inspirational Women of Pakistan

Ayesha Farooq is the first combat ready female fighter pilot in the Pakistani Air Force. She has felt welcomed and encouraged by her squadron in which she is the only female. This is in contrast to the attitude of many of her relatives.

''All too often, we women take our gender as a liability; it is our strength’’ 

Sharmin Obaid Chinoy is a Pakistani film maker who has made various documentaries. Her most recent work, 3 Bahadur, follow three children who save their community from a group of thugs. This film not only makes girls feel empowered, due to the female main character, but also shows the problems people are facing. Her short documentary, Humaira The Dream Catcher, is about a young girl who has set up a school in her village and is educating women about their rights. The negative mindset concerning education of girls seems to be from the men in the village who themselves haven't had much education showing that the root of the problem is lack of resources and illiteracy due to lack of education. The problem is not as black and white as some of the western world may think.

Zahida Zazmi, first female taxi driver in Pakistan. She has been a taxi driver since she became a widow with 7 children to care for. At first she kept a gun in the car and wore a burqa to feel safe. However once she was well-established she did neither and the reaction of police at chekpoints in rural, tribal areas such as the Swat Valley has been one of curiosity and amazement rather than negativity. She makes passengers of both genders feel secure and relaxed.

‘‘I am old but my courage is young’’

Pakistan is a country that receives mainly bad press. True it has a long way to go in terms of social change and getting rid of corruption. However with so much negativity in the news we often forget the good. Things are not as black and white as they seem and the stereotype of Pakistan being a backwards country in terms of rights for women, corruption, and men's attitudes is a stereotype which shouldn't determine how we think about this country. There is much more to it than that. it is complex and beautiful and women are not the only ones in Pakistan fighting for change and equality.

Poem - Books

I can take you on a journey to a world so enticing you can't put me down.
I can touch your heart, make you laugh or cry
I can inspire and make your imagination run wild
I am full of knowledge and stories so precious
So don't ignore me

Poem- The beach

Waves crash against the rocks peeping out of the sea.
A boat bobs up and down by them, twirling round every so often.
The voices of young children mingle with the cries of birds.
A group of young boys laugh as they run towards the waves then dive into them.
A bird lands on the beach, casting an inquisitive at his surroundings.
Young children greet the tourists, asking them questions.
What´s your name? Where do you come from?

A new adventure

Go on a journey, I dare you.
Challenge yourself to do something new even if it scares you.
You never know what you may find found the corner.
Take a path different to those already travelled.
Or better still, create a new one.
Go on a journey, I dare you.
You may surprise yourself.

Extract from Book- 'A Study of A Girl'

Extract from Book

Quiet, peaceful, the fields stretch out into the horizon. The sun sends rays of warmth down onto the backs of the laughing group of people playing tag. One of the adults is it. He waits, looking round at the rest of the group. Everyone is smiling, wondering who he will go for. He lingers for a few more seconds. Suddenly he lunges for the little girl who runs as fast as she can. She looks over her shoulder. He is catching up. Laughing, the girl tries to run faster but he is too fast for her. He catches up to her, grabs her, and lifts her up. She is laughing as he puts her down.

She hears a shout. She thinks it’s just a dream and lays her head onto the pillow. She wakes. Something is wrong. She walks into the dining room, a sinking feeling in her stomach. That shout was not a dream. She finds out the news. She cannot cry even though she wants to. Her heart refuses to accept it yet her mind tells her she must.

She moves among people like a ghost. She is present yet not really there. On the face of it everything seems normal. Her mannerisms remain unchanged. Her friends notice some difference yet not enough to be worried about her. Yet though she seems engaged with the world around her, inside is a different story. She feels more distant from her friends than she has ever felt before. She feels she is slowly drifting away from everyone and everything. She wants to scream, to hit something; she wants to release all these negative feelings but she can’t. Something is stopping her. Every time she feels she will open up, an invisible barrier appears. She can’t get the right words out. Her friend says something that makes her laugh. She pushes her negative feelings to one side. She wants to be happy. She wants to forget. But then the feelings come back stronger. They build up every time she tries to push them away. She feels guilt. She is supposed to be able to tell her best friend, whom she has told everything in the past, but she can’t tell her what is eating her up inside. She can’t tell those closest to her how she feels but it is not supposed to be like that. She feels like she is pushing people away when she shouldn’t be. She should be doing the opposite. She is a prisoner of her own grief; trapped with no way out. She doesn’t feel completely herself anymore. She feels like a stranger. She wants to escape these feelings. She needs to find a way to escape this prison. She closes her eyes and imagines . . .

This is an extract from my book I was writing for NaNoWriMon which I unfortunately couldn't finish be cause life decided to get in my way. Hopefully I will be able to finish it over the christmas holidays and edit it. 

The Prisoner (poem)

A prisoner sits waiting in a small damp cell, with nothing but darkness and rats fro company.
His heart is cold, with nothing left inside.
He has committed no crime, yet must pay for someone else's actions.
He waits for death to come and take him, who he shall welcome with all his empty heart.

