Beaconhouse liberty campus annual magazine mosaic 2015 english side 2

M O S A I C 2 0 1 5

MOSAIC

Dedicated to

All-Embracing Peace

â&#x20AC;&#x153;The day the power of love overrules the love of power, the world will know peace.â&#x20AC;? - Jimi Hendrix

MOSA IC 20 1 5

PATRON

Mrs Humaira Mahmood

STAFF ADVISOR

Rehana Rasul

STAFF ASSISTANTS

Amna Pervaiz May Simon

PHOTOGRAPHERS

Khalid Soomro Fizza Mujahid Choudhry

EDITOR IN CHIEF

Naqsh Fatima Naqvi

EDITOR

Zobia Waseem

ASSISTANT EDITOR

Wajiha Ahmed

ART EDITOR

Fariha Zahra

CONTENTS Topics

Writer

Editorial Board's Picture Message from the Principal From the Chief Editor's Desk Editorial Note (English Editor) Editorial Note (English Sub-Editor) Message from Mrs Rehana Rasul Faculty and Staff Pictures A level Class of 2015 A 1 Batch Picture Outgoing Classes of 2014

Pg. # 4 5 6-7 8 9 9 10-11 12-17 18 19-20

ALUMNI The Shortest Path to Prosperity for Pakistan is Through Education Cookie Dough Toils of Finding a Lost Identity Ever Wondered What Life is About Redefining Feminism You Were Born With Wings Time Your Time BLL and Beyond A Lot More Than Just a Degree Returning Home

Fatima Toor Madiha Ahmed Rohma Zubair Priscilla Liu Hadia Hameed Mahnoor K. Sandhu Sarah Fatima Khan Sadaf Fatima Ammen Usman Ayesha Naeem

The Wooden Box In The Silent City Are You Scared? Odd Bonds A Story

STORIES Fatima Zaman 10C-D Wajiha Ahmed A1-A Fatima Tahir A1-A Manal Ali A2-B Farva Rashad, Aliza Shahid, Javaria Saeed, Amal Arif and Ruby Naeem 11C-D Khola Jamshad 11C-B Laiba Abid A1-D Shazray Ali 10C-A Maryam Zaheer 11C-C Izza Malik 11C-E

After the Shadows of Freedom Life Out There Prisoner of Solitude Sad and Left Alone

POETRY Iman Ejaz A2-A Fariha Zahra A1-B Anamta Zahid A1-A Amna Khan 10C-A Hira Zahid 8-B

She Was All I Had Lost Victory I Was Not Among The 141 I Wish A Strange Friendship

21 22 23-24 25 26-27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34-35 36-37 38

39-40 41 42 43-44 45 46-48

49 50 50 51 52

CONTENTS Topics

Writer

Tell Me, Love The Art of Breaking What Is Life The Girl on Fire The Traveller’s Song A Little Girl’s Voice Wake Up, Child

Naqsh Fatima Naqvi A1-A Maha Farooq 10M-A Umaima Saud Khan A2-A Fizza Mudaser A1-B Laiba Arshad 10M-A Khola Jamshad 11C-B Anamta Zahid A1-A

A Moment of Silence Bus Kareen O Yaar Confessions of an A-Level Student Hub of School Judging Profoundly Overruling Silence We Will Be Okay Memories Stone-Cold What to Leave Behind in 2014 What Really Matters You, Too, Are Wonderful

ARTICLES Aroma Saleem 10C-D Rida Tanveer A2-C Anamta Zahid A1-A Ayesha Shahid A1-A Aamna Khalid A1-A Iman Ejaz A2-A Noor Fatima Chaudhry A2-C Saliha Bajwa 11C-A Naqsh Fatima Naqvi Fatima Tahira A1-A Wajiha Ahmed A1-A Fatima Bajwa 11C-D

All-Embracing Peace Justice Tassaduq Hussain Jillani Interview: Compiled by the Editors Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi Interview: Compiled by the Editors Fatima Zubair Interview: Compiled by the Editors The Peshawar Attack - What We Have To Say Compiled by the Editors A Pakistani’s Prayer Fatima Waseem A1-E City of Lights, City of Ashes Aaiman Naeem A1-B 16.14.12 Maliha Ahmed A1-A And the World Mourns Anoosha Sajid 10C-A Shattered Dreams Maryam Zaheer 11C-C A Silver Lining Sheza Tariq Chaudhry A1-B

Pg. # 53 54 54 55 56 57 58

59 60-61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68-69 70-71 72 73-74

76-78 79-81 82-85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92

LIFE @ LIBERTY Society Round-Ups (O’ Levels) Society Round-Ups (A’ Levels) Round The Block I Wish… When I leave, I’ll miss… BLL is a place where… Art Gallery

Compiled by the Editors Compiled by the Editors Compiled by the Editors

93-96 97-100 101-104 105 106 107-114 115-119

LIBERTY TIMES!!! 3

The Editorial Board

Sitting Left to Right: Naqsh Fatima Naqvi (Editor-in-Chief) Mrs Nasreen Shaukat (Staff Coordinator Urdu Section) Mrs Humaira Mahmood (Principal - Patron) Mrs Rehana Rasul (Staff Coordinator English Section)

Standing Left to Right: Fatima Imtiaz Rao (Urdu Editor) Mishail Khawaja (Urdu Sub Editor) Zobia Waseem (English Editor) Wajiha Ahmed (English Sub Editor)

Message from the Principal

“The most valuable possession you can own is an open heart. The most powerful weapon you can be is an instrument of peace.” - Carlos Santana

Peace, though elusive, is the doorway into the golden era of prosperity and progress. We all need to work hand-in-hand to achieve peace as the future of not only our children, but the whole nation rests on eliminating violence from the society. We must remember we have not inherited the earth from our ancestors but hold it in trust for our children. I feel that we women can play a positive and constructive role in striving for peace by training our children to develop empathy and love for humanity. “We must see that peace represents a sweeter music, a cosmic melody, that is far superior to the discord of war.” - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Humaira Mahmood 5

From the Chief Editor’s Desk My words, of habit, are always brimming with a certain level of consciousness, that can well be pronounced as utter confusion. I struggle to pen out expressions that could mean anything to anybody out of myself, yet here I am. Difficult as it is, let us be honest. Art is my passion and I let myself be ruled by passion. I want to write and I want to be read; since as far as I can remember. I recall the first time I got hold of a copy of the ‘Mosaic’, and just as I did; a faint flicker of the hope of making it to the editorial board was born in me. That flicker turned into a blaze, as I tried to secure the post of the Chief Editor; all restless and anxious. This was the first time I tried to befriend responsibility. This magazine, right here, is my greatest feat so far. Just a few months ago, and my talents went only as far as to include my being an enthusiastic writer, with an exceptional tendency to procrastinate. Now, just as you read this, I am perfectly able to edit, polish and reword writings, I can organize material, meet deadlines (once in a while), interview, disrupt on-going lectures, and boss around a group of people single-handedly. ‘Mosaic’ is, in entirety, an experience gained, which doubtlessly is going to be very beneficial, in the long run. I can, quite candidly, state the time spent working on it, my most constructive hours in school. Minus the pressure and this job still isn’t as easy as you think, but it certainly, is worthwhile. Future Editors, take note: Go For It. Coming to this year’s issue of the ‘Mosaic’, our theme “All-Embracing Peace” was much pondered over. Initially, we had settled for another dedication, but times mould men (and magazines, too). Taking into account the bigger picture, one that covers not just the boundaries of Liberty Campus but the whole country, and the entire World, too, it was deemed best to draw attention to the need of the time: Peace. It is absolutely disheartening to see man kill man over matters as trivial as the colour of the skin, or difference of opinion. Man and beast, both share the same land. Alas! If they could share a bit of Love, too. Man is too small to ever be sure of anything out in a Universe so vast and majestic. So, if you place abstract ideas above blood and sinew, you are, plainly, not so wise. A man unwise does harm and more harm is what we cannot afford. This issue, also, serves as a tribute to the martyrs of APS, Peshawar; along with honouring all the other lives we have lost to a war unnamed. Lives innocent and blameless; sacrificed in the name of religion, ethnicity, baseless hatred, and devoured in the hunger of brutality. The emphasis is on the importance of remaining humane, and to fall below the human-line is condemnable at every scale. Men, women and animals, retain the right to a life, if nothing more. This is all we need to reflect upon. This is all ‘Mosaic’ 2015 has laid down a commitment to.

Furthermore, this issue (like all the ones before it), is in essence a precious, little package of unfailing encouragement for all those students with an unmistakable knack of creativity. Whether it is a pen that you wield, or a paintbrush, you have preserved a place in these pages. I hope in earnest, that we have given you a reason to keep on looking beyond the ordinary in life, and that more of you will be spurred on to work on your own very masterpieces-to-be. You hold in your hands my utmost effort and hard work, but of course it would have all come to nothing were it not for some very important persons. Miss Rehana, honestly, has been a great work motivation, and without her pointing out my mistakes, coming up with the much-needed suggestions and setting deadlines, there would be no such thing as ‘Mosaic’. Wajiha and Zobia remained steadfast throughout all the rage and storm I brewed up, thank you. And, everybody who contributed in my magazine (Yes, I’m possessive), know that you’re the most amazing part of BLL, know your worth; and thank you so much. So, here is ‘Mosaic’ 2015 and I hope you guys enjoy every bit of it. Get some coffee, you’ve a lot to read! Naqsh Fatima Naqvi, Editor-in-Chief.

"Blessed are the weird people - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, troubadours; for they teach us to see the World through different eyes.” - Jacob Nordby

Editorial Note I’ll be straightforward and honest. I’m not very competitive or highly ambitious. I wouldn’t even be sitting here trying to come up with a non-sleep inducing editorial note right now, if it weren’t for my best friend/English-sub Editor, Wajiha. On the Friday the notice for the Mosaic Editorial Board was put up; I’d coincidentally skipped school, about to be blissfully unaware about my golden opportunity for the entire weekend. The moment I woke from my nap, I received a text: “OYEEEE! MOSAIC KE LIYE NEW EDITORS KA NOTICE LAG GAYA HAI! AND I’M GONNA TRY OUT FOR THE ENGLISH SECTION, I DON’T CARE!” Seeing my usually reserved buddy burst into this ball of determination and can-do energy ignited the same spirit in me. One nervous, jittery interview with Miss Rehana, a ridiculously embarrassing editorial essay and a week of agonizing wait, I was chosen as the new English Editor for Mosaic 2014-15. As I squealed in high-pitched noises upon seeing my name as part of the Editorial Team on the notice board, I was timely summoned, along with my fellow editors, to Miss Rehana’s office, for “The Meeting”. Ah, how innocent, how naive I was. With time, I was to learn that being editor is not even half as much editing actual material as much as RUNNING AFTER and BEGGING PEOPLE to write SOMETHING, ANYTHING, for the magazine. Excuse my bluntness, but I must add, some people are awfully ill-mannered. Seeing my desperate pleas on Facebook, WhatsApp and not replying to them, ignoring me constantly; if you’re not going to write, at least do the polite thing and reply! Then we move on to the material we actually did receive, in all its bad-grammar and sometimes cringe-worthy content. Most of it we had to reject due to the above mentioned but we did get a ton of amazing written pieces as well. If your written content does not make it into this year’s Mosaic, please do not lose heart. That’s the biggest and saddest mistake a writer can make. Plus, there is always next year! There were a lot of frowns and cynical remarks working with the Editorial Team; we didn’t necessarily agree over everything all the time. Yet, we managed to put our differences aside and tried our best to work in harmony, which happens to be our theme this year: All-Embracing Peace. Our theme is also a symbol of hope for a brighter, safer future, in memory of the truly devastating APS Peshawar Attack. May The Almighty Allah grant patience to the victims’ families and instill courage in their hearts. I owe my gratitude to Miss Rehana, for her constant intimidating presence and helpful advice that made us do our work in the first place (despite the fact that we missed deadlines half the time), Mrs. Humaira Mahmood, who despite being the Principal, was actually quite friendly and approachable and always provided fresh ideas. Most importantly, a standing ovation to the entire Editorial Team, especially Wajiha and Naqsh, the only two souls who understand my pain and braved this incredible (and incredibly frustrating, at times) journey with me. Lastly, a huge shout-out to my incredibly supportive friends in and outside BLL (they know who they are) and my loving family for all their encouragement and wise words. Lo and behold! Mosaic 2014-15. Remember, treat it with love and respect, for it is not only a product of endless blood, sweat and tears but it is also my BABY. I hope you all like it, for we all really did work our hardest to make BLL shine, like it does every year, on these glossy pages. If your name and contribution made the final cut, congratulations! You have made your mark in history and now been immortalized in the pages of our beloved school magazine. As Will Herondale once remarked in Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare,”Caelum Denique!” Zobia Waseem, English Editor. 8

Editorial Note Here it is folks. The Mosaic 2015! *applause* It is kind of unbelievable though. I did not think we would reach the end. This was one of the hardest thing I ever had to do. Even Mrs. Rehana cautioned us! So be warned future editors, this is not child’s play. To be honest, I lost hope some time in the middle. Had it not been for my wonderful friends, I don’t think I would have survived. This is a lesson to you all: do not take your friends for granted. They are the ones who are going to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. So I’m going to take the next few lines of this page to acknowledge my wonderful friends. Maliha, I owe you big time. Zohaa, thank you for all the words of encouragement. Sana and Fariha, I am sorry for shouting at you; I’ll make it up to you *hug*. Aaiman, thank you for listening to all my stories. Amenah, thank you for listening to my problems. And all the other people: Maha, Ana, Shanza, Fatima, Anamta, Fizza, Liaba, Amna - thank you! Most of all, thank you to my best friend, Zobia - the English Editor and my Parabatai, for being by my side, always and forever. (Those of you who are not familiar with the concept of ‘parabatai’ need to read The Infernal Devices and The Mortal Instruments. You’ll thank me later.) I knew this would be difficult? Why did I want to be a part of this wonderful magazine? The answer is simple. A few years back – nine to be exact – my one and only sister, Madiha Ahmed, was the English Editor of the Mosaic. She is my inspiration for everything and I wanted to do this for her. I would not be the person I am today without her. Thank you Appa! You truly are the best. I thank my parents for their unconditional love and prayers. I thank my brother for giving me encouragement. Thank you Bhai! It goes without saying; this magazine would not have been a success if Naqsh – our Chief Editor, hadn’t done such a brilliant job. All in all, being part of the Editorial board wasn’t a bad experience. I had…some fun. And it was better than sitting at home and doing absolutely nothing, even if sometimes the work load was excessive. After all, “the secret to success is a constancy to purpose.” (Benjamin Disraeli) Lastly, I would like to thank The Almighty Allah for giving me the strength to complete this demanding job. Relish this magazine, my fellow students! A lot of effort has been put into it and I sincerely hope you appreciate it. I heard the quote “Never trust a duck.” But I’m rather fond of ducks, like Jem. Wajiha Ahmed, Assistant Editor.

Message from Mrs. Rehana Rasul Staff Coordinator

The cycle of life goes on. Each academic year sees a new Editorial Board eager to explore fresh pastures. However, what remains constant is the spirit of dedication and the desire to excel: the verve and perseverance to surpass their predecessors and leave a personal mark on the magazine. The girls this year have followed in the footsteps of the previous Editors and have done an excellent job. 9

A Level Faculty

Senior School Faculty

Middle School Faculty

Staff Administrative Staff

Science Lab Staff

Custodian Staff

A Level Class of 2014

Umul Banin Subject Prizes All The Way

Kinza Qaiser Are You Calling Me Lazy?

Maham Aqeel Goody-Two-Shoes

Pervesha Musharaf Begum-So-Sughar

Shanzeh Mahmood Bibi Perween

Minahil Azma Full-Time Nerd

Ifrah Tauseef Your Majesty

Javeria Rizwan Judge Judy

Mehak Iman Straightforward Stacey

Sabeena Tariq Kaam Chor Nail Artist

Minahil Tariq Pressure Cooker

Shaheerah Zafar Reliable Baji

A Level Class of 2014

Amna Iqbal QT

Nabia Kawar Master Chef Pakistan

Haleema Kamila Bubbly ki Bunty

Mahnoor Javed Math ki books kahan hain?

Nehala Numair 1000 Mega-Watt Smile

Ayesha Amjad Patakha Guddi

Aimen Athar Fountain of Youth

Rida Tanveer Little Miss Perfect

Amna Tufail Spinning Jenny

Jannat Javed I've got a Blank Space, Baby

Kainat Yousaf Kitabi Keera

Sarah Naseer Malik â&#x20AC;&#x153;Mera Title Tu Nahi Diya?â&#x20AC;?

A Level Class of 2014

Momal Malik “Baghi Hoon Main Baghi Hoon”

Zoya Raza "Guys, stop. And study."

Shehr Bano Chota Packet, Bara Dhamaka

Rubab Zahra Naqvi Future Sociologist

Faqia Iqbal Einstein Returns

Areej Mahmood Baalon Ka Maamla

Ayma Irfan Administration Ki Jaan

Aamna Tayyaba Khan Imported Maal

Rashmeen Khan Bookaholic

Mehar Fasahat Sweetie

Yusra Abdul Qayyum Lost And Rarely Found

Javeriya Shahid Chulbul Pandey

A Level Class of 2014

Saira Arshad Subtle

Aisha Alam Tomboy

Fizza Abbas I Like Warm Hugs

Seher Khalid Fashionista

Rida Khalid Baby-Face

Rameen Masood Spunky and Sporty!

Samina Baig Chashm-e-Badoor

Aneesa Siddique Make-up Miracle Worker

Sarah Sabir Spectrum Eyes

Misha Saeed Okay? Okay

Momina Haleem Marie Buff

Simrah Ibrar Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy

A Level Class of 2014

Areesha Mariam Sampson We’ll sing and dance the night away!

Irha Chugkghtai Bubbles

Lareb Saeed Golden Heart

Manal Ali Kitchen Queen

Saba Khurram Silent and Sweet

Sana Zahra Elegance Personified

Hajra Naeem Happy-Go-Lucky

Fatima Zunash Ahmed Chill Behen

Mariam Ali Hey, I've got a pretty smile!

Shahbakht Ahmed BLL's Head Boy

Mahnoor Rafaqat Packs An Extra Punch

Areeba Imtiaz I’ve got my eyes on you!

A Level Class of 2014

Semal Farid All-Rounder

Iman Ejaz Best BLKC Director Ever!

Hira Naeem Waah Jee Waah!

Fatima Masood Full Of Life

Faria Mazher Simple Yet Superb

Fatima Waheed LOL- All The Time

Namrah Fatima Cuttie Pie

Hadia Ajmal Shughli

Huda Yousaf “Hit And Run”

Izza Shamaz Pretty Be Me

Zahra Ikram Sugar, Spice And Everything Nice

Wafa Zahid Princess Jasmine

A1 Batch

Outgoing Classes XI CA

XI CB

XI CC

XI CD

Outgoing Classes XI CE

XI CF

XI CG

XM A

XM B

Alumni

, snow n e v i of dr l show.” d l e e a fi step wil k i L , very you e e r r o o f F es be tread it, i l e own futur how you n e k h n T “ - U reful a c e B

The Shortest Path to Prosperity for Pakistan is Through Education Fatima Toor, Ph.D.

