We are in mid-summer and itâs hot outside. It feels especially hot because of the high humidity and I am sure most of you are well aware. Here a lot of us âhibernateâ during the burring, as that is the running joke. Even kids donât stay outside for long to play during July-August. So people mostly focus on stay-at-home activities. For me over the weekends, it is mostly reading and writing. This is nice, as I am slacking on both as of late. If you are feeling the same, then I must request you to gear up and put your best out for the next issue, as that will be our 50th issue. That would mean, I have written this column 49 times non-stop. I do believe we took a week of break during winter holidays once, and maybe another week somewhere, if my memory serves me well. There is no other weekly activity that I have performed this long and this regularly that I can remember. So from just a personal point of view this is already an impressive feat. I donât know how each of you feel about that, but it is not always easy, and not always as fluid as it needs to be. However, the key point is to drudge through it! At least that is what I do, whether you like it or not.
In terms of Hive, we have passed a Hard Fork, and the newest thing is the end of curation sniping. That is a welcome move. The greater hive team put a lot of focus on manual curation and engagement on this hard-fork. There is direct benefit and reward for engagement and manual curation. We are already seeing the benefit of that if you ask me. Please make sure you guys take full advantage of that.
I am still seeing most people of BDC keep their limited engagement within the BDC. This is quite detrimental for your personal growth. You must reach out to the greater hive community. If you donât network, ultimately you are doomed. This is true not only for hive, but life in general as well. Regarding that, many of you write in Bengali only, while that is okay in the beginning, but you must also pick up English writing. This is simply because most people donât understand how to read Bengali and therefore, wonât be able to communicate or read your post. English is an international language. Therefore, if you develop English writing and even spoken english skills, that will benefit you personally. Just because some of you get a decent vote because of the community support, which is highly appreciated by the way, shouldnât prevent you from reaching out to the broader community for networking, engagement and support. This is not optional. From this point onward, please consider this mandatory. We are sorry that we have to write it down for some of you, but this is nothing new and we have said that a number of times and all possible modes of communication. Again, this is for your own good and your benefit.
With that said, let us all focus on better content production in the future. We do this for us, because it simply improves our personal skills. Good luck writing for the next issue.
-Editor
If you're from Bangladesh, the chances are you had to memorize and regurgitate the essay "Value of Time" on the answer sheet. It was one of the sure-shot essays you could memorize. For all the time we had to read it, we never really understood the meaning of it. Later in our lives as adults, when we're reminded of the importance of time, it doesn't mean anything to the mass of the people. When they say, time is money; we cringe inwardlyâeveryone knows money is money, and time is worthless. Plenty of time. Time isn't going anywhere. We still have time. Let's save some money by grinding instead. And outwardly, we want to avoid the discussion altogether. We would actually love to ignore the people who think in such a line as well. And if we can't ignore them, we think of them as good for nothing romantics.
It appears to me people are constantly going through rigorous efforts not to comprehend what the passing of time signifiesâwhich is understandable; I assume most of them would lose their sanity if they were conscious about it constantly. I would assume I wouldn't like that either.
I've been wasting time in indolence for a long time with random phases of active, acute awareness. And each of them usually sends a shiver down my spine. I soon forget the whole ordeal. Our body is resourceful at forgetting things that have the potential to harm us after all, psychologically or otherwise.
But I have become increasingly wary lately; of how time passes even when I'm not conscious about it. A sort of uneasiness hangs somewhere back of my throat, like an itch you cannot scratch. I feel like there is a duality of presence in me, they are engaged in a vicious dispute. One wants to make most of the time I have on earth, the other one carelessly wants to gossip, play games, socialize, and do some other similar things that catch my attention pretty quickly and keep me distracted.
And I'm torn, utterly torn.
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We, the bookworms, or book lovers, or nerds; or whatever you like to call yourself, are more or less familiar with Haruki Murakami;the legendary writer who, most of the time loves to throw us into an existential turmoil.
If you are not familiar with this name, Haruki Murakami is a Japanese writer, famous for his numerous bestselling novels, short stories and essays. The journey of my Murayama's books started with âMen without Womenâ. It was more like the debut of my obsession with japanese writers. Haruki Murakami has the ability to create a calm and collected addiction with his words. The books I have read so far managed to build a soothing atmosphere at the beginning, warping in this simple, linear storyline just to push towards the pit of philosophical debates in the middle, which give birth to nothing but more philosophical debates to the end. But todayâs writing is not about my love for Murakami's books, itâs more about the experience I had with âMen without Womenâ.