The Hooded Stranger

 The smoke from the burning incense danced around the objects sitting on the shelves. A pair of small eyes watched me as I walked along the creaking floorboards of the old shop; there were objects of all sorts scattered around the shelves-some sat in corners gathering dust, and there were some objects whose beauty wasn’t apparent when looked at from a distance, but, on closer inspection, one could see that they had been made with love. But they all had something in common. It felt like each object had their own story and each felt like they had, somehow, been special to someone. This was one of the reasons my love for this shop was so strong.

But it wasn't the only reason. It was one of the few places where I felt calm and at peace. Somewhere I could gather my thoughts, away from the noise and chaos surrounding the streets. Recently, I had been coming here more often. Ever since I first saw the shop a couple of years ago I felt drawn to it and since then I had been returning regularly. But in the last few weeks the attraction had become stronger.

As I glanced at the street, I saw a hooded figure standing on the opposite side. Inexplicably I felt a chill creep over me. I couldn’t see the stranger’s face, but I knew he was watching me closely. He was wearing old and tattered clothes, and his cloak was dark and worn. He didn't seem like he was from around this part of the town. My heart started to beat faster and I forced myself to calm down. Questions were flooding into my mind: who was he? Why is he watching me? Does he know me, and if so, how? I looked away from him for a split second, took a deep breath then looked back. He had disappeared.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had stepped out into the street looking for the stranger. Stalls full of bright jewellery and scarfs lined the street, shopkeepers called to me, inviting me in to see what they had to offer, young children ran along the street chasing each other, flashing bright smiles at me as they passed. In the distance I could hear drums and people singing. Suddenly I saw the hooded figure disappear down a dark alleyway slightly ahead of me. I was filled with excitement and fear. But nonetheless a small voice inside me urged me to turn back. I knew nothing of the stranger-I could be getting myself into danger if I followed him. But my curiosity diminished the small voice of reason inside my head. The danger thrilled me. I was stepping into the unknown. But there was something else I was dimly aware of. When I had first seen him I had felt a pull towards him. It was the same attraction I felt towards the shop. I wanted to know why.

I hurried down the alleyway, excitement building up inside me. I ignored the sea of rats crawling over my shoes and the smell of sewage. I followed the stranger into a small square and paused as he slipped into a inn ahead of me. I took note of my surroundings-just in case.The houses looked run down and old, this was obviously one of the poorer areas of town. The only noise was the sound of water trickling out of a fountain in the middle of the square. As I watched the light dance on the surface of the water I began to feel a bit drowsy. I tried to force it away but I couldn’t control it. The last thing I saw before sleep took me was a figure coming towards me.

                                                                                *****

Blurred figures moving ahead of me. The buzz of conversation surrounding me. Someone touches my arm but I am unable to focus. I want to shout, to scream, to get up and run. More shouts nearby. They move further, and further, and further away. My mind slipsaway from my surroundings as I close my eyes once again.

The Dream

The wind whispers to me softly as it caresses my skin.
The light shines through the leaves creating dancing patterns on the ground.
laughter fills the air and I see a young girl running through the trees, running her hands along the trees
I feel the urge to join her, to shout with joy.

Suddenly the sky grows dark.
Grey mist crawls along the the forest floor and cold air wraps itself around me.
The young girl stands infront of me, her eyes no longer shining as she silently weeps.

In her eyes I see an image of a man with skin with cold, calculating eyes void of all emotion.
His eyes seem to see right into my soul sending shivers down my spine.
I want to scream but his power over me is too much.
I watch helplessly as his mouth twists into a sneer.
He is the one in control and I can do nothing but watch.

I wake up.

Tears roll down my cheeks as I give myself over to grief.
I cannot stop the sudden rush of memories.
I have tried to forget.
I have tried to take the pain of my past and lock it away in the corner of my mind.

But the past never truly leaves you.
You can't escape from it forever.
Sooner or later it will find you.
It remains lurking in the background.
It's like a shadow.
It haunts you like a ghost.

Short Story-There is nothing heroic in dying for your country

My mind was in turmoil. How could this have happened? They had assured me that all would go to plan. All it had taken was one minor slip up and everything fell apart.  My hands were shaking and I couldn't sit still. I would have to go on the run. I knew I wouldn't be able to trust anyone. But was there any point? Those men would stop at nothing to get me and I knew that sooner or later they would find me.

I put my head in my hands trying to calm myself.
   "Excuse me. Are you alright?"
I raised my head to find a young waitress looking at me with concern written all over her face. Tears pricked my eyes yet I wouldn't allow them fall. She had such a kind face I felt like pouring my heart out to her. I wanted to life the heavy burden on my shoulders. I wanted to tell her about the pain I felt. I could still hear the screams which were like daggers that pierced my heart. I could still remember their faces as if it were only a second ago I was in that prison cell not knowing whether I would make it out alive and return home to my beloved England. I remembered the emptiness in their eyes as they stared at the sea of rats which crawled over their feet not seeming to care whether they lived or died. I smiled at the waitress assuring her I was fine though I was far from it.