Fatima did her O’Levels from BLL, in 1998. She is currently a Professor of Electrical Engineering at the University of Iowa in USA. “One book, one pen, one child, and one teacher can change the world.” Malala Yousafzai I could not agree more with Malala, education can really change the world. Education is very powerful and when done the right way can not only change an individual’s life but an entire society. So what do I mean by the “right way”? First of all instead of rote memorization of entire books, there needs to be an education system that intellectually challenges the students’ minds. Also instead of the hierarchical system between the teachers and students, where we are told from childhood that teachers are like second parents, we should have an egalitarian system, where the students are allowed to challenge their teachers. It will benefit not just the students but also the teachers’ capabilities. I have always learned more about a subject matter while teaching it. Being a professor myself, I tell my students that I expect them to be smarter than me, as I know that will benefit me as much as it benefits them. I tell them that they are more like my colleagues, who are welcome to share their ideas and challenge mine. This way we are all aiming for excellence together. In addition, access to education should be equal for girls and boys, not just on paper, but also in reality. So what are the two biggest issues that Pakistan faces today? In my opinion they are terrorism and limited resources. I would argue both of these problems can be solved by the right education. To eliminate terrorism, the unmonitored madrassas need to be shutdown for good. Instead schools for poor kids need to be built where they are taught how to read and write, and learn for themselves what their religion teaches and given the opportunity to explore the arts, sciences, and humanities. One excellent example is Ms. Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy’s work with Ms. Humaira Bachal of building a school for girls and boys in a slum in Karachi. We need to make possible thousands more such examples. Secondly to address limited resources, we need to control the population growth, which in my opinion is largely driven by the desire to have sons, because the Pakistani society and laws are setup in such a way that the girls always get the shorter end of the stick. While the area of Pakistan is about 12 times smaller than the US, our population is more than half that of the US. This is disturbing because such high population density puts extreme stress on our resources resulting in chaos and anarchy. Why do I think education can fix the over population problem? If we educate more girls and think of them as entities that can also earn money and help take care of older parents instead of eventual properties of their in-laws, then there will be less rush to have sons while in the process having five to six to fourteen daughters – yep these are the numbers I have heard from relatively educated families who continued to have a certain number of daughters until they could have a son. There are also several studies that show that more educated girls tend to have fewer children, which automatically takes care of over population. So yes education is the solution to the problems Pakistan faces today. Malala’s courage and confidence is an inspiration for me even though in age I am much older than her. She is so young but such an eloquent public speaker. I remember when I was a couple of years older than her, for a Physics class in college, I was supposed to give a talk and I could not get a word out because I was nervous and lacked the confidence to even speak in front of a class of a few colleagues. At that time many of my teachers built my confidence one by one and year by year. Today I travel around the world to give talks on science and technology. So the right education and teachers changed my life forever. I wish the same for each child in Pakistan, and across the globe. 21

Cookie Dough Madiha Ahmed

After a shining decade of academics at BLL, Madiha graduated from LUMS with a Bachelors in Economics and Mathematics (joint) and since then, has been working in the field of content and communications. Currently, she is a Project Manager at Shopistan (Pvt) Ltd., and oversees both Design and Content for various top brands of the country. Does life sometimes feel overwhelming? Uncertain? Disconnected? We have dreams and plans and ideas but everything is vague. We want to do big things but just aren’t sure. We plan to do big things regardless but don’t know what exactly we should do. So we try one thing. And then another. Then we think of a third. We try. We work hard. But something doesn’t work out. Something or the other remains missing, and we feel like our goals get farther away from us. Our dreams remain big but even more uncertainty creeps into our mind, into our action. We keep feeling that we might be building our sandcastles a bit too close to the sea. That we’ll never actually reach the top of the mountain. That we’ll never get there. That we’ll never be…”done”. Getting done – is that all life is about? Getting wherever we want to get, even though we don’t even know what that is? After finishing A-Levels at BLL, I got placed at one of the best universities in the country. Within a few months of graduating, I kicked off my career at a major international non-profit organization. Was that part of my plan? No. There was no plan. I studied Economics and Business in A-Levels mostly because I didn’t want to do science later. Or anymore. However, when I stepped into the nonacademic real world, I realized that I would prefer something other than Economics to build a career. Still, I had no idea where this decision would lead me. All I could do was keep an eye on various opportunities, and make the best of what I could. In the last three years, what I have learnt is that we generally forget that the real fun is in being cookie dough. To have fun while trying, and that it’s okay to be cookie dough. It is not important to get done with the baking. What we need to do is to get through one thing, and then another, and then the next. Experience one thing, then another, and then the next. And with each one, good or bad, we will learn. And we will realize that the dough is getting better and better. It is only with time that we realize that we can always do big things. That we might already have done big things. Because how we define this “big” is up to us. Only a good cookie dough will turn out into good cookies. So grab one cookie, and in all the uncertainty, be sure of one thing: you will be fine.

Toils of Finding a Lost Identity Rohma Zubair

Rohma graduated from BLL in 2011 scoring 9As in her O’Levels. Currently, she is doing her Bachelors from Earlham College, USA. As I returned home from school one afternoon, my mother told me that our fifteen-year-old maid would not be working for us anymore. It took me by surprise because I was used to seeing the smile on Ayesha Khan’s face for the last three years. I was silenced in horror when I was told that she was leaving us because she was getting married that weekend, to a man she had never seen before. Hopeless and angered, I could only see her giving birth and registering to the needs of her husband for the rest of her life. This is the fate of thousands of girls in my country. My country is Pakistan. At the age of fifteen, I managed to pass the Customs line while holding a crumpled plane ticket in my sweat-stricken hand. I was boarding a plane to a high school five thousand kilometers away from Pakistan. Since then I have been travelling and trying to comprehend the two worlds that exist apart. “Hi, I am Rohma Zubair and I am from Pakistan.” I proudly say these words every time I introduce myself because they are the defining characteristics of my identity – my name and my nationality. I have now been used to the responses I receive. “Where exactly is Pakistan?” “Wow, your English seems pretty good.” I have lived in Pakistan for fifteen years and I have been lucky enough to attend an international school at the heart of one of the most progressive cities in Pakistan. The country that I was born in has brought controversy regarding, race, ethnicity, religion and nationality. The word Pakistan has become symbolic to bombs, jihad, terrorism, Islamic militants, prevailing ignorance and oppressed women. This is the picture of Pakistan that mainstream media has painted – a picture that sadly and undeniably, people believe. During my first year in UWC, Hong Kong, I was asked, “Why do you not wear a head scarf?” “Have you been oppressed?” As a young, fragile caricature of myself, I struggled to find a detailed and satisfying answer to these questions. I was, however, determined to show people the other side of Pakistan – that there was more to the country than just head scarves and Taliban. I would like to believe that I have been successful to some extent in showing my community members the other side of Pakistan. However, during that process I found myself being trapped in a hedge maze of retrieving my identity. As a freshman in college, people have ruthlessly made fun of my “Indian” accent. Whereas, in Pakistan, my English was considered too “westernized”. In the midst of many serious conversations, people could not control their laughter at the way I said a certain word. Needless to say that I never considered my English to be one or the other, but, somehow a mixture of two. Being born to supportive and liberal parents, I have been able to escape what has been the nightmare of many girls in Pakistan. Ayesha Khan and I have been separated because of the bridge of patriarchal society and conservative mindsets. My parents have always reminded me how lucky I have been to be able to study in Hong Kong and then the US. It did not matter what the rest of the relatives said, my father always pushed me to step forward. Extremely capable girls like Ayesha Khan

are denied the right to make their life decisions, let alone the right to education. At fifteen, rather than facing the imperfection and volatility of emotions of adolescence, I was forced to transform into an adult overnight. I left my nation in a fragile state as I embraced the harsh realities of the new world. However, Pakistan has not become less of a home than it was. I have gained more understanding about my country not just as a citizen but also as an outsider. I have learned from people’s perceptions and interpretations of it. In I fact, I have felt more Pakistani than ever before. A couple of days ago, Malala Yousafzai was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her fight for education of all children. But now, with the tales of Ayesha and Malala I have started to draw lines and connect the intersection between Pakistani culture and Western principles. I know my country will be able to start from scratch. That it deserves a lot more than just militants’ guns. I see a beacon of hope in the darkness. I desperately try to find my place in the two worlds, separated not only by several continents and bodies of water but also by culture, ethics and morals. I have always accepted the new. I have welcomed the change. However, at the same time, I have successfully held on to my culture, being true to myself. I have realized that I am different. I do not need to have a clear-cut identity. I have budded in different ways in different continents. I was planted in Pakistan but uprooted before I could be harvested and yet again replanted in the other world. I have moved between the two worlds. I am a global citizen. Although, my family’s green passport makes us liable to be questioned and searched every time at the US Customs. I am proudly a Pakistani Muslim attending an American college, studying a male dominated field – Economics, my Dad’s princess and one of the thousands cricket fans. Pakistan is, was and will always be an integral part of me, but I also feel a connection with fellow beings that is not dominated by country boundaries but by social, cultural and political understanding of the citizens. I am here to make a difference so that every Pakistani girl can get an education and does not live her nightmare. My responsibility is heavy, but I am blessed to belong to two worlds that shall make it possible to fulfill it.

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkein

Ever Wondered What Life is About? Priscilla Liu

Priscilla did her A Levels from BLL and is currently studying at Lahore School of Economics. How many times have you heard about life being a roller coaster ride? Countless, I am sure. Pardon me if I appear to be bossy but this story will not be entirely reader-oriented. Please forget Barthes’ ‘Death of the Author’ essay for now. Read it if you have not. You are never too young to learn. As I was saying (or rather, writing) before I rudely interrupted myself, life is a roller coaster ride. So you think. No harm in that; everyone is entitled to their own opinion. You may say that a glass is either half empty or half full. Again, I apologize for digressing. We are not talking about any drinks or sodas here. Ignore the roller coaster. Life should be a journey to you. See those bullies making fun of that girl? What if that girl was you? Would you say that it was one of those ‘downs’ in your life? Since you like roller coaster rides so much, the words ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ are probably unconsciously etched in your memory. Come on. Let us be different. Sure, ups cannot exist without downs and vice versa. You cannot experience success without knowing what it is like to be in a rut. Down is an altogether derogatory word for me. Instead, say that those bullies are merely like a new place in your journey. You have been through it, fine. It is time to move on, and see the wonders of the world. I am not only referring to the Seven Wonders of the World. They change overtime and the next thing you know, you could be the eighth one. Look at what is beautiful, and experience things that make you happy. ‘Buy experiences, not things’, so to speak. Try to be objective when it comes to tangible things in the universe. Surely, you cannot let your emotions get the best of you in a, say, professional setting. However, be subjective in everything else. You can stare at an Arizona Grill steak and argue that it is not a steak because nothing is at stake. Pardon the pun. If you read post-colonial literature, you will see how powerful the idea of ‘us’ versus ‘them’ is. ‘Us’ consists of the oppressors and ‘them’ includes the oppressed. See the binary of good and evil? Well, deconstruct it. Take it apart. How will I do it? The following example should only be understood as an example; please do not question my identity afterwards. Now, if I am the bad lady, I will have to make people suffer and they are good people. Nevertheless, I still have to bear the burden of being vile. If I do not, I lose face. I lose power. Now, do you understand the importance of being good? That is the first step on the road to success. Be confident, be good and respect others. There is no ‘us’ or ‘them’. Live in awe of God because He loves His creations. In short, you have nothing to worry about, if you do your best. What is the worst that can happen if you are competing with yourself? This is an order. The world is waiting for you to make your mark on it. Before I end, I would like to thank all my BLL teachers for being the wonderful people, that they are. To some students, you may only be one part of their lives but for the others, you are their life. I love you and I miss you.

Redefining Feminism Hadia Hameed

Hadia did her O’Levels from BLL in 2011. She is currently an Electrical Engineering sophomore in UET, Lahore. What’s the point of observing International Women’s Day? Don't get me wrong. I’m not a misogynistic idiot. I’m not a sexist. I’m definitely not trying to sound like an arrogant and self-righteous cynic. It’s just the irony of it all that compels me to ask: As a woman, what is my role, or the lack thereof, in this society? I’ve grown up in a society that takes pride in its archaic concepts of male domination and supremacy. At times it’s blatantly obvious. Even when we strut around with our heads held high, elated and satisfied at the improved status of women of this century, we do realize that things have not changed entirely and that we still have a long way to go. We still see men finding it amusing to drag women in every other jokes as if humor has been redefined as profanity. We still find men believing that the solution of gender disparity in our society is to lock up your women, confine them to their houses and limit their lives to needlework, housekeeping and everything and anything that is related to serving other family members of the house. There is nothing wrong with doing needlework for the rest of your life as long as it is you who decide that. We still get to face this retarded and held-back mentality that the world must only be run by males in order to ensure a smooth execution of affairs (the ‘smoothness’ is evident to all of us). Every day we come across a new case, more horrendous than the last, of domestic violence, acid attack, honour killing, rape and harassment – same stories; different characters. For the past few years I have been suffering from a chronic uncertainty and a restless urgency about understanding the true meaning of being a “feminist”. Much has been said about it. I would rather not go into the insipid and shallow details. But I’ve managed to ascertain one thing: Feminism is not about superiority, dominance, supremacy or disdain against men for that matter. It’s not about hating men. It’s not about being a Femi-“Nazi”, a term that has become rather popular these days. Feminism is about the basic and fundamental concept of humanity, equality and the primary responsibility of each and every individual to respect one another regardless of their race, colour, creed or gender. If respect is too much to ask for, and if we find it humanely impossible to stop ourselves from stereotyping women and judging their ordeals through the prism of their own responsibilities, then quite frankly we ‘humans’ of the 21st century do not deserve to call ourselves civilized. We're savages. Barbarians. Dear women and girls across the world!

Let me break this to you. It is a never ending struggle; a struggle to belong to a world where your very existence is questioned by the armies of status quo; a struggle to break down the walls, the ramparts of deep seated misogyny in our society. You might not make it to the finish line with your mind and body intact, you might lose your balance and sense of proportion during this overbearing journey and you might not be able to change anything; but remember that â&#x20AC;&#x153;unearned suffering is redemptiveâ&#x20AC;? and that this suffering is no longer yours to bear. No one needs to green signal your ideas. No person under these heavens and on this earth has the authority to tell you your rightful place in this society. The sky you see up there. Yes those brilliant, blue heavens above. You hold up half that sky. You are above that. Breathe and repeat. You are above that.

"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.â&#x20AC;? - George R.R. Martin

You Were Born With Wings Mahnoor K. Sandhu

Mahnoor did her O’Levels from BLL in 2012, and is currently in the foundation year at Pakistan Institute of Fashion and Design. The other day, I saw the display window of a clothing store on the first floor of a drug store when my mother was getting her blood pressure checked while I waited in the car. I had never seen this store before and as soon as I noticed one of the mannequins wearing a lavender turtle neck sweater, I texted my friend who had told me she had looked everywhere for turtle neck sweaters, but couldn’t find them. I told my mother about it when she came back and what she said in response got me thinking. She told me this store had been there for ages and it was I, who had never noticed it before. It made me realize how we have transformed our lives to such an extent that anything out of our routine goes by unnoticed. We do not look around anymore, we do not observe. We have stopped seeing things from each and every possible perspective which restricts us from being diverse; because if we do not see, we will never know. Each and every human being has endless opportunities in life, to learn, to grow and to evolve their identity and their soul as the world has so much to offer. From something as small as metamorphosis, transforming a caterpillar into a butterfly to our entire galaxy; there are infinite phenomena in this world which we might overlook and consider them to be ordinary, but then I ask myself, where’s the beauty in that? What is the point of living a life so ordinary and routine that one day cannot be told apart from another and an entire lifetime can be fitted into one tiny box? Each and every one of our lives should be like books with endless volumes and each day a new chapter. One unique from the other, filled with extravagant events and experiences, successes and failures, joy and regrets, good and bad decisions, highs and lows, black and white and all shades of grey. I, for one would want to have numerous stories to tell my grandchildren and great grandchildren when I’m weak and old, if I manage to live that long. I want to experience anything and everything that will help me know more and decide what is best for me so that at the end of the day, I’m happy with the decisions I have made. Because you can never really know the difference between a good and a bad decision, if you haven’t experienced them both first. And, this brings me to Rumi, a poet that I absolutely love and one of his quotes that I also absolutely love: “You were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life?” – Rumi So why hold back? What have we got to lose? My advice to all the students of BLL is let loose all those restrictions you put on yourself and break down the barriers that stop you from doing what you love. Look around you and appreciate each and every moment that gives you joy, knowledge and experience. I hope all of you try and enjoy the road to self-fulfillment.

Time Your Time Sarah Fatima Khan

Sarah graduated from BLL in 2007 and completed her BSc. in Social Sciences from LUMS in 2011. She is currently working as a Marketeer. Her recent stint is with the Social Innovation Lab where she works as a Marketing Advisor for young social entrepreneurs, working and learning together to create noise for Social Innovation in Pakistan. Here’s the deal. In recent days, time has been going by really fast. Talking about time speeding past, sounds incredibly like something the old folk would say (every time they see you, they are bound to remark, ‘Look how much you’ve grown, you were this big since last I saw you!’ and ‘this big’ usually means about the size of an ant). Now, either I am really old (Age is but a number, shush!), or else time has picked up speed like it had never before (seems likely, yes) because I find this feeling getting stronger every single day. Growing old is a painful experience. You’ve all probably seen T-Shirts that read ‘Don’t grow up, it’s a trap!”, yes? Truer words have never been spoken. Tricky that life is, however, you’ll find that there isn’t much that can be done to foil the natural process of ageing unless you’re a peculiar case like Benjamin Button. So, before you end up becoming old and wrinkled, wondering how did you get here so quick, here are some pointers that you would do well to tie to your dupatta’s end. Firstly, quit wasting your time. Distinguish very clearly, between things that take up your time in order to chew them up and spit them out used and useless; from things that embellish your time, in order to return to you something valuable, whether it’s personal growth or a story worth telling. (Okay, but what about the very-popular saying that goes 'the time you enjoy wasting, isn’t actually wasted'? You don’t have to believe everything that the Internet says!) So for example, taking an unlimited number of selfies in front of the mirror and then deleting 85% of them IS considered wasting all that precious time of yours. What is it giving you in return, anyway? Either a sense of growing vanity, or that of baseless depression! Spending time with your mom, or siblings instead, would have brought you closer, made your bonds stronger; and you probably would have learnt a thing or two. Secondly, Carpe Diem! In Master Oogway’s very wise words: ‘Today is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present!’ Use your time consciously and wisely. Do not dwell on the past too much. What is gone, is gone. Lingering over time gone by, only slows one down, makes one sad occasionally and needlessly wishful, too. Why not work on making today, the best day you’ve ever had, instead? Dream about a better tomorrow and if you can (which I'm sure you can!), work towards making your dreams a reality, one day at a time. Lastly, relax. Don’t trust too many self-help articles, especially the ones that have a number at the beginning of the title. Understand that your life experience is unique, and also, it doesn’t need to fit into others' idea of uniqueness. Everybody tries to do the best they can with the time that they have. So cut yourself and those around you, some slack. Offer positive encouragement to everyone. The time you spend in creating an environment of optimism around yourself, will come back to help you, when you’re down. Trust me. 29

BLL and Beyond Sadaf Fatima

Sadaf did her A'Levels from BLL in 2007. She did her MBA from FAST university and is currently preparing for her CSS exam. Recently, I got the chance to visit BLL and to my pleasant surprise, guard uncle (I assume Afzal is his name) instantly recognized me! This was a sign that a lot may have gone to never return, but some still remains untainted about those memorable years of my life at BLL. I get flashbacks of my first day at A levels, which began with panic-stricken girls looking to somehow escape ragging. Although, no real ragging happened, the fear itself was quite thrilling. It was the sign of a new life, which could be best described as half-school-and-half-college. I also remember that we received Samosas as refreshment on our orientation, which felt like a great treat, back then. Yum! Although, class lectures at BLL were heavy work, the life outside classes was way too eye-opening. There was a lot of diversity in the kind of people you would come across in the girls' common room, which was simply “GCR” for us. Keeping aside the exceptions, everybody in GCR was the typical trying-to-be-something teenager. You could find both; eccentricity and drama. Everyone was in a huge struggle to become somebody admirable. It, now, makes me wonder how childlike we were, and yet thought of ourselves as the Aristotles of the time. The best part of my time at BLL was coming across those genuine friends, whom I will cherish forever. We did not know each other before but in a short time we became the best of buddies. We stuck through all our good and bad times and stood up for each other wherever need be. Life has been through a lot of twists and turns. We (friends) chose different paths and got busy in our daily battles, but the good part is that we are still in touch. Responsibilities keep on increasing exponentially, as you grow older and experience the world outside school. While work life comes with its own merits, experiences, and financial freedom; mundane routines make you want to be a student again. Or, a child again. It’s ironic that we keep complaining of school while we're still studying there, but later, find out that life’s a lot sheltered at school and university, and that the real world begins when you graduate and start work. My advice for all the inquisitive souls reading this right now, would be that you must make your present times the best of times, as they matter more than the past or future. Best of Luck!

"All those people in their black and white worlds. They have no idea what they're missing.” - Wendy Mass

A Lot More Than Just a Degree Ammen Usman

Ammen did her A'Levels from Beaconhouse Liberty Campus in 2010. After completing her bachelor's degree from PIFD in 2014, she is currently working as a Designer at Borjan. Five years out of school and today when I sit down to write this alumni article, I could talk about a million things but I choose to talk about how academic brilliance is not the sine qua non of professional ascendance. When in school, college or university, we are told that the only way to succeed is to get good grades. We struggle, day after day, to become bookworms but during that process we forget that our personalities are shaping up accordingly, and weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re restricting ourselves to just pen and paper. We are forgetting to focus on our interpersonal and speaking skills and mind you, they are more important than you think they are. No doubt, grades are very important, and one cannot succeed in life without education but at the same time one should be capable of presenting oneself in front of a group of people. One should be able to talk with confidence and leave a mark with their presence. One should be able to handle tense situations and talk things out peacefully. One should be able to justify oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ideas and decisions. Some people might be God-gifted with some of these traits; but mostly people have to work on these aspects of their personalities. It would be a lot easier for us if we are made to do all of this at a young age. Along with studies and grades, we should be taught how important it is to speak up with confidence. Not to be afraid of raising our concerns. A good academic result might get you a place at the interview table but there is no guarantee it will get you that job, as well. For that you need a good body language, you need confidence to be able to present yourself. With time, one begins to grasp these things but it is indeed, very helpful, if we from the very start have never been the quiet, shy back-bencher in class. Our curriculum should have activities which help us get over our fear of speaking in front of an audience, which give us the assurance that whatever we are saying, has some weightage and will be respected; and that we have the right to think the way we fancy. We need to, from an early age, be taught that our opinions matter. Life has its way of testing man. You may never know what is waiting at the end of the road. I, for instance, studied business-related subjects in my O and A levels; but ended up doing a design degree! That also, in leather, accessories and footwear, a field unknown to the masses. Though I graduated with a good GPA, when I went for my interviews, no one asked me what my GPA was, a thing for which I had worked day and night. Every company judged me on the basis of my confidence, speaking skills, interpersonal skills, my basic knowledge of the market. The day I started my job, I realized things are very different from what I had prepared for, in the past four years. Just six months into the job, and I am made to do something which is not my forte, and yet, I have to do it. I have to evolve, and learn fast, otherwise I wont be able to survive in this corporate world. So, the bottom line is, that education is important and indispensable; but it cannot guarantee you a successful professional career. Success demands a lot more than just a degree. Speak up, be confident, and never shy away from hard work. Never give up and never stop trying.