I didnât start reading it right away, either because of academic pressure or because I was in the middle of reading another book. Whatever the reason was, for a while the book got carried around in the backpack like leftovers. But one day, during a class period, the teacher forgot to notify us about the class cancelation and we had to sit through a 45-minute class, idly. I was bored with a book in my backpack, so I did what any bookworm would do.
At some point, a boy from my left saw the book title and started to laugh, he called my name and said, âYou are a feminist! You are dangerous.â I was a little confused at first, thinking why was this boy, whose name I didnât even know, calling my name and laughing at me. It took a while to realize the reason but before I could react, the boy started to declare his grand realization to the whole class while shouting and pointing at me saying, âShe is a feminist!â The sudden shift of scenario caught me off guard, and my brain couldnât function what was happening, but before I could plan an appropriate comeback, I heard myself shout back, âAnd I am dangerous!â The whole class started laughing, and then one girl shouted, âCool.â while another shouted, âWhy?â
After the laughter died down, I went back to reading, hoping no one would bother me this time. But another boy called me from behind and said, âYou read Murakami! I love his booksâ. The admiration I saw in his eyes while talking about the book I was holding, was genuine and appreciable and it felt nice after experiencing the little idiotic situation.
So there you have it, two completely different reactions about the same book, displaying two different types of people, a little shoutout sessions and the beginning of my Murakami journey, all in that 45-minutes canceled classroom.
Have you ever looked for happiness and ended up with sadness? If the answer is 'yes' well, it's natural, sometimes to be in a sad mood. It's also normal to run after happiness and didnât get, whats not normal is that 'you given up in despair'. There are many ways to find happiness if you really have the volition.
The whole world is suffering from the covid pandemic. The number of patients infected with corona is increasing day by day in Bangladesh as well. The helpless people are facing the most trouble. Meanwhile, the biggest religious festival of Muslims, the holy Eid al-Adha, is coming to the fore. It awakens in the hearts of Muslims the feeling of caring for one another by sharing joy. Though every Eid, regardless of the rich and the poor, the celebration of Eid in a row is loudly proclaimed. But the reality is different.
About 80% of the people in our area have become helpless due to this pandemic. And this year more than in the last few years, there has been an outcry among the people. So this year too we have bought a cow according to the ability to make the helpless happy who are stare at the the riches. That's what makes me happy, and cheerful. Who wouldn't be happy? If others are delighted by you, If an aged blesses you from his/her heart, If your parents feel proud of you. This is where self-peace derivation.
She was walking around the neighborhood getting to know the place that sheâd just moved in. It was noisy and crowded just like any other city that never sleeps; that is probably one of the reasons why she preferred small towns, for their peace and quiet. Deep down in her heart, she knew that cities did hold certain charms.
As she walks on the concrete pavement, she comes across an antique shop that catches her attention. It was a spacious place unlike the dark and gloomy antique shops that she'd been to before. Even with dark green colored walls, royal blue and gold designed wallpapers, the place was roomy and had enough light. There were a few glass cases where antique jewelry, artifacts, and such were placed neatly. They had been dealt with a lot of care and caution. She passed each case at a time, even checking out the wall glass shelves of antiquities. Her face shone with excitement revealing how fascinating she found it all.
And finally, something shimmered bright enough to catch her attention for more than mere seconds.
Hundreds of days, confined to either a glass case or some other safe, isn't as glorious as it sounds; maybe to humans but to this poor little thing, it was an endless prison sentence. What could this poor lifeless thing do other than cozying up inside the box looking pretty! Sometimes it gets a glance from a passerby, like the one standing in front, every once in a while, and sometimes some curious eyes manage to ask the burly man "What's the price?" Often seems overcharged and hardly been adorned by any.
It is as stunning as the story that's wrapped around it. Itâs owner has lost track of its whereabouts and as many times as it has changed hands, no one knows who it belongs to anymore. Some think that it was given as a gift to someone of high importance and others think it's not as old as it appears to be but attractive. Nevertheless, it has quite a story to tell. Sitting on the tiny, royal blue, velvet box inside an unbreakable glass-covered case, it looks beautiful with intricate details and studded gems stiking enough to draw attention. And even then it is having a hard time positioning itself where it can wow many others as sometimes other pieces overshone it.
A ring; small yet not delicate but mesmerizing.
Did I tell you that the ring has a story? I did. Then again, it has many stories but none it can tell by itself. Before glamourising this boring-looking case, it was owned by a socialite by her fiance; with a tragic turn and a broken engagement, the ring got tossed out by the angry rich woman. One of the cleaners had found and pawned it to this shop. The rich angry woman thought it was a cheap ring and in a fit of rage, called off the wedding. A beautiful ring in the muddied lawn, wondering if its last prison was better where it laid for a decade.
