Quote:
> Two Middle East mothers are sitting in a cafe chatting over a plate of
> tabouli and a pint of goat's milk.
>
> The older of the two pulls a bag out of her purse and starts flipping
> through photos. They start reminiscing.
>
> 'This is my oldest son, Mujibar. He would have been 24 years old now.'
>
> 'Yes, I remember him as a baby,' says the other mother cheerfully.
>
> 'He's a martyr now though,' the mother confides.
>
> 'Oh, so sad dear,' says the other.
>
>
> 'And this is my second son, Khalid. He would have been 21.'
>
> 'Oh, I remember him,' says the other happily, 'he had such curly hair when
> he was born.'
>
> 'He's a martyr too,' says the mother quietly.
>
> 'Oh, gracious me . . . , ' says the other.
>
>
> 'And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He would have been
> 18,' she whispers.
>
> 'Yes,' says the friend enthusiastically, 'I remember when he first started
> school.'
>
> 'He's a martyr also,' says the mother, with tears in her eyes.
>
> After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at
> the photographs and, searching for the right words, says . . .
>
> 'They blow up so fast, don't they?¹
Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.
Silence those who disagree and you will never realize you are wrong.
No one rules if no one obeys
“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” - Voltaire
Silence those who disagree and you will never realize you are wrong.
No one rules if no one obeys
“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” - Voltaire