Returning Home Ayesha Naeem

Ayesha did her O’levels from Beaconhouse Liberty Campus in 2008 and secured straight A’s. She did her A levels from Lahore Grammar School and is currently a fourth-year Medical Student at Aga Khan University (AKU), Karachi. Every day, I gaze around and witness my class fellows and seniors engrossed in the struggle to ace USMLEs trying to get a residency and settle abroad. Nearly every day my ears catch complaints about the drawbacks of our homeland, and how it is probably the worst place to live in. So was the case when I was in A levels, when most of my class fellows were preparing for SATs and striving to secure a place in a well-reputed university abroad. Nearly every other person had this vision of giving up anything and everything, just to go and settle abroad. What we fail to realize is the fact that everything that glitters is not gold. That land of our dreams is, in fact, also the same land where we would have to battle each day for our survival, and toil to make a tiny place in the hearts of those strangers containing prejudices against us from the very first day. It’s the land where we would always be looked down upon, simply because the colour of our skin is brown, or because we carry a Muslim name. Where we would always be treated as second class citizens, no matter how long we live there and serve their people. It’s a place where we would have to screen through food, trying to avoid eating ‘haram’, where we would yearn to hear the aazan in the air even just once, and where Eid would be just another regular working day. And most importantly, a place where it would be nearly impossible to expect our children to grow up into individuals who can even be called Muslims, let alone the generations that would follow. Here is my message to everyone reading this: No one is forcing you to stay and study here. Go abroad, follow your dreams and strive to excel, you have every right and reason to do so. But always remember one thing: Never forget your roots. Never forget the place from where you belong. Never forget Home. Never forget that this is the place that made you what you are today- the nest where you learnt how to fly. And most importantly, this is the place that would be waiting for you, desperate to have you back…waiting just like an old, feeble mother awaits her strong, grown-up son to return home. A place where you’ll always be welcomed warmly, a place that would always feel like home. A place where you would proudly lift your chin up, claiming to be a first class citizen. I recently happened to come across an AKU graduate who belonged to the first MBBS batch of AKU that graduated in 1988. He spent years in United States, but finally came back and settled here as a successful Pediatrician. His beautiful words touched my heart deeply, “There’s no other place in this world that can be compared to home. There is not even another word to it, Home is home. And it is where the pointer of your compass always points…” And for all of us, that ‘home’ is Pakistan.

Stories

â&#x20AC;&#x153;We're all stories, in the endâ&#x20AC;? -Steven Moffat

She Was All I Had Fatima Zaman 10C-D

It seemed like forever since last I had seen Maham. We both were to blame. University life had detained me completely. She, too, had been busy in preparing her portfolio for Rhode Island’s summer programme. We hardly had time for ourselves, much less for each other. None of it mattered anymore because here I was, waiting at the airport, finally going to be spending a good time with the most important person in my life. It was going to be just the two of us, no more distractions. I had it all planned out. We would make up for lost time; it was going to be just like the old days. When nothing else mattered, but being together and enjoying every second of the togetherness. I had known Maham for a long time; she was one of the most careless and reckless of people. She was very forgetful. I could just hope now, that she hadn’t forgotten our arrangement for today. She was supposed to pick me up from the airport but here I was, and she? The Lord knew better. It was agonizing to wait. Maham was late, very late. I had been waiting for an hour and she still hadn’t showed up. I tried her phone numerous times but all in vain. Maham always picked up her phone, no matter what. I was beginning to get worried. Surely she was alright, she must have forgotten, that’s all. My gut was telling me that something was seriously wrong, and I just could not shake away that feeling. It was impossible for me to wait any longer. I grabbed my luggage and hurried towards the exit. I kept calling her all the way from the airport to her apartment. I rang the bell, and got no answer. Something was seriously wrong. Now, I was sure. Remembering something, I then checked under the “welcome” mat for a spare key. Never in a million years, would I have thought to come across such a scene in my life. A person near dying, bathed in blood, writhing slowly in agony. Maham. Oh, the horror of it. If it were me on the floor, Maham would know just what to do. But it was her and all I could do was scream. It came naturally. Screaming for help and kneeling down beside her, I checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. The relief! Who could have done it? I kept thinking. Who? Why? No one would want to hurt a person like her. Tears streamed down my face and my throat ached, but I was still calling out for help. I dared not leave her side, together we were stronger. Late, but help did come. Somebody. A man. It wasn’t important, then. She was important. The next series of events were a blur. All I remember was the siren of an ambulance arriving, Maham being strolled out on a gurney; and the police officers firing questions at me, repeatedly. They did not know. They did not understand. It was not easy, recalling what I saw. Those images were a torture. It was going to be a good day. The best day. The most amazing of times, in a long, long time now. She wasn’t just a friend. She was a sister. My only family. As much as I wish I could forget that day, I can’t. I almost lost my life. I was on the edge of the cliff of utter loneliness. It was almost over. But, just almost. She lived, and so did I.

Lost Victory Wajiha Ahmed A1-A

His fire was a bluff of life in the withering carcass of his company. Walton stood staring at the sands around him. The dunes rose and fell like the hypnotic rhythm of ocean waves, gusts of wind scattering the nighttime sand through the air like a silver whip. Above him the sky opened in a vast display of constellations, each star a small but vibrant light. He had led them out here. Three hundred men wrapped in crimson robes with a sword and a spear in each hand. There had been complaints of bandits in the Middling Pass; robbing, killing, raping. The Legion had been sent to quell them; Walton had been placed in charge. He had ordered a group of twenty to enter the Middling Pass at nightfall. “Bring back four or five of them,” Walton had told his Lieutenant, Jory, “We will hang them from the ravine overlooking The Pass. We will send a message to the others.” “What of the rest, Commander?” Jory had asked. “Kill them and burn their bodies.” Eighteen of the men sent into The Pass returned with five of the bandits in chains; three women, two men. Jory reported back to him. Indicating his swollen face he said “It was the old man at the end, Commander. He’s got a strong arm.” Walton examined the old man. His face was small and the lines that carved its surface were covered with sand and dirt, his eyes were deep. Drool ran steadily down an uneven, knotted beard. “We caught most of them off-guard, Commander.” Jory continued, “Most of our men made it out unharmed except one man who caught an arrow through his throat.” “Did you bury our dead, Lieutenant?” “Yes, Commander, and we burned the dead bandits.” “Good.” A single bead of sweat ran down the old man’s skin leaving a muddy trail in its wake. The old man made a low guttural noise and retched over into the sand. The sun hung resolute in the sky. “Hang them.” They were hanged from the ravine that overlooked The Middling Pass; Three women, two men; a warning. A strong gust of wind rushed through Walton as he stood in the moonlight. The fire wavered, its heat disappearing momentarily leaving a heavy, cold feeling of despair in his chest before snapping back into place. There were only thirty or forty men left now, it has been so hard to keep track. The twenty he had ordered into The Pass had been the first to go; their skin blistering, turning black. Their eyes yellowing

into a grimy, opaque stain set far back into their skulls. After that came vomiting, dehydration, and hallucinations. They would keep up with the marches at first but eventually they would just drop. What was once filled with the sounds of drinking and laughing and gambling now echoed a terrible silence. Each night more and more fires would go out. Until only his was left. The night before Jory died he had come to Walton’s tent. “The bandits” He said. “Some of them had been sick, sick with this Rot. Black skin blisters, vomiting. It was them.” Walton didn’t reply. “The men, there were whispers throughout the camp that we are lost; whispers that you are leading us out west. We aren’t lost, are we?” There was hope in his voice. Jory had wrapped himself in the robes of the Red Legion but the tips of his fingers had peeled away to reveal stringy red stumps, and Walton thought that if he were to lift up the robe the soft flesh of his throat would be blistered and black. Again Walton didn’t answer. Jory left without another word; the next day he had been found dead in his tent. That’s when the fires started going out at night. The camp was quiet. Walton’s fire was alone. Clouds rolled into the sky and suddenly Walton thought that the silvery dunes around him had become hostile and cold, no longer a visage of beauty but a frigid cage surrounding him. Walton removed the glove on his left hand. The skin of his palm had begun to turn an unnatural purple colour, the tips of his fingers bleeding slightly. “No Jory, we aren’t lost.” He whispered. And his fire went out.

"Happiness comes in many forms-in the company of good friends, in the feeling you get when you make someone else's dream come true, or in the promise of hope renewed. It's okay to let yourself be happy because you never know how fleeting that happiness might be." - Lucas Scott

I Was Not Among The 141… Fatima Tahir, A1-A

“How many of you are proud of your father being an army officer?” These words echoed and reechoed in my mind. As I look upon the horrifying memories of 16th December 2014, I still clearly remember my friends and I raised our hands with wide smiles and proud faces. They raised their guns… Within seconds, a smiling young lady was turned into ashes. She was burnt alive in front of the innocent souls, who could hear her screams and pleas to leave the auditorium. But… that was impossible. In the instant of the moment, their guns were pointed towards us and the white walls soon turned red. From one corner to the other, there were heaps of dead bodies, shrieks of little souls, roars of guns and a pool of blood. There was no sign of abashment on those horrifying, monstrous faces who were satisfied at their brutal act. The guns kept on roaring. I stumbled back into the pool of blood on the floor as two dead bodies fell upon me. They stepped forward and martyred more and more innocent beings. The auditorium was filled with screams of children and the thundering of guns. All hopes for mercy were shattered into smithereens. I remember the words of my parents and teachers telling us how Islam condemns the killing of even the children of enemies and teaches the lesson of peace and humanity. But today, I witnessed the so called ‘protectors of Islam’ with their guns pointed towards innocent school going children and their hands never shook while shooting us. I was stuck under the two lifeless bodies and the steps grew closer and closer. I wanted to run away and hide myself in my mother’s lap; but at that moment I could just close my eyes and pray silently. Soon those brutal monsters left the auditorium and I felt my prayers being answered. I could still hear the explosions, thunders and shrieks but now from outside the auditorium. I gained the energy to lift up my head from the floor and what I saw was everything stained in red! I shut my eyes as tightly as I could and tried to wipe off the blood from my face. I slowly removed the bodies and tried to stand up. My legs trembled as I stood up and looked around. A chill went down my spine. The auditorium gave a perfect picture of a battle field. I dragged myself towards the door and swayed into the corridor. The corridor was completely empty; that was welcoming for me. A sudden thought struck my mind. I realized this is the moment! Without considering any second thought, I raced towards the school ground, feeling the coolness in the air opposing my body. I felt as if I had gained a new life. But, this was too short! As I stepped out in the ground, I saw the same haunting face hungrily launching towards the middle section after embellishing our lush green play ground with puddles of blood and heaps of dead bodies. My steps halted and I started moving backwards but I was late. His deathly glare caught me and his merciless hands were steady when he pulled the trigger. The splitting, blaring sound erupted from the gun. The bullet pierced through my body and with a sudden jolt I fell back. Wonderful memories with my family raced through my mind. The increased pain broke the train of thoughts. Sweat popped on my face and soon my vision blurred and I fell, unconscious… I could sense the softness and gentleness of a hand lying on my forehead. I could hear the words of a man saying, “Insha’Allah! Your son will recover soon.” I tried to open my eyes and an obscure face was in front of me. I blinked my eyes to get a clear vision. That was my mother. A feeling of relief 36

surrounded me. I was still unable to comprehend whether I was in heaven or on earth. Soon, a man in a white coat rushed towards me and asked me how I felt now. . I then realized that he was the doctor and I was in the emergency of the hospital; Surrounded by wounded, injured souls, fighting for their lives and some counting their last breaths. I could hear parents crying inconsolably, screaming at the doctors to save their sons and others running through the corridors trying to find their beloved ones. I heard the doctor speak to my mother, “I am sorry! Your son won’t be able to stand up for the rest of his life… he got hit in his legs. But you should be glad he is not among the 141!”

"We all think we're going to be great. And we feel a little bit robbed when our expectations aren't met. But, sometimes, our expectations sell us short. Sometimes, the expected simply pales in comparison to the unexpected. You have to wonder why we cling to our expectations. Because the expected is just what keeps us steady....still. The expected is just the beginning. The unexpected… is what changes our lives.” - Grey's Anatomy

I Wish Manal Ali A2-B

The silence is like a vacuum, creating an overwhelming sense of emptiness. The pain is like a frozen knife, stabbing me. I feel lifeless; the tears won’t stop. People are coming towards me, shaking my hand, patting my back and telling me I’ll get through this. How do they know? They don’t have the slightest idea of what I’m feeling at the moment. Their mom hasn’t been taken from them! Their words are meaningless, even if they have a ring of sincerity in them. Melancholy overpowered my whole system. Distantly I heard the pitter patter of rain. It had been raining all morning. Maybe the clouds were grieving with me. I wished to escape, escape from reality. My life is blank now; there is nothing left for me in it. I felt like fate was laughing at me, killing me from within; slowly. My heart was being impaled on a rusty blade, pinned to the wall, writhing with no chance of escape. I was lost. I felt like screaming, but no sound came. All this emptiness had given me time to think. Had I deserved this? What inhumane thing could I have possibly done for destiny to treat me this way? It seems as if it could not bear to see me contented. I have regrets, like one usually has when they grieve. I had gotten angry with my mom last night. She had told me to study while I wanted to watch T.V. She started one of her lectures again. How I actually had to work to secure a better future. I looked at her, straight in the eye and screamed with all might. “I got straight A’s this semester! Is that still not enough? Don’t talk to me about a better future when you ruined yours ages ago!” The shock on her face was unimaginable. The colour had drained from her face. I was expecting her to shout back, ground me, and do something, anything! But she said nothing; turned around and left. So that was it, those were my last words to her. A lump gathered in my throat. “Mom if you can hear me, please, please forgive me. Mom! I’m sorry, please come back to me!” I started sobbing. “I miss you mom! I love you!” I wish I was more kind to her; she was always kind to me. Was.

A Strange Friendship Farva Rashad, Aliza Shahid, Javaria Saeed, Amal Arif and Ruby Naeem. 11C-D

It was a sweltering, midsummer day and Julio’s throat was dry and stinging. From his post at the entrance of one of the prison blocks, he signalled to the errand girl. Barefooted, and with her ankles bound in chains; she had been lugging a pitcher of water to and fro, all day. He watched as she made her way to where he stood. All of a sudden, she paused and then without a warning; collapsed. Several guards, including Julio, gathered around uncertainly but a commanding voice cut through the air, “Clear it up, and get back to work!” The Sergeant had arrived at the scene. The crowd dispersed instantly; but Julio knelt beside the girl, grabbed the pitcher and sprinkled some water onto her face. She stirred slowly at first, then those big, black eyes flew open. Just as they locked gazes, Julio felt something hitch in his chest. He saw it. The terror in hers. The sergeant huffed impatiently, and barked, “Return to your cell, girl! And you, Cadet, back to work. Now!” Several days flew by in a blur of dust and heat. Julio couldn’t get the thought of the frail, young girl out of his mind. Those eyes. A thousand years old. One night, he heard a faint crinkling sound. He clenched his rifle, and praying he would not need it, entered the block. It was the errand girl, searching through some papers used to wrap bread in. A vain attempt to satisfy her insatiable hunger. The disappointment on her face, moved him and he stepped forward. In the thin stream of light, her startled face looked up as he, wordlessly, took out the apple he had been saving for his night’s patrol and offered it to her. She blinked at the unexpected gift, then moved around a litter of hunched, sleeping bodies to accept it. As she munched on it greedily, her hair fell back revealing a mass of bloody tissue in place of her ear and a long, pink scar that trailed down her neck. Julio’s stomach churned at the sight and he blurted out, “How did that happen?” She fixed her eyes on his, and he looked away, uncomfortably. “They tried to move my mother to a different chamber and I resisted.”, her voice was surprisingly calm. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she continued, “They killed her.” He thought of something to say, failed, and silently walked back to his post. Their friendship evolved steadily. Being a mere cadet, he received his meagre meal after all others, but he knew the girl made an extra effort to ensure he got it sooner. He, too, would save his apple for her every night. It was a strange bond, theirs. Strange and strong. Amenah was her name. His Libyan captive and he, part of an army trying to invade her homeland. Yet, they both abhorred this war. The next day dawned as hot as ever. Julio stood at his usual place, sadly watching Amenah

struggle. Then it happened. She fell and could not get up. Julio rushed forward instinctively; but the Sergeant blocked his path. He whipped the girl with a cane, “Up!” An agonising cry resonated in the courtyard, mingled with a sob of utter despair. The Sergeant raised his arm again, but Julio grabbed it, firmly, “No! Just stop.” A loud silence descended over the encampment. When in the cell, Julio fought and resisted but to no avail. He remained restless the entire day. What had become of Amenah, he knew not. Night approached and some soldiers appeared before his cell. He was dragged outside onto the cold, hard ground. Amenah was next to him, with her head, too, forced down. He stole a glance at her. Her face was so pale, it was almost luminous in the dark. “Thank you. Julio.”, she whispered. ‘She still isn’t able to pronounce it right. A dozen rifles pointed at them, Julio was aware. Blood drummed in his ears. The silence was torturously long. Then, the Sergeant’s voice boomed from behind them, “Fire!” The sudden burst of crackling gunfire split the night air.

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you : Is not that strange?” - William Shakespeare

The Wooden Box Khola Jamshad 11C-B

Her mother was bent over on the carpet, head almost touching down, prostrating. Through the door, slightly ajar, Khadija could see no movement; but she knew what her mother reached out for on the dusty floor beneath the bed. The figure contracted, slowly falling back into an upright position, a single hand involuntarily shooting towards her bulky back trying in vain to support it. Khadija, however, was distracted by the locked wooden box gripped in her other hand, though she was not wearing her glasses, she was aware of every detail on it including the initials A.K boldly engraved on the top. She stood hidden away, waiting for the moment her mother would break down, breathlessly sobbing, clutching the box against her chest, trying to absorb it into herself. She had seen this same routine for four years now, but never had the strength to comfort her. Khadija heard the whimper before her eyes saw the shivering body sitting guardedly, the whimpers grew into sobs and then hushed screams. Reminded of the first time she had seen her mother with the box, it had been only days after that incident, when her mother had sat her down, an over grown six year old in her lap and whispered into her ear in a crackling voice that her father, Ali Khurram, would not be coming back, "Where is he going?" she had asked. It had not been a difficult question, she thought, but then, why was her mother crying, the tears dampening her favourite blouse. Her mother smiled, but only her lips curled, "He went off to save the world." Over the years, she had learnt what those words meant, her father had been a soldier in an endless war, fought at the borders of her country; and like so many others who had never come themselves but instead sent something back, the news of his death and a solitary object as the remnant of his possessions, a wooden box. Her mother had put on a brave face then, only late that night when had she sleeplessly wandered into her mother's room; she found her sprawled on the ground, papers scattered in the room, spilling out from the unlocked wooden box lying inches from the bed. They were all decorated with the same words 'My love'. Her mother held a single piece of paper to her face, her swollen eyes closed behind the page with the date of three weeks ago clearly scribbled on it. After that day, her mother had never once opened those letters again, simply brought out the box and its insides, she would stroke the paper, smell it, kiss it but never again read its contents, perhaps a pain she was unwilling to relive. Having pulled herself out of the storm, her mother locked the box again and shipped it off to its resting place, readying her facade for the morning about to break. Khadija too, silently got up on her feet, and wordlessly returned to her room, knowing that war had struck her home.

In The Silent City Laiba Abid A1-D

Grey clouds hung over an equally grey city. They were a bad omen and brought along with them, a strange lethargy which had spread to the entire population. People, by now, had retired to the comfort of their homes, preferring the warm fires to the cold, wet streets. The only ones that hung about were the homeless, who had resigned to their fate. Silence draped the city. However, if you listened closely enough, you could hear the desperate boy running. His footsteps echoed in the empty, stone alleyways. Terrified brown eyes looked behind, as if whatever demon was chasing him would appear at any second. His harsh breath created white puffs in the air. Tired he was, yet he dared not stop. He was, the only sound in the city. The boy turned a street and sagged against the wall for a short moment, before disappearing again, into the night. For not far behind him, a dark figure was approaching. He moved forward with an unnerving grace and silence, like a shadow. The man smirked. It was always fun when they ran. Nearby, another figure jumped from rooftop to rooftop, watching his victim refusing to surrender, and run on. A scowl marred his features. The chase was irritating, he wished only for the kill. So, he continued his pursuit; his silver features camouflaged against the sky. The boy had now, started pounding at the doors of houses, one after the other. None paid heed. Tears of frustration leaked out of the corners of his eyes. It was only a matter of time now, he knew it. He regretted ever walking into that warehouse. How could he convince anyone that he had not seen a thing? Who would listen? It was too late, and death loomed over him in the form of two demons. The black-haired man watched from the shadows. He laughed- cruel intent shining in his eyes. So horrifying was the sound, it made the boy’s skin crawl. He tripped. Cruel fate. Frightened eyes looked up into the amused ones. The boy’s attempt at crawling away was thwarted by the bullet which hit him in his leg. His scream pierced through the air, shattering the silence like glass. The silver beast leaped down, beside his partner. The boy could only stare in horror as they approached him. Closer. Closer. There was a scream and then, silence…

“It isn’t difficult to keep alive, friends - just don’t make trouble - or if you must make trouble, make the sort of trouble thats’ expected.” - Robert Bolt

Are You Scared? Shazray Ali, 10C-A

Afraid of the rain, are you, little girl? Then you shouldn't go out for your usual morning walk, I think. Your feet will get sore, and your legs will go numb. Little droplets will fall on your head. You shall ignore them at first, of course. But then, you'll notice that the droplets are unusually dark; darker than rain is supposed to be. You will hold out your hand, and what will fall won't be water. It will begin to dry as soon as it falls, and you will feel its warmth. You will bring your hand in front of your eyes in order to see it better, and what you shall see will be...blood. You will look up at the sky, up at the clouds, and behold a nightmare.

You just told me that you’re claustrophobic, and right at that moment, the walls started to close in, on you. I vanished into thin air, while you cried out for help. No one could hear you, little girl. The walls crush you, and you cannot breathe. At some point, you could taste the concrete in your mouth.

Crunch. Was that your rib? The pain jabbed at you from all angles, and you could not decide which part of you hurt the most. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. You were determined to keep breathing with torn lungs. The last to get squished were your eyes. They did not open again.

You are afraid of the dark. You went to bed in your candlelit room, but woke up with a start in the middle of the night. You heard a pop, and the candle went out. You tried not to panic, but just at that moment, you felt something slither on your face. A low whimper escaped your lips. Someone, or something, heard that whimper, and you felt a slimy finger tap your shoulder. A scream built itself in your throat, but could not escape. Two arms wrapped themselves around you. Were they really arms? Are you sure they weren't tentacles? You would have realized that they were long, hairy insect-like legs, had you not been dragged down and knocked out.

You went for a swim, even though you were terrified of the sea. After several lengths, you got tired and lay back in the water for a rest. You close your eyes. A strange chill runs up your body. Opening your eyes, you find yourself trapped waist-down in the water; all frozen over. You tried to free yourself, and you wore yourself out, all in vain. Then suddenly, somebody grabs your legs and pulls you down. You watch; helpless, as the hole where you’d been stuck, disappears.There’s a lack of air inside you and you breathe in deeply. Stupid girl. The water seeped inside you, taking its time, 43

exploring you inside-out. You could see it in your eyes, now. How were you still alive, little girl? How were you still breathing? You go floating about. Your body gets bloated because of the amount of water you had taken in. Your eyes were swollen and bulging out. You were distorted. Destroyed.

The dolls always scared you.Their little button eyes fixed on your real ones. Exposing your very nerve endings with one glance. They knew. They knew who you were, what you were going to be, what you wanted to be, everything. They knew it all. From your deepest desires to your worst fears. You laughed at yourself for entertaining such thoughts. Surely inanimate objects like them did not have minds of their own.They should not have such an impact on you. You walked away in another direction. Their heads turned to bid you one last farewell.

What was that, little girl? You are frightened of fear, itself? You nod. You are shaking. My irises disappear. My pupils narrow. My hearing improves a thousandfold. My gums itch as my teeth elongate into venomous fangs. My nails are now dirty, bloody claws. I am taller today than I have ever been before. The colour drains from your face. Indeed, I am a morbid sight to look at. Just then, I am by your side. I lift my finger up to your face, and claw your eyes out. I chuckle as you writhe in pain. Little girl, I am Fear.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;I suspect the most we can hope for, and it's no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love.â&#x20AC;? - Elizabeth Strout

Odd Bonds Maryam Zaheer 11C-C

Though warm and cosy, wrapped up in his blanket; Ahmad shifted in his sleep restlessly. His ravenblack eyes fluttered open, dragging him to consciousness. The phone beeped downstairs. Ugh. Mum answer the phone. He turned on his side and tried to drift back to slumber. Beep. Beep. Beep. She must have taken the sleeping pill again. Sighing heavily, he pulled himself out of bed and stomped down the stairs, wondering who thought it proper to call in the middle of the night. It was as he entered the hallway that his anger melted away into curiosity. This had never happened before. He reached out for the phone eagerly, throwing out a quick hello. He knew the voice well. The World, suddenly, seemed little and stranger-like. As if he had moved here from a place farther off. A place that felt like home. Every inch of his body trembled and his mind registered no thought. He knew he was sobbing hard, and hiccuping, too. His throat ached but he could hardly stop. He wanted noise. The silence in the house stung his insides. So, he grabbed the phone and flung it across the room. A bed creaked, a door opened and his mother came running out, “Oh. Honey, you okay? What’s wrong? Speak up, for Heaven’s sake!” He broke the news to her. And, shattered her heart. For his father was no more. The valiant soldier was never coming home. With the passing of each day, he grew quieter and quieter. To get rid of his loneliness he would often sweep through the cupboards belonging to his father and skim through his items which somehow brought a sense of relief to his fragile heart. The day he found a little, black moleskin diary was when things first began to change. He had opened it up to find a message that read: ‘Life is unpredictable and Death, sly. Look after my son when I am gone. Give him your shade and watch over him when he plays.” He glanced out the window at the trees in the yard. Does he mean them? Desolate, he spent hours beneath the trees outside. He knew the patterns on their barks well, by now. As he talked his heart out to them and an endless stream of tears ran down his pale face, he had the strangest feel. The towering trees, strong and unwavering, had an uncanny likeness with the one man in his life that he knew to be just as strong. The man that was no more. No sooner had the thought struck him that the winds began to blow, the leaves rustling out a sweet note of music that was much needed. His mind was flooded with a range of emotions, bittersweet. He was young, but wise. He understood. He understood and it is with understanding that you form bonds that last.

“If you love someone enough, you can make them invincible. Like your feelings for them are so strong they work as a magical shield, protecting them from all harm and pain.” - Linda Kage 45

A Story Izza Malik 11C-E

This is the story of a girl when she was eleven, innocent, wonderful and faultless. When the sun was yellow, the sky was blue, and the world was a pond full of wondrous opportunities. Her name was Aisha, and she was the daughter of middle class parents. Her Papa worked at the Lahore Electric Supply Company, and her Mama worked as an elementary school teacher in the nearby Mohella where Aisha also went to school. Aisha and Mama would come home in the afternoon from school. Mama would get to work preparing food for the family, while Aisha would either work on her homework or play in the courtyard. She loved butterflies and in the summer the two trees in the courtyard would attract a lot of them. Papa would come home tired, dusty and dirty every evening, but his face would break into a smile every time he saw Aisha. She was his angel, his princess. Aisha too would be delighted every time she saw Papa. He would always take her to get ice cream after they had eaten their dinner, even when he was really tired. That was the highlight of her day. Ice cream before bed. He would make her sit on his motorcycle and tell her to hold him tight and she would bury her face into Papa's back, and put her tiny thin arms around his waist. As they would zoom through the boisterous bazaar Aisha would look to the heavens above and be amazed by the twinkling stars in the sky. They all looked so pretty. Life was good. Life was sweet. This is the story of a girl when she was sixteen, lively, animated and full of hope. When the world was an oyster and only her imagination was the limit. Aisha had turned into a very mature and sensible teenager. She was doing remarkably well in school, and all her teachers had very high expectations from her. They told her that if she improved her performance in a couple of the courses, she would be able to get a full scholarship for her two years of college. So she worked extra hard to improve her grades, but Mama was getting old and she needed help around the house, and her venerable Papa was also nearing his retirement age. An air of gloominess was descending upon Aisha's household. She didn't understand; the more eager, excited and hopeful she got about life, the sadder Mama and Papa would become. What was going on she wondered? But neither Mama nor Papa would answer. They would just look sad. She passed her high school with top marks and was awarded full scholarship to a prestigious college. She was so proud and excited, but not more than Mama and Papa who ordered huge mounds of sweets from the local halwai and distributed it all amongst their neighbours in the Mohella. Nothing could extinguish the twinkle from their increasingly wrinkly eyes as everybody ooh-ed and aah-ed over how well Aisha had done. But when the festivities were over, Mama had tears in her eyes and Papa seemed to have wilted. What was going on Aisha asked, but none answered. Nothing they said, and told her how proud of her they both were. This is the story of a girl when she was twenty, when the clouds were appearing on the horizon, when the distant thunder started to rumble through her life. Aisha was in university studying to become a doctor. That is what she wanted to do all her life, and she couldn't have been more grateful. She would get on the bus everyday with Papa who would drop her off at her university and then go to work. He would come back and wait outside her classroom every day till she was done so he could

escort her back home. Times had changed. The world wasn't so innocent after all Aisha had found out. She had been harassed a couple of times in the streets and Mama had heard. She had told Papa and Papa had told Aisha she was not to go out of the house unsupervised or unnecessarily. Aisha had protested, feebly at first, strongly later; she was a big girl, she knew how to take care of herself. Her friends all hung out, had parties, attended functions. But Papa's powerful voice had boomed through the house as he told her this was how it was going to be from now on. Mama had tried to explain to Aisha why it was necessary in a gentler tone, but Aisha knew that there was no point arguing. Aisha had been shut down, and she had accepted it. But Mama and Papa were not at the university to oversee her and it was there that she had found her prince charming. She had always wanted one. She had read about them in fairy tales, and seen them in movies. His name was Asad and he came from a very wealthy family. Asad had told Aisha not to tell anyone that they were in love, that he needed more time to tell his parents. Aisha had obliged. After all, he was so sweet and charming and caring and loving. He took her out to different restaurants for food in his big shiny car; he gave her gifts and wrote her love notes. It was all so perfect. Aisha begged him to let her tell Mama at least, but Asad would not budge. Finally after much tears and emotional tantrums he acquiesced and Aisha came home to tell Mama that she was in love. Mama wasn't too excited for her. She asked her who Asad was, who his family was, what they did, where they came from, whether his family knew, whether they had met her yet. When Aisha said no, Mama's face darkened but she didn't say anything. Aisha tried to defend Asad even though Mama hadn't said anything, but Aisha was seeking approval and validation and Mama wasn't providing that. Instead Mama told her to be careful. Men are very deceptive she said in a warning tone. If he's being so reluctant about everything, it should make you very concerned said Mama. But Aisha did not believe any of that. Asad loved her. That was the end of it. This is the story of a girl when she was twenty-five, betrayed, double-crossed, stabbed in the back. When the crashing waves in the world became soundless, when the pouring rain screamed it's over. Asad had betrayed her. They had been together for five years, but one day he had announced that he could not marry her. He had told his parents about her and they had forbidden him from ever seeing her again. They said they would not allow the daughter of an electrician to marry their son; they had said they would not marry into a family who are the same station as their servants. But what about all his promises of love, and of being together and of loving each other for eternity asked Aisha through hot tears that burned her eyes and her rosy cheeks? He looked ashen faced, but didn't answer. And that was the last time she had seen him. She had waited for him for five years. So many marriage proposals had come for her and Mama and Papa had asked her about them, but she had said no to all of them. She was waiting for her prince charming. He never came. Once Aisha turned twenty-five, people started rumormongering and pointing fingers at her. What is wrong with her they wondered? Why can't she get married? Look how old she is and still not 47

married. Something must be wrong with her, otherwise how could nobody have married her till now… And then one day Mama confided in Papa about Aisha and Asad. Papa had thundered into the room where Aisha was plopped on the bed crying. She thought he would scream and yell, but instead he sat down beside her and told her a story. One day a princess was born. When she was young she would play in the day and eat fruit from the trees in the garden. When she grew older, she did so well in school that the school made her education free. The princess wanted to help people so she decided to become a doctor. All the time the king and the queen watched from the shadows as their princess grew older and they knew the day when she must leave them came ever nearer. Aisha was the princess, and she had made Mama and Papa feel like a queen and a king. But they had realized far too long ago how Aisha really wasn't theirs. But now she was getting older and people were talking. If she didn't marry, the proposals would dry up and she wouldn't be able to find anyone. That night Mama, Papa and Aisha all cried together. This is the story of a girl when she was fifty, broken, shattered, crushed. When the world was a long moonless journey of disintegrated emotions. Aisha had been married to a guy who had seemed like a good match. He came from a good family, was well educated, had a good job. But life had turned to hell after the marriage. Aisha was unable to conceive, and so he beat her and abused her. Stopped her from going to work. Mama and Papa's princess had been reduced to a maid, to be used and abused and discarded as the new master of the house pleased. The once bubbly, youthful, smiling Aisha had long gone away to be replaced by a dark colourless shadow. She did as she was told, and took the blows when they came. And then one day came the news that Mama had passed away; Mama, who had always been Aisha's best friend. And then soon after Papa passed away; Papa, who had felt like a king because Aisha was his princess. She was left all alone.

“There are so many worse things than death. Not to be loved or not to be able to love: that is worse.” - Cassandra Clare

Poetry

â&#x20AC;&#x153;The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.â&#x20AC;? Christopher Morley

After the Shadows of Freedom Iman Ejaz A2-A

Drowning in dishonor and disbelief, I am sinful, do forgive me. But I have withstood enough, Lashed upon, cried enough. It is torture, And Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m dying inside. It kills me, for I no longer thrive. Patience is a word, which has put me through test; Patience is what I, highly, detest. Brutal it was, had been choking for long, Numb and cold, and yet been strong. I had done no wrong, Yet drenched in tears, My soul, blood is what it pours, Agony enough, I succumb on all fours. Free me, give me leave, abandon me please, For I believe I will be in better hands than these! You question my liberty, None do I have. I question my existence, Lift me above! Liberate me from this cage, For I have had enough. I have been struck, wounded, fallen to the deeps; The strength I had, no longer is in me. A long silence, I suffered enough, Resurrect me, lift me back up. Shattered. In pieces. Crushed to the bone. Let me find my way, Let me search on my own.

Life Fariha Zahra A1-B

Life: like a road, Goes on, and regardless of rules. Somewhere there’s delight, somewhere never so. For the sake of your purpose, Live a life full of action, Keep in view traditions, Know that tension, Can’t handle situations; But with caution. I, so, conclude: Life is what you make it, When it’s a game, play it, When a challenge, accept it, When a problem, solve it.

Out There Anamta Zahid A1-A

With a heavy heart and a gait of despair, She marches on; bracing against the cold air. Face grim; her eyes saddened, her mouth quivers, While dread sends down her spine, cold shivers. Her chin is thrust out defiantly, With a body stiff, she marches out resolutely. The chilly winds rage, they slice through her, Stumbling, falling; but never does she falter. Suddenly, all quiet, darkness swirls around her, Foggy tendrils reaching out, make her walk faster. A shadow looms over, and her heart races, She’s lost, alien to the path she, now, faces. But, she shakes her head, her eyes; they glimmer, A steely resolve, but mixed with fear. She marches on, alone, afraid; But, keeping on, wary of traps laid. For then, far away, a lifetime away, She sees a vision that makes her heart sway. A glance into a world of light, That fuels her hopes, brightens her sight. 50

Prisoner of Solitude Amna Khan 10C-A

This soul is hurt and perturbed, Wandering in the dark chambers of life, Searching for a true identity, While Darkness; it hurts, tortures.

Never was known, the reality of life, For it gave nothing but years of torment. The harshness of the folks here; Has made my soul cankerous.

This soul, is a prisoner of solitude; Always on the lookout for a true companion, Sincerity, happiness, love and truth, For these are the essentials of life.

The sun is shining, And the flowers; blooming. Another morning is here, New rays of hope shine down upon me.

The darkness is about to shed, And, the flowers of freedom are soon to bloom. The Almighty has showered His blessings, again; On this prisoner of solitude.

Sad and Left Alone Hira Zahid 8-B

I need a shoulder to cry on; It’s utterly dark and I’m left alone. I feel shattered, completely shattered, Having lost all courage, I’d gathered.

I feel empty, I feel hollow, I’m drowning in pure sorrow. I cry, shout and moan, Staring blankly; with eyes of stone.

All the cruelty, they had shown, I needed you, but faced it on my own. True; no help would come, My heart, it beats louder than a drum.

Good days don’t last forever, The evil in life, will soon appear. I wish I’d been stronger, And I could take it on, a bit longer.

Tears trickle down my face, My lips are quiet, I only sigh; Hope, just hope, has kept me alive, That soon a New Sun will rise.

Tell Me, Love Naqsh Fatima Naqvi A1-B

O', tell me what to make of thee? What use is this, my Heart; Heavy? What brute, am I yet to see? What more a fool, am I to be?

What little repose, shall I beget? Of a faltering-fluttering, constant, set? How faces; Fair, can then be met? With smiles; strained and eyes; wet?

Why Reason, here, does stand nowhere? Why sigh I? and why, I stare? At Skies; black, of starry-ware, At Moments; gone and Words; unclear?

That once was life, now, a deadly Strife. I'm losing sight, for I lost my Drive. Where sins and folly, must abide, Is where my Soul is left to hide.

Wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t go far, wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get too close, I'll walk the path where his scent blows. And mark each step with a dying Rose, It's where he's not, it's where he was.

But, might I question, while I'm hither, Why, tell me Love, my Love; untethered, Why just me, and why no other? Why just him, why not another?

The Art of Breaking Maha Farooq 10M-A

Like the fragile Persian glass vase At times, They are shattered, Into minced pieces of reflected gold, Like scattered glitter, They gleam, hurt, itch, Till, they diffuse in the air, Are mopped off the floor, Thrown into dustbins, Carried away by waste trucks, Recycled into things cheaper, Rushed through the black rugged caves of our vision; lost, Like the blue sporadic waves they flow, Till, they are let out, decomposed, Fossilized in the rocks of the valleys; deep and quiet. They are shattered, Dreams.

What Is Life? Umaima Saud Khan A2-A

The last few drops of water, And the empty vessel; Watch Life between them, stir. A leaf hanging from a branch, And the wild wind; Alas, blowing it off. The throbbing pulse and then; Nothing, nothing at all. A body; warm on a frozen day, Cold, on a night; warm. Like a moment beneath the shower of God, Aching with thirst on a desert, the next. Conscious of every sensation within your being, Then, burning in a fire without flinching. It's that moment between seeing the bullet, And feeling it pierce your Heart through. The first cry of a newborn babe, To his last breath as a man; It is about all that can be, And, what will never be!

The Girl on Fire Fizza Mudaser A1-B

Seventeen, younger than most she had been, Thrust upon the savagery of the world, Brown hair, fierce eyes, olive skin, Stronger than most, resilient; out and in.

Made into nothing but a piece in their game, Dressed in flames of red and black, Now a warrior, she swore to put them all to shame; Those who’d stolen from her, everything she owned.

So she ran and she fought, She made her way to the top. Swearing a vendetta against all she despised; And nothing, now, would make her stop.

In a cloak of green; the arena, she faced her enemy, Strength and courage, her only ally. Conquering her fears, she won with integrity, No longer was she, just a piece in their game.

A hero, presented by those who sought her end, Furious, but oh, they know; she’s the girl on fire. Victory was hers, and the enemy’s condemned; She’s a symbol of hope, and moving higher.

The Traveller’s Song Laiba Arshad 10M-A

Oh Mother, Dear Mother, Your child became a traveller, and more of a devil.

Your child became a traveller, Walked a long way, Shoes got worn off, Food; all rotten.

Mother would you help me, now? Didn’t know I would turn out to be a such a sinner. I killed my own shadow, How did you expect me to leave alone others’?

People here don’t want to hear my voice, All they want from me is to obey. I am a person; I’m afraid of the most, There’s nobody, nothing I could else, fear.

But, I do want to come home, I’m tired of the wanderings, tired of it all. I know I’ve been wrong, And you don’t need me anymore.

But, there’s something that keeps me sane, Amidst my madness, and my pain, It is this, that I have come to know I’m able to love and let it show.

Oh Mother, Dear Mother! Your child became a traveller, and more of a devil.

A Little Girl’s Voice Khola Jamshad 11C-B

I was never a girl who chose beauty to write about, I found my home in a consuming rot. Life showed me the truth, The ones others simply sought, Her love was infinite, Her life was not. Held up in words and numbers, Deciphered in coded slumbers . And on my face, I wore a facade, Trapping my soul in a gypsy's card. And, ask not what could have been, To a girl whose regrets go deeper than the skin. I wrote of blood and loss and cold, And knew nothing of the pain I stole. The love I never had or gave, Confound me in walls to save. Any sanity scratched onto my shell, Where is it, I can no longer tell. When I'm real, and when I fell; The words that built me up, Now shrouded in this devil's cup, Became my demise in fates design, I know now, that stars are not meant to align. Somehow, I still dream and hope Of little moments that help me up this rope. And, I wonder if I'll ever believe, In the beauty people see or percieve. Till then, I’m chained inside my mind, A little girl’s voice, old wisdom does find.

Wake Up, Child Anamta Zahid A1-A

You’ve been living in a dream, And a hopeless one, it may seem, But, child, it is time; Awake! And while this heart may ache Yearning for what’s impossible; Know, yours is a world of fable! So, rub the stars out of your eyes, It’s time for goodbyes now, rise! Pluck these flowers off your hair, Come back to the World that doesn’t care. Don’t waste time chasing clouds, Reality's set on your trail, its hounds. The Sun’s warmth is stolen, leaving you bare; So, stop looking for things that aren’t there. Come back down, don’t fly too high, And don’t waste time, asking why. Your wings will burn off and you’ll fall, Did I not say, "Resist those dreams’ siren call!"? So stop wandering, and stay, You’re fragile; a puppet of clay. Don’t spin fantasies, don't fight the inevitable, You don’t know of what life is capable.

