, his son and grandchildren whispered into his ear, his wife of 64 years held the hand that had just months earlier given her three dandelions on the banks of the Monongahela River. There is nothing that prepared me for this sheer loss unimaginable of a father’s breath that had again become my own, just as it had been when I lay upon his belly as a girl, delighting in stories of the kings and queens of India. “Noorjehan,” he told me when I asked which queen he told me about. Bedside these past weeks with my family as my father battled life-threatening pneumonia and lung disease, I inhaled these last weeks beside my father’s ear to guide him to breathe deeply and exhaled softly onto his neck to synchronize our breaths and try to bring him back to good health. These past weeks, my father gave us the gift of being able to serve him as an expression of love. In Room 8, I fell in love again with my father as I had as a girl upon his belly. I learned from the softness of his grandchildren serving him, my niece tucking and retucking his blanket. We knew his white blood cell count and his respirations per minute. We discovered his playful wink. We recited the first chapter of the Quran to remain on the straight path, and I heard him say again and again “Alhamdullilah,” praise be to God, because he had gratitude in even obstacles, as his granddaughter observed in him. With each gesture of care for him, he whispered, “Thank you,” with a beaming smile. I heard him express his mantra: “Think good. Do good.” “Serve humanity.” A a twin who lost his brother soon out of the womb, a child of British colonialism, a survivor of the manmade Bengal Famine of 1943, he taught by example, eschewing grievance and cherishing life. Every moment from our lives together flashes before me. My father who drove me to the Pittsburgh Airport so many times over to allow my wings to fly in this world. Who ferried his son, wife and grandchildren to help them pursue their every dream. My father who drove me to Andrews Air Force Base in the dark of the predawn for me to board a plane to Guantanamo Bay — on a round trip ticket. My father who taught me how to ride a lawn tractor. My father who read my books’ every words and wrote notes in the margins. My friends tell me that experiencing a parents’ death leaves a hole in the heart, shepherding a parent’s care at end of life leaves a trauma invisible and surviving a parent in the normal cycle of life is an unspoken soul-crushing grief. In Room 8, I have confronted very intimately the social reality of a grief even more painful in a society that appears to too often devalue the “elderly,” coax the vulnerable without treatment to unwanted “hospice” or medically-assisted suicide and “slow code” the elderly to death, responding slowly to emergency. We couldn’t save my father but I am keen to investigate the dynamics of ageism that too often become a barrier to treatment. My father always encouraged me to draw lesson for society from suffering. Please write to me or reply with your family’s story? I will strive to honor his life. And thank you for honoring him by absorbing the details of his life, down to the flutter of three dandelions in the wind and the drop of an eyelash upon his skin.show more

Alright. I’m honestly relieved that this is finally coming... out, so we can finally put an end to the fairytale conspiracies about March 4, courtesy of Joe Flipperhead and the ratchet harem. Since Aidan and his Dollar-Tree-sidekick Chelsea want to drag March 4th into the public arena, let’s do it properly– with facts, not the fairy tale he’s been feeding everyone. The rumors flying around are completely untrue, and I’ve wanted to defend myself for weeks, but Aidan has spent the last month threatening me, telling people that if the truth ever came out he’d “turn me into the next Lindsey,” that everyone would believe him because he has a platform, and even declaring he’d tell his followers to contact my work. Well, here we are. Since he chose to drag this into the public and sic his ratchet brigade on me, I’m finally telling the actual story. That night wasn’t some dramatic “Meredith tried to send me to jail” moment. It was a drunk, disgusting fight between two adults—the kind Aidan has on rotation with every woman he dates. Both of us were very intoxicated, but he was blackout drunk, verbally abusive, and filming me against my will. I told him to stop. He didn’t. I’d found out about him sexting another girl and had bottled up emotions for months, which is what started the argument. I asked him to leave after he said horrible things to me, including calling me fat and useless, that people only like me because I’m “Turtleboy’s girlfriend”. I asked him to leave and he began recording me, pointing a phone in my face while I repeatedly told him to stop. He lost his own key, and because he couldn’t remember anything, he made up a story that I “stole it.” Imagine spreading this fantasy when I have him on video of me asking him to return MY KEYS? I was uncomfortable, overwhelmed, and didn’t want a drunken fight being filmed. He took our feud out into the common area of my building, disturbing other tenants. So yes, I said “you hit me,” specifically because I believed he wouldn’t share the video if I said that. I said it so he would STOP RECORDING ME, and he has a full video that I clearly say, “I’m only saying that so you’ll stop recording me.” I never reported anything to the police, never intended to, never would. He knows this. We discussed this fact many times the next day and several occasions in the last few months. That context has been deliberately cut out to push a fake narrative, but don’t worry, I’ll be posting the full videos that I took of that night. When he’s threatened me with releasing this very video, he admitted it would be edited out and no one would believe me over him. Meanwhile, the victim cosplay he’s doing now? Pathetic. He claims he was “stuck” in my house. Reality: I asked him to leave over and over. This narrative that he was somehow stuck there held hostage is simply not true. Reality: I have video of him refusing to get out of my bed, not “sleeping on the couch.” Reality: I have video of him screaming at me like a lunatic. Reality: He lost his key because he was hammered, then somehow turned that into me “stealing it.” Reality: He was causing a huge scene in my apartment throwing a literal temper tantrum on the floor. With other tenants in the building, I was genuinely concerned someone would call the police. He also lies that I tried to keep him from court the next day. Reality? I gave him my car so he could get to court. I sat in the passenger seat half-dead from a hangover while chauffeuring Captain Accountability to his court date. I sat next to him during court, then eventually throwing up in a bag on the way home. Then he used that same car to drive to his house for his spare key, and back again. I supported him through the entire aftermath, like I did every time. But now he’s trying to pretend he was some endangered baby deer and I was plotting to Lindsay him? Get real. This narrative that I was somehow trying to get him arrested? An absolutely disgusting lie considering the trauma that situation caused him. Not to mention the countless hours I spent during our 1.5 year relationship assisting with his legal defense to keep him OUT of jail. He knows it’s not true. He knows exactly what happened. Do you really think if his narrative were true, he’d stay with me for months to come and not file his own police report? But he also knows he thrives off playing victim, and he knows he has people willing to believe anything he says without question. Over the last month, behind the scenes with recording gate, he’s been telling me and others that if I ever spoke up, he’d ruin me. That he’d twist the story because he has the bigger platform. That he’d make sure people contacted my job. He has leaked private texts, sent people after me, and used Chelsea, a woman he cheated on me with, to push his manufactured victim narrative. But here’s the truth: Aidan is not the victim of March 5th. He was drunk, verbally abusive, refusing to leave, and escalating a situation he then turned around and weaponized. And like every situation he touches, every feud, every fallout, every “enemy,” every messy disaster, he plays the same role: the powerless victim of consequences he created. At some point, people need to recognize the common denominator. I stayed silent because I didn’t want this ugliness public. I didn’t want to embarrass him. I didn’t want to rehash something painful, private, and humiliating for both of us. But since he chose to send CamelToe Joe and his ratchet harem to post private fights, twist reality, and smear me, I’m done being quiet. Aidan is incapable of having a private relationship and ending. And Chelsea…hun. I know your brain cells are limited, but your "insurance" explanation makes no sense. When did he send you this video? Months after it happened? Why would you need insurance at that point? You’re being used like a scratch-off ticket from Cumberland Farms. He feeds you a cropped video and suddenly you’re Nancy Drew with a nicotine patch? Please. You weren’t even in the picture until after he was done cheating with you. These videos paint a wildly different picture of the fake victim narrative CamelToe Joe has been pushing, huh? I’ll be posting more soon, about the recording, about every single lie he has chosen to spread through his minions the last two months. I guess I was crazy to think Aidan would ever be okay with someone walking away and moving on peacefully. Since Aidan wanted the truth out, he's about to get it. PS- Speaking of men being fake scared of women– Funny how some people with very chaotic personal histories suddenly decide they’re the moral authority on my life, enough so to peddle lies on their large platforms. If I had these kinds of pasts, I'd probably sit this one out, and maybe stop throwing stones from your glass basements and (mom’s) houses.show more