The place before was a bigger shop specializing in jewelry, old and new. It was sold by a man on the verge of bankruptcy, having no other way to turn to his last resort, his wife's ring. He had bought it only a few years ago from another jeweler for his wedding but the wife loved it anyway. And that other jeweler got it from a homeless woman. Now, this homeless woman knew the older stories of this ring as it was her family heirloom. The ring adorned her mother's finger and as well as her grandmother's. Her mother passed away when she was a child and in her early teens, she found herself homeless after her father's death. Due to extreme poverty, she availed to let go of the only object her mother left for her.
The ring appears to be cursed, doesn't it, luck turns back to whoever takes possession of it. But as soon as the hand changes, luck changes for the better.
The girl in front of the case, gawking at the ring knows nothing about any history. Even if she knew, should she still be looking at this ring as she's doing now?
āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāϤ⧠āĻāϞāϤ⧠āĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻāύāĻŽāύāĻž āĻšā§ā§ āϝāĻžāĻāĨ¤ āĻā§āĻĨāĻžā§ āĻāϞā§āĻāĻŋ, āĻā§āύ āĻāϞā§āĻāĻŋ āĻāϤā§āϝāĻžāĻĻāĻŋ āĻāĻžāĻŦāύāĻžāĻā§āϞ⧠āĻšāĻ āĻžā§ āϝā§āύ āĻŽāύ āĻĨā§āĻā§ āĻāĻŦā§ āϝāĻžā§āĨ¤ āĻ āύā§āĻāĻāĻž āĻā§āĻ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻžāύā§āϰ āĻŽāϤ āĻ āĻŦāϏā§āĻĨāĻž āĻšā§ āĻāϰāĻāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦā§ āĻāĻ āĻāĻ āĻ āύāĻŽāύāĻž āĻŽāύ⧠āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāϤ⧠āĻāϞāϤā§; āĻāĻ āĻāϞāύ, āĻŽāύāύ āĻāϰ āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻŋāϤ āĻā§āĻŦāύ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻā§ āĻāĻāĻāĻž āϝā§āύ āĻŽāύā§āϰ āĻā§āύ⧠āĻā§āĻŽāύ āĻāϞāĻ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāĻ āϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧠āĻāĻĨāĻžāĻ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻāϏā§āĻāĻŋāĨ¤ āϏā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻ āĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻāĻŋā§ āĻŽāύā§āϝā§āĻ āĻāĻāϰā§āώāĻŖ āĻāĻ āϞā§āĻāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āĻā§āϝ āύāĻž āĻšāϞā§āĻ āĻā§āϰā§āϤā§āĻŦāĻĒā§āϰā§āĻŖ āĻāĻĻā§āĻĻā§āĻļā§āϝ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰā§āύāĨ¤
"āĻšāĻžāĻŽ āϝ⧠āĻāĻžāϞāύ⧠āϞāĻžāĻā§ ā§ā§āϝ⧠āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤā§..
āĻŽāĻžāĻā§āĻāĻŋāϞāĻā§ āĻŦā§āϝāĻšāϤāĻžāϰ āϞāĻžāĻāύ⧠āϞāĻžāĻā§ ā§ā§āϝ⧠āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤā§.."