Articles

â&#x20AC;&#x153;How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger?â&#x20AC;? -Virginia Woolf

A Moment of Silence Aroma Saleem 10C-D

They declare, “We shall grant you justice!” but do they? The cries of millions, united in reciting the same ode of unholy, empty promises, go unheard as they wipe their tear-stained eyes, abandoning hope with every passing moment. How is it possible that a group of brainwashed sociopaths sought out the opportunity to torture and brutally kill innocent school children? Most importantly, why are the people responsible for providing answers silent, as the parents of those lost, pure souls demand justice. Can anyone replace that source of misery in those parents’ lives? Can those beautiful children be brought back to life? No! We hear the case of a five year old girl being raped and abused to death; our media even tends to glamourize such matters, as horrifying as that sounds. We shake our heads in disgust and disapproval, shed a tear and curse the wrongdoers, yet no one takes a stand for creating social noise. When it is time to take action, everyone hides behind safe doors, expecting others to take initiative while the air rings with stifled silence. Inflation stands at its peak today, with the poor gradually getting poorer and the rich getting richer. While the well-off and elite easily obtain far too expensive facilities, the needy struggle to have their fill properly three times a day. Disadvantaged parents are often unable to provide their children with the basic necessities such as food, clothes, shelter etc; frequently many poverty stricken families turn to crime and illegal methods for obtaining what they’re deprived of. Children, instead of being sent to schools, are taught to beg. Adults venture into unlawful activities, posing a threat both to the society and to their own families. The Pakistan that Quaid-e-Azam and Allama Iqbal dreamed of is merely what it was then, a dream, it seems. They suffered and struggled for this country to be raised and praised among the top in the world, a beacon of light for others to follow. Yet the Pakistan of today paints a picture more opposite, more contrasted, with the ideals of the fathers of our nation, than ever. Virtually, the rights of the poor and oppressed are non-existent. Their liberty to participate and share their thoughts are dealt with ignorance or taken away completely. Our country can never progress with success if we keep treating underprivileged people the way we currently are. Voices need to be raised. Initiative needs to be taken. We must work together to create awareness and break these unspoken barriers that society has put up. Only then can justice truly prevail.

“Your silence will not protect you.” - Audre Lorde

Bus Kareen O Yaar Rida Tanveer A2-C

I am only 18 and I’m already tired. Tired of trying to make-do with the rapidly deteriorating condition of my homeland, which is seeping me of all the patriotism with which I used to fiercely defend it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my country. The people, not so much. And before I get labelled as an abandoner and wannabe by the zealots with their Holier-ThanThou attitudes, reflect upon what I have to say. The ruling class of this country is sadly, the worst. You have Imran Khan, proposing something surreal, and yet delivering nothing except for an opportunity to dance at the jalsas. The People’s Party, the party of Bhutto, but alas only in spirit because, newsflash, the Bhuttos’ are either dead or MIA from the political setup. Last but not the least is the Pakistan Muslim League, God knows how many are there, but the front runner is PML-N, and only God knows what their slogan is, because I don’t think they have yet recovered from their food induced hangover to come up with one. The only good these parties have done for the country is… I don’t know. Really. But it’s not just the rulers that irate me, the 55% of the population, the women of Pakistan are just as infuriating. They are the real dilemma because you see I can comprehend Physics, Math, and even Chemistry for that matter, but not these women. In the words of Sir Denzel Ibbeston: ‘The only thing I know is that I know nothing, and I am not quite sure I know that’ Their criteria for judging the younger female gender is a fairly complicated one; you are too liberal if you wear pants but too conservative if you wear hijab, you are pretty much useless if you are not a doctor, and that too miraculously at the age of only 21, meanwhile simultaneously being able to cook, sew, make all the food there is in the world (especially gol rotti) and invent a couple more recipes yourself, you should be very obedient and docile if you are the bahu, but if you are the daughter, you can and shall make the life of your saas miserable, and all this among other things. My take; Stop Ladies, even Batman had his limits. The other 45% of the population is not any better, not by the slightest. The men of the lower class are worst; my wife must serve and dine me meanwhile I’ll gamble away her savings whilst ogling at all the girls in the vicinity, and hell may befall her if she dare oppose me. And no problem if I can’t fulfill her requirements, because hey, I’m a man. The elite are just as bad, minus the insecurities, add the gigantic egos. The business practices of our people are equally shameful. Hoarding: check. Complacency: check. Dishonesty: double check. So bad is the situation that I am confident we can teach a thing or two to Satan. And it’s truly fascinating to see people laying the blame regarding the repercussions of their own business ethics, or rather lack thereof, solely on the government. With people as ruthless and evil as us, even Napoleon would be out of his depth. I would not be accurate in my grieving if I didn’t mention the Pakistani media. They do manage to 60

baffle a perfectly sane person like me. I cannot positively fathom the wisdom behind giving people adrenaline rush of breaking news (and that too every other minute or so) to report something as banal as the cost of Imran Khan’s wife’s Walima dress, and that too, in such a dramatic fashion as to put those soap operas of Star Plus to shame. The talk shows are worse, they display all our dirty laundry for the whole world to see, giving them yet another reason to ridicule us. And sadly the ulterior motive behind divulging all the dirt is something as shallow as ‘ratings’ I do realize I am lashing out, but I can’t help it. How delusional are you if you expect a positive change if no one is ready to change to begin with? I question; why do 150 children have to brutally die in APS before we realize that the security measures are pathetic? Why do 325 people of Thar (majorly the infants) have to die to make those imbeciles ruling us realize that there is a (expletive deleted) FAMINE in the region? Why do the people have to see their lifesavings getting flushed away by the floods every year before it dawns on us that the precautionary measures are insufficient? How many more tragedies and catastrophes does this nation have to go through before its people realize it’s not an Indian or American conspiracy to undermine them, but rather the manifestation of their own wrong doings? And how long before we realize that this fertile land is ours not to loot but to love? I’m afraid if we don’t fix ourselves now, we might not get another chance to make it right. Half a million people did not sacrifice their lives so that we can wreak havoc on this Pure Land. We owe it to them. Bas kareen O Yaar End the race, my friend -Baba Bulleh Shah

"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” - Aristotle

Confessions of an A-level Student Anamta Zahid- A1-A

I have been alive for seventeen years and that I feel all mature and wise proves I really, am not. I am fast approaching the age of eighteen, the age where the world gets ready to embrace me as an adult, expecting me to be mature, reliable and knowing what I want to do with my life. It is frightening really, because I have suddenly realized that I am fast losing my innocence, the careless days of fun that seem to have zoomed by and while I have gained more freedom, it comes with the price tag of responsibility. It is even more frightening that I find the aunties of my family eyeing me speculatively and dropping hints about marriage and I yelp internally like a bunny in front of an eagle’s sharp talons. Let us not even dwell on the fact that they have started looking for suitable boys with promising futures. No, let us talk about how everyone expects me to know which college I am going to apply to, which career I want to pursue and how I plan to spend the rest of my life when I do not even know what I am going to do the next day. It is like I have been suddenly pushed out in the world and someone has hit the fast forward button and everything is a distorted mess. Baffled, I try to make sense of all the new responsibilities, emotions and expectations. But, most of all, I try to make sense of my confused mind because sometimes, I do not even know what I want. On top of that is the heavy burden of our society’s rules and prospects. A child has to pursue a “sensible” career, preferably become a doctor or engineer. Once in a while someone tries to take the path “less travelled”. The opposition and difficulties (‘doosray log kya sochehin ge?’) they face is enough to make some of them back down in defeat but some of them struggle on to do something they are really passionate about. And they are happy. When I answer the enquiring uncle and aunties that I study psychology and fine arts and maybe want to become a psychologist, it’s hard to miss the way they look away and awkwardly shift in their seats. My parents argue that if I put my mind to it, I can do anything. But, what is the point of living a life I am not passionate about? Granted I got straight A’s in O-levels, but only God knows how I got through it. Everyday was a struggle as I slaved over my books and willed myself not to cry but to focus. I know I do not want to spend my life like that. That is all I know. The future is foggy and uncertain, the road is full of thorns but I know at the end there is a land of light and hope. So I struggle. I struggle to make up my mind, I struggle to work hard and stay focused and I struggle against the big bad world. I also struggle against growing up sometimes by dressing up and acting like a baby (my secret). So it is like the game Donkey Kong; I am at the bottom, jumping over hurdles thrown my way to get to , Ralph) and prove myself to my parents, the judging aunties and the world (as well as doubtful self) that yes, I can do it. Only, it is easier said than done. One day I will know what I want to do (my friend suggests a road trip) and then I will finally be able to move forward. I do not want to be super famous and rich, or some super hero (that would be cool though); I just want to get through life without losing my mind or getting my limbs snapped off by the piranhas of reality. Or something. 62

Hub of School Ayesha Shahid A1-A

Before I reveal the secrets of my school canteen, I think it is proper to say a few words about the canteen itself. To a large number of students, the canteen is perhaps the most delightful place in the campus- our banking headquarters. In the words of a teacher, the canteen is the best attended class in school. A classroom may be deserted but never the canteen. Why is the canteen always brimming with young folk? In one word it is “freedom”! Here there is no churning out routine; lectures for the benefit of the listeners. It is easy to spot because of the din and clamour which welcome you even before you have set foot in it. The atmosphere is carefree filled with camaraderie and festivity. The canteen has its critics as well as its eulogists. To many it is the favorite bunk place for those who are allergic to books, classrooms and treat the school as a ladies club. They are punctual in their own way. They come early and leave late. To some it is the headquarters of school politics and to some a chamber of disputes; a convention of gossip and to some a congress of problems. The place is lively, cheerful and throbbing with activity. Between glasses of coke and slices of pizza, conversation sparkles starting from politics to vampire dairies. Tables are thumped, point(s) upheld and arguments demolished. It is the force of double “f” that attracts the people to the canteen-food and friends and the canteen is the uniting factor. It boasts of an ambiance of rendezvous where girls love to spend all day with pals keeping away all hassles of mundane living. No wonder school canteens like ours around the world have given birth to music, and fusion bands. The composition, the lyrics, the music initiated by banging the tables and creating instant jingles is what bodes for future success. Appetizing aromas float about the canteen - the strongest smell is the canteen pizza which tempts everyone and also the coffee stall which pulls large queues. Many discouraged by the long queue, head to other stalls after casting wishful glances at the line. The canteen becomes crowded very early in the morning. Orders are shouted above the constant drone of hungry people. Food is superb as hundreds of flies cannot be wrong. Girls keep weaving their way through the crowd; the pushers get yelled at. Students are firmly entrenched around the circular tables, each group holding its own. No vacant seats are available for the late comers. It’s almost an everyday routine. Girls clustered around the café counter keep a vigilant eye for a possible seat that may fall vacant that they could then attack. In a corner a single teacher loses the battle of trying to restrain a group of shouting children and is swamped in a wave of uniformed bodies. What a sight! This in short, is our hub.

Judging Profoundly Aamna Khalid A1-A

I was slightly taken aback as I stood on the threshold, while every single person glared at me. Unable to assimilate what was wrong, I stepped ahead; I could easily take note of the sarcasm directed towards me. Family gatherings had always maintained this distinct feature, finding out someone who had been doing in life, ‘what they want’, and then criticize immensely. They won’t overlook the trivial; the way the other is dressed, to the way one tackles various problems in life. Undoubtedly, as the world is progressing and awareness regarding freedom intensifies, the more people gear up to make false judgments, deeming them indispensable.

This might be a part of the human instinct but it surely has made life arduous as fears are more inclined towards the very goal of satisfying others’ opinions all the time. This has reached such an optimum level that it rules a major part of our lives, there are many people who chose to be what family and friends approve of, for example, entering into a field which people consider more respectable against interests of your own. It is all together, the fear of people which leads to various instances in life where a person, needlessly, sacrifices his happiness.

What needs to be transformed is the way of construing the other person. We have gone so far in being shallow that we find it of tremendous interest to talk about other peoples’ lives and significantly pinpoint their flaws, but what needs to be realized is that we live our own lives and they their own. Without question, ongoing judgment is the most damaging aspect of a relationship, any relationship to add emphasis.

There are usually one or more family members who pass judgment and other family members who receive it. This judgment may be silent, through subtle eye rolls and hand gestures or expressed in harsh words. In any case, when allowed to fester over time, it will do its damage and relationships will suffer and deteriorate, accordingly. In real, heartfelt relationships, where people are living together it is difficult to imagine anything more destructive to the relationship than the existence of a constant verdict. Many people don’t even know that they hold judgments. They have had them for so long that they are totally identified with them and don’t see them as separate from themselves in any way. Conversely, some people are raised in families where they were judged harshly when they were growing up. As they move into adulthood, they are so accustomed to being criticized that they don’t even realize that they are being beaten up constantly by other peoples’ judgments of them.

Whom so ever we judge or whatever we judge, it is an expression of one or more of our disowned selves. In addition to the disowned selves, underlying every judgment is an underlying vulnerability of which we are unconscious and/or unable to communicate to. So long as these disowned selves remain disowned, they will return over and over again to haunt us in one or more ways. We need to learn to let go of these inner demons and guide others to the same path.

Overruling Silence Iman Ejaz A2-A

For a person who has always had in mind that there is hope for this country, today, I fail to find words ranging around the idea of hope. As much as I wish I could think of a miracle, a sign or just to change my mind. There isn't! Same old, same old. This country is dead. How will it rise from the ashes? Different thoughts pollute my mind: worry, panic and apprehension, thoughts of bomb blasts, poverty, hunger, the wrong people in power, depreciating value of currency, price hikes. It does worry me. I am always tense. Always uneasy. Maybe, because I feel I am not doing my part. I can’t blame anyone. I could, if I were doing something from my end. So I choose to remain restless, willing, but unable to satisfy my urge to set it right. The silence is what hurts. The thought of people acclimatizing to such oppression. Democracy is just a word. Rights are nonexistent. Voices are choked. It all hurts. You see, but you choose to be blind. You choose darkness over light. You turn deaf to the cries. You are bound, controlled. Your emotions have slowly, brutally led you to your death. Is this what Jinnah set for us? Is this the end to all the sacrifices, the loss of lives and blood that gave birth to this land? Surely, we are mistaken. As we choose not to take responsibility. Responsibility to set things right. Oh, how we look forward to the day that, this one right person will come into power and all our worries will be gone. We will gain freedom and rights. What an insane thought, that is? When we haven't freed ourselves from the power within that dictates us, that tells us to remain silent, adhere to oppression, lay down our arms, muffle our voice, why would somebody else come to all this for us? We do not understand that external powers will be the ones that set their weapons down at our feet. External powers, that have only further led to our misery and further led to our death. When we shake our heads in disbelief and swear at people controlling us, we do not realise that its not them that hold all the power, but we. who were given this state and land to protect it. To also, protect ourselves. We have the power. That which we do not use. Will we just let all the struggles go to waste? The blood of our ancestors that enriches this soil, will we let it be so easily sucked out by people who call themselves the “saviours” of this state? There is need to contemplate, we, the people, who so proudly pronounce ourselves, patriots, not realizing that the word has a meaning. Its meaning is in our actions. The way we try to bring a change in the condition of this country and the way its people thrive. Are we waiting for the day when we become powerless to such an extent, that we are unable to fit the pieces of the puzzle back into a green waving flag? We need to contemplate, that is it our own selves who are leeching out the blood of this state, which once flowed so steadily. Let us not wait, for we have waited long enough. Let us reattach the pieces of the puzzle which have drifted apart and away over this passage of time. Let us reunite and remind ourselves, that we are the driving force that can take us to a new height, to success. Let’s provide a vision, for we are not blind, but have only been blindfolded for so long. Let’s speak out, for we cannot remain silent. We are alive and ready, ready to give our blood if this land demands it. We are the saviours and the ones who hold the weapons. Let’s let everyone know that if you rip this heart out, it would bleed green and white. Lets rise and rejoin! 65

We Will Be Okay Noor Fatima Chaudhry A2-C

Life. A strange phenomenon. I honestly do not have a better explanation for it. Partially because the definition of life is remarkably different for each person who sets foot into the world. Some of us call our happy moments life. Others define it by the ordeals and tragedies they go through. I may take life on a day to day basis but there are others, whose entire lives were uprooted by the events of a single day. Here I am, dead set on making the most of the little time I have left in school; bribing my friends with food to get peer recommendations and begging my teachers to write me evaluations so that I can get my University applications completed. However, not very far from me lives a child; a child who fears the sight of his school. A child who is haunted by the very thought of stepping into the same classroom that was once populated by his classmates. The room that he last saw painted red with blood. While I sit here praying that my friends and I end up going to the same university, this child prays that his friends find their way to Heaven. Where the cause of my tears is sleeping late because of homework, this child sheds tears as he wakes from nightmares only to realize that they are very much a part of reality. I don’t know what to call it. Circumstance? How can it be that life can be so different for all of us. Why did this child end up in this cruel state? Or rather, what did I do to deserve the privileged life I have been blessed with. I refuse to believe that Allah destined the child to such a fate. It is not He that subjected him to the misery and horrors that were seen on the 16th of December 2014. It is the forces of hostility and negativism within our very own community that inflicted the country with a massacre of innocence, an act of terrorism so grim that no words of condemnation can express what one feels. In our constant struggle (read: race) to build better lives for ourselves, we become selfish and we forget where our real priorities lie. Somewhere along the line, I restricted myself to building a better future for myself and I stopped thinking about those around me. Think about it, while we all got muddled in our own affairs, we all forgot to fight for our country, to build a better homeland for ourselves. No one but us, is responsible for the state of every person suffering from a cruel fate within our country. Had we learnt to fight for each other, no force in the World could target a family of 185 million. Whether or not we were personally afflicted with the tragedy of the Peshawar Attack, we need to take responsibility for every single victim. We have to step out of comfort zones and be there for each other. No emotional tweet/ status update can help ease the pain of a family that lost a child. Skip work/school for a day and travel to Peshawar. Go around, spread smiles. Hug a grieving mother and show her that she still has a family. Hate is easy to build, words are easy to say... Love is not easy to find. Let’s step out. Let’s prove them wrong. Let’s tell them that we”ll be okay. Brimming with hate, they tried to break us, Sadly for them, all they did was wake us.

Memories Saliha Bajwa 11C-A

Living in a house for 17 years, made me fond of it and that house was, also, fond of me, I tell myself. Today if I sit to cherish the memories of that house 38-B I will end up crying. ''Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.'' -Haruki Murakami I remember everything about my house. Every corner, every wall and every room, just the way they were decorated. I had jumped, danced, ate, fought, cried, smiled, laughed, studied and sung, there. And, also, all that which I forget, done there. There was spent a part of life that would never come back. If I could, I would ink those walls with my Love. I learnt cycling there, on those beautiful white marble floors. I loved cooking in that old fashioned and out-dated kitchen. Those beautiful plants papa had grown everywhere in the house; I loved watering them. They smiled a smile, and made my day. I remember the cherish-able winter sun on the terrace. I remember the orange-parties. I remember coming back home from school and collapsing on the bed; thankful. Every occasion was special. Those rainy days, well-spent; dancing and singing and not caring for the cold. Those hectic days of scorching summer heat. We broke the silence with water-balloon wars. Eid days, and the determination to catch the perfect selfie in just the right corner. Lunch hours and family dinners. Now, there will be no more family time at that long, oval dining table. Papaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pictures and awards, set around so beautifully. And his office in a corner of the house, where I had spent hours crying after a fiery fight. I never liked that house, when I was there. And I never knew I will miss that house this much. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just human to not value things when they are in our grasp. But, just as they slip out of our hands, we tend to realize their value.

