France, England and the devil fighting alongside the saint (part 2)
In the first part of this article, I brought up the topic of "the invasion of Normandy" and its repercussions on Germany. Furthermore, I also discussed the consequences of the before mentioned battle on the diplomatic relations between France and England. A flourished relation that culminated in linking both countries together through the English Channel. You can read the first part here. https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/france-england-and-the-devil-fighting-alongside-the-saint-part-1-2d33ab50
A thorough look into the past, however, would reveal that before the 1900's, the relations between England and France were far from amicable as the two were actually foes for hundreds of years. The last millennium, for instance, is inundated with feuds that rightly serves as testaments to this claim: the Saintonge war (1242-1243); the Guyenne war (1294-1303); a series of four wars which was part of the Italian wars (1494-1559); the seven years war (1756-1763) and on a more recent note, the Anglo-French war from the Napoleonic wars (1803-1815),
Mind you, the list of feuds goes on and on, and the examples I have mentioned above are to name but a few.
Nevertheless, and amid this plethora of wars, there is one in particular that stands out, for it was one of the longest and most notable throughout the late middle ages. A war that the main belligerents of which were five generations of sovereigns from two rival, yet blood related dynasties. Of course, I'm referring to the Hundred Year's war (1337-1453).
The root causes of this war between the then kingdoms can be traced to the second half of the 11th century when William The Conqueror (also known as William The Bastard), the Duke of Normandy, invaded England and took over the throne after defeating the English King Harold II. This became known later as 1066's Norman conquest of England.
William The conqueror, a Frenchman by origin, ruled England as William I, and hence became the ancestor of an English Royal family of French descent, the monarchs of which still had titles and lands within their homeland France. A matter that the French monarchies deemed unacceptable and threatening to the kingdom's unity. As a result, they opted to strip away these lands from the English whenever the opportunity arose. This, in itself, was a source of great tension between both dynasties.
In 1328, Charles IV of France died and had no brothers or sons to succeed him. In addition to that, his two daughters and sister, Isabella, were all excluded from succession on account of the Salian law which disallowed female inheritance of the throne. Consequently, and by the rule of proximity of blood, the closest male relative of the late King is to be declared the next monarch. That, in this case, was ought to be Isabella's son and Charles' nephew, Edward III of England.
When Edward's mother staked her claim to the throne for her son, the French dismissed her claim. Once again, Their refusal was based on the Salian law, stating that "women can by no means transmit a right they do not originally possess."
The before mentioned law, however, was not the French's only motive to deny Edward the crown.
In a matter of fact, Edward, the eldest surviving son of Edward II, was slated to succeed his father to the English throne. A profile that, to say the least, was not appreciated by the neighboring kingdom who feared for its sovereignty. Hence, the French opted to proclaim Philip VI, a native Frenchman and a paternal cousin of Charles IV, king of France.
Initially, Edward protested the decision but soon relinquished his and his mother's demands and even recognized Philip as France's sovereign. The latter was crowned and reigned with little to no opposition until 1337, when he endeavoured to strip Edward of Gascony, the last English possessed land in France. This assault was the spark that set the war ablaze, prompting Edward to renew and press his previous claim to the throne. But this time, by force and strong-arm tactics, proclaiming war between the two kingdoms.
Over the years, each side petitioned its allies for their support, drawing them into a feud that first emerged as a strife over the French throne, but hastily broadened into a struggle of power throughout Western Europe. For instance, the kingdoms of Scotland, Bohemia and Portugal, among many others, were all involved in one phase or another of the conflict.
The hundred years war, which in reality lasted for 116 years, was punctuated with several truces, dividing it into three major phases:
The Edwardian war (1337-1360); The Caroline war (1369-1389) and the Lancastrian war (1415-1453). I will not dwell much on the first two for the sake of not rendering this article longer than it should. However, suffice it to say that the English had the upper hand to their rivals during the Edwardian Phase. This is manifested in taking the French King, John II, captive. This phase is also notably marked by a pandemic that spread through Europe, including England: the black death (1347-1351).
As for the Caroline war, the Frenchmen relatively regained control over the situation, liberating most of the lands Edward had seized. These victories, however, would eventually ground to a halt on the wake of several crisis that overburdened the already troubled kingdom.
By 1415, following the loss of half of its population to the plague, France was flailing amid acute social and economic upheavals exacerbated by a civil war that broke out a few years earlier. The English -on whom the impact of the pandemic was, in a way, smaller- seized upon the opportunity to subdue the vulnerable foes. Pummeled by the black death and the defeats they conceded, fear and despair were rampant amid a French kingdom that became a mere shadow of what it was a century ago.
France, England and the devil fighting alongside the saint (part 1)
During the early stages of world war II, Adolf Hitler, Germany's leader and its Führer, planned and successfully executed the invasion of France which, in the wake of its crucial defeat in 1940's "Battle of France", fell into the clutches of the Nazis in a matter of weeks. In the aftermath, France was not only coerced to formally surrender, but to sign the France-German Armistice of June 22, 1940 as well.
This victory, for the jubilant Third Reich, was a striking triumph on account of its significance and outcome: first, they vanquished one of Germany's main, neighbouring enemies that was among the first to declare war on the Nazis following the latter's invasion of Poland in late 1939.
Second, France's defeat and eventual surrender were, of course, a major blow that shattered the Frenchmen's pride. Yet just as degrading was the Armistice they were compelled to sign, which in reality, was closer to an annexation treaty; basically, it divided France into two zones: a German occupied military zone in the North and west, while the remainder, roughly two fifths of the country, was left to the French in full sovereignty. Or at least, nominally so.
Last but not least, and by the establishment of the occupation zone, Hitler was granted what he was longing for: a firm foothold the Nazis could exploit as their base to sweep Western Europe as a whole. A region which they already began to subdue at that point.
In short, the Battle of France was a "hitting several birds with one stone" kind of victories for the Germans. However, on the other side of the equation, the lost battle brought France on its knees, rendering it under the mercy of the merciless Führer. And despite the subsequent attempts of the French resistance, their country would remain occupied for the longer part of the WWII.
On the other Bank of the English Channel, the English officials were disgruntled, if not appalled, by the German encroach upon the French territories and sovereignty. Not at least for the humiliation they sustained when the Nazis forced the British troops off the content. But furthermore, they feared the serious repercussions of the occupied zone which, due to its closeness, became an ideal starting point of the German attacks on the British isles, and hence, a perpetual threat to Britain's safety,
By 1944, for this and other reasons that goes beyond the scoop of this article, the prevalent atmosphere in the region, as in the whole world, was one of tension, and an other brutal, decisive battle was in the wind again: liberating France, foiling Hitler's plans and put a stop to his overgrown power and ambitions in conquering Europe were the aim for England and its allies. Though on the Germans' end, it was to tighten their grip on Western Europe and go on with conquering the remainder of the content with little to no resistance.
On June 6, 1944, roughly a few days before the fourth anniversary of the "Battle of France", Britain, alongside the United States and Canada mainly, launched the " Operation Overlord", a codename for what would be commonly known as "The Invasion of Normandy" or simply the "D-day". With the objective of liberating the German-held coast of northern France, this allied onslaught consisted in landing over a 156 000 troops on the coast of Normandy in the early hours of morning, and was associated with airborne operations to ensure the mission's success.
I deem it noteworthy to showcase the fact that the amphibious invasion was, and still is, the largest of its kind in history, and is a testament to how crucial this operation was in changing the course of WWII.
After nearly 3 months of ferocious battles, bloodshed and a death toll in the aftermath that, depending on the source, fluctuates between 25000 and 39000 belligerent and civilian, the Invasion of Normandy resulted in the Allie's victory and a full retreat of the Germans out of France, leaving behind dozens of thousands of captured soldiers in the hands of fate.
Essentially, this battle was fundamental as it paved the way to liberate all Western Europe afterwards. But also on account of its repercussions on the Third Reich which was never resilient enough to endure the costly loss of territories and therefore the natural resources, especially with several taxing battles ongoing on other fronts.
In hindsight, this defeat was the beginning of the end of Nazi Germany, for it was one of many defeats to come that, hand in hand with the wrong choices he made, inexorably led to Hitler's downfall less than a year later.
In 1949, four years after the WWII came officially to an end, Germany was on the brisk facing the ill fated consequences of losing the war. As fate would have it, and for occupation purposes, the country was decided into four zones by the four main Allies: Britain in the northwest, France in the southeast, the United States in the South and the Soviet Union occupied the East zone. The British, American, French zones combined made up Western Germany, while Eastern Germany comprised the Soviet zone.
This partition, as such, was much more than a "fitting" settlement of a dispute, or a mere "punishment" to the Germans for their "deeds"; it basically mirrored the unspoken feud between the communist East and capitalist West. Consequently, the partition was a sufficient condition for the emergence of the cold war, the center of which was an already torn to shreds Germany where all had to be rebuild anew. Needless to say, as the primary scene of the weaponless clash between the West and East, when the divisions between the two became more pronounced, so did Germany's division, rendering its two parts almost two entirely different countries. This would remain the case until the collapse of the Soviet Union forty years later.
In the meanwhile, and due to England's essential role in liberating France, the diplomatic relations between the two flourished as both countries became close allies and on very good terms, which in 1994, culminated in the construction of the "Channel Tunnel"; a partially submerged tunnel across the English Channel that links England, throughout France, to the European continent. The tunnel is claimed as one of the modern world wonders.
Keep in mind though, the idea of linking both countries is nothing new and dates back to the days of Napoleon. Back then, the English flatly refused the project lest, and perhaps rightly so, the French emperor would use it to invade England.
Family secret (part I)+ a short update
First of all, and before anything, I want to apologize for not being frequently active on this platform, and subsequently, barely writing any articles for the last couple of months. The reason for this "lazy" publishing schedule is that my PC had abruptly stopped working, and as it turned out later, the motherboard is damaged and in need to be replaced. The problem, however, is that replacing said motherboard is not really an easy fix and it is not practical either. It goes without saying that I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place at the moment with only one option left: I have to buy a new PC, which, considering my current financial situation, is out of question.
My second device, though, is not functioning correctly either; it has a faulty Wi-Fi which keeps alternating between going on and off as it wishes. As you can tell, and under this circumstances combined, I can not write my usual historical articles which requires plenty of research in order to provide the readers with accurate information about the topic. This is why, among other reasons, I opted to write something different this time, something that despite enjoying it, I haven't done for a quite a while and had totally slipped my mind. If you are an old subscriber of mine, you would know that I'm talking about writing fiction.
Although it is not much, what you would be reading next is the first part of a story I'm currently writing. It is not yet finished and there is still a lot to do. I want to know what you think of it before going on. So if you have any remarks, or want to just share your impression about it, please write it down in the comments section below and I promise to read them all as soon as I fix the problem mentioned beforehand. Hopefully, it will not take more than a few weeks to find a permanent solution for this dilemma.
****
The rays of sunlight sneaking through the window's open curtains woke her up as it crawled on her bare, pale skin. She looked around at her surroundings, rubbing her hazel eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to kick sleep away. She winced in displeasure as her pupils adjusted to the sudden brightness of the bedroom. By then, she was sleep dazed still. Yet, her sluggish, hardly functioning brain was trying to figure out an answer to a certain perplexity:
"Is it still morning? Or is it afternoon already?"
After quite a struggle, and plenty of huffs and puffs, she managed to drag herself to sit on the edge of the wooden bed. Fair to say, the girl was never deemed a paradigm of a "morning" person, and a quick glance at her was all what one might seek for a confirmation: with her repulsive frame of mind, her dishevelled, unkempt dark hair and especially the snarl on her otherwise fine, delicate features, she might had been offered to star in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, had he been still alive.
"God! Why everything has to be so bright today? This is not how a " Bright day" is ought to be!"
She moaned irately to herself, eyelids flickering as she endeavoured to make out the red, dazzling figures displayed on the screen of the alarm clock sitting nearer than a stone's throw from her bed. However, and at this point, her ears were operating much better than her eyes, and it was not as hard for her eardrums to discern the rumble reverberating from downstairs. Had she not already been awaken thanks to the curtains she was too lazy to draw last night, this uproarious cacophony would have done the job. Not to say that was never the case before in this household.
Right on cue, soothing, lulling music emanated from the alarm clock, filling the room with what most people would deem a lullaby rather than a 7am alarm. Not unexpectedly, no detective skills were required to determine why the girl was most likely to oversleep in each and every morning, and hence, the reason behind her coming to prominence as her highschool's "tardy".
Nevertheless, her recurrent belatedness was merely one of several behaviours which prompted her teachers, or " the bunch of idiots with a bunch of inane rules" as she often referred to them, to brand her as a delinquent trouble maker.
Granted, with such a rebellious behaviour, it was not hard to perceive why, in her teachers' point of view, she was a stereotypical embodiment of the disgruntled, blatant teenager; she was, more than anything else, a rebel who resented all kinds of "ties and bounds" imposed on her, claiming herself untamed by custom and rules, which, in her reasoning, were made to trample down. Furthermore, she boasted non stop about her free, "anti-meek" spirit and had no inhibitions about embracing spontaneity, rejecting conformity and living in the unconventional way she desired.
However, and if truth be told, her performance at school did by no mean reflect her behaviour, if not contradict it. That is to say, she did surprisingly well, and overall, the grades she maintained were better than those of many of her peers.
This unexpected academic excellence, which was the sole rational explanation for why her school never went further than acute reprimands to sanction her deeds, stemmed from her eagerness to resuscitate her chances of admitting into a prominent college after graduating high school next year. Not at least for the sake of a brilliant academic career, but also, and in her own words, to wrench herself away from whatever ill fate lashing her and her small, mundane hometown together. Although, and taking into account her discipline, she was aware that "resuscitate her chances" was not a figurative exaggeration. In the end, not so many top tier colleges would take interest in a student carrying a disciplinary file thicker than a dictionary. But that was a matter she decided to leave and worry about in due time.
Lady justice: blind or not?
Most of you have noticed the erected statue of a female at the entrance of several courts around the globe.
With a sword in one hand and a scale in the other, the daring woman looks as if imposing her authority on the place. That allegoric statue is known universally as "lady justice", a personification of the moral force of justice. Although not limited to courts alone, it is extended to judicial systems as a whole.
But how come justice is portrayed as a woman?
In a matter of fact, depicting justice as a female figure stems from ancient Greek mythology , where the goddess Dike, Zeus' daughter, and her mother Themis were worshipped as deities of Justice. In most depictions, Dike is portrayed with a scale suspending from her hand, while Themis, an embodiment of divine law and order, is often delineated as a woman wielding a sword. Therefore, it is no speculation to assume that lady justice is a merged personification of the two goddesses.
However, it is worth noting that the word " justice" is derived from the name of Roman deity "Justitia", the equivalent goddess of "Dike" in the Roman Pantheon.
As I mentioned beforehand, lady justice is associated with the sword and scale she carries in each and every statue of hers. The sword is to symbolize power; it is a reminder that justice is to be swift, decisive and crucial. The set of scales, on the other hand, denotes the balance between truth and fairness sought from justice. It is also a reference to the weight of gathered evidence given to justice, and whether or not they are significant enough to stand on their own during trial.
