سلام يا ناس، راكو ملاح؟ شكرا على الإستماع. لي حبو يقراو إنجليزية،ولا صينية ولا يديرو إستشارة ، تلقاو كامل الروابط هنا لتحت. ولي حبو يكونو سبونسور لحلقة (حتى و تكونو أفراد برك ماشي بسيف عنكم شركة) أبعثولي إيميل:
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Text: Alha wa Chabab
"Wow… I can’t believe I’m standing here right now. Honestly, I used to daydream about this moment all the time. I grew up watching this show. Everyone in my family loves it. I come from a musical family. My dad plays the synthesizer and my mom has the most beautiful rocky voice you could imagine. She’s the one who gave me the love of Rai music. I know some people think that that kind of music is somehow dirty but my mom always said it was the most sincere, bravest, most authentic kind of music. The autotune is just extra, just for fun.
Back when I was singing in parks, or down in the subway station where the sound of my guitar had to compete with trains rushing past, I’d picture something like this. Bright lights, a real stage, and people actually listening—not just hurrying past.
You know, a lot of people doubted me. They’d say, “Singing on the street isn’t a career,” or, “You’re wasting your time.” And, okay, sometimes I doubted myself too. It’s hard not to when strangers look at you like you’re invisible or like you’re a weird creature. But then I’d get those few smiles, or someone would stop and record a video, or even toss me a thumbs-up along with a coin. That little spark of encouragement—that kept me going.
And of course, I had my team at home. My mom, who never once told me to get a “real job,” even when money was tight. And my sister, who probably got sick of hearing me practice the same chorus a hundred times but still clapped every single time. They’re the reason I kept believing in myself when the world made it tough. They have my back and sometimes I feel like I am carrying their dream. I know my mom wished she could be an artist, openly, but she kept her songs between us, like a family secret. I want her to be proud of me.
I guess what I want to say is… this moment feels huge, but it also feels like the natural next step. Because I’ve been preparing for this in every subway station, every park bench, every rainy day when my guitar strings slipped under my fingers. This is what I’ve been working toward.
So yeah, maybe I’m still the same busker, just with better lighting and a bigger crowd. But tonight, I get to share my music with you, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. This one is for you Mom!
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Text:
"Sam: Leila! Wow, it’s been ages. How have you been?
Leila: Sam! I kn
ow, it feels like forever. I’ve been good, just really busy with work. I’va actually accepted a new position in the marketing department and it’s been quite the learning curve. Definitely challenging but I’m loving it. How about you?
Sam: Same here. Work has been intense, but I’ve managed to find time for some hobbies. For a while I did nothing but work and I felt myself going down the slippery slope towards burnout. I had to take a break and rethink my priorities. So now I take time for myself and the things I care about. I actually started learning the guitar.
Leila: No way! That’s amazing. How’s it going?
Sam: Slowly, but I can play a few songs now. What about you—still painting?
Leila: Yes, actually. I joined a local art group, and we meet every weekend. It’s been so refreshing. I have even made a few friends there and even though we have very different lives we have the love of painting in common.
Sam: That sounds great. And how’s your family?
Leila: They’re doing well, thanks. My sister just had a baby, so I’m an aunt now!
Sam: Congratulations! That’s wonderful news. How’s the little one?
Leila: She’s adorable—tiny, but already so full of personality. I am going to go visit them tonight actually. I miss her so much even though I saw her just three days ago. What about your family?
Sam: Everyone’s good. My parents are enjoying retirement, traveling a lot. And my brother moved back to the city, so we see each other more often now.
Leila: That’s nice. It must feel good to have him nearby again.
Sam: Definitely. And what about our old group of friends? Have you kept in touch with anyone?
Leila: A bit. I still talk to Maya sometimes—she just started her own business. And I ran into Tom a few weeks ago; he’s teaching now!
Sam: Wow, Tom as a teacher—I can actually picture that. We should try to get everyone together sometime.
Leila: Absolutely. It would be so fun to catch up properly, like the old days.
Sam: Let’s make it happen."
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Text: The Birds on the Roof
Every afternoon, Amin and his friends claimed their usual table at the neighborhood Café, just across from the hospital. They weren’t doing anything special: just heated debated about the last football match (Classic armchair coaches) , endless coffees that made them jittery, and trying to make each other laugh until someone choked on their Crocket. They were not bad guys, they were just often jobless, annoyingly loud and a bit immature.
One day, Amin parked his old scooter in the reserved staff parking spot. The doctor who usually parked there got really mad and started shouting at him. Amin just laughed at him and that made the doctor even angrier. He thankfully found another spot, parked, slammed the door and stomped away. While mimicking the walk of the grumpy doctor who had scolded him , Amine noticed a boy watching him from the hospital window. He had a shaved head, an IV drip, and the kind of smile you don’t fake.
"That kid gets it," Amin joked pointing at the boy
That moment stuck with him. He couldn’t forget that smile.
The next day, Amin brought a big balloon that looked like an anemic Sponge Bob. Without asking the café owner, he climbed on the roof of the establishment. He stood there holding the balloon and when the boy looked out, he started waving then pretending to have a fist fight with the malnourished Sponge Bob. The boy laughed. Nurses peeked out too and so did more patients. min liked the attention so he kept going. His friends joined him.