āĻāĻžāύāĻāĻž āĻŦā§āĻļ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āϞā§āĻā§āĻāĻŋāϞ, āĻā§āύāĻā§āύ āĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻžāĻāϤāĻžāĻŽāĻ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻŦā§ āĻāĻ āĻāĻĨāĻžāĻā§āϞ⧠āĻ āύā§āϧāĻžāĻŦāύ āĻāϰā§āĻāĻŋ āĻ āύā§āĻ āĻĒāϰā§āĨ¤ āĻā§āĻŦāύ āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻžā§ āĻāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻā§āĻā§ āĻāϞā§āĻāĻŋ āĻ āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāĻ āϧāϏā§āϤāĻžāϧāϏā§āϤāĻŋ, āĻšā§ā§ā§āĻšā§ā§āĻŋ āĻā§āύ āĻ āϧāϰāĻžāĻā§ āϧāϰāĻžāϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āϤāĻž āĻāĻžāύāĻŋāύāĻžāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦā§ āĻāĻžāϰ⧠āĻāĻžāϰ⧠āĻāĻ āĻĒāĻĨ āĻāϞāĻžāϤā§āĻ āϝā§āύ āĻāύāύā§āĻĻāĨ¤ āĻāĻŦāĻŋāϞ āĻāĻ āĻĻā§ā§ā§ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻā§āĻāĻā§ āύāĻŋā§ā§āĻā§ āϝā§āύ āĻļāĻžāύā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϞāĻā§āώā§āϝā§āϰ āĻā§ā§ā§ āϤāĻž āĻ āϰā§āĻāύā§āϰ āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāĻžāĻāĻžāĻ āϤāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻā§ āĻĒā§āϰā§āϤāĻŋāĻāϰāĨ¤
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āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āύāĻŋāϰā§āĻŦāĻžāĻāύ āĻāĻā§āώā§āϤā§āϰ⧠āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āώ āĻā§āĻŽāĻŋāĻāĻž āĻĒāĻžāϞāύ āĻāϰā§āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻā§āώāĻŖāϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻ āĻāĻžāϰā§āϝ āĻāϰ āĻāĻāύāĻ āĻŦāĻž āϏāĻŽāĻžāϧāĻž āĻāϰāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰā§āĨ¤ āϏāĻ āĻŋāĻ āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻžāϰ āĻā§āĻāĻ āĻĒā§āϤ⧠āĻĒā§āϤ⧠āĻ āύā§āĻā§āϰ āĻšā§āϤ āĻāϰ āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻŦāĻĻāϞ āĻāϰāĻž āĻšā§ā§ āĻāĻ ā§ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻŋ āĻāĻžāĻ? āĻā§āύ āĻāĻžāĻ? āĻāĻĨāĻŦāĻž āĻāϤāĻāĻž āĻāĻžāĻ? āĻ āύā§āϤāϤāĻĒāĻā§āώ⧠āĻāĻ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āĻā§ā§āĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻĨāĻžāĻāĻž āĻŦāĻžāĻā§āĻāύā§ā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻĒāύāĻŋ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻā§ āĻāϞā§āĻāĻŋāϤ āύāĻž āĻšāύ, āĻ āύā§āϝā§āϰ āĻ āύā§āϧāĻāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§āϰ āĻāϰāĻŦā§āύ āĻāĻŋāĻāĻžāĻŦā§? āĻšā§āĻ?
āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āύāĻŋāϰā§āĻŦāĻžāĻāύ āĻāϰ āϏāĻā§āϤāύāϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§ā§ āϤ⧠āĻ āύā§āĻ āĻāĻĨāĻžāĻ āĻšāϞāĨ¤ āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāϏāĻŋ āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāĻžāϰ āĻāĻŽā§āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāύāĻŋā§āύ āĻāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĒāĻžāϰā§āĨ¤ āĻŦāϞāĻž āĻšā§ āĻāĻāĻāύ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻāĻŽā§āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāύāĻŋā§āύ āĻā§āĻŦāύ āĻāϞāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻĨāĻā§ āĻāϰ⧠āϤā§āϞ⧠āϏā§āĻāĻŽ āĻāϰ āĻāύāύā§āĻĻāĻāύāĨ¤ āĻāĻāĻĨāĻž āĻ āĻŦāĻļā§āϝ āϏā§āĻŦā§āĻāĻžāϰā§āϝ āϝ⧠āĻļā§āϧ⧠āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāĻž āĻā§āύ, āĻāϰ⧠āĻŦāĻšā§āĻŦāĻŋāϧ āĻā§āώā§āϤā§āϰ⧠āĻāĻ āĻāĻāĻāύ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻāϤāĻāĻž āĻā§āĻŽāĻŋāĻāĻž āϰāĻžāĻāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āϤāĻžāϰ āϞāĻŋāĻŽāĻŋāĻ āύāĻžāĻāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦā§ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāĻā§ āĻĒā§āϰāĻā§āϰāĻŋā§āĻžāĻāĻž āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻŋ-āĻŽā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āĻļā§āϧ⧠āĻāĻĒāύāĻŋāĻ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāύāĻŋ āĻāĻžāĻāĻŦā§āύ āĻāϰ āύāĻŋāĻā§ āĻšāĻŦā§āύ āύāĻž, āϤāĻž āĻāĻŋ āĻšā§? āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāĻā§āĻ āĻāĻāĻāύ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻāĻŽā§āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāύāĻŋā§āύ āĻšāϤ⧠āĻšāĻŦā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāĻāϞā§āĻ āĻ āύā§āĻ āϏāĻŽāϏā§āϝāĻž āĻšā§ā§ āϝāĻžāĻŦā§; āĻāϞāĻŦā§ āϤāϰāϞāĻ! āĻŦā§āϝāĻĒāĻžāϰāĻāĻž āϧāϰāϤ⧠āĻĒā§āϰā§āĻā§āύ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻā§āĨ¤
