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Share amusing anecdotes, bizarre facts, and hilarious jokes 🤪. Just one rule… keep it respectful ✨
What’s worse? People who make no effort to write anything for their bio or people who clearly have an AI write it?
What do you mean another heatwave next week?
It was up to 33 degrees last time and this time it’s up to 35?
Females be saying men have no chat/game but their personalities be dry like weetabix… 😩
My nieces and nephew always melt my heart. Today, I spent time at their place. My nephew came upto me and kept playing with the bottom of my dress.
"Pupho Hirra, I love your dress. It looks nice on you" (this was enough to tug my heart strings 🫠) Then I thanked him, gave him a little hug and said that made me happy.
Then my youngest niece chimes in seeing that "ME, I LIKE YOU DRESS TOO!"
Then the eldest niece "Yea me too!"
Idk what sort of competition it was, but it sure did lift my mood up. Just goes to show how much barakah children actually bring. Little joys and they don't even know it.
Some of us may not find our spouse here but can we at least find smart and intelligent conversationists?Like telebuddies...
Asalamu'alaikum ☕️🥀.
"Because i carry it well doesn't mean it's not heavy". 😉🫰🏼
the discord files the time to heal.
Yes they hurt u ,made u cry , made u doubt urself after that you only had one thing in ur mind, making them regret it. You crave their guilt, their shame , their suffering but they dont feel it. They never did. That realization burns deeper than the hurt they caused. U want them to suffer to feel every ounce of the hurt they caused you, the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the emptiness but wait revenge wont give you what ur searching for. It wont heal your wounds or bring back what you once had or dreamt of. Even if they apologize, even if they claimed guilt. Still wont change anything because if they truly cared they wouldve thought twice before destroying you before leaving wounds that would never fully heal. So dont waste your time plotting their suffering there is nothing worse you can do to someone who has already shown you their worth. You silence, your peace. Walk with ur head held high, let them stay in the darkness they created. You are ur own light now but remember.
Ur trauma is valid, even if other people have experienced worse, even if someone else who went through the same thing doesnt feel debilitated by it, even if it happened long ago. Your trauma is real and valid and you deserve a place to talk about it. Regardless of the magnitude of ur struggle ur allowed to take care of yourself by processing and unloading some of the pain u carry. Walk with ur head held high, do not enter the darkness they created.
#myedit
Today, I did mehendi for my cousin sister. I almost didn’t think much of it. Mehendi has always been something I do occasionally, mostly on myself, rarely enough that I still feel like a beginner. Every time I hold a cone, I notice the flaws before I notice the beauty. The detail that didn’t turn out quite the way I imagined.
But today, when she looked at her hands, she couldn’t stop smiling. She told me it was the best mehendi she had ever had.
I immediately thought of past and laughed. How could that possibly be true? But then she said that she was married in the early 2000s, in a small village. Back then, mehendi wasn’t about intricate designs or artistic detail. Her hands were simply covered in mehendi because that was the tradition. And suddenly I understood what she meant. She wasn’t comparing designs. She was remembering how this felt. To be a woman. To feel pretty.
For a few hours late into the night, she sat beside me despite her heavy eyes while I carefully filled her hands with patterns. Not because it was an occasion. Just because we both wanted to. And every line carried a little bit of my attention, my effort, and my affection for her.
What stays with me isn’t the mehendi itself. It’s the way she kept looking at her hands afterward, like a little girl delighted by something new. The way something so small brought her so much happiness. This is why we create, for the joy it brings to people.
I think that’s what I want to remember when I doubt myself: that people rarely remember things the way we do. I saw imperfections while she felt loved. And perhaps love is the one ingredient that can never be measured, bought, or taught. It simply finds its way into the things we make for the people who matter to us.