Even though this is a slight digression, I believe it is important to point out that depicting the scale as a symbol of justice is not limited to Romans and ancient Greeks alone. A similar depiction was found in a scene of "the book of the dead", a "scripture" which delineates ancient Egyptians' conception of what happens after death. In this particular scene, and for the deceased to make it to the eternal life, his heart is to be weighed on the scale of Maat, the goddess of truth and balance. If the heart weighs equally as much as the "feather of truth", the deceased shell pass to the afterlife. If not, he will be devoured by Ammit, a beast that is a mix of hippopotamus, Nile's crocodile, and lion.
As interesting as it is, this discussion is out of the original topic. So I refrain from taking it any further.
Other than the sword and scale, and starting from the middle of the 16th century, lady justice has been often depicted blindfolded. What does the blindfold represent, you might ask? Well, it is to emphasise the fact that "Justice is blind".
The expression " justice is blind" is to highlight justice's impartiality and objectivity. These notions are of utmost importance in any judicial system; they denote justice is to be applied under whatever circumstances, which, of course, shell take place after a fair trial based on facts and evidence. For that specific reason, justice has to be "blind". Otherwise, there would be no guarantee that acquaintances and relatives will not be treated better than strangers, and the same to be said about rich and poor people.
Then, allow me to ask the unavoidable question: is this really the case in nowadays' judicial systems?
The answer, in my humble opinion, is as clear as the sun in summer. Although I'm by no means an opthalmologist, but I don't think "medical diagnoses" are needed to tell that lady justice's sight is rather fine, but only under certain circumstances. To put it in words of one syllable, lady justice suffers from a rare and advanced case of colourblindness, where the severe visual issues "she" is dealing with has affected her vision of colors, rendering her blind to all but one particular color: green, the very distinguishable color of money and power.
Unless you are living in a eutopia of which I have never heard, it is not that hard to confirm that this "disease" is sadly chronic; it gnawed and is gnawing at each and every judicial system that has ever existed, even in places and countries we assume are most "civilised". The vast majority of those systems has harmed the poor in an acute, inordinate fashion. In most cases, lady justice has been turning her "blind eye" to the poor and wretched, while the rich and powerful got all of the attention.
To sum it up, and despite being the merged personification of ancient "goddesses", lady justice is not much different than a stripper: With a pile of money stacked on her scale, you would be the center of her show and she is all yours. Mind you though, the more zeroes printed on the banknotes, the clearer her vision becomes and the merrier you render her. After all, there is a reason why contact lenses has the same shape as zeroes.
Secrets on canvas (Part I)
There is so much more to painting than just shapes on canvas hanged on the wall; it is a way of communication through which painters can express their frame of mind, thoughts and believes to the audience. In addition to that, I might as well add that painting, in my humble opinion, is a form of visual literature: each painting is narrating a story. Hence, there is not much of a difference between a painter and a novelist; both of them are artists, employing their talents to create a vivid, detailed image of the story they are depicting. What really varies are the tools they use: while a painter uses brushes and oils, it is words and letters for a novelist.
Furthermore, painting was also of great importance to document historical events, especially before cameras were invented. The French painter Jacques-Louis David, for instance, was appointed as an "artistic director of the French revolution", and was given the task of depicting episodes and figures from both the French revolution and Napoleonic era. Of course, the integrity of some paintings of this kind is to be questioned, and should be taken with a grain of salt, as they may reflect the painter's account of the events instead of the real version. But I refrain from taking this discussion further, as this topic is beyond the scope of this article.
Other works of art, however, are shrouded to the core in mystery. Despite them depicting an explicit topic at the first glance, several paintings have secrets, or let us say untold messages which are not so easy to unveil. A previous article of mine can be an illustration to that, where I wrote about a painting predicting the rise of Adolf Hitler before he was even born. You can find more about it here.
As for today's read, we will turn the spotlight to a few more paintings as such, in an attempt to unravel the real stories concealed underneath the layers of oils on the canvas.
**I/ "Judith slaying Holofernes" by Artemisia Gentileschi:**
Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1656) was a female baroque artist from Rome in nowadays Italy. And I'm specifying her gender because in the seventeenth century, an era when woman had very low chances to peruse a professional artistic career, Artemisia managed to become one of the most accomplished painters at the time. She was also the first woman to ever obtain the membership of the "Accademia di Belle Arti di Firenze", the prestigious academy of fine arts of Florence.
Born to Orazio Gentileschi, a painter himself, Artemisia showed a remarkable artistic talent from an early age and it was polished by her father. By the age of 17, she was far ahead of her peers, already finishing her earliest surviving professional work: "Susanna and the Elders".
Artemisia, same as her dad Orazio, adopted Caravaggio's style for several of her works, and " Judith slaying Holofernes" is one good example of that. It is not hard to notice the skilled, dramatic use of light and shadow alongside with the realistic depiction of both physical and emotional states of the observed characters.
The painting portrays the biblical story of Judith, a Jewish widow of great charm and fortune, who used her beauty to lure than decapitate Holofernes, the general sent by the Assyrian King Nebuchadnezzar to oppress Judith's city of Bethulia. For baroque artists in particular, portraying the gory decapitation scene with graphic details was not unusual. To name but a few, Michelangelo da Caravaggio, Giovanni Baglione and Carlo Saraceni painted the same scene even before Artemisia did. So the topic of the painting is not what makes it special. It is, however, the facial features of both Holofernes and Judith which should be in the limelight.
Self-portraits were not unusual for Gentileschi, and it is commonly believed that she portrayed herself as Judith in this masterpiece. Furthermore, the slain Holofernes bears a striking resemblance to another contemporary Italian painter: Agostino Tassi. This hatred is a bit too much for the "competitive spirit", isn't it?
In a matter of fact, Agostino was Orazio's colleague. In 1611, they were both working on decorating one of Rome's palaces. Therefore, Tassi frequently visited the Gentileschi's household, and once he was alone with the 17-years-old Artemisia, he raped her. For the young artist, this was merely the beginning of months-long misery.
Tassi refused to marry his victim, which, according to the contemporary standards, would spare Artemisia the shame of being "unchaste" and would"restore her dignity". Orazio, her father, had no choice but to sue the rapist who took his only daughter's virginity. Little did he know that instead of doing her justice, the trial would grind the teenager down.
Over the course of the next seven months, and as a part of her testimony, Artemisia had to go through "the polygraph" of her time, which means she was subjected to torture in order to prove she was speaking the truth. This "lie detector" was essentially vice-like metal rings called thumbscrews, which were tightened as the young woman spoke to verify her testimony. Regardless of the agonizing pain this procedure caused, it also could have imperiled her blossoming painting career as well. On the other hand, Agostino, her assailant, was not required to undergo the same experience.
At the end of the trial, Tassi was found guilty and was convicted not only of the rape, but of planning to kill his wife, committing adultery with his sister-in-law and stealing some of Orazio's paintings as well. The court sentenced Agostino to exile from Rome. However, and much to Artemisia's dismay, the verdict was never carried out, and her rapist remained as free as air.
The sexual assault and the kangaroo court left their deep scars on Artemisia, which can be determined from almost every painting of hers. The biggest majority of her works depicts women as protagonist who were rebellious, shameless and powerful instead of the feminine traits of timidness, weakness and sensitivity. It is clear that Gentileschi did neither forget nor forgive Tassi for dishonoring her. In her testimony, the young baroque artist recounted the altercation and how, after he finished raping her, she pulled a knife on Agostino threatening to kill him. Although she did not went on with her threat, Artemisia decided to perpetuate her revenge with the masterpiece she painted. This is quite an artistic revenge.
With this being said, we come to an end to the first part of this article. In the upcoming read, we will discuss the secrets hidden in the works of one of the masters and the most famous painters of history: Leonardo da Vinci.
How to be happy in your life?
A couple of days ago, I was browsing a social media platform when I stumbled across a post which caught my attention and encouraged me to write this article; it was a status posted by a father in which he compared between his two daughters' academic careers and their current positions and social ranks. From the context of his status, it was very clear that he was impressed by one of the girls, and disappointed in the other.
First of all, and before addressing the topic of this article, I do not know why such a comparison was necessary to begin with. As someone who experienced it first hand, I can only tell you that comparing your children with each other will do more harm than benefit; not only this will spread jealousy, disdain and perhaps hatred among the siblings, but it will weaken their bonds with the parents as well. This father is literally putting the cat among the pigeons, so to speak.
But for now, let us not digress further and stick to the main topic.
In his said status, this man explained how graduating from college was an uphill battle for his first daughter, and how much she struggled to get her degree. However, the same girl, who almost dropped out school at some point, is now the proud founder and owner of a ****multi million dollar**** cosmetics company! Quite an impressive success indeed, and a great paradigm of never giving up the big dreams. Although, I believe her dad made the usual, common superstition of linking the academic performance to the future occupation/career. Both are not necessarily related and in many cases, school grades has little to nothing to do with how successful one's life is. There are plenty of examples of illiterate self made millionaires. But other than that, this father has every right to boast about his daughter's achievement.
On the other hand, there was his second daughter, the real trigger for me writing these lines.
This girl, unlike her sister, was a bright student. Or as her dad called her, a straight A student. According to him, she was clever and skilled which earned her a fully funded scholarship in a prestigious college. Yet much to everybody's surprise, this same girl is currently working as a kindergarten teacher earning as little as $35k per year. Compare that with the millions of dollars her sister is making running her company.
The father went further, explaining that the first daughter offered her sister to fill a high ranked position in the cosmetics company. An offer which the second daughter declined, claiming that she was happy with what she was doing to make a living. Her dad could not understand how could anyone miss such a chance and suspected if his daughter was thinking straight when she rejected the job.
Now let us agree first that this father, as the same as any parent, wants his daughter to aim higher and raise the level of her ambition , and he is probably right: she graduated from one of the elite colleges in their country, so starting a solid career should be easier for her than most. It is also understandable that the man wants her to secure her future financially, taking into account that $35k of yearly income is actually below average in their country of residence.
However, there is a key word which the father had mentioned but did not give it much thought: "she is ****happily**** employed as a kindergarten teacher, making $35k per year". Clearly, this is not a situation where she took the job due to the lack of options, and neither did she hate what she was doing; she just happened to enjoy teaching and be surrounded by children, regardless of the payment. As simple as that.
But how anyone could find happiness in such tiresome, noisy job where one is barely able to make a living?
Well, that is because not everyone is linking their happiness with money. Do not get me wrong though. This is not the usual cliché of "money is not important"or criticizing materialism. After all, whether we admit it or not, money is indeed important. The feeling of bitterness when lacking the money to buy what you need/want is not exactly a part of happiness, isn't it? Therefore, and although I agree that money alone does not bring happiness, I do also believe that it helps living a luxurious misery. My friend once said jokingly: " I know money will not make me happy, but I'm fine with crying in a Ferrari and wiping my tears with a roll of banknotes."
However, there is a persistent question in need of an answer: why many of those who are making tons of money are not happy with their lives, even though they can easily get whatever they want, while others are as happy as a lark with their lives even though they lack the privilege of owning a fortune?
In our neverending quest of searching for happiness, several of us set the bare high for themselves, chasing a dream which, in their minds, is the only way to become their happy selves they seek. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that kind of thinking: aiming for the stars is never a bad idea, especially when met with hard work and willingness to fulfill that dream at whatever cost. Yet is that the only road on the map of happiness? Definitely not.
The happiness that came with achieving big dreams is without a doubt enormous. Yet it is also very short lived; it gradually fades away with time mostly due to the responsibilities the comes with it. For instance, I bet that the first daughter felt on top of the world when she established her cosmetics company. But I highly doubt if she felt the same way after months of dealing with the huge responsibilities that came of running her own business. This is why I do strongly believe that happiness, the lasting one, comes from enjoying the little things and being grateful for what you have. Someone who makes tons of money will not be happy if they did not value what they have achieved.
I will not claim that the big moments in our lives are rare, but they are not frequent either. How many times in life you may found a multi million dollar business? How many times can you achieve your biggest dreams? If your happiness depends solely on major events as such, you wouldn't be happy quite often. Thus, the little things we do daily should be the source of real happiness. It is nothing complicated, stuffs like enjoying your morning coffee, watching the sunset, your daily jog, reading a good book, etc... Happiness is way simpler than most of us think it is.
However, keep in mind that I'm by no means hinting you to throw your dreams out of the window, not at all. In fact, I absolutely encourage you to aim as high as you could. What I'm trying to point out is being happy means being grateful for what you have. Never take anything for granted because nothing is granted in this life, and sadly, nothing lasts forever. We will never realise the importance of what we had until the moment we lose it.
Hitler's wild hunt: Odin's awakening and the religion of a psycho
For some English speakers, the term "Germanic" has been a subject of general misconception; it is often confused with the noun "German". Despite the likeness, the two terms are by no means synonyms and they can not be used interchangeably. For the sake of this article, the difference has to be pointed out.
" German" means belonging or relating to the country named Germany, its language, people, or culture. However, "Germanic" refers to people or tribes who are originated from northern Europe, with their own distinguished and common genetics and culture. The Germanic people are the ancestors of what are known today as Germans, Danes, Swedes, Norwegians and Icelanders.
From the times of Romans and until the last wave of migration in 1066 when the Normans invaded England, the Germanic tribes had settled in almost every part of Europe, such as the Anglo-Saxons in Britain and Lombards in nowadays Italy to cite but a few. Over the course of time, they mixed with the natives of the lands they conquered. Therefore, it is no wonder that a considerable part of the European folklore is, in a way or another, related to the Nordic mythology.
One of the Nordic tales that spread across northern, western and central Europe is "the wild hunt". It is a folkloric myth of a ghostly leader passing in the night's sky, escorted by his group of supernatural hunters in a wild pursuit in the howling wind. Usually, the hunters are the resurrected souls of the dead, ghostly dogs, and mythical creatures such as elves, Valkyries and fairies. The wild hunt is considered as an omen of war, plague, natural disasters or at best the death of those who witness it. According to the legend, people who encounter the pursuit will be abducted by the hunters. Then, they will either be sucked into the underworld, or swept up into the frenzied ride themselves.
But what about the leader of this hunt? And who might it be?
When the Germanic tribes mixed with the natives of the regions they invaded, both of their cultures merged as well. As a result, the identity of the leading figure varies from one place to another. But generally, the leader of the hunting party is either a mythological, historical or legendary figure who belongs to the local culture of the region in discuss. For example, and to name a few, while the pursuit is usually led by the Germanic God Odin in northern Europe, it is the legendary king Arthur in England and France. Although in Ireland, the leader is Fionn Mac Cumhail (or Finn MacCool in English), a well known warrior and hunter in Irish mythology.
The legend of "the wild hunt" was a matter of artistic inspiration throughout the years, especially when it came to painting; during the 19th century in particular, several painters depicted on canvas their own visualisation of said legend. One of those was a symbolist artist from Germany named Franz von Stuck (1863-1928).
