Modern Education System

In today’s world educational qualifications and degrees are considered a step towards success, and people everywhere in every social class put in their best efforts to get their children the best private education possible. Since they believe that educational qualification is the only true path to achievement in life.
But do they ever ask themselves whether how much reality is there in this idea. A brief history of the advent of mass education system is that, this institution was built to cater to the needs of modern industrialization, the time when factories and big manufacturing industries were built, there was a need for qualified labour to operate machinery and be trained to work under a boss and take orders.
The invention of the education system was thus the best possible way to get these industries and their owners’ profits. So this system started educating people, or may we say, brainwashing people to work for a certain period of time, in certain manners, and accept orders from their owners, who in return paid them little money for their hard work and lifestyle change.
Of course this was a great idea for the progress of economy at that time, as skilled labour was more important than the nourishment of a creative minds to invent and build.
But today, in the postmodern world, where the service industry is more progressive than the manufacturing industry, what we need is creative brains, nourished with ideas, and not those hard working, semi-skilled or skilled labour. We need inventors and business men with the ability to take risks and create.
The basic reason for their not being enough jobs is because as time passes, technology takes-over, and robots are more efficient in doing the same tasks that once were done by human hands, thus the need for labour and rule following workers has dropped. Today we need humans who can come up with ideas better than the ones from the past, and take the risks to build their own businesses. The way to do that is to stop looking for guarantees and job securities, and work for getting to the top.
It is easier to start-up today than it was in the past, according to a study, 1700 people are becoming millionaires in America every day. And the world is progressing at the speed far greater than that of light. I believe, it is better for us to push our boundaries and explore our abilities, because every individual is capable of more than they think they are.
As Pablo Picasso said: ‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.’ Thus each one of us should look for our personal inner artist. And nourish him to make him capable, since that inner artist is our true self. And the one who loses themselves losses everything.
Art has a lot of forms, art has forms more than the stars in the sky. And by recognising which form is yours, success will be just one step away. And that step is to implement what you have recognised.

Full Stop

I told him, I cared about his work more than he did, and it was a tongue slip. I did not mean to say it but it came out that way. I believed it to be true because it was true because I wasn’t consciously saying that. Yet I destroyed it, it was in front of me and I destroyed it, he trusted me and I broke it. I disappointed myself more than I disappointed him. I felt broken and sad and helpless. I was better off being completely helpless. I tried. But I was ignorant.

I care, but I proved otherwise. I am naive, it is worst to say and destroy rather than just destroy. But earlier on I criticized someone who ruined something of mine, and I was mean to him, and it was karma which worked against me. Now I can’t show him my face. I can’t see his. I can’t face him at all. I have lost all my chances. I never get a second chance

I don’t want a second chance. It will be true to just look at him from a far. And never get near. I don’t want to hurt him again. I love him. But wait, about how many have I used the word love? Am I real with this? I have made this word so mediocre. I hate me for it. But do I really hate me? Because if I did. I would be dead. Am I even sincere? No I am not. What am i? I don’t know. I have feelings for him. I want to see him succeed. I want him to be the artist. My friend called him a stud. Yes he is. And what am I a big blob of flesh. Yes I am. I am despicable. Everyone in my life seems to despise me including me.

Acting like a hopeless romantic isn’t going to cut into anything. I want him to be something great which he is and is capable of more than this. But I am not going to be piercing into his life anymore. And the solution to all of my problems seems to be silence. If only I could condition myself into being silent, and listening to all. I need to stay silent, observe, and work on my life and my body.

Talk about body: If this is actually love the way I feel at the moment is supposed to make me a little more than slim, and that is skinny. I do love him. I will keep living him. And keep these feelings alive, I shall never tell him. I shall stay secretive. I will keep it in my heart hidden in the safest place so that no one can take it out of me. I will stay this way, this will be my success. It is amazing how the minutest thing as a dot can actually become a full stop. And this is a stop.


The Old, Old Wine by Khalil Gibran

Once there lived a rich man who was justly proud of his cellar and the wine therein. And there was one jug of ancient vintage kept for some occasion known only to himself.

The governor of the state visited him, and he bethought him and said, “That jug shall not be opened for a mere governor.”

And a bishop of the diocese visited him, but he said to himself, “Nay, I will not open that jug. He would not know its value, nor would its aroma reach his nostrils.”

The prince of the realm came and supped with him. But he thought, “It is too royal a wine for a mere princeling.”

And even on the day when his own nephew was married, he said to himself, “No, not to these guests shall that jug be brought forth.”

And the years passed by, and he died, an old man, and he was buried like unto every seed and acorn.

And upon the day that he was buried the ancient jug was brought out together with other jugs of wine, and it was shared by peasants of the neighborhood. And none knew its great age.

To them, all that is poured into a cup is only wine.

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She is addicted. She is fine. She isn’t fine. She doesn’t know. Yet she knows. She cares. She is taken care of. She smokes. She breathes. She drinks and eats. Yet everyday her addiction increases, her heart beats faster, she tries to stay normal. But then she thinks to herself this isn’t normal. But what is normal, and what is the reason? She can’t answer that. She can only ask. She is superficial, double faced and very judgmental. She is kind, open hearted and loving. She is normal. Because normal is a word of great meaning.

From time to time, she has flashbacks. She judges herself, her memories and her life.  She thinks of all the things she has messed up. Everyone she has hurt. But there is no way to make things right, because time has passed, days have become nights. But little does she acknowledge how right now is.

