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Lamine Yamal’s father, while responding to criticism over his son’s relationship with Ines Garcia and claims that she is a gold digger, reportedly said: “People always call me crazy because of the way I behave, but that doesn’t stop me from speaking up when I see something I believe...

430,802 views • 1 month ago •via X (Twitter)

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Back when I had nothing… I was a nobody to most people. TBH, my parents didn't even see me getting to where I am today. It's just the truth, the chips were stacked for my sister. Not me. But it's just not the reality today. However, there was ONE person in my life that didn’t see me that way. My significant other saw something in me before a lot of things. Before all my wins. Before the $. Before any proof. And honestly… that means a lot to me, if not the most of all. I’ve always been wired a little different. I’m a mix of finance, engineering, and tech, with a sprinkle of obsession. I learned and studied from the best. Warren Buffett for how to invest. Elon Musk for work ethic and where the future is going. And once I saw it… I went all in. Bc when you truly understand what you own… you don’t need 20 bets. What you really need is conviction and just a few bets. That’s how I approached everything in my life. All the way from Apple… to Tesla… to 𝕏… to xAI… and now SpaceX. I believe I have an eye for spotting the best entrepreneurs and companies early, before it becomes obvious to everyone. And when I see it, I back it 100%. That’s just who I am. I don’t need a big circle. I’ve already got my day ones. I don’t need approval. I grew up my whole life with doubt and hate, so what’s one more? At this point, the levels are just too different. And yeah… it's true, it actually gets harder to make new friends when you’re moving like this. So I stay loyal to the ones who were there when I had nothing. I made it with Apple - youngest in, youngest out. Then I made it with Tesla… while people were laughing, doubting, calling me crazy, telling me I was going to go bankrupt with Elon. Fast forward to today, now I'm heading into something even bigger. If the story plays out the way it’s shaping up… SpaceX could have the largest IPO in history this year. The company is talking about raising over $75B… at a $1.75-$2 trillion valuation. For context… the biggest IPO ever - Saudi Aramco - raised about $29B. This would be more than double that. Let that sink in deep. To me this is more than just an investment. This is owning a piece of the future of space, energy, AI... extending the light of consciousness forward in case something happens to Earth. People can call me crazy. People can call me cocky. Arrogant. But the people that actually know me know the truth - I’m just real AF. I say what I believe, and I stand on it. And I genuinely don’t care what people think. I have two middle fingers always held high for those kind of people. That’s probably why I’ve been able to win the way I have. My significant other tells me to slow down sometimes. And I get it. But for me… What’s the point of life if you play it safe? If you see an opportunity that can change everything… and you just sit back? That’s not me. I’d rather go all in on something I believe in… live with intensity… take the hits… and actually feel alive and live life with fulfillment. Laugh if you want, doubt if you want. Some play it safe, a few go all in. You can call it risky. You can call it stupid. You can call it crazy. I call it living. Bc at the end of the day, I'd rather go all in on something I believe in and fail... than spend my life wondering "what if."

Teslaconomics

29,404 views • 5 months ago

Mzansi National Importance Please Help. 📍🇿🇦💔 Can someone please send help? I've been employed on and off, trying to make a way for my son and me. I live in a toxic household, where you're the best when you can give money but you're nothing when you don't have anything. I have a deadbeat baby daddy who doesn't support me. I've endured so much for the entirety of my life, but I can't anymore. I wanna get away from this house where people bully me, where I'm isolated, gossiped about. I wanna flee. I feel like ending things. My family has been the root of my pain, towards myself but also my child. tonight we had the biggest fight and they tried to make me seem like I'm a bad mother because I at times keep my son in my bedroom with me, but it's because of how they treat him. The colorist comments, the way they break down his self-esteem calling him "blou ding", "k#ffer", and more. When I told my mother I'll take legal action against them, she told me that the police will see that I'm crazy. She also threatened me by saying she'll take me to court and say I abuse my child!!!! I don't abuse my child I sometimes yell at him out of frustration cause I'll tell him to stay with me but he'll go to them. He's 5 so he obviously doesn't understand why I don't want him around them. I feel embarrassed for having to come to the internet with my problems, especiially since I've always beem taught to hide the ugly but I can't anymore. 😭😭😭 Someone send help. Whether it's a ngo that can help, a job application, a learnership, anything. I just need to get me and my child out of this household. I'm tired. Ek is moeg! 😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾 #help #toxichouseholds #deadbeatdadprob #southafrica

Black-Jesus💧🇿🇦

55,875 views • 6 months ago

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.

Asra Nomani

13,013 views • 22 days ago