"If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it's your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.â&#x20AC;? - Charles Bukowski

Stone-Cold Naqsh Fatima Naqvi A1-B

The artist in me is dead. The writer, too, is dying. And, I'm afraid of tomorrow. Tomorrow could bring along with it, a most dreaded departure. And, I see myself running out the rest of my years writhing and wriggling beneath the clouds of clawing apprehension. Yet, I do not wish for my battles to be different, only easier. But, just yet. In the moments between forcing a smile and blinking out a teardrop, I forsake my Reason. Engulfed in the fury of my inner tempest, I forget to Love. You cannot deny that I have been wronged, and I wont refute that I have been wrong but I etch it upon waters; crystal-clear, I never chose this path. Sometimes, in the Heart of the darkest night, I wake up to this all-too-familiar ache in the chest. Hours drag by and I lie in a state of absolute restlessness, submitting to a constant stinging of emotions; that I cannot make sense out of. It is then, that my spirit falls weak and my purpose appears faint. It is then, that I wish I could thrust open my window, reach out to the Moon that awaits me patiently; and fall asleep in its arms. Never to rise, again. Then, I realize I am of a nature too frail to be able to survive the demons Life has in store for me. And suddenly, the future becomes a little too uncertain. Too uncertain to handle. It is unwise to dwell on thoughts all gloomy, they would tell you. Don't let it fool you. Beneath their facade of "happiness", you would see how everybody around you is just as miserable as you, if not more. And I'm not sure if refusing to meet Truth in the face, is termed as Wisdom. I would, blatantly, call it escape. And, I have learned to fight, carving through Life, my own way. Not willingly, no. Choices like such are seldom given. But pain is a drug, you would soon discover; and soon, you will find it to be your only ally. You will come to rely on it more than you would prefer to, under normal circumstances. Too bad that normal circumstances are always a little short in the quota of Life. It is amusing to realize, that regardless of a horrid history, and without any positive hope of a better tomorrow; we make ourselves await "the good days to come". True, I do not want to spend my life wasting tears over the inevitable fate of a World too sickly to pull through, but it would be absolutely heartless to rejoice while I witness the death of such splendour. This, too, is a trial. To have a lover of Art, watch it disintegrate; both within and without. But I have come to like trials. They expose you to yourself. It is a kind of self-discovery. Unlike consequences, for they frighten me away; but never enough to deter my plans. This is the only reckless side of me. To be hypersensitive. And, to be headstrong. It's a heavy deal. But, who you are or how you are, cannot be tuned to a person's liking. I cannot say what I would really want to be in Life. All I know is, so long as I'm alive; I don't want to stop or limit myself. Not to a person. And not to a phase. But, 68

maybe a place. I want a home. And people never feel like home, no. But, quiet, pretty places do. Books and forgotten tea, does. Tame beasts and wild birds do. Abandoned temples and empty mosques do. The patter of rain, starry skies, the lonely moon does. Little of what I have known, ever felt like home. I, now, bend before the Unknown. My eyes plead. Like they always have, in their silent, secret way. The cruelest of emotions, is Guilt. It erodes your insides. It is torture like no other. And I know it well, by now. I suffer when you do, and I'm no help. That, alone, brings up self-reproach for me. Everything else, just makes me bitter. People forget that pain is always physical. And it only begets strength. The stronger I grow, the weaker you're left. Slowly, but surely, I will win. This is why I believe in a God. An Entity that runs the entire Existence. Who knows what He is doing. He lines the roses with thorns. Hides beneath a shell of cold eyes, sharp claws and deadly fangs; streams of warm blood, soft sinews and a timid Heart. He buds from within Sorrow, Joy itself. From within Pain, Forbearance. From Trials, Victory. More Importantly, He doesn’t come through as a Stranger. He forms a bond of intense intimacy; such that now, you need nobody, anymore. I believe in Him. I know not, whether and if, He believes in me, too. I so wish He would. It’d be a nice change. Because, I want somebody to look right through me, through all the chaos within; for once. I want my fears known, my reasons explained, my purpose understood. And then, would I, wish to die. Only then. It is difficult as it is, being a woman. Being one with a mind of her own, is even more difficult. And in a society built upon a foundation of false values, hypocrisy, injustice and an insuppressible urge to conform to violence; everyday is war, every minute a decision between life and death. You do not just need to be rock-hard to survive, you need to be stone-cold, too. But, rocks and stones too, gradually, erode. With the wind or water, they eventually drift away, in pieces. And I fear, I’ll meet the same fate. With the wind or water, I will eventually drift away, too. In pieces. And I would never go back to being what I once was. I will never return.

"The human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man." - Unknown.

What to Leave Behind in 2014 Fatima Tahira A1-A

It’s the last week of December, winter is officially here (although it’s been here for quite a while, mind you) and the New Year is upon us. It’s the time of the year laden with excitement for the holidays, nostalgia over the past few months (and in some cases, good riddance), and renewed hopes for the upcoming 2015. In light of such, I have decided to outline some of the things that I think everyone would feel thankful for if left in 2014. The list tops with chain messages. I’m sorry but it’s not 2008 anymore, why do chain messages still exist? “Forward these messages to everyone you know or you are no longer a true believer in this faith”, these sorts of sentiments are a mild form of discrimination and harassment, don’t you think? Please do a favour to all of humanity and for the love of God, STOP FORWARDING THEM. Secondly, can we go back to spelling words the proper way again? I’m all for abbreviations but I fail to see what’s the point of spelling ‘love’ as ‘louuve’. I’m not even exaggerating; I’ve actually received messages where it has been spelled that way. Then there’s ‘Hi’ as ‘Hai’, ‘Cool’ as ‘Kool’, ‘Friends’ as ‘Frands’ and ‘Life’ as ‘Lyfe’. Dear God, I’m cringing already. I’m sorry but this sort of thing stops being ‘cool’ after the eighth grade and significantly slaughters the English language in its wake so can we not drag this along with us to 2015? Have you ever interjected the word ‘literally’ into your conversation? Silly me for asking, of course you have! In fact we’ve all done this so much that we have managed to overuse this word and change its definition completely. Actually, now people are using ‘literally’ even when they should be using the word ‘figuratively’. ‘Literally’ is now used so much that unfortunately, people are unable to distinguish whether it actually serves any actual purpose or is just used for exaggerated emphasis. Let’s go back to using other words as well, in 2015? I mean, literally! ‘MCM’, also known as ‘Man crush Monday’ and ‘WCW’, or ‘Women crush Wednesday’. I fail to understand why we didn’t just leave this in 2013 but for some reason my entire social media feed is plagued by everyone’s crushes every Monday and Wednesday. I’m afraid this is just one of those things that you need to get over after a while. (From what I remember, crushes and their identity was a private sort of affair but alas *clears throat*) Although, you have all the right to post about such a delicate matter but let’s just cut out the Monday and Wednesday part, shall we? FROZEN. Can we please leave anything and everything Frozen (Yes, the Disney movie) related far, far behind, preferably where no kid below the age of five can get her hands on? My argument, however, is pretty biased, considering I have two younger sisters who basically worship the movie. I have heard the song “Let It Go” enough times this past year to never want to ever hear it again. Sure, 70

I’m not denying the artistic brilliance of this movie and the powerful message it carries, but you can only sing ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ so many times. How about we obsess over some other thing in the coming year, not related to ice-spewing princesses and warm-hugs-loving talking snowmen? (Some movies are not worth melting for.) Lastly, let’s discuss fake friends. Fake friends are toxic, all they do is use you and leave you in a constant state of doubt about yourself. Let’s do ourselves a huge favour, and leave all these fake friends in 2014. Friendships that aren’t working are not worth keeping and the sooner you recognize that, the better. How about we put an end to such friendships in 2015? The list of things to leave behind could go on forever but then again, some things do hold a special meaning for all of us and despite what anyone says, we may not be able to leave them behind. And that’s not always a bad thing; after all we are only human. BUT I SWEAR I BETTER NOT GET ANOTHER CHAIN MESSAGE!

"Those who are able to see beyond the shadows and lies of their culture will never be understood, let alone believed, by the masses.” - Plato

What Really Matters Wajiha Ahmed A1-A

Honorable people like Edhi are hard to find. Dr. Abdul Sattar Edhi is a magnificent man. There’s no doubt about that. After all he is nothing short of a phenomenon, a living legend. He is a worldrenowned social worker who has devoted his entire life to the service of mankind. His ambulances and his clinics and homes are everywhere to help millions of people. I can’t think of anything more noble and worthy of our time than the undying devotion and commitment to humanity. I am certain no one has the strength to do what he did, what he still does. This man lives his life not wanting or desiring what the world has to offer. Instead he devotes his time and mind, eradicating inequality and human suffering, to eliminate the sorrows of mankind. Edhi’s vision is based on the very fact of helping others. Thus, there is not a shadow of doubt about its nobility. Edhi’s vision is not to be put aside by us. We have to realize that by working together, nothing is unachievable. Even the least of acts can make a difference. The world is an awfully big place and there are accordingly a huge number of things that you can do to make it a place worth living in. But sometimes having so many options can be overwhelming and there may be ways that you can help that you never thought about before. Everyone needs a hand sometimes. Edhi was never alone. He had constant support, a pole to lean on. That pole was Bilquise, his wife. She motivated Edhi when he was down, advised him when he was confused and worked as meticulously as Edhi could ever have hoped for. It can be said that without her, Edhi might have not been able to do what he did. “Behind every successful man, there is a woman.” Sometimes support is all that matters, and the supporting role of a woman is the most vital of all. This positive and open thinking will lead us woman/girls to do unimaginable things that will result in a beneficial change. Like Bilquise, you too can support the people involved in saving humanity. Help them succeed in their goals. Today, women are actually scaling mountains, flying jets, winning Oscars. There’s nothing that we cannot do and even if we don’t think in terms of career etcetera, there’s so much out there for us to do. The world is full of unlimited possibilities. Everyone can do good, it’s not just the really old that have a sense of direction on what to do in life. Follow Edhi’s example and make this country, your country, our country a better place. Bring back compassion, kindness and sympathy because at the end of the day, these are the things that truly matter. It is said, “Love brings nobility even to the evilest of people” For some, maybe, love is the key to a greater humanity. ‘People have become educated, but have not become human’ ~ Abdul Sattar Edhi It’s time for this to change. No matter how minute the change, it’ll make a colossal difference. It is time to be human. It is time to love and to care. It is time to step forward and show your true compassionate self. May we succeed in this battle against hatred. 72

You, Too, Are Wonderful Fatima Bajwa 11C-D

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." ― Gilda Radner The thing I’ve learnt, is that, often the pain doesn’t come from your emotions at all; it comes from your resistance to feeling them. It comes from the constant battle that begins the moment you dip your toe in the water, and before you’ve even decided what that sensation is, your mind has switched to flight mode and you’re running for the hills. The pain comes from the unending list of destructive ways you keep yourself numb. Eventually, you must realize that in blocking your true feelings you’re creating but, more pain. And, that the only way out, is to dive right in. When you allow yourself to feel everything that you really feel, you discover that it was never your emotions that were drowning you, it was your fear of them. You find that not only can you swim, you can float; but only once you stop fighting all that is inside. Also, know, that It’s okay to fall apart for a little while. You don’t always have to pretend to be strong, and there is no need to constantly prove that everything is going well. You shouldn’t be concerned with what other people are thinking either – cry if you need to – it’s healthy to shed tears. The sooner you do, the sooner you will be able to smile again. No matter what is saddening you right now, I just want you all to know that things will get better. You just need to find what makes you happy, and keep doing it. It’s not a bad thing to think about your own happiness, once in a while. You are just as important as anyone else on this planet, and you can surely be a priority, too, sometimes. No matter how good or bad life may seem to you, wake up each day, thankful for it. Someone, somewhere else, is desperately fighting for theirs. Instead of thinking about what you’re missing, try thinking about what you have; that everyone else is missing. Today, be grateful. Be grateful for your favorite music, for movies that make you feel good, for your phone that connects you with people, for your computer, and for the electricity that lights up your world. Be grateful for air travel that lets you fly across the oceans. Be grateful for the roads and traffic lights that keep the traffic in order. Be grateful for your pet, for your child, your loved ones, and for these eyes that enable you to read this. Be grateful for your imagination. Be grateful that you can think. Be grateful that you can speak. Be grateful that you can laugh and smile. Be grateful that you can breathe. Be grateful that you are you! "Always remember that those who smile, hide tears. Those who laugh, also cry. Those who brighten your day, have been through dark times. So smile at someone to stop their tears, laugh with a friend to keep her from crying, and brighten a stranger’s day, because today could be her darkest of nights."

You have got to pull yourself together! Don’t be sad for what was, and don’t be scared of what will be. Live in the Now, look at the sun in the morning and the moon at night, and remember that today is just as wonderful as yesterday, and tomorrow will be all that you make it to be. Everything happens for a reason. Every difficulty that you face and every hurdle that you overcome, will mould you into somebody stronger. Even when things hurt, have faith that it is hurting, because you are heading toward something so big; you need to grow to get to it. Recently, I’ve been struggling to be positive about things in general, but I’m still willing to give life the chance to be wonderful. Because I know it can be. And you should give it the chance to be wonderful, too. Because you, too, are wonderful. Yes. All of you. “Walk with the dreamers, the believers, the courageous, the cheerful, the planners, the doers, the successful people with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the ground. Let their spirit ignite a fire within you to leave this world better than when you found it…” ― Wilferd Peterson

"Don't be in such a hurry to condemn a person because he doesn't do as you do, or think as you think. There was a time when you didn't know what you know today." - Malcolm X.

All-Embracing Peace

“Peace is the only battle worth waging.” – Albert Camus

INTERVIEWS

"For A Day, Just For One Day, Talk About That Which Disturbs No One, And Bring Some Peace Into Your, Beautiful Eyes." - Hafez of Shiraz

Justice Tassaduq Hussain Jillani Justice Jillani is a famous Pakistani jurist who served as the 21st Chief Justice of Pakistan, having being nominated by the Prime Minister. He was elected as the General Secretary of LHC Bar Association in 1976, became a member of Punjab Bar Council in 1978, before being given the office of the Advocate-General of Punjab in 1993. He has a Master’s degree in Political Science, a Bachelor’s degree in Law and was honoured with a “Doctorate in Humane Letters” from South Virginia University in 2007. Q.

What made you pursue a career in Law?

Well, there were many reasons. When I was doing my Masters in Political Science, my father insisted on my becoming a civil servant but the sort of temperament that I had, I knew I wasn’t suited to it. I was idealistic and one of the ideals I had in mind was that maybe I could make the unjust society, that I was born in, a more just one. Then, I happened to have met a few eminent jurists of the time, (Late) Manzoor Qadir and S. M. Zafar; and they inspired my interest in Law.

Had you not become a lawyer, what would you have been?

To be honest, as a young man I was very ambitious, and for a while thought that maybe I could play a role in politics. But, I soon realized it was better to stay away from it.

They say you’re taken to poetry, is that so? What does it mean to you?

Yes. I write very occasionally, and happened to have penned the Judicial Anthem of the Supreme Court; but I still won’t call myself a poet. But, ah yes, it means a lot of things. Poetry is art, to me. It’s partly music. It effects hearts and minds, because it arouses your sentiments, whether it is Love or Mysticism or whatever else.

Do you have a favourite verse?

Yes. There’s one by Faiz. “Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang”.

Law is a subject laying out a set of rules and restrictions. Poets or artists, usually, are referred to, and known to be non-conformists. What are you?

There are certain things I never conformed to, and still do not. But then, there are other things that you accept with the passage of time. Nonconformity is, largely, just a phase in the life of every person, I believe.

Describe yourself in a sentence.

I’m sensitive and idealistic, but at the same time I’m conscious of the realities of life.

Tell us something about you, that people generally are unaware of?

Well, I’m human with all that it means. That’s what I’d like to say.

What do you believe to be your greatest achievement in life?

I think the dispensation of justice is my greatest achievement.

Do you have any regrets?

None.

What would be an ideal weekend?

One that ends with an evening with my family.

What was the last book you read?

‘After the Prophet (PBUH)’ by Lesley Hazleton.

Do you like music? What kind?

I do. I listen to symphonies. I’m also very fond of ghazals sung by Noor Jehan and Mehdi Hasan.

One childhood memory you still remember?

Yes, there’s this one incident I can’t forget. My brother had a petrol pump and he sent home an empty drum of Mobile Oil for some reason. My mother told me to ask somebody to get it cleaned. I thought it stank because of the oil sticking to the inside and maybe if I burn it, the smell would go away. God. My entire leg was burnt.

One city that you are particularly attached with?

Multan. It is where I grew up.

Wisdom. Does it come with age or experience?

Not with age, no. It comes with knowledge, the capacity to reason and experience.

What is your opinion of the younger generation?

Yours is an age of information. In a small little gadget, you have an entire encyclopedia to access. You have more effective modes of learning and more opportunities, hence are more capable of creating a much better future than we ever could.

What have you learnt from life so far?

That hard work always gets rewarded, no matter what; and that hope is the greatest driving force for anybody, whether an individual or a complete nation.

When going through a down phase in life, how do you think a person can help himself/herself?

You know, it’s the way you respond to a situation which matters. Adversity is a great teacher, and it all depends on whether you’re prepared to learn and accept the challenges.

When faced with a problem, who do you rely on most, for support? Is there any such person?

There is no such person. I rely on my own sense of hope and in the grace of Providence.

Do you think it is important in life to have a person you can fall back on?

Maybe. It, again, is subjective. 77

Pakistan, currently, is in a deplorable condition, socially, economically and politically. Do you see any hope of salvation?

Can you name any country which has not passed through such a phase in its life? We are passing, through one of those not-so-flattering periods of our history. But, if we keep struggling and have the hope to move forward, then I believe this nation shall rise.

When speaking of Pakistan’s Legislation, where do you think the most reform is needed?

We have laws. The problem is that those laws are never fully implemented. What is needed, is the effective enforcement of Law.

What are the essentials for a prospering state?

Many. There must first be a social capital i.e. a body/group of individuals who can play a role in contributing to the economic growth of the country. That requires education and education of all kinds. We require technology. We require fixation of proper national priorities.

Religion has been the easiest and most comfortably accessible thing to exploit for one’s own personal agenda. Do you think that is true for Pakistan?

It is true for every country. Religion has been misused, one way or the other, everywhere. What is needed, is a rational approach towards Religion. We should reason out, and in our context, rather than following the conventional Islam, or the Islam of rituals; we should aim at a reformative Islam, which is more in tune with modern life.

We saw one of the most brutal, most horrid of tragedies that was ever witnessed in the history of Pakistan, last December 16th. What are your views and sentiments regarding the Peshawar APS incident?

It was, indeed, a brutal tragedy. I visited the school myself, and saw how they planned and executed their satanic strategy. But, you know, this incident is the result of the wrong policies pursued in the last 15 to 20 years. We think that if somebody else’s house is burning, we are safe, little knowing, that the fire can catch our house, too. This is what happened in Peshawar.

This incident not the first of its kind, will hopefully be the last, but one cannot say. How do you think terrorism, both ideology and effect, can be dealt with?

Modern education and Madrassa reforms are a must but more importantly, we need to have drastic economic reforms. There is a lot of poverty around here and our poor, unemployed youth is easy prey to the call of the so-called Jihadis.

When I say the word “Peace”, what images does your mind envision?

Well, I do not think of the grave, for one thing. I think, Peace would be where a man or a woman can pursue their dreams uninterrupted; and that everybody has a reasonable standard of living.

What would you like to give out as a final message to our readers?

My message would be that you should remain idealistic and have high hopes. Work hard to achieve the aims you’ve set and be sure of one thing: You will be rewarded.

Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi Zaidi is the founder of Pakistan Youth Alliance; a network of youth activists whose prime areas of work include socio-political activism and social welfare of the masses. He also represents Khudi - Pakistan; a counter extremism social movement. His organization has done over 150 events worldwide, ranging from street protests, using artistic expressions for social causes to conferences, seminars and building/running schools in different parts of Pakistan; and he has had the honour of receiving the Azm-e-Alishan Award in 2012, for his dedicated services for the betterment of Pakistan. He studied aeronautical engineering from NUST, then went on to get a Masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree in Social Innovation from Sweden. Q.

How did the engineer become the activist?

Simple, I lost interest in money-making. I wanted to do something for the society, I wanted to come up with solutions. It was the need of the time.

How would you describe yourself in a sentence?

I believe myself to be a critical-thinker and a Seeker.

What sort of a student were you?

Nerdy and peaceful.

What is one favourite childhood memory?

I think, the time when we were coming back to Pakistan from UAE. I was overjoyed.

What would be your favourite city?

Nationally, Karachi. Internationally, Copenhagen.

What is your idea of a perfect life?

A person should be able to matter, he should be able to love, have a critical approach to life and have the will to mend more hearts. This would be perfect.

Pakistan being in the state that it is; all chaotic and unforgiving. Are you hopeful of a better future?

Yes, I am. The struggle would be intense, for sure, but things will get better. We are in a transition as a society currently, so there are not going to be any drastic changes, but gradually, over a decade or two, we will see better times.

What would you say, have you learnt from life and circumstances so far?

There are no absolutes in life and no ends. This journey, really, is the destination itself.

What would be a perfect Sunday?

It would be somewhere up in the mountains, with a cup of coffee and a good book.

The last book you read?

‘Quarreling with God: Mystic Rebel Poems’ by Jennifer Ferraro and Latif Bolat.

Deep down, what are you?

An introvert, readier to reflect upon the bigger Universe inside.

Do you have a project at hand? Brief us about it.

Yes, we’re working on the project AIK (One) in Lyari, Karachi. It fights the extremist narratives building up there, which I think is very important because extremist social norms is the biggest problem we face today.

What is your greatest achievement in Life?

I have been able to help, and send relief to more than a hundred thousand people. That’s an achievement.

When was the proudest you felt of yourself?

When I’m away from home working for the people, and then, somebody; an old woman, man or child, out of themselves and out of gratitude, walk up to me and hug me, that is when I feel proud. And, it has been many times.

Working for social innovation in a society like ours, which is, sadly, not so open to newer ideas, what sort of criticism do you come across and how do you cope with it?

There’s ample criticism. People, here, are generally suspicious of anybody and everybody. Especially, of a person who talks about doing them good, for a change. But, you find this almost everywhere. You can try to talk things out but that usually does no good, so you keep your head down and keep working. It’s hard to make them understand that laynay kuch nahi aaye, deynay aaye hain.

How important do you think is freedom of speech and expression, in a present day society?

It is as important as can be. Every person has a right to it. They are to think, write, speak and do as

per they will. To curtail and suppress it, is making the society superficial. Every man thinks differently, has a different approach to life, and the freedom to express it is fundamental to the growth of the individual, and the whole society, too. Q.

The freedom of expression, somewhat provides a basis or excuse for harmful speech. Where do you draw a line between the two?

There’s a fine line between the two, but you or me cannot define it.

Where do you see yourself in the next 10 years, maybe?

I think I’ll become a teacher. A Professor. And, I wouldn’t have lost.

A message that you would like to give out to a person, struggling and striving to become a better person?

There are times when you feel hopeless, cannot cross a wall and you give up. But, remember that you grow from there. You should realise that true calling is a matter of the heart, so pursue it, just follow it. Hurdles will be there, and hurdles are necessary.