āĻ āύā§āĻā§āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āĻāĻāĻŽāϤ āύāĻžāĻ āĻšāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰā§āύāĨ¤ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰā§āύ, āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻžāĻ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻ āϤ āĻāĻžāϞā§āĻ āĻšāĻŦā§, āϤāĻŦā§ āĻŦāĻžāĻāĻž āϞāĻā§āώā§āϝā§āϰ āĻĒāĻŋāĻāύ⧠āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώ āĻ āĻŽāύ āĻā§āĻā§ āĻā§āύ āĻŦāϞāϤā§? āĻāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāĻŦ, āĻāĻĨāĻž āĻ āĻŋāĻāĻ āĻāĻā§, āϤāĻŦā§ āϝāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāĻ āĻ āύāύā§āĻĻ āύāĻŋāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻā§ āĻŦāĻž āύāĻŋāĻā§āĻā§ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦā§āϧāĻšā§ āĻŦā§āĻļ āϏā§āĻā§āĻ āĻāĻā§āĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻāĻŋāϤ āĻāĻŦāĻŋāώā§āϝ⧠āĻāϰ āĻāĻĨāĻž āĻā§ āĻāϰ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āĻŦāϞā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻž āύāĻž āĻĻā§ā§ āϧāϰāĻž, āύāĻž āĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻžāϰ⧠āĻĒāϰā§ā§āĻžāĨ¤ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻāĻž āϝā§āύ āĻ āϧāϰāĻžā§ āĻĨā§āĻā§ āĻā§āϰāĻŽāĻžāĻāϤ āĻāĻĒāĻā§āĻ āĻāϰ⧠āĻāϞā§āĻā§ āĻŦāĻŋāϧāĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ āĻ āϤā§āϝāĻžāĻļā§āĻāϰā§āϝ āĻŽā§āύā§āώā§āϝ āĻĒā§āϤā§āϞā§āϰ āύāĻžāĻāĻāĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻāĻŽāϰāĻž āϏāĻŦāĻžāĻ āϝā§āύ āϏ⧠āύāĻžāĻāĻā§āϰ āύāĻ āĻāϰ āύāĻā§!
āĻļā§āϰā§āϤ⧠āĻŦāϞāĻž āĻāĻžāύāĻāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ āϤāĻžāĻ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻāĻžāĻ; āĻļā§āώ āĻāϰā§āĻ āϝā§āύ āĻļā§āώ āĻāϰāĻž āĻšā§ā§ āĻāĻ āĻā§ āύāĻž āĻāĻāĨ¤ āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāĻžāϰ āĻāĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞā§, āĻāϞāĻžāϰ āĻāύāύā§āĻĻā§āϰ āĻāĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞ⧠āĻšāĻ āĻžā§ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻāĻ āϞā§āĻāĻžāϰ āϝāĻŦāύā§āĻāĻž āĻā§āύ⧠āĻĻāĻŋāĻ; āϤāĻžāĻšāϞ⧠āĻā§āĻŽāύ āĻāĻāĻāĻž āĻ āϤā§āĻĒā§āϤāĻŋ āĻĨā§āĻā§ āϝāĻžāĻŦā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāĻ āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻāĻžāĻ āĻāĻ āϞā§āĻāĻž āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āϤā§āĻā§āώā§āĻŖ āĻĒā§āϰāĻā§āĻāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻāĻā§ āĻšāϞā§āĻ āĻāĻžāĻŦāĻŋā§ā§ āϤā§āϞā§, āϤāĻžāĻšāϞā§āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻāĻŋāύā§āϤāĨ¤ āĻāĻžāύāĻŦ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ āϞā§āĻāĻž āϤāĻāύāĻ āĻāĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāϞā§āĻā§ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏā§āĻĻā§āϰā§āĻ āĻāĻ āĻŽāĻžāύāϏ āĻā§āϰāĻŽāύā§āϰ āĻāĻžāϰā§āύāĻŋāĻāĻžāϞā§āĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻā§āĻāĻžāĻŦāĻžāύ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻā§āϰ āϏā§āϤā§āϤāĻŋāĻ āϝāĻžāϰ āĻāύā§āϤāϰāĻŋāĻ āĻāĻŽā§āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāύāĻŋā§āύāĨ¤
āĻāϰ āĻšā§āϝāĻžāĻ,
āϰāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϞāϤ⧠āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§āĻāĻž āĻšāĻŦā§ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻā§....!
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