Von Stuck was not only a painter, but an architect, sculptor and printmaker too. Best known for his dark themed and "sensational" style of painting, some of his well known works are "Der Wächter des Paradieses" (The Guardian of Paradise), "Die Sünde" (The Sin) and "Verwundete Amazone" (Wounded Amazon) in 1904. However, one particular painting of his was, and actually still is, a matter of debate to this very day. We are talking here about "Die Wilde Jagd" or, as you might have guessed, The Wild Hunt.
Franz von Stuck was once again loyal to his sombre style of painting, and when mixed with the dark ambiance of the legend's theme, the result was a harrowing piece of art with horrifying details that would definitely unsettle the observant: the look of anguish on the face of the armless damned, the soulless eyes of the hunt's leader, holding his bloody sword as he ride his eerie horse. Not to mention the chaotic background with the tortured figures in the top left corner, and of course, the hellish wolves following their master. On the whole, and let us be sincere, this is not the kind of paintings you would want hang in your living room.
Franz painted "The Wild Hunt" towards the end of 1888 with Odin as the leader of the pursuit. Odin, as I have already mentioned above, is one of the main gods in Germanic mythology, and is associated with death, wind and war among many more. In German folklore, Odin would do just what is depicted in the painting: with the company of his two wolves Geri and Freki, he will ride his eight legged horse Sleipnir and lead a March of the dead through Germany.
Kind of a "deja vu", right?
I mean, give it a thought: this is a late 1888 painting made by a German artist, depicting a death march of an army lad by a war and death god in the forefront. Does this not ring any bell at all? In case you have not figure it out yet, I suggest you took a closer look at the face of Odin. Does he not seem awfully familiar? Does he not look exactly the same as... Adolf Hitler?
The speculations about the painting started after Hitler stamped his authority on Germany in mid-1930s. In 1936, when asked about his opinion of Nazi Germany, Carl Gustav Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, said that Wotan (German for Odin) had awoken and resided not only in Hitler, but in the entire German nation as well. Needless to say, Jung linking Hitler to Odin was fuel to the already blazing fire of speculations and theories. Without a doubt, the Swiss psychologist had genuinely contributed to the fame of Von Stuck's "The Wild Hunt".
But where is Adolf Hitler from all of this? Did he even know about the painting?
Well, it is no secret that Hitler was very interested in art. During his Vienna years, he even attempted to pursue a career and make a living as a painter. However, he failed to pass the entrance exam for the academy of fine arts twice, and had little to no success on professional level. Ironically, most of those who bought young Hitler's paintings were actually Jewish. The führer was also a big fan of Franz von Stuck's art and one of his favourites was indeed "Die Wilde Jagd"; it was displayed on Hitler's private gallery among several other paintings.
The painting in discuss was made only a few months before Hitler was born on the 20th of April 1889, and the similarities between the Nazi leader and the Odin depicted on canvas are too striking to be ignored, starting from the facial features and haircut, to end with the lust for blood and wars. In between, their shared interest in wolves is not to be neglected either: Odin had wolves accompanying him in his chases, while Hitler self-given nickname was wolf. Furthermore, he ran his military operations from several bunkers, one of which was named "Wolfsschanze", German for "the Wolf's lair".
The historian Robert Waite went even further than that. In his book titled " The psychopathic God: Adolf Hitler", Waite claimed that Adolf was imitating the look of Wotan in von Stuck's painting, which explains the unfashionable hairstyle and unfamiliar toothbrush moustache the German leader adopted as his style.
But there is one question that floats on the surface now: did Franz Stuck predict the rise of Hitler? Or is it that the führer was actually projecting himself as Wotan?
In my opinion, it is definitely the latter. Hitler saw himself as some sort of a divine incarnation, playing God to build an eutopia where he would be the supreme leader of what he believed was the superior human race: the Aryan race. Fully convinced of being a god at this point, Adolf needed a scripture explaining his ideology to his followers. And what could be a better fit for the role than his own autobiographical manifesto titled "Mein Kampf" (My Struggle)? The German leader was creating a religion of his own, and "Mein Kampf" was its holy book. Back then, "Mein Kampf" was a must read and millions of copies were printed and distributed. I think it is enough to cite that the book was given to every newlywed couple as a wedding gift during Hitler's reign.
Still, there is one more point that needs to be clarified: why did Adolf Hitler see himself as an incarnation of Wotan in particular? Why not any other god?
In his twisted scripture Mein Kampf, and specifically in chapter 11 "nation and race", Hitler defined the superior type of humanity about which he obsessed. According to him, the purest stock of Aryans were the Nordic people of Germany, Scandinavia, the Netherlands and England. If you think that is not specific enough, then there is a sequel to the definition: the Nazi ideology identified Nordics by their tall stature, long faces, narrow and straight noses, straight light hair, light eye color and fair skin. Note that I did not mention all of the criteria and there is much more to that. In other words, Hitler thought of the descendants of the Germanic tribes as his promised Aryan race. Compare that with his wish of ruling that race, and it is no wonder that he chose to project himself as Odin, the father of all gods in Germanic mythology.
Princess of Lamballe: when noble values become a death sentence.
The French revolution (1789-1799) was, and still is, the most famous public revolt against the ruling monarchies. It is often associated with what become later the French motto "liberté, égalité, fraternité" (liberty, equality, fraternity). However, it came within a package, alongside chaos, revenge and therefore bloodbaths. Although it varies, but that is applicable to almost every revolution ever made and here is why:
Given the right circumstances, anyone can be a tyrant on his own, including those revolting to end a tyranny. Acknowledging it or not, those revolutionists switch roles with their rulers, where the public, initially victims of their actual political system, become the butcher who mercilessly take out their anger on anyone thought to be related to the system in a barbarian act of vengeance.
Today, we discuss the short life story of an unfortunate rightful woman who was caught in the wrong place and time: France during its ferocious, bloody revolution.
Marie Thérèse Louise of Savoy was born on September 8, 1749 in Turin to Louis Victor of Savoy, Prince of Carignano, and Christine Henriette, a princess of a German dynasty. Nothing much is really known about her childhood. At the age of 17, Marie had to leave Italy for France to marry Louis Alexandre Stanislas de Bourbon, the Prince of Lamballe. Not unlike Royal marriages at the time, both families of the groom and bride encouraged the marriage which was basically a political alliance between the Royal house of Savoy and its French counterpart.
Although, Louis Jean Marie de Bourbon, the Duke of Penthièvre and Alexandre Stanislas' father, had another reason to persuade his son into marrying Marie Therese: the young prince was a hedonist who "enjoyed life to the fullest". And in an attempt to change his behaviour, the Duke thought that marrying his son to the Savoyard princess, who was renowned for her beauty and piety, would put an end to Alexandre's libertine lifestyle.
At first, the marriage was happy overall as both of the groom and his bride were attracted to each other physically and emotionally. However, that did not last for long, and because old habits die hard, the couple's happiness crashed on the rocks of the groom's lusts shortly after. Only three months into marriage, Louis Alexandre got bored of his wife and resumed his old lifestyle of debauchery. The unfaithful husband broke Marie's heart, cheating on her on multiple occasions mostly with actresses and dancers. The young princess was reportedly devastated by her spouse infidelity and had to be comforted by the Duke of Penthievre, her father-in-law. But otherwise, she did not seek a divorce and remained loyal to her Prince.
In May 6, 1768, roughly 16 months after the wedding, the marriage had came to an unfortunate end when Louis Alexandre was hoisted by his own petard; the degenerate young man, aged only 20, died of a venereal disease (STD) in the arms of his dutiful wife who, despite her spouse's constant cheating, nursed and took good care of him until he drew his last breath. Thus, the princess of Lamballe became a widow at the very young age of 18.
The Duke was in deep grieve for his son, and Marie, whom de Bourbon considered as a daughter of his, was his one consolation. He then decided to engage in extensive charitable activities, and with the fortune Marie had inherited from her late husband, she joined her father-in-law doing charity. Those activities granted her the nickname of "The angel of Penthièvre" among the locals.
But other than acts of charity, Marie Therese's title as princess of Lamballe meant she had to attend the ceremonies held by the French Royal family. When the dauphin of France (1) Louis Auguste married Marie Antoinette of Austria in 1770, de Lamballe, along with other princes and princesses, was presented to Antoinette in a ceremony when the latter arrived in France. The new bride fell under the charm of the sweet, amiable Marie Therese and had a great affection towards her. Therefore, and following Auguste's ascension to the throne in 1774 as Louis XVI, it was not much of a surprise that Marie Antoinette, the new queen of France, appointed Marie Therese as "the superintendent of the Queen’s household".
The two "Maries" got along quite well, and de Lamballe did not cease to amuse the Queen. The widow princess was described as "a woman of ethics who had no interest in power or ruling and not one to participate in plots and conspiracies". Those qualities of honesty and trustworthiness were, of course, rare especially when it came to the Royal class. As a consequence, it did not take long for Marie Therese of Savoy to become Marie Antoinette's intimate companion. However, there was a major difference between the two: the Queen was of an outgoing nature, who loved to mix with other members of the high society. The princess was the exact opposite, a recluse who wanted to spend time alone with Antoinette rather than being in public. This difference in character between the two will cause some issues later.
Due to the contrast between the outgoing Queen and the reclusive princess, their bonds were not always strong especially when Marie Antoinette met Yolande de Polastron, a duchess with whom she had a lot in common. It was just normal for the timid Marie Therese to lose her position as the Queen's favourite to the charismatic duchess. But even then, and once again, the princess of Lamballe remained loyal to her Queen, the same as she did with her cheating, late husband. Though, her loyalty and honesty did not go unappreciated by Marie Antoinette, who described her as "a woman with a pure heart who bears no grudge, jealousy or hatred towards anyone."
It is quite ironic that Marie Therese's most praised qualities would lead to her ultimate demise in the years to come.
During the outbreak of the French revolution in July 1789, de Lamballe was not in France, and when she was back in September, she went directly to nurse her father-in-law who was ill at the time. In October, after Marie Therese was informed of what was happening in the country, she immediately joined the Royal family in Paris to resume her duties. There, the salon the princess owned served as a meeting place for the queen with royalist sympathizers such as nobles and aristocrats.
By 1791, and after "the day of daggers"(2) and the unsuccessful escape of the Royal family from Paris(3), the king had not only lost the nobles' support, but also any dependability he still had among the public who were growing more hostile towards the French monarchy. Being aware that accompanying her would be of a great danger to de Lamballe, Marie Antoinette asked the latter to flee France and not come back for the sake of her life. This request was flatly rejected by the princess, who considered herself responsible to the Queen's safety, especially when most, if not all of Antoinette's intimate circle of friends had left the country, including Yolande de Polastron.
The revolution escalated really quick, and on the 10th of August 1792, armed revolutionaries stormed the Tuileries palace where the Royal family resided. As a result of the insurrection, the monarchy was overthrown and de Lamballe, alongside with the Queen, some noblewomen and a few retainers, was captured and imprisoned in the Temple prison. Nine days later, it was decided that the royal family should not be allowed to keep their servants. Thus, Marie Therese and the other noblewomen were transferred to La Force prison where they shared a cell, and the worse was yet to come.
In September, mobs attacked prisons where those suspected of supporting the monarchy were imprisoned, and placed them for trial before hastily assembled tribunals they called "people's tribunals". In reality, those "trials" could be called anything but such; the judges were the angry mobs themselves, driven by the hostility they had towards the monarchy. The prisoners were asked a handful of questions, after which they would be judged, and in many cases, savagely executed.
On the 3rd of September, 5 days before her 43th birthday, Marie Therese was taken to the tribunal. Her trial ended as fast as it started: after asking her to confirm her identity, "the judges" demanded for de Lamballe to swear to liberty, equality and hatred to the king, Queen and monarchy. Marie agreed to the take the oath of liberty and equality, but rejected to denounce the monarchies, saying that it is not in her heart to hate anyone. The noble response had fell on the deaf ears of vengeance, and the sham trial was summarily concluded with a few words: "take Madame away."
If you have not guessed it already, that was not a simple order to put her back in prison or such. In a matter of fact, during what will be known later as the "September's massacres", "take Monsieur/Madame away" was a verdict in itself that meant for the accused of monarchy supporting to be thrown in the street, where he/she became under the mercy of the ferocious crowd to do whatever they wished to him/her, which, of course, meant a painful and humiliating death. It was just the case for Marie Therese.
Princess de Lamballe was led to the street full of raged men, women and even children who were awaiting to witness her demise. The paving was already soaked in blood and covered with bodies from previous "trials". Within a couple of minutes, the small framed woman was kicked, punched, beaten and stabbed to death by various weapons. Her body was then decapitated, and Marie's severed head was mounted atop a pike and taken by the crowd to where the Queen was imprisoned. The freak show went on as the mob displayed de Lamballe's head in front of Antoinette's window, probably as a warning that her end would be no different. Furthermore, the revolutionaries unsuccessfully attempted to break inside the Temple prison. The reason? The anti monarchist propaganda at the time portrayed de Lamballe as the lesbian lover of the Queen. Thus, the mob wished to show the severed head of the princess to Antoinette in person so she could kiss the lips of her alleged lover! It is worth noting that neither of the two women was actually lesbian. Those were mere lies to undermine the public image of the monarchy.
As if that was not savage and cruel enough, another account suggests that de Lamballe was raped and sexually harassed before she was killed. After her death, Marie Therese's heart was ripped out of her chest and her entrails were sticking out. Her headless body was then dragged for kilometers around the city while the mob shrieked death threats to the monarchies. It is impossible to know whether or not this had happened as Marie's body was never found. And even when the Duke of Penthievre tried to retrieve her remains to honor his daughter-in-law with a proper burial, it led to no avail. However, and considering the atrocities committed during the French revolution, this account of events is not unlikely to be true.
The farce trials went on for the four following days in each and every prison in Paris, claiming the lives of more than 1600 people. In La Force prison, 160 prisoner, including de Lamballe, were all massacred in similar brutal ways.
Marie Therese of Savoy certainly did not deserve such a gruesome end. The proverb "it is better to be a soldier in a garden than a Gardner in the battlefield" is pretty accurate to describe de Lamballe's fate; she was just an honest, loyal person who still honored her ethics even while stuck in the middle of politics. But we all know that politics was not and will never be a game of honesty. Therefore, she was the rightful woman in wrong side, at the wrong time, and in the wrong place. De Lamballe was a kind hearted woman who did not know how to hate. Yet ironically, she paid her life as the price of hatred towards the monarchies, because in the eyes of the public, she was an icon of a system not wanted anymore and had to be uprooted and replaced.
Side notes:
(1) the dauphin(e) of France: a title given to both the apparent heir of the French throne and his wife.
(2) the day of daggers: on 28 February 1791, hundreds of nobles with concealed weapons (mostly knives and daggers) gathered in front of the Tuileries palace, where the king resided back then, to defend and show their support to Louis XVI. However, the king and his guards misinterpreted their intentions and thought they came to take away the French ruler from the palace. The nobles ended up humiliated by the guards and expelled with their weapons confiscated. As a result to this incident, Louis XVI lost the support of the aristocrats in Paris.
(3) the king's unsuccessful escape to Montmédy known also as "flight to Varennes": in the night between 21-22 June 1791, the king decided to flee Paris with his family to join the last of his loyal troops and officers in Montmédy, where he was supposed to initiate a counter revolution. The escape was terribly planned and the royal family was caught at Varennes a little while after. This is considered as a major blow to the King's reputation as his failed escape confirmed the public theory of Louis XVI conspiring against the people's will. Some even went further, suggesting if the king had made it to Montmédy, the revolution would had been nipped in the bud. Whether that is true or not, nobody can tell for sure.
Los amantes de Teruel: the Spanish "Romeo and Juliet"
When it comes to tragic romances, the famous Romeo and Juliet is considered as a major reference. The heart breaking story of two young lovers whose relationship was forbad by their feuding families, and how the couple's death in each other's embrace would put an end to the ongoing war between the two sides. Romeo and Juliet is one of William Shakespeare's most performed plays even centuries after his death. The success was huge that the names of the play's protagonists became a trademark of the sufferance and sacrifices made in the name of love.
It is not really known if the play is just a work of imagination or based on a real story. However, while Shakespeare's masterpiece is set in the Italian city of Verona, there is a similar yet allegedly real romance tragedy which took place in the city of Teruel in the neighbouring Spain. Whether it is real or not is a matter of debate. But in this article, we will be discussing the popular Spanish tale known as "Los amantes de Teruel"
The alleged story goes back in time to the beginning of the 13th century, when the Marcilla and Segura were the wealthiest families with most influence in the Spanish city of Teruel. The two families, unlike Shakespeare's play, were at peace at the time. Juan Diego de Marcilla, the "Romeo" of this legend, and his "Juliet", Isabel de Segura, were madly in love. They grew up together and were inseparable since their childhood. However, when both lovers were at the eligible age to wed, Isabel's father, Don Pedro de Segura, forbade the marriage.
There are two versions Of why Don Pedro rejected Diego as a husband for his daughter. The first one claims that the Marcilla, Diego's family, was having a hard time and financially struggling when he proposed to Isabel. The second version suggests that while Isabel was the only child of her wealthy, nobleman father, Diego was the second son and unlikely to inherit much of his family's fortune. Regardless of which version is the correct, it is clear that Don Pedro wanted a wealthier man than Diego to be his son-in-law.
Both lovers knew that Isabel's father's blessing was essential to get married. And unless the young Marcilla could prove himself worthy to the nobleman, the couple's relationship was doomed to end. To forbid that, Diego was able to make a sort of an agreement with his lover's father: Juan Diego would have to leave Teruel for five years in a journey to become a man of his own wealth. If he succeeded, then Isabel would be his to marry. Otherwise, he would had to bear the brunt of losing his love to another man. Diego promised his woman that he would come back to her triumphant and told her to wait for him.
Isabel was up to her word and kept waiting for Diego to make his return to their hometown; she rejected countless suitors for the sake of him, and she had to make stalling pretexts to procrastinate her father who did not have much faith in Diego and wanted to marry his daughter off. One of the excuses she made was that she still had to learn how to manage a household before getting married. Obviously, Isabel's task was not any easier than her traveling lover's mission, especially when the latter was not heard from for the whole five years.
The time limit was up, and much to Isabel's despair, there was no sign of Diego. Her father wasted no time at all, and on the day the five years closed, he married his daughter to another nobleman named Don Pedro de Azagra. Running out of excuses, Isabel had no choice but to oblige. However, little did she knew that the day after the wedding ceremony was held, Juan Diego de Marcilla would be walking through the gate of Teruel, laden with gold and riches of his own to ask for her hand in marriage.
Probably words can not describe how shattered Diego was. Imagine going through all the struggles he encountered only to learn that the woman he loved most had became another man's wife one single day before his arrival to town. He did his best to fulfill his promise to Isabel. He even had to involve in wars to build the wealth Don Segura required to give his consent to the marriage. Yet, it was all in vain. The reason? Well, as silly as it may sound, Diego had not counted the day he petitioned Isabel's father, but as fate would have it, the Seguras had. Therefore, Juan Diego was one day late, and he had to deal with the agony of his Isabel being with another man but him.
The heartbroken Marcilla could not beat the urge to see his newlywed lover one last time. He sneaked into Isabel's quarters at night, and pleaded with her to kiss him one last time. However, not willing to deceive her husband, Isabel flatly denied him. Diego begged her once more, saying that he was dying and kissing her was his last wish. Again, Isabel rejected his request, telling him that she was another man's wife in front of God and people. She also asked the man to move on with his life, forget about her and find another woman. Those words plus the separation from his beloved were like arrows piercing Diego's heart. Not able to bear the pain, the poor man drew one last breath and collapsed on the floor, at the feet of whom he dearly loved, dead.
The following day, during Diego de Marcilla's funeral in the local chruch, Isabel, who showed up wearing her wedding dress, got up from her seat and pushed back the coffin's veil gazing upon her deceased lover. She then leaned on Diego and gave him in death the kiss she had denied him in life. When the Requiem Mass was over, Isabel did not budge and was still lying on her dead childhood playmate. The funeral attendants thought she was grieving the late man. But the truth was that Isabel was lifeless as her limp body embraced Diego's in an eternal embrace.
Inspired by the tragic romance, the citizens of Teruel demanded for the wretched lovers to be buried side by side, so they could be reunited in death after life had separated them. The request was granted by the local church and the supposed mummies of Diego and Isabel were placed where they now rest in the church of San Pedro.
As we have seen, the story is very sad, emotional and even symbolic. But did it really happen ?
Well, in my opinion, that is of no importance because what really matters is the story itself, and this one is as good as any. But it is worth noting that there some evidence that suggests the story is indeed real. Somewhen around the middle of the 16th century, two mummies were found buried in San Pedro's church with a documentation asserting that the bodies belong to Diego and his Isabel. The documentation in itself was not enough to confirm the mummies' identity. However, science was able to carbon date them to the 13th century. Furthermore, one of the bodies was confirmed as male, while the other was actually a female. A coincidence? Maybe, and maybe not.
Forget about them, and move on with your life
Whenever you find yourself fading amid the crowd, consumed with a spirit as low as the ground, or helplessly drowning in the filthy pit we call society, you have to close your eyes. Close your eyes and cut whatever connection linking you to the outside world. Now, it is all about you and you alone. Drag yourself under the spotlight for the time being. This is not a solo performance but a trial, a trial taking place in the holy supreme court of your mind. This court is not as any other, because here you are the suspect, the judge, the witness and the jury.
Tick-tack, tick-tack...The clock is ticking as you wait in agony for your verdict on yourself.
God! Why is it so hard to decide, even when what you ought to do is as clear as the sun in summer?! You have to remember one thing though: until you, the judge, have enough courage to announce the rightful verdict, you are allowed to yell at yourself, shout or cry if you wish. But whatever you do, don’t dare to open your eyes. You are still not ready, not yet.
Finally, the long awaited moment has come as the judge bangs down his gavel:
“Whether the suspect is guilty or not is of no importance. However, he is the only one responsible for putting his life back on the rails again at whatever cost”
Congratulations! You just claimed yourself ready. This is the first step, and that is always the hardest. You may now open your eyelids.
At the first glance, everything seems the same as you left it: the rushing crowd, ready to crush anyone in their way as if they were rhinos, the dreadful cacophony of noise and chaos we call “modern life”, and of course those poisonous acquaintances who never stop poking their noses into everyone’s business but their own. Nothing has really changed, except you. You are not your old self anymore; you are a new soul with a new fate, materialised in the same body.
You are not walking blindfolded in the maze of life anymore; you know where you ought to go and what path should be taken. Yet this time, you are more experienced and less naive. It hits hard to realise that not everyone who calls you “friend” is a potential ally, and the fact that roses have thorns hits even harder. But you learned the lesson that life has brutally taught you, and the scars you are wearing have only made you tougher.
Starting at this very second, there is no going back. The surrenderer you once were was found guilty as charged in that trial, then condemned and executed on the spot as a part of a ritual to your success. He is gone, vanished as if he never existed. And for your best, you better have no longing for him.
Well done! So far, so good! Not only were you aware a change is needed, but you also managed to overcome your fears and triumph over yourself. Not bad at all, you are forcing your way out of the swamp swiftly. However, this is not done with yet and the road is still long.
Your next mission is to subdue everyone spreading negativity around you. Negativity is an apocalypse pandemic; it spares nobody - not even your loved ones - and consciously or not, they will do everything within their reach to affect you as well. Let the “catch me if you can” game begin!
This is going to be a lethal, tiresome game on your behalf. As the name suggests, the objective is quite clear: Survive! And don’t let them get you! Remember those doomsday movies where an epidemic turns everyone into zombies? Negativity works the same way, except that instead of feeding on your brain, the negativity-zombies will devour your mind. They will corrupt and defile it before turning you into one of them.
In the process, you will feel them tearing apart every inch of your mind until you lose your common sense. You will throw everything you have been chasing for the sake of a fake salvation to stop the torture. As a compromise to stop the pain, the pain they made themselves, those zombies want you to lose whatever purpose pushing you forward. And when you go limp, not able to resist anymore, they will gleefully watch your free fall towards the bottom, smiling with lips dripping blood - your blood - as they show their crooked, yellowish fangs. Then, they will proudly preach to you:
“See? We already told you what you are chasing is beyond the possible.”
Wake up! Nothing is impossible unless you want it to be. Don’t mind those zombies, they can’t hurt you! You already have the vaccine, and you are immune to the pandemic they cause. You should be proud of yourself: only those who wrote their own fate on the scroll of life by themselves can acquire such immunity.
Unroll your scroll and read it out loud. Not even the sky is the limit! Chant the rules you swore to stick to as you transform dreams into living reality. Declare war on the obstacles in your path, yet forgive those who created them: hatred and grudge are nothing but an omen of self-destruction, another enemy to defeat that is.
You are thirsty to make a change and as thirsty to learn. Good! That is what you need to survive in the dismal desert of mayhem. Learn to pay no mind to the distractions and focus on your target, learn to forget the framework and direct your attention to the big picture. You will be stunned by how much time you wasted trying to defend or explain yourself to people who never took you seriously.
As soon as you master this skill, you will find yourself nodding at somebody’s bullshit of a speech, dismissing with a smile another who claims you will not make it. Furthermore, you will deliberately choose silence to spare yourself futile conversations. In plain words, you will end up possessing a carefree mind, the greatest tool one can ever have.
With time, the revolting cacophony of those who pull you down towards the bottom will fade away. And eventually, you will feel lighter, refreshed, as you dispose of the huge burden on your shoulders. The number of people around you will shrink as they disappear from your sight one by one. Don’t worry though; this is not loneliness and you are not alone. It is but a journey in a peaceful sanctum, a journey where you will accompany yourself to be reminded of how thrilling and full of adventure your own company is.
The night of the long knives
"Night of the long knives", a term that some of you might have encountered before, either in historical articles or even songs. But what caught my attention is that the term is often linked with treachery, betrayal and massacres. So what does "night of the long knives" really mean? what are the roots of this expression? And what does it have to do with Hitler and Nazi Germany?
The term was first reported in "Historia Brittonum", a compilation of purported Britons' history, written in the 9th century by a Welsh historian named Nennuis. He used the term "night of the long knives" to denote a massacre which took place in the 5th century, when the Anglo-Saxon mercenaries deceived and slaughtered the Celtic Britons chieftains. However, it is worth noting that there are no historical evidences in any contemporary accounts supporting this treachery ever existed. And considering that "Historia Brittonum", where the incident was first mentioned, was written 4 centuries after the alleged massacre, it is more than probable that "the night of the long knives" is merely the work of Nennuis's imagination. Nevertheless, it is the term we are discussing in this article, not the credibility of the story.
According to Nennuis, Hengist, the leader of the Anglo-Saxons, invited the king Vortigern and several others Britons leaders to a meeting to make peace and why not come to perpetual friendship between both sides. The rules of the meeting were quite clear and simple: no weapons are allowed as both Brittons and Saxons would sit side by side and settle their dispute amicably. Ostensibly, Hengist's request was justified, taking into accounts the growing tensions between the two: the Germanic mercenaries claimed more lands as a repay for their services to Vortigern, while the Briton King was concerned about the new settlers' increasing dominance in the kingdom. In this regard, and for both parties, a peace agreement looked ideal to avoid the worst. Hengist, however, had other intentions.
While the Britons chieftains and their King played by the rules and came unarmed to the meeting, the Saxons went for treachery: the Britons were totally oblivious to the conspiracy weaved against them, and as soon as they were distracted with food and drinks, Hengist ordered his men to slaughter them but their king, Vortigern, who had to give up on many regions as a ransom for his life. As you might have guessed already, the weapons used that night were actually long knives which the Saxons concealed in their shoes. Those long knives are called seax (also spelled sax), and it is after which the Saxons got their name.
Let us leave this story and its credibility aside, and move on in time to June, 1934, roughly 17 months after Adolf Hitler was appointed a Chancellor of the German Reich. As the power starving man he was, Hitler had many "obstacles" in his way. And at a certain point, one of those whom he needed to eliminate was Ernest Röhm. As surprising as it is, Röhm was Hitler's old comrade and an early ally. He was also one of the founders of the Sturmabteilung (SA), the original paramilitary organization of the Nazi party. An organization which, in a later stage, Röhm would be commanding at Hitler's request.
Since its creation, the Sturmabteilung, also known as the Brownshirts, played a significant role in Adolf's rise to power; it was responsible for providing protection for the Nazis, fighting against other paramilitary units of opposing parties and disrupt their meetings as well. Of course, the SA also shared Hitler's bias against minorities such as Jews and Romani (gypsies), and intimidating them was a part of its primary purposes. However, and under Röhme's command, the "Brownshirts" became of much power and influence, way more than the "führer" would allow.
Growing in importance and numbers, the SA counted more than 3 million men by the fall of 1933. That was 30 times more than the Reichswehr (the German army between 1919 and 1935), which was limited by the treaty of Versailles to only 100.000 men. Ernest Röhme, being a high ranked ex-military himself, requested his SA troops to be Incorporated into the Wehrmacht, the new army which was being prepared to replace the Reichswehr. A request that was utterly rejected by the army generals. They even took it as an offence considering that the "Brownshirts" were merely an untrained gang of thugs and should by no means be integrated with the army. Thus, tensions grew between both sides as they engaged in a political game of pulling the rode.
Hitler, on the other side of the equation, was very concerned: already fearing and despising the organisation, Röhme's request rose the army's leaders doubts and suspicions about the nature and plans of the SA. Hitler was aware of the importance of keeping the generals on his good side. Else, antagonizing them would be a direct blow to his newly gained political power as a Chancellor. On the other hand, Adolf Hitler did not wish for 1930's scenario to repeat itself, when the SA revolted against him, asking for the recognition and funding they thought they deserved as a recompense for the unlimited support to their "Führer". Therefore, it was all decided, and Hitler settled on sacrificing the Brownshirts, including Ernest Röhme.
On the night of June 30, 1934, Hitler ordered his SS elites (Schutzstaffel, another paramilitary organization of the Nazi party) to nib treason in the bud, which meant eliminating Röhme and other SA leaders. However, those were not the only names on Hitler's list of targets. Of course, He would not let the chance slip through his hands without getting rid of old and potential enemies who had nothing to do with the SA. The allegations of plotting a coup d'etat he made against them were enough to turn Hitler into a hero in the eyes of the government, army leaders and even the public.
From June 30 to July 2, 1934, leaders of the SA, an ex-chancellor and many of Hitler's antagonists were shot and hacked by the SS elites. Officially, the authorities claimed that 85 were killed in the aftermath of the massacre. But unofficial sources estimated the death toll was between 500 and up to 1000. The night of the long knives was a crucial event in the history of Nazi Germany. However, and despite all the spilled blood, it granted Hitler the support and trust of the officials and public alike, as well as increasing his influence and popularity.
The importance of mixed knowledge
Learning is the never ending process of gaining knowledge by studying (self-learning), being taught or simply by experience. Clearly, and unlike what most people think, the term “learning” is not the equivalent of the word “education”, and school is not the only place to gather knowledge. Life is the greatest teacher as they say, and believe it or not, we “unconsciously” learn much more than what we do “consciously”. More interestingly, most of these “unconsciously learnt” skills are crucial, if not vital, for our existence. Walking, talking, expressing emotions, avoiding harm, are good examples, but far from the only.
However, that’s not what we will be discussing here, so that can wait for another occasion. In this article, we will only stick with the “conscious” learning. But first of all, what does that mean?
Well, consciously learnt skills are whatever knowledge we intentionally devote ourselves to learn and master. The categories of those said skills wildly vary from science, maths and literature to cooking, sports and anything in between. With this definition in mind, let me raise a question here:
Excluding the abilities we need to practice in our daily life (cooking, cleaning... etc.), which is better for your professional career: limiting yourself to a single domain to fully understand it, or expanding your acquired knowledge to cover two or more fields?
To avoid any possible complications, let me rephrase the question:
Assume that you chose working in the medical field as a career. Will you solely focus on medicine, or will you have an interest in exploring other domains as well? Which sounds more effective to you?
Most people won’t think twice before giving an answer which is, for them at least, quite obvious: learning more than one speciality is not only a distraction but also a waste of time and it is not needed anyway.
Personally, I don’t share this point of view. Expanding your knowledge fields is not a waste of time and will never be, and it is certainly not a distraction either. What will happen is the exact opposite; you would pay more attention to details you were not even aware that they existed before. Your creativity and problem solving skills will increase as you develop better understanding of your surroundings. This kind of mixed knowledge will definitely enlarge your mind and therefore your abilities. How can that be a waste of time?
Mixed knowledge is of a high value; it is very significant and can’t be skipped without laying emphasis on its importance. I mean, think about it: most inventions and discoveries were made by scientists who specialised in two or more fields.
Willem Johan Kolff (1911-2009) is merely one of numerous examples to confirm the statement above. The Dutch physician is very well known for being the “father” of artificial organs; he is the pioneer of both haemodialysis (the dialysis machine), and the artificial heart. Not to mention plenty of other discoveries in the same field. In order to save hundreds of thousands of lives, Kloff had to combine his knowledge in the medical field, the experience he gathered as a physician and some engineering principles to realise his goal. A goal he would never had reached if he narrowed his knowledge to a single field.
Still not convincing enough? If so, then it seems you are not aware that expanding your knowledge means expanding your chances of success. Learn various and different topics, and congratulations! You just earned yourself an ace up your sleeve, an ace which will significantly increase your success rate. To erase any doubts you still might have, let’s put an example under the spotlight. And who might better fit for the task than the famous Elon Musk.
Elon is currently running a few of the world’s best known companies. These companies are interested in different domains - from finance to space rockets - and each of them is worth at least hundreds of millions of dollars. It is quite an achievement for a single individual. Right?
Without doubt, this success is the combination of many factors, one of which is hard work. However, that alone won’t get you too far. As a matter of fact, numerous are the people who work for more than 12 hours a day, yet their vast majority did never, and probably will not, achieve 1% of what Musk achieved. Do you want to guess why?
Unlike those people, Musk didn’t limit himself to one field. He exploited his knowledge of electrical engineering and clean energy to create Tesla. He also employed what he learned about neurotechnology, the science of understanding the human brain with the help of advanced technology, to co-found Neuralink.
The point is clear, I hope, alhough there is still one question floating on the surface.
Learning about a certain field is already a long and complicated process, let alone two or more fields. Is there a way to make the process faster and a bit easier?
Actually yes, there is a way, and it is easier than it seems. Whenever you plan on learning about a new topic, start learning the basics first and don’t get too involved in understanding the details. At a later stage, those details will stick easily in your mind after a good comprehension of the basics. As a structure, any topic to learn is the same as trees - with branches as the basics, and leaves as details. Leaves need branches to stick on, and so do details. If you focus on details rather than the basics and principles, then all you have are random pieces of information with nothing to connect them. That would definitely make understanding a topic much harder than it already is.
To make the idea plain, a practical example might help:
Say that you are interested in learning how a car engine works. It is necessary to understand how it functions as a whole first, and then you learn about each of the engine’s components.
That is the most effective way of learning, and this quote summarizes it all: “It is better to know how to learn, than to just know.”
Yakutsk: The coldest city on earth
“Welcome to the freezing hell on earth, where cold burns to death.”
This phrase is not a fancy prologue to a fantasy novel, and it is not taken from a horror movie either. It is, however, a living reality for those who lives in a city not that far away from the North Pole. In this part of the globe, where the temperature of -50°C is not very uncommon in winter, a thick and warm coat of fur is the difference between life and death; it is as vital as food and water. And thus, in such conditions, it is more valuable than gold.
Welcome to the coldest large city in the world. Welcome to Yakutsk.
Yakutsk is the capital of Republic of Sakha, a federal republic in the far east of Russia, which is also called Yakutia or Yakutya. Before developing into a modern city, Yakutsk was founded as a fortified settlement (a small wooden fort, or “Ostrog” in Russian) by the explorer Pyotr Beketov around the year 1632. Yet what makes the city special is the location alongside with its nature; it is located in the Siberian continuous permafrost, 450 km to the south of the Arctic Circle. Therefore, it is no surprise that Yakutsk is considered the coldest large city in the world, with only -9°C as a temperature average.
But hold on a second! -9°C doesn’t seem that bad comparing to lower temperatures recorded in various other cities, especially in Europe and North America.
So what makes Sakha’s capital so exceptional?
Well, read again then: the -9 degrees mentioned above is merely an average, which means the sum of temperatures recorded daily throughout the year, divided by 365. As the statistics shows, summers, although short, are warm in Yakutsk and even hot on occasions, with temperatures exceeding 30 degrees at times. The highest to be ever recorded was 38.4°C in July 2011. Talk about the affects of global warming!
However, in contrast to summers, winters are very long and extremely cold with -35 degrees in average. In fact, to this day, not a single degree above freezing has ever been recorded between the 10th of November and the 14th of March. Worse, temperatures below -50°C are not exactly uncommon in the region. To the writing of those lines, the lowest degree recorded in Yakutsk was -65°C in February, 1891.
In such unusual, severe conditions, staying alive is a challenging task in itself. So how do the inhabitants of Yakutsk manage to survive and live a relatively normal life in a dry, Siberian freezing climate?
First of all, it must be made clear that, as mentioned above, Yakutsk is a large city. And despite being the coldest big urban area, its population has significantly grown throughout the years, as it now counts more than 311.000 citizens.
Naturally for this population, living in the Russian permafrost comes with its own difficulties. Cell phones, for instance, pose a real problem in Yakutsk; they run on lithium-ion (Li-ion) batteries, and those do not function correctly, if not at all, below the freezing point. In brief, and without getting into details, in order for a Li-ion battery to work, it relies on internal chemical reactions, and those might be slowed and eventually blocked in low temperatures. In -40 degrees, not only the charging time will be annoyingly extended, but also expect the phone to “die” anytime, even when fully charged.
However, phones are the least of concerns for the people in Yakutsk. When living on permafrost, food is obviously the top priority. The Siberian climate does not allow a wide variety of food options: there are not many of fresh fruits or vegetables to harvest due to the nature of the ground, and in general, the locals’ nutrition depends greatly on meat, such as horses, reindeers and moose.
Fish, above all, is the most common food in the Russian city. That is why the sight of vendors selling fish - and meat as well - in the open air is not peculiar. Yes, you read it right. In Yakutsk, meat is sold outdoors as on market stalls if it were vegetables or books. Why not, though? After all, the -40°C weather is as good as any freezer at preserving foods.
On the other side of the survival equation, water is as much of a concern as food; it is available enough in summer, mainly from the nearby rivers. But in winter, several degrees below the freezing point, those rivers are of no use and water become as scarce as it can be. For that matter, the locals came up with a simple, yet effective solution: the iced river can be sawn with a chainsaw into big cubes, and then those cubes are to be melted indoors. The resulting water is clean, naturally filtered and safe for drinking and washing.
Here is a video explaining the sawing process:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ihgntjKHDlA
But other than that, how do the residents cope with a climate impacting each and every domain of their daily life?
Well, Yakutsk is, literally, located on the edge of life. And the only road to survive is through a continuous, tiresome battle against the cruel weather. Thus, the habits and lifestyle of its residents are certainly different, to an extent, than most regions. For example, nobody hangs outside for long without a strong reason, and it is an act of suicide to leave the house not wearing gloves. If not, then be prepared for a rushing visit to hospital due to frostbite. And with a bit of luck, you might make it before your fingers fall off!
Speaking of clothing, have you ever took out a bank loan solely to buy clothes? No? Then consider yourself lucky, because that is the case for most of the inhabitants of Yakutsk. To pull through the six-month long winter of Siberia, one must wear appropriate clothing. Fur is the most suitable for the task. However, it is expensive and not within the reach of most people. A long coat of fur can cost in excess of several months’ earnings. That is when banks intervene, offering loans specifically for the purchase of furs.
This strikes me as ironic. Why, you might ask? Well, keep in mind that we are talking about one of the richest regions in terms of natural resources, not only in Russia but in the whole world as well. And to borrow money for clothing, while surrounded by gold, diamond and even uranium mines, is not really expected.
Transportation is another dilemma to solve in Yakutsk: owning a car is as troublesome as having none. In temperatures of -40 degrees and below, and with the lack of heated underground car parks due to permafrost, it might take days for the engine to start, in a literal sense. Once again, people have no choice but to adapt to the situation. Some of them mothball their cars during winter, temporarily switching to public transportation. Others use what is called a “portable garage”, which is similar to a thick quilt that stretches over the car to prevent freezing, an adequate solution despite the relatively high cost. Yet not everyone is fine with abandoning their cars or buying an expensive portable garage. Hence some drivers, and I kid you not, keep the engine running nonstop from autumn until spring!
Taking into account what has already been said, it would be a safe guess to assume that the region’s schools shut their doors in winter. If that is what you think, then you are very mistaken. Classes are held normally except when the temperature falls to nearly -60°C! The thought of leaving the warm, cosy bed for school 50 degrees below freezing sends shivers down the spine.
In the end, let us conclude with an odd fact: dying is by no means a synonym of resting in this neck of woods, at least for the living that is. It is an arduous task to bury a dead body in Yakutsk. The land is frozen, making it impossible to dig a grave. Therefore, bonfires must be lit to slowly thaw the ground, a process which may take up to several days.
From history: When football started a war, or so they thought!
"Football is a beautiful game, and it should always remain that way. There is no room for savagery including vandalism, racism and violence. It is also forbidden to use football for political objectives by any mean." For more than a century, that's what international and continental football associations have been trying to promote through emblems such as "My game is fair play" and "No to racism” and sanctioning the offenders.
However, despite all those efforts, one doesn't have to dig too deep in history to find plenty of incidents where "the beautiful game" turned into a blood bath from the medieval ages. The horror occurred in Belgium (Heysel Stadium, 1985, 39 died and 600 injuries), England (Hillsborough stadium, 1989, 96 died and 766 injuries), and more recently in Egypt (Port Said Stadium, 2012, 74 killed and more than 500 injuries) are only a few drops in the bloody ocean of hooliganism.
But have you ever heard of a football game supposedly kicking off a war between two countries? No, this is not an exaggeration! A real war with weapons, aircrafts, and thousands of casualties. It would be later known as "the football war" or "the hundred hour’s war". So what happened back then? Is football really responsible of taking the lives of over 3000 people?
One year before the 1970’s FIFA World Cup, national teams across the globe, as always had to compete against each other throughout tiresome qualifications, aiming to secure a place in the most prestigious competition. Honduras and El Salvador were no exceptions when they met in a two-legged qualifier in June, 1969. Both teams had never played in the world cup tournament before; and eliminating the opponent is the only way to keep the hopes and dreams alive.
The first game was played on the 8th of June, 1969, in the Honduran capital, Tegucigalpa. The previous night, Honduran fans surrounded their rival team's hotel, making all kinds of threats and noise in order to scare and prevent them from sleeping. The Salvadorian government also reported raping, murders and expulsion against their citizens without an intervention from Honduran authorities. The game ended 1-0 for the locals.
A week later, the second game was held in the Salvadoran capital of San Salvador this time. Seeking "revenge" on their neighbours, Salvadorans never held back on neither the pitch nor streets. They won the return match 3-0, with even greater violence and crimes than the previous game in Honduras.
The score was equal with one victory each. According to the rules of that time, a third decisive game in neutral lands was needed to determine a winner, and Mexico was selected to host the "more than just a game" on the 27th of June 1969. Of course, politicians and rulers of both countries couldn't miss such a chance to take the tension to another whole level, talking about "the nation's pride being on stake" and how winning a mere football game became a "national duty".
A few hours before the long awaited match, the situation worsened to the boiling point when El Salvador decided to severe all diplomatic ties with Honduras due to the later expelling more than 11500 Salvadorans immigrants, forcing them back to their original country, only days after their 3-0 defeat. Salvador claimed also that the neighbour didn't bother to care about their safety, not even showing any intentions to punish the assaulters.
Later that day, the game was held in the Azteca Stadium, Mexico City. The tense atmosphere surrounded the crowd. The players of both teams were fully aware of the importance of the event; what happens on the pitch will probably determine the fate of both countries. After more than 90 minutes of play, the full-time result was once again equal on the scoreboard, showing 2-2. This time, an extra 30 minutes of play might break the tie; if not, penalty shootouts are the last resort.
In the 11th minute of the extra time, El Salvador's player Mauricio Rodriguez scored the third goal for his country. With only so little time left, the Honduran team couldn't do much; and indeed, Rodriguez's goal led El Salvador to a final 3-2 victory. In the following days, clashes on the border intensified; and within less than three weeks, the two neighbours were at war. It started when El Salvador gave orders to invade and bomb Honduras on the 14th of July.
For the next four days, the struggle was bloody. The Salvadoran troops invaded deep inside Honduras, while the air force bombed targets mostly in Tegucigalpa, including Toncontin airport, slowing the reaction of Hondurans army. However, it didn't take them long to respond; in the 16th of July, many targets inside El Salvador were under attack such as Llopango airport and oil facilities. Huge pillars of smoke arose in the Salvadoran sky as oil depots burned to ashes.
The Organisation of American States (OAS) played a significant role in ending the madness. On 18 July, they were able to arrange a ceasefire. After tiresome efforts and pressures, the OAS had also managed to convince El Salvador of withdrawing its troops from Honduras on the second of July 1969. In return, the Honduran president promised to guarantee the safety of the remaining Salvadorans in his country, and to pay compensations for the victims; a decision that was never accepted by Honduran citizens, who took it as admitting defeat. The situation was very complicated to say the least, the war itself lasted no more than 100 hours, but it took more than a decade to settle a final peace.
The aftermath of the "football war" is rather insane. In a period of 4 days, 2100 Hondurans and 900 Salvadorans lost their lives; the vast majority of them were civilians. An even bigger number of people had to leave their homes and were displaced by the fight. Not to mention the millions of dollars as material damages in both countries.
Those stats reflect very well how cruel that war was, but they also pose serious questions: What caused all that madness? Is football really the only reason to start such a deadly and destructive war?
The answer in short is: Of course not!
Football was, and still is, accused of starting a frantic war. However, that's very far from the truth! The roots of that conflict were way deeper than a superficial reason such as losing or winning a match. In fact, the real causes go back to the beginning of the 20th century, almost 70 years before "the one hundred hours' war". Factors such as border disputes, new land reform laws, immigration and population growth were perfect to simmer the situation over time.
Despite being neighbours, demography in both Central American countries were quite the opposite. Honduras, a very vast country, had a population of approximately 1.1 million in 1940. On the other side, El Salvador, five times smaller, had in the same year an estimated population of 1.7 million. Thinking about taking advantage of the vast Honduran farmland available, and encouraged by the land owners elite in El Salvador, poor Salvadoran farmers started mass immigration to Honduras since the beginning of the 1900's. As a result, by 1969, more than 300.000 Salvadorans had already settled down there, representing around 20% of the overall population of Honduras.
The constant growing number of immigrating farmers made Honduran landowners and big corporations such as the US fruit companies unhappy with the situation, and in an attempt to protect their property rights, they united their efforts against those immigrants, by bringing pressure to bear on the Honduran government. That plan worked, and by 1967, the majority of farmland occupied and used illegally by Salvadorans, were taken by the lately enforced land reform law.
Honduras decided also to expel thousands of those immigrants, and sent them back to their home country, including long term residents. One doesn't need a sharp mind to conclude what happened next; naturally, the already struggling El Salvador wasn't very welcoming as the government couldn't handle the large number of migrants returning to the small, crowded country; leaving them in the claws of extreme misery.
As if that wasn't enough tension, the media and press decided to electrify the public opinion, talking about the humiliation Salvadorans faced in Honduras. To top it all, the two nations were having sea and land border disputes over the Gulf of Fonseca; at that point, it was clear for everyone that a military action is just a matter of time.
Nevertheless, many people still mindlessly blame football as a cause of that war. However, in reality, football was nothing but a trigger; or more precisely, a cover for politicians to justify an already planned war. In central and south America, football is a life passion, and 3 games in less than a month against a potential enemy were the ultimate chance to enforce war without much opposition.
50 years after the critical match, Mauricio Rodriguez, who scored the winning goal, said in an interview:" The war would have happened with or without that goal." He added: "What I am sure of is that the authorities and politicians made use of our sports victory to glorify El Salvador's image."
The consequences of that war had affected both countries for long terms directly: the borders were closed and trade had stopped for decades. A full peace treaty was signed after 11 years of the tragedy. But for El Salvador, the worst effect is yet to come: due to the return of thousands of deported Salvadorans, the economy failed miserably and the social situation was hopeless. The result was a civil war a decade later, claiming the lives of 70.000 people during 12 years.
As for El Salvador's participation in 1970's world cup, they were eliminated in the group stage; they lost all their games against Belgium (3-0), Mexico (4-0) and the Soviet Union (2-0). With zero goals scored and nine balls in their nets, Salvadorans had to wait 12 years to participate in 1982's WC for the second and last time so far.
"Love bond"
It has been fourteen days now, and I'm still nowhere close to getting over what happened that ominous Saturday. One doomed day was more than enough to end my happiness once and for all. My whole life crumbled down and I can do nothing but hopelessly stare at the damage. Today marks two weeks of absolute loneliness. My only companions are the cruel silence, devouring what's left of my shattered self, and ruthless sadness digging its claws deep in my heart, slicing it over and over again.
Days are alike since my wife suddenly left. She never told me where she is heading, and despite my efforts to find out, I couldn’t know. However, she took with her my soul, leaving only a vessel, this living corpse of mine. The void she created is swallowing me slowly. My mind is playing on repeat every second I spent with her, making the end of my cherished dream even harder to accept. She left, turned her back to me and will never come back. Why can't I accept the bitter truth and get over it?!
The rush of memories is unbearable; my brain is melting away, same as my sanity. Each moment I shared with her is now haunting me; it's like walking in a dim alley, surrounded by monsters pulled out of my worst nightmares. I have never thought a broken promise can break a tough man as I once was. Her unfulfilled oath has deprived sleep of my wrecked body. Nothing to do during the long night other than burying my face in a pillow soaking in tears
It's past midnight once again. The sky is gloomy and the street is as empty as my new life. I can barely gather enough strength to drag my heavy feet after a long shift at work. I've become a workaholic. It is not as if I enjoy what I'm doing, I'm only craving for a distraction, and work was my best option. I don't want to go home; her smell is still filling the place. Besides, I have nothing to do but whining for hours there. Yet I don't really have a choice; where else can I go?
To my surprise, the front door of the house is unlocked. Very unusual... but not strange, considering how messed up my mind is lately. As the light went on, my mouth is dropped open and my eyes are almost out of their sockets. I'm not hallucinating! She is back! She is here, right in front of me, sitting on the couch where we always cuddled and kissed for hours! How can I ever forget?!
But she looks different than the last time I saw her. Although her dark straight hair is as great as ever, she is just gazing into space; her light-blue eyes have lost their shine. Her skin is paler than it used to be, turning even a little greyish. God! Did she crawl all the way up from hell or something?! My body is trembling and I can't control it as a mixed emotion emerges.
For the first time in my life, her sight frightens me. I'm so scared, and I don't know what's more terrifying: starring at my wife's dead body, dug up from her grave and placed on my couch; or the heavy breathing, shaggy figure starring at me in the dimly lit kitchen...
The elevator theory in life
When we try to describe our journey in life, most of us might think in terms of "tough"," war", "battlefield" or even "race". All of those words can precisely describe how tough life can be, especially when we are working hard to achieve something, to prove our existence and not waste the time we were given in vain. But how about less aggressive terms? For example, have you ever thought of comparing your life to something as simple as riding an elevator? Yes, an elevator! This probably seems vague in your mind, so allow me to borrow your attention for the next few lines.
Imagine a scenario in which you are inside a skyscraper, and you want to explore the highest floor of the tall building, say the 35th floor. Obviously, you decide to ride the elevator. It's very crowded; due to that fact, some decided to get out before the door closed. Maybe they were right. After all, who wants to be stuck in an overcrowded cell, with a man stamping on your foot and another coughing in your face? One by one, the crowd leaves the elevator as they reach their destinations, but there you are, standing inside the metallic box for what feels an eternity. You probably envy those who step out from the elevator after a few storeys up, while you have to make it all the way to the top.
Does that remind you of something? Have you not noticed a resemblance between the situation above and your life journey? Alright, maybe things are still blurry and needs some clarification. Think about it this way: the highest floor (the 35th floor in our example) represents your biggest life goal, the dream you have been chasing and running after for so long.
Based on that, it's easy to conclude what the time spent riding in the elevator means. That's right! It refers to the long path to take for the sake of achieving your goal. The men stamping on your foot and coughing in your face are the obstacles you have to deal with during your journey; no gain without pain as you know.
Using the same reasoning; the people who refused to take the lift impersonate everyone who abandoned his dream facing the first obstacle. As for those who stepped outside the elevator; they are divided into two categories: the first group are those who had life goals easier than yours so atomically their path is shorter than yours; and the second, which includes individuals who gave up everything and walked out midway.
But what about envy and what feels an eternal waiting? What do those refer to? Well, they simply represent the same feelings everyone gets after watching others getting what they want while you still aren't there yet As a result, many will feel disappointed and lose all the passion they once had, doubting their life choices. Worse, they might falsely convince themselves with ideas such as their inability to get what they are after.
Sadly, that's a fatal mistake. That someone succeeded before you, doesn't mean you are hopeless or doing things the wrong way. It only means you are aiming higher than they do which normally means your road is harder and longer than theirs. But keep in mind this, the hardest victories are the sweetest; reaching the 5th floor is easier than the 35th floor. However, remember that the higher you ascend, the better view you get through the windows and vice versa.
In the end, I can only place great emphasis on the last point; do not give up what you have been after for so long, just because someone gets there before you. Also, isn't it amazing that a whole life journey can be described as riding an elevator?
Life cycles
He was cleaning his one bedroom flat for the first time in a long time. When one lives alone with nobody with whom to share responsibilities, even a small place like his become a time consumer and difficult to manage. The fact that he rarely had any free week-ends had only made things tougher to deal with. As he started cleaning the bookshelf, a coughing attack struck him. It's true that the man was never a fan of reading and he only kept the books as a form of decoration, but damn! Wiping the dust off them caused a small sandstorm around.
Among the books pile, something strange caught his eyes; it wasn't a book but a photo album. An album of his captured memories as a child and during his teenage years. He completely forgot about it, he thought it was lost when he moved here. Driven by a wistful longing for the good old days, he decided to give it a glance. The nostalgic flashbacks sent shivers down his spine and putting a faint smile on his face.
The first photo made tears rolling down his cheeks: there was a newborn held by his parents, with their foreheads against each other, grinning from ear to ear. It was days after the 34 years old man now was born. They looked so happy in the picture that it felt like earth itself can't hold the joy they felt. He didn't see them nor talk to them for few years. He loved them so much, but he never told them, and he never will. After all, there is no possible way to communicate with the dead. They died together as they always wished, however, it's doubtful they asked for that to be inside a smashed, burning car...
He turned the next page; the photos were representing him as a child. Growing up surrounded with kind and loving parents can only make life easier and cheerful. The photo taken by his dad of him and his mum hugging before his first school day might be a fair prove of those sweet old days. Back then, his mind was as clear as crystal. He never gave matters like affording food or paying the rent and bills any thought. The only problems bugging him were those annoying school teachers giving tons of homework, making it harder to find time to watch TV and play outside.
Flipping through the album pages, he stumbled across a photo of 3 teenagers: he was in the middle. A smiling, good looking 19 years old with thick, long wavy dark hair, wearing a blue shirt perfectly revealing his well shaped body. His girlfriend, a cute redhead, was leaning on his right shoulder, while his childhood friend stood on the left. The photo was taken 15 years ago, just a day before they all left for college.
This photo was supposed to capture a moment as a memory to cherish in the future. But instead, it made him feel like sadness sank its sharp claws into his heart. Everything that picture represented had faded away! Just gone! His muscles were buried under a thick layer of fat, without forgetting that belly beer. It became normal for him to hear stuffs like 'big guy" or "when are you due to deliver?"Everywhere he went. At work, his colleagues were stroking his belly sarcastically asking about the baby's gender. Well, what else to expect living on junk food for years?
His wide white-toothed smile got lost within the maze of life. Man! When was the last time he smiled naturally without forcing it? Not recently for sure. Of course, to top it all, his thick dark hair became thin with a decent amount of grey hairs on the sides, adding years to people's estimations of his actual age. In short, look up the dictionary for the word "change" and you will find his "then and now" pictures.
But that's not all what changed or faded away, even his relationship with his girlfriend and "best mate" took the same path. As for the girl, he knew the hard way she cheated on him on multiple occasions with different students from campus. Like shattering his heart wasn't enough pleasure for her, she decided to pour all her dirty secrets on him the moment he proposed to her, describing in details the "good times" she had.
As for his best friend, he had never heard from him again right after the sophomore year. He hung out with the "bad boys" and ended up dropping out of college, or was he expelled? Crappy memory! However, shortly after, he heard some rumours about this friend joining a gang. If they was the truth then who knows? He might be a drug dealer or an armed robber now if not both; or maybe dead with a hole in his head in the worst-case scenario.
He pressed his lips into a thin line thinking, not able to stop staring at the photos. It struck him hard how fast is this roller coaster called life goes, changing upside down and taking unpredictable turns. Yet, it struck him even harder how oblivious he was, not even aware of all the changes around him taking place, at least not until he flipped through the photos.
During all of his different life stages, he has never thought about the changes happening next, neither could he expect the truth hidden beneath each stage and each person it included. As a child, playing football outside with other children, watching his favourite kid show on TV and finding an excuse to not go to school were all what he had to think about. But he grew up, and soon after, truth revealed itself.
He grew up and realised that problems won't be solved with a piece of candy anymore, and there is much to be scared of than darkness and the monster under the bed. But above all, he learned that none would hold his hand to cross the tough roads of life like his parents used to in his way to school. They were always smiling, but he couldn't see behind that mask, where they tried their best to hide pain and grief, struggling to afford the family needs.
Everyone changes. He never doubted for a second his ex loyalty. He had imagined her as a perfect soul mate. Nevertheless she decided to throw that away and stabbed him in the back. What was a sweet dream once became one of his worst nightmares. What about his best friend? Nobody had ever thought for a second that supportive friendly man could fell head first in a deep abyss and never found the way up from it again.
He raised his head and his eyes fell on the standing mirror on the corner. "You are blaming everyone for changing, but how about yourself? Haven’t you changed as well?" His mad reflection shouted at him. «Did you forget how promising your future was? What happened to that ambitious young man from 15 years ago? You are no better than them and you deserve every slap this life gave you for neglecting what you were after all those years. A bright future should be fought for, but you are a coward who always give up mid way. You betrayed your hopes!"
He shook his head and stared again, only to find his reflection staring back. He put the album back to where it was, and went to clean the rest of his flat.
The links of "Behind the shadows: The starving cave"
Part I : https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-i-f72b2ea8
Part II: https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-ii-cfec9973
Part III: https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-iii-8356f23f
Behind the shadows: The starving cave (Part III)
This is the third and final part of my entry to @Ozzyy and @Hanzell 's contest.
Part I : https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-i-f72b2ea8
Part II: https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-ii-cfec9973
****PS: This part contains violence and gore.****
Peter was trying to keep his blubbering as quiet as he could. He looked like a child threatened to be beaten if he cried more. The young guy was a person who can't even stand seeing blood on TV. He choked on his own words trying to whisper:
-Ch..Chris..please..I'm begging you! Get out of there now...I don't want you to be their next prey..
-For the first time in my life I will agree with you. I'm leaving this slaughterhouse now. I can't take any more risk. I will talk to you once I'm close to the exit. Don't turn your radio off.
Nothing is harder than waiting. Mix it with a dangerous situation and you might have a breakdown. Unfortunately, Peter had to learn this the hard way. Not before the heavy silent was broken with chris' whispers:
- Peter? Still with me I hope?
-Of course! I'm not leaving you alone there! what's the matter? Why are you still there?
-Yeah...About that...Well I twisted my ankle while trying to walk down the stairs running. I still can walk on my own but barely. And like that's not enough already, something is wrong with the flashlight. It's no use anymore and it's as dark as hell. I need your help now. You have to enter the cave and light the way for me. Don't panick! If my assumption is right, you will find me just after walking few meters inside.
This request made Peter's hair stood on end with a pale face like he had just seen a ghost. He barely managed to keep his voice down:
-Don't panick you said? How am I supposed to do so when you are dragging me to enter the damn cave! You know very well that i can't do that. I'm sorry...
-Oh, so now you are giving up on your big bro? I thought our brotherhood is way stronger than this. I've never let you down before yet you are betraying me when I nedded you the most? How low can you be?
-No! It's ...Just...I'm....UGH!...
Chris took the chance and decided to pressure his young brother further more.
-Can't you remember all the memories we had together? We were always together for better or worse. You won't leave your injured brother drowning in the drakness alone awaiting for those things to eat him alive, right? Please! Hurry up and save me while they are still busy eating that person..
Throughout his life, that was the first time ever Peter heard Christopher begging him. He was always the type who would never beg or apologize no matter what. A flood of memories was clogging his mind. Both kids were so different but inseparable, just like twins. If he leaves his brother to die, how is he supposed to keep on living with all the feelings of shame and regret? He gathered what was left of his courage and replied:
-You owe me so much for this. I totally went nuts for doing this, no doubt. After leaving this cave I will be the one drinking your blood, not them!
-Thank you brother. I will be waiting you. We will be together very, very soon...
As much as Peter wanted to reply with the usual "You are welcome" but he couldn't. Welcome? For what? For making him enter this cursed Bellua cave? or for making him feel like a soldier in a battlefield where he isn't even sure what's going to happen next? With a mind sinking in dark thoughts, he slowly made his way inside. His feet were barely able to lift his trembling body. It was just as Chris described it. Tremendously stinking smell and freezing cold air.
A couple of minutes later, and still no trace of Chris. Peter arrived at the corpses room. Anxiety and panick attacks are smashing him. Waving his flashlight right and left, he stumbled across the heinous view of a freshly devoured body: A featureless indefinable face with one missed eyeball and another popping out of its socket. An utterly skinned body. Huge chunks of the flesh were lost. Add to that a wide deep cut throughout all of the torso, making it easy to notice that all of the internal organs were missing, except for a small part of the intestines.
Needless to say, Peter had never faced such a disturbing sight and almost immediately, he couldn't pull himself together and emptied all what's in his stomach out on a withered husk thrown nearby. But wait a second... Peter felt something about the newly misshapen corpse. It was still dripping blood which meant that person was killed minutes ago! Some ripped out clothes were close to the body. Isn't this Chris' shirt?! No doubt! They preyed on him!
Like that's already not hard enough to deal with, and before recovering from the shock, Peter felt something behind him. A catastrophe always brings another one like they say, so he knew what was awaiting him. And hell, he was right. One of the "creatures" Chris mentioned was standing at his back. The fact that"Its" face was covered with blood, Chris' blood obviously, didn't make "its" shape any easier to swallow.
The maniac creature opened his black hole of a mouth and said, mimicking Chris' voice with a sarcastic laugh:
-I'm sorry for doing this to you, brother! But you know, you looks delicious too.
Peter stared at the beast with a wide open mouth. Did he just hear him talking with Chris' voice? How? and the most important is...
-"If you can mimic voices.. then that means..." He mumbled in a shaking voice. Without budging, the demon waved his hand in a fast move, slashing Peter's eyes. The scream of pain mixed with terror the boy shouted felt like rocking the whole cave, and he wished it did. Enjoying himself watching the blind Peter trying desperately to escape the cave, tumbling all around the place and running into walls like a mouse in a trap, the "thing" that looked like an inhabitant of inferno addressed the kid with a thundering voice:
- Your brother was very tasty. It has been a while since we ate a meal as delicious as him. Young humans are my favourite dish indeed.
He licked the blood stuck on his nails and went on to say:
-Your guessing is right though. You were talking to me the whole time almost. Your brother was dead since he came across this room. Eating him and talking to you simultaneously was quite fun. Using that kids' voice, I lured you to enter the cave and face your pathetic fate. After all, we are demons, and our abilities are way greater than yours. But for you and your kind, we have one thing in common. We both need food. Yet you already are aware of that. You will be an appealing meal yourself. I already described in details how we devoured your dear brother so you have a fair idea what to expect yourself.
The demon whistled to summon another not less ugly devil. He pointed his nail at Peter and ordered him:
-Take him, he is going to be our next meal. But I'm warning you, I will be the one eating the heart this time!
THE END.
Does anyone know when (or if) @Read.Cash is going back to take care of the platform like he did before banning himself? There are many things he should take care of. And @Read.Cash, if you are reading this, None will really object if you unban yourself and return to the platform. I guess that would be better for everyone here.
Behind the shadows: The starving cave (Part II)
Part I of the story: https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-i-f72b2ea8
**This is the second part of my entry to the contest held by** @Ozzyy **and** @Hanzell
****PS: This story contains violence and gore****
- What...What makes you ask a stupid question like this?! Of course I...was never there!
- Then can you explain why the smell of this cave is just the same as your rotten socks? Hahaha.
- Screw you Chris! This is not the time for your lame jokes. What do you see inside there? Anything interesting?
-Well I can assure you some kind of tribes lived here many years ago. There are various shapes engraved on the walls. They looks so old yet most of them are scary. People with weird heads, others looking like normal humans... But god! this aweful smell is getting stronger. Moreover, I feel like I'm being watched...
-They told us at school that the ancients drew their daily lifes on the walls as ...
Peter's history lecture was interrupted by a horrified wail from Chris:
-Oh my God! No wonder why this place stinks! This room is like an exposed graveyard! IT'S FULL OF DEAD BODIES!! Some of them are in the process of decomposition while the rest are nothing but skeletons! The amount of bones is unbelievable!
Peter almost fainted after hearing that. He was the sweetheart guy who can't even kill a bug, let alone being this close to a place full of dead people.
- Did I just hear you say bodies and human bones?! See what your freaking adventure made us deal with? Get out of there and let's just tell the police about this whole mess!
-Police?! You are joking I assume? Seriously now? Did you forget that we STOLE those radios? Do you want to spend hours being interrogated about those dead guys? I don't want to go to jail and I don't think you ...
Out of the blue, Chris paused mid-sentence, and his voice was replaced with a mix of vague noises: The clatter of something falling on the ground, a muffled scream and multiple rumbles. The whole series of unexpectable sounds made Peter lose his mind panicking. He grabbed the talkie-walkie shouting:
-What is going on there?! Answer me Chris! If that's one of your stupid pranks I swear I will kill you myself!
Nothing but an absolute scary silence.
-Christopher...Please say something..I don't know what to do now. I beg you brother, say anything!
Seconds felt like centuries for the devastated sibling. Finally the silence was broken by a whispering voice:
-From now on we will be whispering. It was watching me and I had to turn the talkie off because of your screams. It almost saw me. I almost peed my pants!
-Whoa...What? What do you mean with "it" was watching you? And what happened earlier? I almost had a stroke! If you are that scared then why don't you get your ass out of there and let us leave this cursed death hole!
-Stop screaming you jerk! What happened is that while talking to you, a few bones were in the way and I didn't notice them. Obviously I tripped and fell down. However, I think someone or more precisely something is here. As soon as I stood up, I saw a hazy figure. It was shaped like a human but far from being one. An enormous head with horns, quite tall body, Long straight nails. I haven't seen much because I only saw him for a second. I had to conceal my own scream, turn the radio and the flashlight off in an attempt to avoid him noticing me. It's possible that my mind is playing tricks on me too. The feeling of being watched is tearing my chest apart.
Peter's anxiety went utterly through the roof. He barely was able to hold back his tears.
-Chris please! Let's just go back home...I'm not asking much am I?
-Sorry man. But you have to pull yourself together. I can't go back now after the progress I've made. This cave is way vaster than how it looks from the outside. I'm now in the creepiest room one can ever see. I guess this room is used for voodoo magic and exorcism maybe? There are diverse weird symbols written with what I assume is blood all over the walls. This reminds me of exorcism horror movies.
The younger kid didn't know what to say, he was ready to kiss his brother's feet to convince him leaving the place. But when it comes to someone as stubburn as Christopher, even that won't work. So he only decided to play along
-Make sure you don't touch anything. You never know how those spells works.
-Sure thing. I'm in another place now. There are only two words to describe it: Absolute madness! It looks like a small chapel or something except that...Everything is made of human bones! The roof and pillars are decorated with skulls. There is even a giant chandlier hanging above a big round table with one, two,...thirteen chairs around it, all made of skeletons! As sick as it might sound, but this is fascinating! There is a staircase leading up...
Peter let go a sigh and replied:
-Let me guess. It's also made of bones and of course there is no way to stop you from climbing the stairs right?
-Yep! Smart boy! I'm walking my way up now. But I can hear some voices. Which means I wasn't hullucinating after all. Indeed I wasn't alone since the beginning. Avoid making any noise which can expose me to danger.
A couple of minutes later, Chris was whispering again:
-I'm hiding behind a rock few steps after the door. You won't believe this! I can see not only one, but five of those...creatures! My god how ugly and dreadful they are! Their figures makes the blood freeze in my vessels. They have huge bodies which with skinned flesh in some parts, the other parts are covered with what looks like scales. Their red faces are quite long. Small fully green eyes with a hole instead of the nose. Mouth is large with sharp teeth growing from the lips. They have short ugly horns in the forhead. Not to mention the long nails they have in hands. Trust me, their sight is not pleasant at all and it's assaulting my eyes.
-But what are they doing? It's quite loud there.
-It's not clear. They are crowded on something on the floor but ...Dear lord! Those monsters are eating a human being! They are shreding his flesh to little pieces with their nails and teeth! Blood is spilled everywhere! wait, they are rending his chest...How freaking gruesome is this! I can hear them cracking his rib cage from here. I bet you can hear that yourself. As I can see, the savages are after his heart. Yes. That's right! One of them has just pulled the heart out. He is wringing it to drink the blood coming out!
To be continued...
Part III: https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-iii-826c73d1
Behind the shadows: The starving cave (Part I)
**This is my entry for the "stories in series" contest held by** @Ozzyy **and** @Hanzell **and it contains 3 parts.**
****PS: This story contains acts of violence and gore.****
-Officer Peter! do you copy!? Over.
-Loud and clear agent Chris. Shall we start the operation now? The suspect refuses to give up and he is utterly hostile. Our urgent mission now is to guarantee the hostages' safety! Over.
- We don't have other options. We have to storm the building. I will rush in through the front with my team. You and your men from the backdoor. But remember, you are the backup force. Don't make that mad guy feel your presence until you are given the signal to intervene! Over.
-Roger! However be careful! We don't want this to become a nasty massacre! We don't want to be tonight's breaking news and tomorrow's headlines. This should be as smooth as it can be! Over.
-Sure thing! No need to tell me what I'm already aware of. The storming starts now! Over and Out!
All of a sudden, laughters burst out in the place. It was two siblings playing with walkie-talkies.
-Damn man. said the older brother Chris looking at Peter. This was as much fun as stealing those things!
-We didn't steal them dude! replied Peter. we just borrowed them. It's true that the owner doesn't know about this but...We will give them back as soon as we are done playing.
Apparently, Chris didn't care much how to name what they had done, he only shrugged and said:
-Yeah, whatever. Call it what you want. But do you know what I'm thinking? I really want to test those in a real situation...
-What do you mean with test them? We just did that, silly face.
- No idiot! You said yourself that we need to give those back later, right? So why won't we entertain ourselves and have a REAL adventure using those radios? I also know the best place for that.
Peter knew very well that his brother was the reckless kind with a **twisted** comprehension of the word "fun", so he expected to hear something crazy.
-I have a gut feeling that I will regret this but ok. What do you have in mind?
-The Bellua cave. There is no better place to have the experience of...
- Are you out of your damn mind?! shouted Peter with a **terrified** look on his face. You know the reputation of that place! Everyone who went inside never came back!
- Only cowards like you believe that nonsense! Can you stop being a chicken for just one full day? Come on! I'm very sure even a frightened kitten like you has some curiousity to explore that place.
-Stop insulting me! I'm not scared. But...
-No buts. Prove that. We both want to examine that area and we are in this together. Nothing wrong will happen. Trust me brother. I will get flashlights for both of us. You know where is the cave already so I will meet you there.
The younger kid didn't know what to answer so he just nodded his head.
Half an hour after, the two kids were in front of the cave, Chris was as excited as a kid in Christmas, while Peter looked as someone who is digging his own grave with his bare hands, trembling, he turned to face his brother and said:
-I can't do this. Being this close to the cave alone is sending a shiver down my spine. There is no way I can go inside.
Shaking his head, Chris let a deep sigh out:
-Hopeless like always. Sometimes I feel ashamed to have you as a sibling. Anyway not a big deal. I was certain you won't do it. You will stay here and we will keep in touch using the talkie-walkie. But don't you dare leaving without my permission, we don't know what can happen and I might need your help somehow.
Peter watched the older kid's silhouette slowly disappearing into the darkness of the cave. His heart jumped in his chest when Chris' voice went through the radio:
- Dude, this place is the underworld! it's as **cold** as the north pole here. The air feels heavily thick as well and it takes an effort to just breath. Let me ask you something Peter, and I want an honest answer: Is it true that you have never been here? Because Something in this place reminds me about you!
To be continued...
Part II: https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/behind-the-shadows-the-starving-cave-part-ii-75b08ec7
For the last couple of days, this platform has been pretty much like a war field: Insults, offensive memes, name calling and so on. It's very surprising how a simple contest went utterly out of control. I also read that post made by read.cash which obviously reflect how much this guy is struggling to keep this platform alive. He even banned himself for breaking his own rules. But all of this gloomy atmosphere here makes me wonder: Is this the moment when we say goodbye read.cash? I really hope not, and to be honest, it would be a big shame for such a promising platform to end this way...
Hello, I have a 10% promo code valid to buy a hardwaller from Trezor and I want to sell it for a little amount of BCH. Is anyone interested?
Mirror
"Good morning my little ray of light! Rise and shine. A beautiful day is awaiting you". It has been 17 years now since she heard that for the last time. Her father had the habit of waking her up every morning that way. His voice was so reassuring that it never failed to make her smile.
Too bad for her that people can't talk after their death. Since the time he left her, everything isn't the same anymore. Waking up, for example, has become so hard. Why would she leave the bed when all that she wants is sleeping forever? Her days are all grey without a joy and all what they brings is more sadness. It's hard to wake up when the first thing she does right after is cursing herrself over and over again because she didn't die in her sleep.
With heavy steps like a prisoner in chains, she managed to make her way to the bathroom. The young girl lifted her head and stared into her reflection on the mirror. She has always despised what the mirror reflects. She wasn't ugly at all. She was quite pretty to say the least, yet she hates mirrors so much. The girl kept looking at her doppelgänger like she wanted to scream. she held out her hand into the reflected girl, and started talking:
-"You told me that everything is going to be better this way. No pain or sadness will be felt anymore. But look at you, I don't even know who you are anymore. Are you really supposed to be me? Then why you feel nothing more than a stranger? Just like a shadow, Or must I say...an illusion? Yes. That's what you are exactly. An illusion that I created using my own mind. It was a required task in a life like mine. You smile to someone while all I want is punching his face with all my strength. Today is going to be no different. I will just pretend and act as the ideal me again. The person whom everyone wants to see."
