Escaping Planet Earth

" A Mocking Smile at the face of Titans" Ever since my eyes fell upon that image; a young Palestinian kid standing defiantly in front of an Israeli tank, hurling stones, I have been haunted by profound thoughts of freedom and independence.  Just pause and think about it: a fragile stone against a massive iron tank, a child against a trained soldier. It gives me goosebumps. This image stirs up every ounce of respect and admiration within me. It has become my sanctuary, the vision I turn to in my mind whenever I feel broken or defeated. To feel defeated is a choice, and the desire to resist is equally a choice, even if you are only hurling stones at a tank. But that second choice? That is the choice of a true victor. It is the choice of someone who has reached a deep, unshakeable sense of independence and forced the entire world to acknowledge it. Fast forward to today, and you can see how this generation, which once threw stones at their enemy, has grown up to shake the very f...

"A tale of time and value" "شبكة روايات التفاعلية- Riwayat Network Forum" Amidst the old belongings I'd shelved for ages, by pure chance, I found them. Buried in these ancient, neglected items, lay a weathered manuscript, stiffened by time. It was the first novel I ever attempted during my university days, when a personal computer was a curious creature, I barely understood. This tale spun a story of a young man who discovers that his family are extraterrestrial beings. Yet, he conceals this secret and grapples with the realization that he, too, might be an alien, but chooses to live as an earthly human, deciding his own destiny. Drafted at the dawn of the millennium on Microsoft Word, it was printed on A4 sheets, then hidden away in a blue folder, surrounded by mountains of books.   Among Forgotten Things I held the manuscript gently, opening it with caution. Memories flooded back of my first time writing it. I didn't own a computer back then. Instead...

  "A Math Memoir- Series"  When I started middle school, there was no subject I hated more than math. In primary school, math had been mostly simple: addition, subtraction, multiplication, long division, drawing graphs, and calculating the areas of basic shapes, especially circles. None of it was impossible for me. I just hated it. Numbers and Dread Then middle school began, and math suddenly became something else. We were introduced to sets and number theory, and to me they felt like a foreign language. Math class turned into a quiet hour of daydreaming and gloom. Our math teacher was a quiet man in his thirties. He always tried to add a little humor to the lesson, and he explained everything with real effort. He would fill the blackboard with examples and keep solving problems until the bell rang. But did I listen? Not once. One day, he pulled me out of my daydream by asking me a question directly. I froze. He stood there waiting for an answer, while my face gave him the cl...

 "A Math Memoir- Series"  In primary school, our math teacher was a handsome, dignified man in his fifties. He dressed well, wore sunglasses, and carried himself with the calm confidence of someone important. He was also a swindler. A Doctorate in Trickery His face was always serious, as if he had been assigned a secret mission that no one else in the world could be trusted with. He kept trying to convince us to attend his private lessons. Not because we were weak students. Not because we needed help. No. His offer was far more impressive than that. He wanted us to believe that he knew the exam before anyone else did. Sometimes he even hinted that he helped prepare it. “I want you to get the highest marks,” he would say, with a grave and respectful expression, as if he were speaking to fellow professors and not a room full of children. “I will give you the questions, and I will show you how to answer them.” Back then, in the mid-nineties, our final exams were prepared at the ...