She remembers all the ex-boyfriends she has had, and she knows there is no one she loved. Yet when she was asked if the words of the song playing in the background had any meaning for her, she had said yes. A yes that was confident. A yes that meant, “YES”. But the truth remains as it is. She had never felt for anyone. Or maybe she did, but her conscience was never ready to accept. Her conscience believed she was a sinner and a liar. And this is why, on this day, as she sat and wrote everything that was anything. She was imagining herself in a place that was beyond her reach and yet so close. It was out in the universe yet in her heart. It was in the arms of the man standing right next to her. “If only I was prettier, and better as a person. If only I could be something he would want. If only I had a heart which was pure. If only I was as smart and intelligent to be considered an option.” She knew she was better. Better than all people and all women in her sight. But she had a past filled with darkness. She was comfortable being there. She couldn’t step out of it. It was her home. And he was light. She had recognized the light way long ago.  Yet she opted for the darkness. She chose darkness. She slept with darkness. She regretted her existence and walked back in to darkness.

But now as she sits and writes everything that was anything. She has finally realized, she want his light. She wants to be his home. The person he would come back to and never want to leave. But she knows it is beyond her reach so she decides: “I will watch, I will attend, admire and care. But I will do all from afar and never near. I might not be in love now, I might be heartless now. But he is whom I want. He is the one I want to love. May I fall so deep and never return. This may be my wish and I will forever yearn.”


The Statue by Khalil Gibran

Once there lived a man among the hills who possessed a statue wrought by an ancient master. It lay at his door face downward and he was not mindful of it.

One day there passed by his house a man from the city, a man of knowledge, and seeing the statue he inquired of the owner if he would sell it.

The owner laughed and said, “And pray who would want to buy that dull and dirty stone?”

The man from the city said, “I will give you this piece of silver for it.”

And the other man was astonished and delighted.

The statue was removed to the city, upon the back of an elephant. And after many moons the man from the hills visited the city, and as he walked the streets he saw a crowd before a shop, and a man with a loud voice was crying, “Come ye in and behold the most beautiful, the most wonderful statue in all the world. Only two silver pieces to look upon this most marvelous work of a master.”

Thereupon the man from the hills paid two silver pieces and entered the shop to see the statue that he himself had sold for one piece of silver.


Khalil Gibran Museum at Bchare in Lebanon

Music Playlist #1

I recently got addicted to a few songs, and here I share the top 10 on my playlist:

  1. Justin Timberlake: What Goes Around Comes Around
  2. Justin Timberlake: Mirrors
  3. Outlandish: Calling You
  4. Imagine Dragons: Whatever It Takes
  5. Coldplay: Hymn For The Weekend
  6. Imagine Dragons: Demons
  7. Massari: Real Love
  8. Duke Dumont: Ocean Drive
  9. Konoba: On Our Knees
  10. 5 Seconds Of Summer: Youngblood


Santiago Calatrava (Architect)

It is extraordinary, that one man can have so many capabilities.

As for my subject of interest today is the Architectural Structures by Santiago Calatrava. A man who is not only an architect, but also a structural designer, analyst engineer, sculptor and painter. He is well-known for his bridges, railway stations, stadiums and museums, whose sculptor forms often resemble living organisms.

His designs are both minimalist as well as very fluid in form. And above all, a sense of musical rhythm enhances the beauty of his structures.

Samuel Beckett Bridge

The bridge, which cost €60 million, is named for Irish writer Samuel Beckett, and is designed by Santiago Calavtrava, who was assisted by Roughan & O’Donovan consulting engineers.

Samuel Beckett (Day view)

The Bridge is designed in the form of an Irish harp, respiring a sense of music into the atmosphere. While it may also look like a sword fish peaking out of the river surface, as absurd as it sounds.

It is a moving signature bridge of Dublin. Can rotate up to 90 degrees horizontally. On a practical level, the bridge provides an important river crossing, joining Guild Street on the north bank to Sir John Rogerson’s Quay on the south, and facilitates a smoother, more rational flow of traffic within the city.

It is a beautiful, simplistic and dynamic structure based on contemporary style and conceptual tradition.

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(Night View)

(Further read)




I recently started painting in acrylics.


What happens is: When you start to learn how to use acrylics, for the first time, it just intimidates you a little at the start of the learning process. The first time you mix paints, to form colors is difficult, and the horror of destroying your first canvas takes over your heart and mind to the extent of numbness. But Worst than that is: forgetting how to paint after making some very remarkable paintings, and picking up the brush again.

It took me exactly two years to try again. But. Finally I did. And I love it. I was so scared. I couldn’t even open the tube of paint and put it on a pallet.

Whenever I wanted to paint, I would divert my thoughts into making room for painting. I would clean my desk. Set my cups of water, and brushes and paints on the table. Placing the brushes in order, first on the left of the canvas, and than on the right. Still not satisfied, and I will take out an old mug and place all my brushes there. Subconsciously trying to waste as much time before I could get rid of the idea. And never actually making a move to do it.

But Then..

I did it. Once. I didn’t set up anything, and simply took out the paints, placed them on the table as randomly as I could. Took out one single brush, squeezed the paint on the pallet and simply started. I didn’t waste anytime in over thinking my thirst for perfection and realism. And I painted and destroyed the canvas. But that didn’t stop me. And I moved on to letting it dry, and painted over it.

And, now, a month later, I have two beautiful works that I am proud of. And one of them is extremely detailed.

So, to get over the Artist’s block. ‘Sit’, and ‘Start’.

And of course, it is quite a struggle, to start. But it is worth it. The results are fantastic. And if you have a problem with colors, remember: