Най- благата душа

Баба ми Севда, на която съм кръстена почина.

Исках да напиша нещо…не че не съм губила хора, които обичам много преди…но исках да напиша нещо само за нея.
Не защото го заслужава повече, а защото искам да разкажа, за да може всички да знаят. И поне веднъж прожекторите, вниманието, емоциите да са само и единствено за нея и за никой друг.

Защо?

Защото това беше жена, която тихо, усмихнато, без да търси внимание правеше всичко по силите си за хората около нея. Беше силна, изпълнена с любов, смиреност, трудолюбивост, чувство за хумор, нежност, искреност, приветливост и винаги готова с вкусна гозба да те нахрани и да се погрижи за теб.
Самата тя беше нисичка и фина, с мек глас.  Казвахме й малката баба Севда….но духът й беше огромен.

Като деца често прекарвахме летните ваканции с нея. Тя сама успяваше да гледа със седмици пет от нас - братовчедките и нас със сестра ми и брат ми…Никой! Никой не е успявал да се пребори сам и с петима ни, но тя можеше. Сама. Ние бяхме лудетини до дупка. Но тя го правеше с лекота. Без да иска нищо в замяна, дори благодаря. Никога не се оплакваше, никога не ни дерзаеше, никога не беше намръщена( ех, добре де, изкарахме я извън нерви един два пъти…).

С годините разбрах колко труден е бил животът й и често си мислех как е оцеляла.
Но най- много се чудех как след всичките мъки, тежести, проблеми нямаше и капка цинизъм или сърдитост в нея. 

Нямаше злоба, нямаше обвинителност, нямаше дерзание, самосъжаление….Беше обратното, раздаваше се за най- близките, без много шум, смирено, искрено и с усмивка и без да иска нищо в замяна. Как успяваше и от къде идваше тази светлина и благост…......................
И всички го знаехме и я обичахме много….но сега искам да го извикам от покривите…искам всички да чуят, да знаят, че една от най-благите души ни напусна. 

Тихо, без много шум и фанфари си отиде един безкрайно силен човек за пример за всички нас. 

Поклон, бабе! 
Обичаме те!



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Through the Walls: Growing Up Alongside the Rise of Social Media

Before Instagram, before Facebook, before anyone carried the internet in their pocket, there were places like mIRC — lines of green text blinking against a black screen, usernames without faces, conversations that flickered and disappeared into the digital ether. It was clumsy, unpredictable, sometimes reckless — and it felt electric.

Connection didn’t come from a photo filter or a carefully worded post. It came from a stranger typing "hello" at a random time. It came from the wildness of not knowing who was on the other side — and not needing to perform for them. The internet back then could be a risky, unpredictable place — but it wasn’t curated. It was messy, raw, and strangely real. It was a back alley, not a stage.


Those early digital spaces were messy, imperfect, and strangely human. But as technology evolved, so did the way we presented ourselves. The raw, chaotic freedom of anonymous chats gave way to the polished, curated galleries of MySpace, the carefully built profiles of Facebook, and the endless scroll of Instagram. Then came Snapchat and TikTok — platforms where connection became even more performative, fleeting moments packaged for validation and constant attention. The need to be real was replaced by the need to be seen.


Of course, even in the real world, we perform. We wear certain masks, adjust our tone, and choose what parts of ourselves to reveal depending on who we’re speaking to. But face-to-face, presence gives us context. There’s the flicker of hesitation in someone’s eyes, the crack in a carefully rehearsed smile, the tension in a voice. Instinct has a chance to read between the lines.


On social media, those clues disappear. All that remains is the curated surface — the image someone wants us to see. The distance of the digital world makes it easier to create an illusion, and harder to break through it. We aren’t just vulnerable to the performances of others; we become vulnerable to the versions of ourselves we perform, too.


I was there for all of it — first standing at the fringes, then stepping inside. I am part of social media too. But because I came into it gradually, after years of building strong, real-world connections, I can still feel the difference. I remember what it was like to wait for someone’s voice. I know what it means to be present and real without distraction. And because of that, I feel more empowered to see through the shimmering veil that social media casts — the illusion of closeness, the performance of intimacy.


I embrace and encourage new technology. Innovation has opened incredible doors — for creativity, for learning, for connection across vast distances. But it has also built walls. Walls behind which not only predators can hide — but where people hide from themselves. Walls that allow us to curate lives so carefully that we no longer have to face our own fears, insecurities, or dreams. Walls that make it easier to stay disconnected even while appearing more "connected" than ever.


This is the world my children are growing up in. A world where social media starts shaping identity before they even have the chance to discover who they are offline. A world where the pressure to perform can feel heavier than the freedom to simply be.


How do we prepare them for this? Can we delay their entrance into these curated worlds without cutting them off entirely? Can we teach them to see the difference between authentic connection and performative connection? Can we show them that it is still possible — and still vital — to be real?


Recent stories like the new series Adolescence make these questions feel even more urgent. The show follows a young boy deeply influenced by social media, his sense of reality slowly distorted by endless streams of content, validation-seeking, and performance. It is a reminder that the lines between real and curated are blurring earlier and earlier — sometimes before a child even knows how to ask the right questions.


Maybe we can't tear down the walls entirely. Maybe the world our children inherit will always have screens and curated lives. But we can still teach them how to find the doors.


We can model real presence — putting down our phones when they speak, looking into their eyes instead of into a lens. We can create spaces where conversation happens slowly, without distraction. We can remind them that their worth isn't tied to "likes" or "followers," but to how deeply they listen, how bravely they share, how kindly they see.


We can teach them to question the performance, to recognize when they are being pulled into the illusion — and to choose, when they can, authenticity over applause.


Real connection is still possible. It always will be — because at our core, we are wired for it. Even through all the noise, the quiet voices still find each other. And that gives me hope.


x

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Shapeshifters

We are born with skins like poems—

unwritten, soft with truth.

But somewhere in the echo halls

of schoolyards, dinner tables,

and rooms where silence tastes like judgment,

we learn the art of shifting.


Watch:

the girl who laughs a little louder,

the boy who bites his tongue in half,

the woman who wears confidence

like a borrowed coat,

the man whose softness sleeps

under seven padlocks.


We trade our real faces

for masks that match the crowd.

Smile when it stings.

Shrink when it shines.

We become fluent in pretending—

in being almost.


A nod here, a silence there.

A laugh at the right joke.

We sculpt ourselves to fit,

whittling away what might offend

or confuse

or shine too brightly.


And underneath it all, a belief grows:

that love lives in our absence.

That to be chosen,

we must first disappear.

Be agreeable, invisible,

digestible.


But the animal beneath still stirs—

wild, wanting,

the one who knows how to run free,

howl wrong, dance strange,

or simply sit and be.


We are all shapeshifters

not because we are false,

but because we are frightened

of not being loved

as we truly are.


Still,

there comes a night

or a morning, or a moment between—

when the skin no longer fits,

and the mask begins to itch.


And we remember:

it was never about finding

the right shape to fit in—

but the courage

to stop abandoning ourselves.

To stay loyal

to what trembles within,

even when the world

asks us to disappear.


x

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A Mother's Plea: Prioritising Humanity Over Politics Amid the Tragedy in Gaza

As a mother, I find myself overwhelmed with grief and a profound sense of urgency. 

Since the escalation of violence in Gaza on October 7, 2023, over 13,800 children have been killed, according to United Nations agencies and humanitarian organizations. These are not mere statistics; they represent individual lives—children who had dreams, laughter, and the potential to shape our world.​AP News 

It compels me, not as someone with political affiliations, but simply as a human, to speak out. Because when we reduce these tragedies to politics, we risk losing sight of the humanity we are all called to protect.

The scale of this tragedy is unprecedented. Save the Children reports that about 30% of the 11,300 identified children killed in Gaza were younger than five . Furthermore, a study by War Child UK found that 96% of children in Gaza feel their death is imminent, with nearly half expressing a wish to die due to the trauma they've endured. These findings are a stark reminder of the psychological toll this conflict has on the youngest and most vulnerable.​Save the Children International

The humanitarian crisis extends beyond fatalities. The World Food Programme has reported that it has exhausted all food stocks in Gaza, with over one million children facing daily hunger . Hospitals are overwhelmed, and medical supplies are scarce, leaving countless children without adequate care.​

This is not about political affiliations or territorial disputes; it's about our shared humanity. Children, regardless of their nationality or religion, deserve safety, nourishment, and the opportunity to thrive. As a global community, we must prioritize the well-being of these innocent lives over political agendas.​

I urge international leaders, humanitarian organizations, and individuals to take immediate action:

  • Implement a Ceasefire: An immediate halt to hostilities is essential to prevent further loss of innocent lives.​
  • Ensure Humanitarian Access: Unrestricted access for humanitarian aid organizations to provide food, medical care, and psychological support is crucial.​
  • Protect Children: All parties must adhere to international laws protecting children in conflict zones, ensuring their safety and rights are upheld.​

As a mother, I cannot remain silent while children suffer. Their pain transcends borders and politics. It's a reflection of our collective failure to protect the most vulnerable among us. Let us come together, not as representatives of nations or ideologies, but as human beings committed to safeguarding the future of our children.​Arab Center Washington DC

How You Can Help:

  • Donate to Reputable Organizations: Support organizations like UNICEF, Save the Children ​, and the Palestine Children's Relief Fund ​, which are providing essential services and support to Palestinian children impacted by the ongoing conflict.​UNICEFSave the ChildrenThe Washington Post+4PCRF+4The Guardian+4
  • Raise Awareness: Share verified information and stories about the humanitarian crisis in Gaza to educate others and counter misinformation.​
  • Advocate for Change: Contact your local representatives to express your concern and urge them to support policies that prioritize humanitarian aid and the protection of children in conflict zones.​

Please act now, not for political gain, but for the sake of humanity.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sources:

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Love Beyond Our Patriarchal System

The patriarchy not only distorts how women are perceived by men — it also deprives men of the capacity to experience real, transformative love. From early on, many men are taught to measure a woman by her functionality: Is she nurturing? Can she manage a home? Will she raise good children? Is she attractive, competent, successful? Rarely are they taught to look deeper: What moves her? What has she suffered? What does she dream of when no one is watching?

Of course, there are women who also seek partners for status, wealth, or security. But research consistently shows that women, more than men, prioritize emotional intimacy, mutual understanding, and deep connection in romantic relationships.

• A large-scale study published in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin (2011) found that women report greater emotional investment in relationships, and are more likely to see emotional connection as central to their happiness and self-worth.

• In a 2013 paper in Sex Roles, researchers found that men tended to prioritize independence and self-sufficiency, while women valued closeness, communication, and emotional availability in their partners.

• A 2020 meta-analysis in Psychological Bulletin concluded that men are less likely to engage in emotional disclosure in relationships, often due to gender role expectations rooted in traditional masculinity norms — a direct outcome of patriarchy.


This conditioning turns love into a checklist. Women are often pursued not as people, but as roles: mother, wife, caretaker, helper. In this dynamic, men may never truly come to know a woman’s inner world — her needs, her mind, her soul — because they were never taught that such knowing is essential to love. Vulnerability is bypassed for function; emotional presence is replaced by expectation. As a result, many men pursue not love, but a patriarchal idea of a “good woman” who will take care of things and not ask too much in return.


But patriarchy doesn’t only harm men. It shapes women, too — though in a different way. Women have long been conditioned to be emotional caregivers, nurturers, the keepers of connection. From childhood, many are trained to attune to others, to prioritize others’ feelings, to offer empathy, to soften tension. In heterosexual relationships, this often translates into women doing the emotional labor of love alone. They learn to see their partner’s wounds, fears, and needs — often before their own are even acknowledged.


This is not because women are more virtuous — it’s because they are more conditioned to be emotionally attuned. Patriarchy teaches women to love deeply, to give, to care — and teaches men to look for someone who will care for them. In this imbalance, love becomes asymmetrical. Women often arrive ready to love a person, while men arrive ready to receive support from a role.


And yet — this can change.


Healing begins when men choose to step off the path they were handed and begin to walk toward presence. That means asking questions they were never taught to ask: Who is she, really? What does she long for? What hurts her, what heals her? What lives in her silence? And even more importantly: What have I never allowed myself to feel? What do I fear in intimacy?


It begins when men slow down enough to listen — not to respond, fix, or impress, but to witness. To get curious. To step into emotional labor not as a task, but as a bridge.


Women, too, are part of the healing. It is not their job to fix men — but they can invite depth, model emotional courage, set boundaries that protect reciprocity, and speak the truth even when it shakes the room. Women can also unlearn the belief that they must earn love through sacrifice. True love begins when both people show up as people — not as saviors, not as servants.


Together, we heal by breaking the silence around how love has been distorted. We begin again, in the small moments — in eye contact, in asking better questions, in creating safety for truth. We heal when men stop striving to have a good woman, and start striving to know her.


Only then does love become what it was always meant to be: alive, mutual, liberating — not a transaction, but a transformation.

x

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