I looked around the cafe. Two teenage girls were laughing hysterically clutching their stomachs. An old lady shot a disapproving look at them as she sipped her cup of tea. A young man ran past in pursuit of his dog whose eyes were filled with excitement as it charged down the street. How I envied them. I missed having a normal life. I had often wondered whether I had made the right decision.

My mind wandered back to my first mission briefing. I had been so nervous yet keen to impress. I was so young and naive. All I thought about was becoming a hero and saving my country. But medals mean nothing to me now. After my first mission I was a changed man and my past is now haunted by the many horrors I have faced.

I caught the eye of the young waitress who had approached me earlier. She was watching me carefully and I gave her another smile. I felt uneasy yet I didn't know why. Suddenly someone laid a hand on my shoulder.Without thinking I got up and ran. Everything around me was a blur. I ignored the shouts as I crashed into market stalls sending items flying in every direction. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears and I could feel my skin heating up. The wind whistled by and whipped my face. Then suddenly I was in the middle of a road. Tyres screeched. I heard shouts. Car horns blasted at me from all sides. Then a shot. My feet left the ground and I found myself lying on my back in something wet which was seeping through my jacket. I could see blurred faces above me and my vision slowly faded.

They were wrong. There is nothing heroic in dying for your country.

Life

Life for you, (who we are) has been less than kind
So take a number, (who we are) stand in line
We've all been sorry, (who we are) we've all been hurt
But how we survive, (who we are) is what makes us who we are
Song: Survive
Band: Rise Against

D of E-last day

Feet sore
Back aches
Mind empty
Muscles begging to stop
The fog creates illusions and false hopes
The mud waiting to trap passerbys
The spitting rain is cold and gentle on our skin.
The thought of a warm shower is the fuel which keeps us going

Up the hill (poem)

The sun beats down on our backs
The soft breeze wraps around us and dances between our fingers
We reach the hill which looms above us.
Time seems to strech out.
Seconds become minutes, minutes feel like hours.
All thoughts have left my mind.
I concentrate on putting one foot infront of the other.
I look ahead and for a second my heart is filled with joy as it seems I have nearly reached the top
Yet the smile vanishes from my face as I realise I have been decieved.
I battle on through the last stages of the climb.
Finally I reach the top.

by Sara Montgomery

Banksy

At London Zoo, he climbed into the penguin enclosure and painted "We're bored of fish" in 7-foot-high (2.1 m) letters.




The three images above are three of the nine images Bansky painted onto the Israeli West Bank Barrior in 2005. Banksy's spokeswoman said ''The Israeli security forces did shoot in the air threateningly and there were quite a few guns pointed at him."

andy goldsworthy inspired pieces

When I went on an art trip with my class we went to the beach and made sculptures inspired by Andy Goldsworthy.

The above sculpture was made by me and a couple of my friends.

My thoughts for the day

So I was coming back from the gymn and i started thinking about people's obssesion with staying young and getting the ''perfect body'' which according to alot of people is a flat tummy. There are so many television programs about staying young or looking younger. You don't need to get a flat stomach and be a size zero or six to look good. When I look at models on the runway they look like they are about to snap.

Also, i think my laptop has a will of it's own and it seems to not want to work for me all the time anymore. Maybe it has an evil side and it's plotting...if that's even possible..okay I think I had better stop because if I go on the next thing I know I will be typing complete nonsense which is actually rather fun.

Another thing I find entertaining is doing air guitar at a disco to Bon Jovi Living on a Prayer.

Band: Nickleback
Song: If today was your last day

My favourite lyrics from the song:

My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride

Class presentation(poem)

This poem is based on when I had to to talks in english class when i was younger and I always got so nervous. This is basically how I felt.

The voices seem distant.
My skin feels hot.
Palms sweaty.
Heart racing so fast
My mind crowded with thoughts.
I can't concentrate on anything.
I want to fade into the background.
A voice in the distant is calling me.
It's coming closer and closer.
I am back in the classroom.
All heads turned in my direction.
Eyes watch me as i walk to the front.
I can feel their eyes on me, looking right through me.
I open my mouth but no sound comes out.
I know what they are all thinking.
I can see them laughing at me inside.
My hands shake.
I begin my talk.

The Forest, another poem

The Forest
The sun shines through the leaves creating patterns of dancing light.
Green vines wrap themselves around the tree trunks, climbing higher and higher
The birds sing songs of joys as they build their nests in the tall trees.

The branches cast shadows in the moonlight.
The only sound is a whisper as the cool breeze dances around the leaves.
Darkness moves through the trees changing all that crosses its path.

By Sara Montgomery

Go open the door(poem)

Go open the door
outside there is laughter, running feet on the dry grass
Three children, hidden secrets beneath those smiles
Or perhaps you see the sea rising up, devouring anything in its way
Or maybe you can see a small girl
Her eyes emptry, her heart cold stone
She moves among people like a ghost

by Sara Montgomery