"I am not just an optimist. I am an opti-mystic who sees the world through the eyes of possibility." - Edie Weinstein

Fatima Zubair Fatima Zubair is an alum of Beaconhouse Liberty. She recently published a book, “The Child of the New Millennium” which was widely acclaimed. Q. When did your talent of writing first project itself? Do you remember the first thing you wrote? A. One thing that any writer can safely tell you is that writing careers aren't planned for. Mine was the same scenario. Things just kept going in the direction. One day you find yourself itching for some subject, feeling inordinately about it, usually more profoundly than others. And the next day your fingers rummage for a piece of paper and a pen. Then you bleed on the paper. In my case, it is also inherited I feel. My grandfather was a big shot in Islamic literary and Arabic lexican canon. A huge name in the field. Countless books to his credit. I always enjoyed reading and writing. As a child, whenever the essay on hobbies would be handed to us I would always find my solace in ascribing the status to reading and writing. But I wrote my first mentionable and tactile piece in O'Level. Called 'Nation at a Meltdown' which chronicled the socio-political upheaval of Pakistan in the days of Ramadan back then. Q. Your book, “The Child of the New Millennium” spans topics ranging from political matters to social issues to literary analysis, and you have shown a brilliant grasp of all three; but where does your interest lie? A. It is hard to pinpoint one, but creative writing is closest to my heart. It gives me the space to articulate my end of the story by an amalgamation of socio-political realities on ground- which is my passion- with a personal touch, to produce a very unique embodiment of an experience. The one which begins with particular but appeals to people across the board. So the journey from particular to universal gives me ,as a writer, an adrenaline rush nothing can match in this world. When someone tells you, oh I feel the same way! It’s an encouragement. Q. Your poems, particularly, engross the reader. Is there a favourite verse? A. There is one. “The two valleys - a world apart A hopeful gleam The sun’s rays.” Q. “There is nothing to writing. All you do is, sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” (Hemingway) How far do you think, is this true? A. Absolutely! But the bleeding has to follow a channel for the reader to make sense of it and allow the words to sink in through the skin, and make a lasting impression. Bleeding can not be blind or else it is just nothing more than a haemorrhage.

Q. If I asked you to pen down, but just one line about yourself, what would it be? A. Self discovery is probably the most lofty accomplishment any human can boast of. It is hard to say one word. But the closest I can come is a traveller making sense of her surroundings. That is why I read. That is why I write. Without these two I can't imagine any meaningful life. Q. What has been the most self-revealing phase in your life? Are you proud of who you are? A. Countless I feel. Every day reveals things about us we never knew. More than people, our lives are spent understanding our own deepest impulses and ourselves. Everyday is an epiphany! Q. Do you think every man, eventually, comes to terms with reality, or is it always just a chosen few? A. It is probably one of the few ways to maintain one's sanity in the craze and maze of this very ephemeral world. Those who don't, will soon enough! Those who have come to terms with their reality have taken a leap of faith. And will survive the rigors of life more valiantly. May Allah give us all the strength to be true to our inner voices and be thankful in all circumstances; because beyond a certain limit human faculties begin to fizzle out, and then God asserts His majesty. And the words from the Holy Bible, in Gospel of John ring true: 'In the beginning was the word; and the word was with God; and the word was God!' Q. Discrimination against women, is one of the most pressing issues in the World. Do you see a solution? A. Education brings enlightenment in the most ideal environment. I feel this is the key to all such cancers entrenched in our social practices. Q. How supportive was your family regarding your decision to publish a book? A. Immensely! It was my parents' encouragement and particularly my father's motivation that allowed me to compile my writings in an anthology. Without my family, and their words of encouragement; including my siblings who put up with my frequent temper tantrums, I don't think this could have been possible. Q. What would be an ideal weekend? A. Sun, a bench, a good book and peace! Q. What is one city you are particularly attached to and why? A. It has to be my city of birth. Lahore never loses its grip on me. It tugs at you wherever you go. I am the child of this soil.

Q. Do you have a favourite BLL-memory? A. So many memories. Where do I start? A lifetime spent in Liberty. Truest Liberty. Q. The subsiding of Art, in a people, results in the deterioration of the society as a whole. Would you not agree as to this being one of the major problems Pakistan faces today? A. I agree. One piece of art speaks volumes about a people's situation and condition. Writing for me being the most holy of art forms. Without it there can be no documentation of a people's past or present. Q. Do you see Pakistan producing quality writers, the likes of Faiz and Manto, in the near future? Do you think we have the potential? A. Most certainly. Fingers crossed. Q. How would you describe your taste of literature? Do you prefer classics or are you into contemporary? A. Classics are the spine. Without them nothing really makes sense. I enjoy contemporary equally well. Q. The latest addition to your bucket-list of books is? A. My bucket-list is usually filled with tens of books: thanks to my father's keen interest in books. From ‘Long Walk to Freedom’ to ‘Dreams of my Father’, and from ‘Return of the Butterfly’ to PG Wodehouse. I have it all! Q. When thinking of the word “Peace”, what images does your mind envisage? A. The golden mean. Peace and balance go together. The things amiss in our society. Q. What makes you write? What is the motivation, what is the stimulation? A. Writing is a need for me. To articulate my end of the story. That is the motivation. Q. Writers need to be sensitive enough, to feel beyond just themselves and encompass the entire World in their circle of empathy. Is that a curse or a blessing? A. On paper it is a blessing. Sometimes it is a curse when people don't always understand your impulses as a sensitive person. So then one has to know who to show one's true self to, and who not to

Q. What would you say, have you learnt from life so far? A. We have only been entrusted with one person's responsibility to make better with each passing day. And that is ourselves. Let us not waste time with what others do or think. We have limited time on earth. This is the conclusion I have reached. Q. How do you think a person can rise from a downfall in life? A. When one understands that downfalls are not permanent. Heartbreaks are not for ever. Setback is the right word and not downfall. Setbacks come to bring out the best in us. Once the storm has passed, the process of rejuvenation starts. And there is nothing like that. Q. What is one personality, you have always idolised? And why? A. I was raised on the lines of following the Prophet of Allah (pbuh) in every phase of life. My parents have done a phenomenal job in instilling in their kids this consciousness. After that it is my parents. The values of truthfulness, honesty, pride in one's religious and national roots and being content in one's skin are the most enduring lessons they reflect through action and words. I can go on and on with my epic on my parents but I think I will end with saying that If I can be half as much as they are, I think I will have done a really good job in life. Q. You must be aware of what struck our Land on last December 16th. It is a tragedy too horrid to recall. What are your sentiments and views regarding the Peshawar APS incident? A. A dark chapter in our history. A skeleton in our national cupboard which will never cease to haunt us. Q. On an ending note, what would be your last message to the readers of our Magazine? A. Be proud of your identity as Muslims and Pakistanis. It is really all we have. Once this identity is lost, nothing really is left. Be yourself. And value your individuality. That's it.

"You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.â&#x20AC;? - Friedrich Nietzsche.

The Peshawar Attack - What We Have To Say : Miss Asma Zia: I felt devastated. Miss Asma Ehtesham: It’s an irrevocable loss. Zohaa Choudhry: It was an inhumane act. Maliha Ahmed: A permanent bloodstain on Pakistan’s history. Fatima Waseem: Mujhe shehron sey andaza hua hai darindey ab nahi jungalon mein. Fatima Aziz: This attack was a reflection of brutality, shallowness and cowardice. Waiza Afzal: It could have been us. Dr. Irah Hasan: In ancient times, we heard of child sacrifice and pagan gods whose religion was brutality. But, this? This is our future. And, you know there is nothing more terrible for a parent than burying their child ‘cause you keep thinking it should have been you. Sana Alam: Islam is a religion of peace, so what religion were those attackers from? Shamaila Rashid: Almost a 100 students had to go to sleep forever for Pakistan to wake up. Imana Zaroor: Now one of our most important assets, education, is deteriorating. Aqsa Saif: A mournful period. Fatima Tahira: Speechless. Ayesha Shahid: Terrorism cannot stop us from seeking education and our strength, unity and faith will defeat them. The martyrs gave us courage to stand up and finally speak out. Beenish Farhan: John Greenleaf once said “Peace hath higher tests of manhood, than battle ever knew.” Zeest Mehtab: Our country experienced a number of tragic incidents, none like this, we are one nation and we will never forget 16.12.14 A Salute to the martyrs of the Peshawar attack. Priscilla Liu: Absolutely barbaric and my feelings are inexpressible. Thoughts and prayers are with the bereaved families! Khan Afzal: Bohot afsos hua kay chotey bachon ko shaheed ker diya. Maryam Zaheer: It is heart wrenching to witness our future being destroyed at the hands of these terrorist. These children were future flowers who failed to bloom. Irha Malik: Killing women and children is against the basic teachings of Islam. Rabia Tariq: Whoever kills one innocent soul kills the whole mankind; whoever saves one innocent soul, saves the whole mankind. Hajira Kamran: Heartbreaking. Librarian: Waqiya-e-Kerbala kay baad sab se bara saaneyha. Zoya Raza: People are senseless and heartless. Manal Ali: I’m speechless. Sir Akhtar: What is done should be undone. Sir Omar Tauseef: I think this changes a lot for us socially and politically. It changes how we see things. And, has truly shaken us. Arooj Shahid Khan: Humans can’t do such a thing. Laiba Abid: We should not let fear guide but let courage lead us to a better future. Javed Uncle (Sweeper): Ghalat hua. Bilkul ghalat hua. Ijaz Ahmed (Maintenance Supervisor): Meray nazdeek insaniyat’soz waqiya hai. 86

A Pakistani’s Prayer Fatima Waseem A1-E

Their smiling faces shall never escape my sight, For O’ Lord, these tearful eyes have not yet dried. The lesson learnt is rough and hard, How foolish it is to let down your guard. To fight within, and to fight without, The lust for power, blind to the weight of it. We let down our land, we have bloodied history, We lost so much to this baseless enmity. Oh, they’ll haunt me forever, It’s a link I can never sever. Virtues known, virtues unnamed, Merge all in Love; untamed. May my life be but a service, And my death, but a sacrifice! I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it, and embraced it- this pain, But, O’ Lord, beseech I thee, let not all go in vain! I ask You, for the courage to make a difference, Like the poet of East’s shining beacon, let me burn bright with resilience! Today, this raging storm has created a stir in my soul, And my waves are no longer fond of the shore. These winds shall help me soar higher and higher, Harbinger of a new dawn, is tonight, the wailing of these mothers. Furious, bitter and helpless- I am not alone in this supplication, We ask together, help this nation, Lord, help this nation!

City of Lights, City of Ashes Aaiman Naeem A1-B

Ashes. There are times when I close my eyes and imagine myself standing on my terrace from where I can see all these little houses and buildings in the distance. There was a time when every time I’d sneaked out on to the terrace barefooted, wrapping a huge dupatta around my night suit. I’d stand there and just look at all the buildings, taking it all in. It would be twilight and the horizon would be illuminated by tiny yellow lights, each representing a life inside a home. However, now I’ve stopped going there. Weirdly enough, when I try to imagine it now, it’s never night. It’s the brightest time of day, but the buildings are still shining. Except, it’s not the yellow lights that encompass the horizon anymore, it’s this brilliant orange-red flame, swallowing the life inside the building. I see people frantically grabbing on to the hands of their children as they run through narrow alleys, the ground painted with red footsteps as stones and shards of glass pierce their feet. I don’t see little kids playing cricket on the streets anymore, without a care in the world. I see the place every child calls his second home being destroyed right along with him. I see brainwashed men reciting the Kalma as they slaughter children and implement the height of injustice in the name of justice. I love to live. But I don’t think this is called living anymore. I don’t want to live in a world where the part of life people look forward to the most is death. I don’t want to see every last building full of life and prospects get burned to the ground. I don’t want to pass by a large pile of rubble with people looking for a place to hide a few years from now and think, ‘This is where I went to school.’ I wish I could walk on to my terrace at night and see a city filled with lights. I wish I could carve the image in stone and keep it with me forever. I wish I didn’t know what ashes looked like.

"People seldom realize that they tell lies with their lips and truths with their eyes all the time.” - Tahereh Mafi

16.14.12 Maliha Ahmed A1-A

I stood there, idle. As far as my eyes could see, they greeted blood. It has a colour much darker than one imagines, denoting once again that nothing is ever as it seems. Starting towards the auditorium, a wave of nausea rolled over me. What seemed like a brief while ago, my friends and I were halfheartedly trying to listen to a police chief’s monotonous speech about first aid My best friend was persistently trying to drag me out of attending the whole affair. As I walked towards the stage, in front of me hung Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s portrait. I closed my eyes, hot tears trailing down my cheeks. Innocent students, my own friends, were mercilessly killed, in ways worse than animals being slaughtered. Did the Quaid fight till his last breath, battling tuberculosis, for Pakistan to fall this low, for children to start fearing a place that held innocence and innovation, their second home? The metallic odor of dried blood hung heavily in the atmosphere, and goose bumps covered my body as I saw the arrays of blood splats on every wall. I kept walking without a destination in mind. The sight sickened me to my very core, as I realized I had lost faith in humans retaining their humanity now. These were the boys I grew up with, my best friends. Some I barely knew, and the heavy regret of not furthering my friendship with them ate at my insides like a relentless beast. They meant the world to me, this school was my home and now they’re gone, my world destroyed in mere moments. Helplessness consumes my every thought. Walking around, I stop. Near the principal’s office, there's a blackened wall. This was the place our principal was burned to death and the students were made to watch. My throat swells up as I choke on a sob I’ve been suppressing all this time. I've got so many questions yet there's no one who can answer. I may have survived but I’m dead inside, alive but barely getting by. There's a hole in my heart , an abyss of agony, which no one can understand nor fill. Lives of others will go on, as will mine, but they won't ever be the same.

"Blessed are the hearts that can bend, they shall never be broken." - Albert Camus

And the World Mourns Anoosha Sajid 10C-A

When we are growing up, it is drilled into our heads that violence is never the answer. We are cautioned to never accept a candy from a stranger, on the off chance that it might be poisoned. Being brought up by overprotective parents, many of us can relate to feeling ‘restricted’, but what we fail to realize is that these parents are only looking out for our best interests. The truth is that these mothers and fathers open their hearts for their children as soon as they draw their first breath on Earth. Knowing that you brought someone so vulnerable, fragile and impressionable to the planet, and that they are your responsibility gives parents a patent liability. For that sole reason, even a minor paper cut makes every parent’s heart throb in agony. Now imagine the monumental loss, the emptiness, the betrayal that can never be put into words, that those parents must have felt at their children’s funeral. Their children became victims of the tragedy that has been recognized as the Peshawar attack. The sadistic terrorists, who have been dwelling in our home country, viciously murdered their own blood on the grounds of religion. How dare they justify their cold-blooded actions with the name of Islam? How dare these people march into our homeland and spill their own blood? No religion can ever condone such acts of brutality. The poor souls that suffered the consequences of these monsters’ inhumane actions can never be revived. What was their crime? The fact that they went to school that day or that they were born in Pakistan? In their brief years of existence as mortals in this cruel world, which conceals unpardonable sins, they brought joy and felicity to their families. The souls that were sent to rest, committed back to that eternity from which they came, their blood marks the walls of the building in which they were mercilessly murdered. These children didn’t live long lives but they lived meaningful lives. There are no words that can console the parents of this unearthly experience that they have been made a part of. The tears they shed are not wasted. There is sacredness in tears. They are not marks of weakness, but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love. Perhaps the only consolation to this brutality is in Islam’s affirmation that death is not the end. Death is not the extinguishing of a light, but the putting out of a lamp because dawn has come. It is not the end but the beginning. Let this daring faith, this great invincible surmise, be their sustaining power during these trying times. The families of these martyrs will have to face the reality of this brutal tragedy and all we can do is keep our words and thoughts circulating so that they can be heard, can be felt, can be shared. The world mourns for the lives lost in this tragic occurrence that has affected not only the families of these martyrs but the entire Muslim state. May these innocent souls rest in peace and their blood be avenged by the soldiers of this brave nation. Amen.

Shattered Dreams Maryam Zaheer 11C-C

“I have full faith in my people that they will rise to every occasion worthy of our past Islamic history, glory and traditions.” (14 Aug 1948) The father of the nation Quaid e Azam had complete faith in his people as suggests this sentence but sadly it is a shame for all of us that today we have turned into selfish, insensitive and inhumane people. It was and then always remained a dream for the Quaid to look towards a prosperous Pakistan but sadly he did not live long enough to see the country flourish. Although the country flourished a few years after it had come into existence, the next years surely lead to a decline in the prosperity. Blaming the government officials for such an act would be pointless and illogical because these people are not from another world but from within us. We are ruled by such selfish people, only because this selfishness lies deep within our people. Bribery, theft, misguiding people etc has become a common practice in today’s world that one simply does not feel any guilt in stealing ones right. With these various kinds of sins lying within us how can we expect our leaders to be angels sent from heaven? It is quite obvious that since the leaders are from the common people, they tend to commit every sin that the common man may commit. Thus blaming the leaders for the country’s condition is senseless. The worst kind of problem that the country faces today is terrorism and what could be worse than the Peshawar massacre which took the lives of more than a 100 innocent children. These were not only lives that were lost but dreams. Dreams shattered. The terrorist now are targeting young, innocent children in order to destroy the country’s future. However they will never succeed as long as the people remain united as one body like Quaid e Azam said. Yes! Jinnah did want to see a united and prosperous Pakistan but after doing so much for the Muslims he left the world and thus his dream remained unfulfilled. After his death the responsibility falls on our shoulders to realise his dreams, however as far as I can judge through the countries condition , it would be either impossible or rare for this to be achieved. Simply because it is not only our leaders who are corrupt but us as well. So in order to end this corruption we all need to work towards playing our role as a responsible citizen of the society. Although this is not a short term solution but it is the only solution to the country’s problem. After all his sacrifices the least he deserves is to see the Pakistan that he had always wished to see. Uptil now his dreams have been shattered and the only way to join the bits and pieces of his dream is to work towards establishing a prosperous Pakistan and showing him that his people are capable of carrying the name of the country. Thus to ensure that Jinnah’s desires are fulfilled we all need to play our role as a responsible citizen of the society.

A Silver Lining Sheza Tariq Chaudhry, A1-B

The world is still reeling after the devastating Peshawar Attack, well into the next year. And really one thinks how is it possible to ever get over such heart-breaking news. I am in awe of all the parents who had to go through this unfathomable loss; they are so valiant. For only the bravest of souls can endure seeing your child, bloody and scarred who was once full of life. Your child, your future, your beacon of hope, your everything- lost forever. It is devastating to even think about it, imagine going through it. Every compassionate person wishes they could erase their pain, hide them from this cruel reality, turn back time. But time never did learn how to go back. It can only move forward. And so we must move with it as well. We must coat our heart in bronze, take in a ragged breath and emerge from the ashes a new being. A stronger being. What has happened is unforgivable. Atrocious. Repugnant. However, to cloak oneself in the belief that hiding at home, weeping endlessly and regretting will bring back those lost lives-we are in denial. No. Lament is not the way out of this labyrinth of misery. It is hope. And determination. And vigor. And courage. And sacrifice. What lies ahead is a long, winding, thorny path. The journey beyond is terrifying and filled with dead-ends. But it can be made all the more easier by joining hands. Extend your hand to your fellow brothers, regardless of religion, creed, location or language for misery is a universal language. Heard, felt and understood by all. In fact, why stop at intertwined hands? Merge your hearts, your eyes, your words, your faith. Don’t try to block out the pain. Soak it into your essence. Let it seep into your existence and make it your weapon to fight the transgressors-the face of our beautiful martyrs as our catalyst. Use your hope as your sword to cut the devils that tore apart hundreds of families because in this tragedy at least-we are one. For despite all that has befallen us, we have hope. As long as Pandora’s Box is closedwe will always have hope. As long as a drop of humanity remains in even one of us, we will always find our silver lining. ‘Let us reject violence and selfishness which could destroy our country's unity’. ~ Mwai Kibaki

“You can't go back to how things were. How you thought they were. All you really have is...now.” - Jay Asher

Life @ Liberty

“The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.” – Nicolas Chamfort

Society Round Ups (O' Levels) Photography Society “Photography is an art of observation. It has little to do with the things you see, and everything to do with the way you see.” - Elliott Erwitt

Anusha Abid President

The Society has been active, and quite successful in achieving all it’s goals. It works, mainly, to capture memories for all those who attended the events; and also, lets those who were not able to make it to the events, peek into what they missed.

Rameesha Nauman Vice President

One major aim of this society is to provide coverage to all academic and social events happening in the school premises, be it Maths and Divulging Science (MADS) '14, Biz-economics, 3-day Election Campaign or any other competition. This year we held an inter-class competition of filmmaking for our students, “Vid-Action”, where the amateur filmmakers were given a chance to showcase their drive and talent. We made the school proud, yet again by achieving the 2nd position in “Ad-Making” at ALGC Challenge of Entrepreneurship '14. The team comprised Minahil Khan, Hajra Afzal, Dania Ahsan and Noor Fatima. Students from BLL secured the 1st and the 2nd prizes at Biz Quest '14 which had 3 major rounds of Ad-Making, Snap Economics, and Poster-Making. The 1st team comprised Maimoona Shafi, Tazmeen Arshad and Aiyla Sohail, the 2nd team comprised Hadiqa Saleem, Urooj Hassan and Anusha Abid. A delegation from BLL was sent to Lights Camera Action '14 (LCA) in the category of shortfilmmaking, they successfully won the 2nd position. This team comprised Rameesha Nouman, Ramsha Usama, and Aleeza Ahmed. We can proudly state that the Photography Society of 2014-2015 has given chances and opened doors for all the amateurs to achieve their dreams of having a future in the art of photography.