For some reason, she felt like her "mirror twin" is mocking her with a sarcastic smile on her face. The poor girl couldn't hold back her tears.
-" You have all the right to laugh at me if you want, because those tears on my cheeks means it's time for the liar to be the victim again. I've lost every identity after I created you. Miss Nobody. yeah, that's what I'm already, with my false image and my forged words. The honest girl liked by everyone is in reality the shepherd boy who cried wolf. I'm just a set of lies well virtualized into this living pretender. I thought acting to make people love me is my salvation, tuned out to be a curse..."
She glanced at her arm. A lot of scars and cuts on it, some of them were recent and still didn't heal properly yet.
-"But who can blame me anyway? I wouldn't have made it this far in life if I didn't pretend to be someone else all this time. After my dad passed away, everyone rejected me. None ever liked me for who I used to be. Not even my mom. As soon as my father died, she threw me in an orphanage because my dear mom didn't want me to be an obstacle in her way. She left me to marry her new guy who didn't want to deal with kids. I still remember running after my mother, shedding tears crying and shouting with a shaking voice:
"Why are you leaving me Mommy? Why do you hate me that much? What have I done to you to neglect me like that? Please come back and love me! Take me with you and I promise you I will be a good girl please!". But my mother never cared. It was just like I wasn't there. Her only response was: "A brat like you is just a burden on me". She left me behind, begging on my knees, suffocating with my tears. Mommy went back to her lover's car and disappeared without a trace."
The girl went silent for a while. She looked like she is fighting floating memories in her head. Then she was staring at her reflection again.
-"When I was a kid, I was told that life should be appreciated. It can be the same as a beautiful flower in spring, that's what they said. But none told me that as soon as I walk through this life, the spring will change to a dark, cold winter, where the wind had no mercy on my flower and blew off all of the petals. I was 13 when I tried to cut myself for the first time. The nurse kept preaching me for days after that. Not only her, everyone in that rehabilitation institute said the same: "You are still young to die" and "Every cloud has a silver lining".
If that's how the so called life works, then why nobody is able to explain to me why those clouds transformed into a ruthless storm destroying everything in its path? Why there is no human being can accept me the way I'am without pretending to be this ideal shadow of myself? I just want to be loved for my true self instead of getting bullied and insulted...That's all what I'm asking for.
In my eyes, this life is nothing but torture and pain, plenty of it. As a result, depression became my best friend and my only companion. It's eating my soul, day after day, until there is nothing left but my dead body. People claims that they know what being depressed is, yet they really don't. They don't know that it feels like I'm burried alive in a coffin made of glass. While I can see everyone enjoying their lives to the limit, I can't budge an inch. A condemned prisoner awaiting his execution. That's what my only friend is doing to me."
she washed her face then went back to her room. It was so messy and in complete chaos. It seemed like a hurricane just striked the place. She sat on the bed, looking around her.
-"I'm so lonely in this world. Lonely to the point that I had to make this room my own realm. Here I can live my ideal life which I have never been able to get. I can pretend to be anything I want and act the way I like without any hatred looks. I can imagine that dad is still alive and spoiling me like the very old beautiful days. At least this way I can feel loved with someone being always on my side. This imaginary fantasy in my mind is my only escape from the real, cruel world.
In my fictional life, everything is fine. There is no sadness or tears. I only close my eyes and let my mind do the rest. It's just like spitting out lies, transforming them to a 3D world then moving there. Yet everything has a price, and for this fake fantasy to keep going, I accepted to be jailed in a circle of endless pretending. I have to pretend for others and be someone who isn't even close to be me, but also i have to pretend for myself that I'm doing great."
Carelessly, she changed her clothes and threw her pyjama on the undone bed. It's time for her to go to her work which she always hated.
-"Let's face it, I'm nothing more than a vessel for my lies. My imaginary realm didn't and will never be real. And I can't break free from the pretending I'm doing neither..."
She closed the door, put a large smile on her face and yelled :"What a beautiful day!"
Diaries from the past, and notes to the future (part II)
**PS: This is the second and last part of this article. If you missed the first part, please read it** **here** https://read.cash/@hamedbkh/diaries-from-the-past-and-notes-to-the-future-part-i-86beff95
Fast forward 15 years, I've become an adult myself. At my current age, I'm now able to understand life way better than before. With that being said, I have a little confession to make: As a grown up person, being happy isn't impossible, but it's far from being easy. Finding your own happiness can't be a simple mission considering all of the duties and responsabilities thrown on your neck. Also living in this complicated world doesn't make things less complicated if you ask me.
But on the other side, and despite being an adult, I still don't understand why people are linking the happy bright future only with how good their jobs and positions are. This doesn't make any sense to me. Even my personal experience made me convinced that happiness and your position aren't necessarily related.
Let me tell you briefly my story so you are able to know what i'm talking about precisely: My previous job was like a dream for most people in my age and city. The company i worked for is more or less famous where I live, my position there was quite good, even the paycheck was high comparing to other companies. Yet I decided to leave!
Surprising right? I know what you're thinking already and I will save you the effort of saying it: "I'm the biggest idiot on planet earth and I'm going to regret that decision sooner or later." You have no idea how many times I heard that and still do until now, and you are probably not different than the people around me. But believe it or not, I literally have no regret!
Why would I regret leaving when I had neither passion nor interest in what am I doing? I hated my workplace and I was counting every second in my shift waiting for my solvation. It also was took most of my time so I couldn't find time for my own hobbies and doing what I enjoy. Yet, that's not the only reason why I left. In that company, I felt just like a modern slave, someone who is working day and night to satisfy his "boss" and help him make his company bigger.
But what about me and my dreams then? Should I take a shovel, dig a grave and burry my own dreams with my bare hands? And for what? Just a fixed salary which is considered by others as a good one? So you are trying to tell me that my life goal should be a "good salary" and that's it? Please don't get the wrong impression. I have nothing against workers and salaries. In fact, I highly respect them and wish them all the best. But it's just me. I couldn't accept that situation let alone living it for a while.
In other words, let me ask you this: Why would I accept being the servent of someone else when I have the passion and the willing to be my own master? I'm not sure what you answer is. But keep in mind that so far I've never get a satisfaying replay. when I ask people the same question, all I get is sarcasm or a disgusted looks.
But wait! isn't this the same reaction I got 15 years ago when I said I just want to be happy? It's very obvious now. We are humans and when we deal with something we don't like or we don't understand most of us tend to make fun of it without even giving it a chance. However, I can't care less about that. This is my life, not a single person has the right to tell me what to do or what to avoid. When I get older, I don't want to regret my life choices which were made by others. This life is like a journey, your journey, and all you have to do is playing your cards right.
Diaries from the past, and notes to the future (part I)
We all agree that children are very cute and innocent creatures. Yet sometimes, those angels can also turn into a noisy little brats when they badly want something. That's exactly when we take advantages of their simple way of thinking and use it to make them scared and calm down a little . Normally this is not a hard task because you can come up with anything to make them panick and sleep like frightened puppies: Darkness, the sounds of the blowing wind, or even what's hiding under the bed will do the trick.
But when I was a kid, I had another "special" fear. It had nothing to do with dark places or imaginary monsters. My biggest fear was simply... a question! yes! I'm all serious. Before you start judging what kind of kids I was, let me just explain the situation first. When you ask any kid about what he wants to be in the future, you are surely expecting sweet and spontaneous answers like how he/she wants to be a doctor, engineer, singer and even a football player. But my answer wasn't anything like that. And people's reactions to my answer made that question my worst childhood nightmare.
I really never had any interest in a specific job unlike most kids. To me, the job itself wasn't really important as long as I feel passioned and satisfied doing it. So my answer to "what do you want to be when you grow up?" was pretty simple: "I want to be happy". The thing is, I couldn't understand why everyone bursted out laughing as soon as they heard that answer. They said this is very childish even for a kid! (Does that even make a sense?!) But nobody ever told me why? Is it forbiden to be happy ? Is it that they just didn't expect such an answer? Or what if my answer was just stupid? I really didn't know back then.
I couldn't figure out why adults make kids link their future life with work and jobs alone. I mean don't misunderstand me, I was fully aware that work is very important in order to make money. After all, that's what my father was doing to feed my little stomach and afford my needs. He worked day and night for that sake. But is that it? Is that how life should be? Only a job can define who you are? and only a good job is your life goal? What makes this life intersting then if we all are trying to achieve the same goal? Adults life is definitely boring then!
A flood of questions soaked the mind of the 6 or 7 years-old me at the time. Of course, it is not possible to answer them in such a young age. In fact, even adults can find those questions very hard to deal with. At least, the people I asked were never able to come up with anything useful to me. Yet, all I ever got from them was sarcastic comments. It's very clear now why I hated anyone who asks me "what do you want to become in the future?".
To be continued...
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The campanion of the devil (contest entry)
On a cold day with black clouds covering the sky, a man walked on the road with heavy slow steps. It doesn't take more than a glance to know that something was odd with that guy. His name was Paul and he was just fired from his job after losing his temper arguing with his boss and threatening to kill him. He kept dragging his feet until he reached his house, where he lived with his wife and child, but he wasn't thinking about them. Paul only thought about his favourite companion: Alcohol.
He didn't care much when his doctor warned him how bad his "alcoholic liver" disease became, also ignored the sudden mood swings and aggression he developed with his drinking habit. In his mind, that bottle was a magical tool to **release** all of his stress, a gate to a wonderland where his annoying child doesn't exist and his always nagging, fat like a barrel wife will turn into the **charming** model he knew before she insisted on having a kid.
But this time, Paul had the excuse of getting fired to drink even twice as the usual. Bottle after the other, his brain soaked in alcohol giving him a feeling of excitement he never felt before. He went to his wife who was playing with their 4 years old son. The man started stripping his wife and touching her everywhere, but all what he got was rejection with a slap on his face. At that moment, Paul's excitement turned into a Tsunami of anger, he started beating his wife like crazy in a way that scared the kid and made him crawl under the bed like a **worm** inside an apple hugging his teddy.
Few minutes later, it was all calm. When his father left to the next room, he came out only to find his mom on the floor, her eyes rolled back, bruises all over her and bleeding from her mouth and nose. Being so innocent, the poor **perplexed** kid went to his dad to ask him why his mommy was "sleeping" on the floor. He stepped in and before he could even speak, Paul decided to put a bullet in his own temple and collapsed swimming in a pool of his own blood.
30 years later, the only surviver is homeless and a heavy drinker for the sole purpose of erasing the **ashes** of that day from his memory...
PS: This story is a work of my imagination and it has no relation with any real events. I came up with this story as an entry for the contest.
Timer used: https://e.ggtimer.com/
Device: PC
Translated text: No
This is not going to be the end yet! (Practicing for the contest)
life, my friend, isn't a cheerful fairy tail. It's not all about joy and happiness. It can and will show you its ugly face someday. Life will drag you under the surface trying to drown you, pulling you deep down into the bottum and step on your neck with its leg until you feel your throat craching. This is when you have to remember who you really are: A fighter, a warrior who won't give up the battle until his very last breath.
Remember the future you dreamt about five or ten years ago. Isn't this actual moment that future? Get up! you can do it! Fight the pain and get ready for war, scream until your lungs can't have enough air anymore to breath. The scream of a man who is born from the ashes again. Life might be a pain, a nighmare at some point, but what you have to keep in mind is that life is also fair. all the tears and sweat you put in the way up to your dreams will finally pay off. At that exact moment, you will be proud of yourself as a chef whom everyone is complimenting the taste of his **cooking**: the taste of victory.
When you reach your goals, You will be **laughing out loud** at your fears and at the obstacles you had to pass to become what you are now. A story of a victorious man can't be written in normal ink. It should be written in pure gold.
Alright! the time is up and that's what I could came up with in only 10 minutes. This is the first time I write under the pressure of time! I usually take few hours to few days to write an article, depending on the topic. I hope the result is ok at least. Thanks for the opportunity.
" I've made a mistake and I want to punish myself! "
In this life, there are sentiments that are always hard to deal with no matter how old and experienced we become. The unpleasant feeling of guilt and regret is one of those. Regardless of how bad the mistake you made is, dealing with such a situation isn't something you really enjoy, especialy when guilt starts eating you alive until you are convinced that only self-punishment is your salvation. And that's where the red flags are up. Some people might go as far as self harm to try and "beat" that feeling, which is obviously a mistake in itself.
So is it really necessary to punish ourselves when we make a mistake? And if the answer is yes, then what are the best ways to do so?
Before getting to the punishment part, there are some important quastions you have to ask yourself: Why do you feel guilty at the first place? Is that (supposed to be) mistake really that bad? Or it's just your mind exaggerating the whole matter? Pose those questions a couple of times during the day and think about all the details to get a clear answer. If you still think you need to punish yourself after this stage, then keep reading, I will help you to choose a "suitable" punishment.
Of course, when I say a "suitable punishment", don't expect stuffs like banging your head on the wall, self harm or even the mental torture that some people do when they blame themselves. No! Not even close. We are trying to find a possibility to let this so called self punishment turn into a way to make your life better, not the opposite. Choosing the right punishment is decisive here and it can make things better or worse. Well then, with that being said, how to pick a punishment without really hurting yourself?
It's all about positive thinking. Why would you harm yourself (physically or mentally) when you can change it to an opportunity to improve your skills? Always take the so called punishment as a chance to correct the mistake you have made and the guilt resulting from it. For example assume that you failed a test, instead of blaming yourself over and over again in vain, Just add one or two additional hours to your usual studying time for a month. That way you will hit two birds with one stone: Eliminating the feel of guilt and fix the original problem as well.
In every punishment you pick, consider options related to enlarging your knowledge or developing a healthy habit. Walking is an ideal option, especially for long distances everyday. Other than being a healthy habit, it also clear your mind and help with recovering your mood. Reading is fine too. Read a book related to your mistake so you will learn how to fix it and never repeat it again. Here is another trick: If you are a sugar loving person, try "punishing" yourself with living a sugar- free lifestyle for 3 days. There are a lot of other possibilities you can come up with. Just be creative.
This looks so efficient and simple to do right? Well at some point it is. But keep in mind the following: No matter how possitvie it might seem, the self-punishment is a two edged sword and it should be used wisely. Don't over do it consecutively for every mistake you make. Do it like once or twice every few months. You don't want to subconsciously convince your mind that every mistake should be penalized or that we can only develop good habits through punishments alone. That will make you either afraid of making mistakes and/or lose your passion for everything in life.
One last advice, always keep whatever punishment you pick a secret to yourself. That will make you avoid the unnecessary comments which sometimes may become rude and mean. It's something that YOU are doing for YOUR own self, so it's preferable to keep it that way.
So here you have it! I hope this helps you a little the next time you think about punishing yourself. And remember, Don't be too harsh on yourself. In the end, we are only humans. It is just a part of our nature, to learn from our mistakes and move on in our lives.
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@hamedbkh