Gouya Roshan From Darkness to Light

Mahabad Is the Home of My Heart Mahabad is not just a city that exists on a map; it beats in the gentle rhythm of my heart. Every alley holds a memory, every morning brings a new light, and every evening whispers sweet recollections. Mahabad is not merely a name to me—it is a feeling… a feeling of earth, of sound, of love. This home is bound to my soul. Although it carries some bitter memories, its beauty remains more alive than ever in my mind. I can still hear my mother’s voice echoing through the alley, smell the food that no one else can cook the same way, hear my brothers’ voices, the laughter of children, and their carefree games. This is my Mahabad. Every street and every narrow lane is filled with pure and simple memories: games that lasted late into the night, my mother calling me home, and a hand gently wiping the dust from my face. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still hear that voice—soft, kind, and full of comfort. As the holiday approached, the house would come aliv...

  The Sin of Silence: When Human Rights Are Asleep  Being human is not merely having two arms and two legs. Being human means having the ability to feel another person’s pain, even if we do not know them. It means that when we know someone is suffering, we do not remain silent. It means not hiding the truth, even when it is costly. There are times when we have never met someone in person, yet when they are treated unjustly, we feel heartbroken. This empathy, regardless of nationality, religion, or borders, is a sign that humanity is still alive. If our hearts still respond to the suffering of others, then we are still human, even if the world has turned its back on that humanity. However, some human rights institutions, which are meant to be guardians of justice, do not respond adequately to the widespread suffering of people. This is not ignorance; it is a choice. A choice about which crises to see and which to ignore. Which victims to highlight and which to marginalize. For ...

The Shoe That Lasts One Year Human beings are creatures guided by plans and arrangements. Our daily lives are filled with “later,” “next year,” “when the time comes,” and “just in case.” We take the future for granted—so much so that we build houses for it, buy insurance policies, and make promises. Yet at the edge of all these certainties stands death; not as an extraordinary event, but as a constant truth, watching this scene with a cold smile. The image of a man who gives his shoe to a cobbler and says, “Repair it so that it will last for one year,” is simple yet profound. This sentence captures the essence of the human mind—a mind that assumes survival as something natural. It is not spoken out of pride, but out of habit. We are used to taking life for granted. We are used to believing our bodies are more durable than the things we wear. Yet the bitter irony of life lies exactly here: the shoe lasts for a year, but its owner does not last even a single day. In this narrative, death...

Why has democracy in Pakistan always remained unfinished? Despite the electoral spectacle, democracy in Pakistan has never evolved into a stable and transparent system. What we have witnessed over the past seven decades is not the consolidation of popular sovereignty, but a vicious cycle of short-lived civilian governments, overt and covert military interventions, and deep public distrust toward politics. The core problem in Pakistan is not the absence of elections, but a structure that prevents real power from resting in the hands of the people. Pakistan was born in crisis from the very beginning. A rushed independence, widespread violence, the displacement of millions of refugees, and constant conflict with India produced a fragile, security-driven state. In such a context, the development of democratic institutions was pushed aside and “control” replaced “accountability.” Unlike many countries, in Pakistan the state took shape before society. A fragmented society, weak political par...

Ongoing Injustices Against Indigenous Peoples in Canada Human history is marked by domination, oppression, and displacement. Throughout history, many people have experienced injustice and inequality, and often these experiences have been acknowledged or compensated for. However, for some groups, these injustices persist. One such group is the Indigenous peoples of Canada, who continue to suffer under this oppression to this day. The structural consequences of historical injustices continue to affect their daily lives. Indigenous peoples are constantly confronted with systemic discrimination. For example, when they become ill, they are often blamed for “excessive alcohol consumption,” and their treatment is delayed. Equal access to employment and universities is limited, and their voices are rarely heard. Even celebrations named after them fail to reflect genuine respect for their everyday lives. In some regions of Canada, Indigenous communities still lack access to clean drinking water...

  Life is a school that never shows the ending to anyone.  Every day we enter a new classroom; sometimes with enthusiasm, sometimes with fear, and sometimes simply out of obligation. In this school, the lessons are not always what we want, but all of them are necessary. Problems are part of life’s curriculum. They are like algebra classes; at first complicated, dry, and exhausting. Many times we say to ourselves, “What is this good for?” But right at the moment we are about to give up, we learn to think, to be patient, and to build solutions. Algebra teaches us that for every unknown, if we do not lose hope, there is an answer. Life is the same. Hardships do not come to break us; they come to strengthen our minds and deepen our hearts. Some lessons are practical, some painful, and some so quiet that only later do we understand what they taught us. Failures are midterm exams, and successes are grades given only for encouragement, not for stopping. A good student of life is not ...

  I Wish Life Were a Catalog I wish life were a catalog; we could flip through its pages and, whenever we grew tired, return to a chapter where breathing felt easier. A chapter where worries were not so overwhelming, where people loved us more simply, and our dreams were fragrant with hope. Perhaps those were the days when happiness needed no reason, and sorrow was not a constant companion. But life is a book that is written only once; it has no undo button, no margins where mistakes can be erased. Still, it holds something astonishing within it: we cannot return to previous chapters, but we can revive their spirit. Through a memory, a song, a person, or even through the courage to love again. Perhaps this is the art of living: instead of regretting past chapters, we learn to bring the spirit of those joyful days into today’s page and move forward. Not exactly as before, but more mature, deeper, and more authentic.