Mathematics Society “A poet tries to get his head into the heaven while a mathematician tries to get the heaven into his head.” G.K. Chesterton This saying stands true for the members of the BLL Mathematics Society who were able to get heaven into their head. Tremendous hard work was put in by everyone. This year we took part in Innoventions held at LGS Johar Town and MATCH held at LGS Defense. Other than this, our Society organized its first ever inter-school competition, Aamna Nasir Hameed Mathematics And Divulging Sciences ’14 (MADS) Shajia Amina which proved to be a great success. Various schools President Vice President from Lahore participated in MADS '14 and Lahore Learning Campus bagged the first position in Math Mania. Our efforts were appreciated by the participants as well as the Headmistress and the Principal. I would like to thank the entire society and our teachers; especially Miss Saima Ashraf, without whom this society would not have been such a success. 93

Science Society The society aims to enhance the scientific skills of the students and provides them with the exposure they need, and gives them the chances to test their skills in various competitions. This year, members of our society enthusiastically participated in Innoventions '14 hosted by LGS, Johar Town Boys and managed to win The Scavenger Hunt. Nineteen members participated in MATCH held at LGS Phase-1 and won The Omega Hunt. Alina Hussnain

Tehreem Anwer President

Also, for the first time, the Science Society in Vice President collaboration with The Mathematics Society managed to host a successful 2-day inter-school event MADS '14 which of course could not have been possible without the tireless work of the entire team and the support of our teachers. We received an overwhelming response; after all, hard work always pays off. I hope the Society continues to prosper, and does much more work in the coming years, making BLL proud.

Model United Nations Society

Aleena Waqar President

This year, all in all, has been a success for our society. We bagged two special mentions and a verbal mention at BVCMUN, 1 Honorable mention at ACMUN, 3 Outstanding Diplomacy awards at CSMUN, 1 Best Delegate and 2 Outstanding Diplomacy awards at PNMUN. We are looking forward to achieving more, and enrolling more students wanting to opt for MUNs as they give a great opportunity to explore present diplomatic and researching skills. We are hopeful that in the near future, we will be able to host our own MUNBLL.

Eesha Anjum Vice President

Even in our very first international MUN-ing experience at Bhavan Vidyala Chandigarh, India (BVCMUN), we managed to bag trophies. The group of five enthusiastic debaters were given a warm welcome by the BVC council, and that seven-days stay is indeed a memorable affair! Our coach, Sir Usman Tanveer Malik has helped us throughout, and we look forward to covering more milestones in the following year, God-Willing.

Arts Society

Amna Feroz President

This year, the Arts Society has not only been actively participating in the various Art competitions but also, has been bringing awards back home. Here at BLL, the artists have matured with each passing year. The girls participated in Art-O-Graphy, Young Canvas and â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Mussawirâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; and brought back shields from all, besides various other competitions. Moreover, the society has been able to host an interclass event 'Art Fanaticsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, with an amazing response from our students. The society aims at becoming bigger and better in the coming years

Nirmeen Khalid Vice President

Urdu Debating Society Urdu Debating Society is one of the most dynamic and active societies at BLL. The students have shown great fervor and enthusiasm for Urdu debates and literature. They have also managed to bring home, appreciation and laurels from competitions outside the school.

Wardah Shakil Khan Vice President

The Ghazal and Literary Competition held at LGS Johar Town on 16th September 2014 proved to be a milestone, as the performance of BLL stood unparalleled and the girls bagged the team trophy. The team comprised Maham Munir and Ruby Naeem who stood 2nd in Ghazal and 1st in Urdu Prose recitation respectively.

The zeal and zest for further competitions continued as BLL avidly participated at the annual Urdu Prose Competition held at LGS Model Town and emerged victorious. Amina Haq and Aroma Saleem represented the school and Aroma managed to bag the 1st prize in Urdu Prose recitation. Members of the Urdu Debating Society have strived for perfection, and hopefully will show the same enthusiasm in the future.

Music Society The Society began with a good - no, excellent start. We held our very first music sub-event at MADS '14 (Mathematics and Divulging Sciences) in which, I myself performed, along with the very talented singers; Ruby Naeem, Anna Imran, and Umaima Ghauri. Following this event, Ruby Naeem participated in an Urdu Nazam Singing Competition held at Beaconhouse Johar Town Campus, where she won the first prize. The Music Society wanted to host many more events this year; however, the country Adeeba Chishti was struck with grief and alarm after the Peshawar President School Attack. Due to security issues, many of the events were cancelled, such as the Bonfire where a small-scale concert was to be arranged.

Zohaa Mujahid Vice President

Despite the circumstances, the young, talented girls at BLL, have never failed to disappoint us, and shall keep the Music Society alive for all years to come.

Dramatics Society Year 2014 proved to be a very productive one for BLL O-level’s Dramatics Society. On the 12th of November, 2014, 10th graders participated in a drama contest organised by LACAS , Johar Town. BLL's team stood second and their performance of Othello was greatly appreciated.

Minahil Asghar President

Moreover, towards the end of November, BLL O-level’s Science Society hosted the event MADS '14; and the Dramatics Society presented a play for the audience "The Dog of Titwal”, on its Social Night. The crowd loved the play, and our hard work paid off.

Emaan Abdullah Vice President

To conclude, without the support of our teachers; Ms. May Simon and Ms. Sabahat, and of course Mrs. Rehana Rasul, this society's success wouldn't have been possible.

Society Round Ups (A' Levels) Science Society The science society has once again had an exciting and productive year. Our teams have participated in various competitions ranging from ‘M.A.T.C.H’ to ‘Psi Com 14-15’. Despite the tough Noor Fatima Chaudhry President

competition and mind-boggling challenges, our

Laiba Abid Vice President

team won the first prize in ‘Make your Point’ at Psi

Com. They also returned with new friendships and happy memories. These competitions have taught us about responsibility, loyalty to our school, hard work and, certainly, taught us that the sky is the limit.

Event Management Society

Ayma Irfan President

Beaconhouse Liberty A-Levels doesn't only cater to inter-collegiate events but enthusiastically plans amusement for its own students as well. Every year BLL greets the arrival of its new batch with immense warmth and affection, assuring a cordial environment for students. BLL event management society like the previous years, succeeded in arranging a grand welcome party for the batch of 2016. ‘Welcome ’14’ aimed not only to make new arrivals comfortable in the institution but also to integrate seniors and juniors, knitting them in a bond.

Fatima Tahir Vice President

One of our prestigious annual debating events, BLKC (Beaconhouse Liberty Kasuri Cup) proved to be yet another milestone in our event management sector. It provided young debaters with a platform to unravel their hidden potential and augment their articulate skills. We also organized Tycoons of Tomorrow, a pioneer event which proved to be a great success. BLL girls’ successfully organized Spelt and College Fair. College Fair provided an opportunity for exceptional higher education and allowed students to have a one-on-one meeting with representatives from various Universities.

Social Welfare Society Social Welfare is an initiative, something that starts from the very moment your inner self condemns your ignorant behaviour and makes you realize how important it is to be thankful to Allah Almighty for all His countless blessings and share a little with those who are not always so fortunate . Welfare can take a variety of forms, such as financial assistance, emotional support, companionship, providing good advice or by simply showing the way. This is my first year in BLL and I could be named Momina Nisar Fatima Waheed as an outsider but the way the administration, Vice President President students and the staff have accepted me, it is nothing but my own home now! Being a new student definitely took its toll but the trust reposed in me by Maâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;am Asma urged me to move ahead and prove myself. The society organized a carnival for students of The Rising Sun Institute for Special Children on Thursday 30th October 2014. About 50 girls participated in it and made some precious memories with all those exceptional children, making them laugh and enjoy playing games specially designed for them. We also visited their campus and were surprised to see their talent in different fields of art and design, textile etc. I hope and pray that my society continues to pass on smiles to as many faces as it can, as we did on that memorable day.

Debating Society

Iman Ejaz President

The Beaconhouse Liberty Debating society is a world on its own. Enter the Debating circuit and you will find yourself thinking about things you have never thought about. Formed in 2009, this elite group of debaters has worked hard to earn its spot on the debating track. To our society members, debate itself is much more than a mere extracurricular activity. In fact to most of us, it is a way of living and a part of who we are. Our society has participated in more than 50 parliamentary debating tournaments, with our team securing a position among the top 8 schools who qualified for the quarter finals.

Reshum Zubair Vice President

Being part of an established legacy of seniors, our eager society members work with zeal and enthusiasm to continue the winning streak. With the efforts of our new coach, Mr. Usman Tanveer Malik and his strong belief in the power of negative sanctioning, the under-19 team comprising Khola Jamshad, Momal Malik and I, were finally able to break into the quarter finals. In fact, this year our worthy team members have made the school proud as Khola Jamshad and Momal Malik made it to the All Pakistan Team Short list. Along with this achievement, our young debaters have also bagged awards in the MUN circuit. We have recently won at the most prestigious MUNS at Lahore such as PKMUN, CSMUN, ACMUN and FORMUN etc. Not only this, but we were also able to earn trophies at Bhavan Vidyala Chandigarh, India. As for now the Under 17 team is working with all their devotion and commitment to break at the Under 17 Nationals. With high aims and the desire to excel, our journey has just begun! 98

Business Society The Beaconhouse A-levels Business Society is well-known for setting its benchmark every year to bring out the best in students. The Business Society organized its inaugural business event â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Tycoons of Tomorrow. It was designed to test the creative thinking, analytical reasoning and decision making skills of young entrepreneurs. Teams from various schools participated in it and the event proved to be an immense achievement. Aqsa Saif

Hira Naeem President

Several fascinating events are held each year Vice President that give students an opportunity to test their entrepreneurial skills. Our students participated in the ALGC Challenge of Entrepreneurship â&#x20AC;&#x2122;14, ACE â&#x20AC;&#x2122;14 and returned victorious with the Runners up trophy. Overall the society had a good year and it hopes to continue being a help to those students who are interested in pursuing a career in Business.

Media Society The Media Society is one of the most happening and busy societies in BLL. This Society helps other societies, such as the Event Management Society. We also provide coverage to every seminar held within school, Beaconhouse Liberty Kasuri Cup (BLKC), A1 Welcome Party and many more. Arooj Shahid Khan President

Apart from this the Media Society also sends teams annually to prestigious events such as Misaal '14 and many other where our contestants make the Liberty flag soar high with their intellectual abilities.

Asma Azhar Vice President

The Media Society is always open to new members and the constructive criticism as this is a society which believes that student response is the only way to achieve success. Overall the society had a good year and hopes to continue being a help to all students. We hope that future members will keep the winning tradition of the Media Society alive and work for its betterment in the future.

Music Society This year, unfortunately, wasn’t a very active one for the Music Society, what with the terrorist assault on APS, Peshawar. However, a number of events were attended and performances were given. MISAAL ’14 was held in Beaconhouse Johar Town campus in September in which the president, Areesha Sampson secured the third position in eastern performance and the vice president, Insia Durrani, bagged the third position in the western Areesha Sampson performance. Grammathon was held at LGS with President Areesha making it to the top ten participants in the competition. Areesha also performed at a middle school event, and both the girls performed at the A1 Welcome Party.

Insia Durrani Vice President

There will soon be an event in LUMS, which the Music Society members will be attending.

“A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it.” - D.H. Lawrence

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Round The Block Compiled by the Editors Your BLL Theme Song? Namrah Fatima: Fashion Khatum Mahnoor Javed: We will Rock you. Wajiha Ahmed: Hookah Bar ;) Mubarra Kamran: Kar diya Mushkil jeena Miss Subina Rafia Azhar: Jeena yahan marna yahan, Iss ke siwa jana kahan Aamna Tayyaba: Wannabe by the Spice Girls Ayesha Amjad: Kabhi alvida na kehna Rashmeen Khan: Ye pal yaad aain gey. Aneesa Siddiqui: Baby doll main sone di. Shahbakht Ahmed: Yaad aaon ga Anamta Zahid: We are Young Maham Aqeel: Ye dosti hum nahi torein gey. Maliha Ahmed: O, jey menu yaar na milay tey mar jaawan

If Life at BLL could be summed up in a T.V show, what would it be called? Namrah Fatima: Zindagi Azaab Hai. Khadija Shah: Zindagi Bezaar Hai. Areej Mahmood: Perfect Life. Rashmeen Khan: Friends. Shahbakht Ahmed: How I Met Your Mother. Taiba Tariq: Keeping up with the Kardashians. Fariha Zahra: Bache Man Ke Sache. Shahnzeh Mehmood: Gossip Girl. Anamta Zahid: Adventures in Boy Hunting. Fizza Abbas: Bulbulay.

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A word to all those who call the girls of BLL “paindu”? Fatima Waseem: Jo kehta hai wohi hota hai :p Zahra Ikram: Go get a Life. Anonymous: True that! Zoya Raza: You wanna be me but you can’t be me. Simrah Ibrar: Loosers! Aneesa Siddiqui: Mu dho jaa ker pliss! Taiba Tariq: Look who’s talking.

Thoughts on the Canteen-Wali-Aunty? Fatima Waseem: Sarial. Anonymous: Always Angry. Rukhsar Ahmed: Chalak. Ayma Irfan: Bomb. Mubarra Kamran: Aunty police bula ley gi! Areej Mehmood: Bohat dramay karti hain. Fatima Zuhash Ahmed: Speed taiz kar lein. Shahbakht Ahmed: Abhi tou mein jawaan hoon. Aneesa Siddiqui: Sonia best hai yaar! Aaiman Naeem: Volume Uncha Karein.

One thing you would like to change in BLL? Seher Khalid: Co- Education honi chahiye :p Zahra Ikram: Common room bara karo. Zoya Raza: Better food, please. Anonymous: Administration. Anonynous: Sir Saad ki “encouragement”.

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Shahbakht Ahmed: Gymboree hatao, ground wapis lao *Dili Khuwaish* Dukhiar Economics Kay Students: Sir Mumtaz. Maliha Ahmed: The loudspeakers. Anamta Zahid: Gate se nikalney dein.

Which fictional character from a book/movie/T.V shows would you marry and why? Simrah Ibrar and Naqsh Naqvi: MR. DARCY!!!! What do you mean by why? Haven’t you read Pride and Prejudice?! Seher Khalid and Haziqa Gill: Christian Grey. Because he’s…Christian Grey. *wink wink* Mubarra Kamran: I’m already taken ;) Rukhsar Ahmed: Mein ne shaadi hi nahi karni. Zobia Waseem: I’d give you a list, but Will Herondale is the love of my Life AKA MINE. Anyone who disagrees is irrelevant. Rafia Azhar: Flynn Rider – DUH he’s chivalrous. Aamna Tayyaba: John Watson – He’s the perfect combination of adorable and … *speechless* Zoya Raza: Finnick Odair – I like that imperfection. Wajiha Ahmed: James (Jem) Carstairs – he’s perfect in every way! *squeal* MINE MINE MINE! Fizza Mudassar: Four. – ‘CAUSE HE’S FOUR! Anamta Zahid: Tamaki Suoh! Sana Salman: Edward Cullen. Taiba Tariq: Damon Salvatore – Because he’s handsome!

The Funniest thing your Teacher has ever said to you? Anamta Zahid: Sir Nadeem’s been calling me “Amanta” ever since school started. Maliha Ahmed: Sir Omar’s “Bas ab sawal poocha hai tou sab neechey dekhne lag jao! Mein subha subha aa kar idhar bolta hoon! Kya baqwaas hai!” Zohaa Choudhry: On our first day, Miss Rabia said “Mein aap ko har din aik homework ka tofa diya karoon gi.” (She wasn’t lying.) Sana Salman: Miss Nasreen’s “Aap ne class mein aa kar bara ehsaan kia hai.”

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Naqsh Naqvi: *gets scolded by the headmistress* Miss Najia’s remarks, “Pehrey kamm’aan dey pehrey nateejay.” Anonymous: Sir Mumtaz’s “Well, I hope you understand.” Zohaa Choudhry: Sir Kashif’s regular Tuesday-SMS, “AOA – I shall not be taking class today. – Regards, Kashif Aziz.” Fariha Zahra: Sir Nadeem’s “Media waalay baaz aa jain.” Fatima Waseem: Sir Saad’s “Jaaein Madam se slip banwa kar lain – late aain hain aap.”

Stranded on an Island, one person from BLL that you’d want to be with you? Noor Fatima: Rida Tanveer. Semal Farid: Hajira Naeem. Iman Ejaz: Fatima Masood. Nabia Khawar: Miss Najia. Maham Aqeel: Umaima Saud. Haziqa Shoaib Gill: Miss Asma Zia. Sana Akbar: Aqsa Zahoor. Sheherbano Chaudhry: Javeria Rizwan. Dua Haider: 3! Semal, Hajira and Huda. Sabrina Saqib: Sana Zahra. Rameen Masood: Momal Malik.

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I wish… Perwasha Musharraf — to be a perfect bahu! Sabrina Saqib — I was Channing Tatum. Rashmeen Khan — I'd got my Hogwart's letter. Sana Hussain — for William Herondale! Semal Farid — univeristy bhi BLL main hoti yaar. Rida Tanveer — I was smarter, cuter, hotter, awesome. Iman Ejaz — that school never ends! Seher Khalid — I was Megan Fox. Simrah Ibrar — for a perfect husband! Maham Aqeel — to be the best film director ever and bag an Oscar while I'm at it. Dua Haider — I had 7 cats. Nabia Khawar — I get into some cool culinary school. Ayma Irfan — BLL chorna na paray. Nimra Aamir — Fashion Anthem phir se hojaye. Rubab Zahra — that this rain never ends! (It was raining, then.) Sana Akbar — BLL was co! Umaima Saud — I marry Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Arooj Masood — to be Harry Potter's wife. Anamta Zahid — I was a billionaire with magical powers who saved the world by night. One kitten a day.

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When I leave, I’ll miss… Haziqa Shoaib Gill — Khan Afzal. Areesha Sampson —Waqas bro! Shaheera Zafar — My friends. Semal Farid — Naqsh! Iman Ejaz — Bunking classes! Seher Khalid — Liberty ka pizza. Nabia Khawar — Cafeteria! Ayma Irfan — The BLL-family and administration. Momal Malik — Daant. Aur Prank Calls. Sheherbano Chaudhry — Canteen ka khaana. Ifrah Tauseef — Sir Mumtaz Mahnoor Shehzad — The teachers. Anamta Zahid — The red bricks, really. Dua Haider — The narcissistic people. Hajira Naeem — Miss Asma Ehtesham. Izza Shamaz — Ganda pizza. Rashmeen Khan — My jiggars. Sana Akbar — Sir Saad. Umaima Saud Khan — The basketball court. Sana Salman — Canteen ka roll. Shahbakht Ahmed — Khan Lala Fizza Abbas — Rafia and BLL ki building. Mariam Rafi — Parhaaku Loug. Perwasha Musharraf — Ye laal building.

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BLL is a place where... We’re always overworked. :(

The faces say it all, “Class kab khatm ho gi?”

You get the best pictures with the best teachers.

The winds love to play around, too.

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BLL is a place where... We dance through the storm!

Fridays bring out the Belle in us.

The ending note is always “Say Cheeseeeee”

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BLL is a place where... We do have a few serious moments.

You always have support.

Pizza-parties are a part of who we are.

Horoscopes are serious business.

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BLL is a place where... Weird people are fun people.

Camouflage is easy.

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Visits to the Library are never too flattering.

We love naps.

BLL is a place where... Elections and Enticing go hand-in-hand.

The motto goes, “Better late than never”.

We really do love naps.

The artist in you is bound to surface…at all the wrong places. 111

BLL is a place where... Blue-Days are not blue days.

We're all posers. :p

Selfie-Sticks are school supplies, too.

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BLL is a place where... Everyday is a feast.

…Jee Kahiye?

We’re all smiles!

Some of us really do hate Math.

You make friends for life!

What goes around, comes around!

We’re all geared up for Winters. 113

BLL is a place where... You get the right amount of Sun (and make-up :p).

Life and people are colourful.

For real, everybody’s up for a selfie.

Geniuses are aplenty.

Your birthday’ll be The Best Birthday! 114

Ragging is cruel.

We’re Ajeeb and Proud.

Art Gallery

Laiba Fatima 7-E

Zahra Haider 9C-C

Fatima Saqib 6B

Aleezey Mansoor 6-E

Fizza Zahra 8-E

Alizey Syed 7-F

Fatima Humayun 9C-C

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Art Gallery

Fatima Hassan 8-D

Fatima Aamer Mustafa 10-C

Ayesha Hamid 9C-D

Eman Shoib 9C-E

Aneezah Tauseef 9-C

Arfa Rehman 8-D

Amna Feroz 11C-E 116

Amna Feroz 11C-E

Art Gallery

Aleezey Mansoor 6-E

Amna Feroz 11-C

Aisha Hamid 9-C

Abeer Haroon

Xiana Atif 6-D

Taiba Tariq A1-B

Syeda Aiza Ali 6-D

SaraMalik 9-C

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Art Gallery

Sameen 7-F

Rabbia Nasir 8

Nirmeen Khalid 10C-B

Minahil Kaleem O Levels

Momina Hassan 8-D

Laiba Azhar 10C-D 118

Minahil Ahmad 10C

Art Gallery

Areeba Tariq A1-B

Anamta Zahid A1-A

Fariha Zahra A1-A

Safora 10-C

Sarah Sabir A2-D

Laiba Azhar 10C-D

Iqra Mahboob 9C-E

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