One day, Amin and his friends came dressed up as a superheros and danced feminine dances, shaking their bums and youyouying. The patients thought it was hilarious.
People in the hospital began to wait for them. “They’re here!” The nurses would say and the patients would rush to the windows. The grumpy doctor turned out to be a super friendly guy who bought them some coffee sometimes. The café owner gave them free pastries for being “idiots for a good cause.”
They called themselves *The Birds on the Roof*. No money, no plan—just four friends being ridiculous for the people who were suffering.
“We’re not doctors, obviously…Nadir here can barely read.” Amin said with a cheeky smile, “We’re not rich either but laughter is free, bro. Might as well share it.”
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Text: It’s Like Riding a Bike
"They all keep saying, “You’ll be fine—it’s like riding a bike.” Honestly? I’m not so sure. Five years is a long time. Five years of diapers, school runs, nap schedules, and laundry (so much laundry). Now I’m supposed to just… get back on the bike like nothing happened?
I used to know exactly what I was doing. Meetings, deadlines, reports—I could juggle it all with one hand and a coffee in the other. But now? Now I juggle snack times, lost shoes, and toys on the living room floor. And as much as I love my kids, part of me has missed that other version of myself—the one with sharp ideas and actual adult conversations.
But the truth is, I’m nervous. Things change in five years. Technology moves on. People move up. I’m scared I won’t recognize the place—or worse—that they won’t recognize me. What if I don’t fit anymore?
I start overthinking but then I stop and remind myself—these last five years have been work. Hard work. Maybe it didn’t come with a paycheck, but managing small humans is no small job. Patience, multitasking, problem-solving, negotiating, mediating, marketing (Have you ever tried to convince a toddler to go to bed?)—I’ve been training this whole time, just in a different way.
So yeah—I might wobble a bit at first. Might fall once or twice. But I know how to get back up. And honestly? I’m ready to feel like me again."
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"Text: Graduation
I can’t believe my niece has graduated. It feels like just yesterday Salsabil was running around the backyard or zooming on her scooter. And there she was standing on that stage, defending her thesis. What?!
As I sat in the quiet auditorium, memories kept flashing through my mind. I remembered watching cartoons with her, she’d be so restless climbing up and down the couch, imitating every character on the screen. I remembered taking her to the beach and building sand castles with her. I remembered her tears when she fell from her bike ( I panicked so hard that day). I remembered her constantly scraped knees. And there she was, smiling, confident, grown.
My sister, her mom, was sitting next to me, wiping away tears with a tissue. “Where did the time go? That’s my baby who just started elementary school yesterday.” she whispered, her voice shaking.
The judges asked her what I thought were difficult questions. I could feel my sister tensing up, worried about her daughter. But there was no need to worry. My niece stayed calm, she didn’t falter. She answered in great details and the jury seemed pleased with her answers. One of the judges said: “Your defense was air tight. You answered my questions before I had a chance to ask them.”
When they gave their feedback and we heard the long-awaited “Congratulations”, the whole family stood up and cheered. My sister’s Youyous were the loudest I’ve ever heard from her. Salsabil glanced over at us and beamed. That smile said everything. Hard work, late nights studying, friendships made and lost, gratitude, joy, doubt, determination, all leading up to this one moment.
After the ceremony, we met her outside. She ran to us, hugging everyone tightly. “I did it!” she said, laughing, a mix of joy and disbelief.
I just nod, unable to speak for a second. “Of course you did,” I finally say. “We always knew you would. We are so proud of you.”
Looking at her, I don’t just see a graduate. I see the little girl with the roller skates and I am blinded by how bright her future is. "
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I don’t know what I was thinking. Honestly, I just went to the mall to clear my head. Get a coffee, maybe window-shop. And somehow, I walked out carrying a bag, a new pair of pants, and shoes that I definitely don’t need. I have nowhere to go with a pair of high-heels. It felt good at the time—like I was fixing something. Like the right outfit could magically make everything better. I did fail my exam. I have to face it and wrap my head around it. It’s not the end of the world, I know, but it does feel like it is.
Now that I’m home, it just feels... stupid. The bag is nice, sure, but I already have one just like it. The pants? Tight. Too tight. I knew it in the fitting room, but I convinced myself otherwise. They might fit in two months if I actually stop having late-night snacks, but right now? They’re just sitting on my bed judging me. And the shoes? Beautiful. Completely unnecessary. And overpriced.
It’s not just about the money—though, honestly, I could have used that for something smarter. It’s the feeling underneath it. Like I was trying to fill some weird empty space with shopping bags. And now I’m sitting here surrounded by them, wondering what exactly I thought I was buying. Confidence? Control? A better version of myself?
I do this though, no matter what mood I am in. If I am happy, I go out and shop to celebrate. If I’m sad, I go for retail therapy. I’m tired of this cycle—buy, regret, repeat. Next time I feel stressed, I’m going to the park or I’ll call a friend. I’m not running to the nearest store pretending shopping is the answer.
I just want to start spending my time—and my money—on things that actually matter. Things that still feel good after I’ve brought them home."
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Text: The Sleepover
“You ask her!”
“No! You ask her.”
“She’s gonna say no.”
“We won’t know until we try.”
Djawed and Racim tiptoed to their mom. They wanted to ask her if they could stay at their cousin’s house for a sleepover. Before coming for this visit, she had asked them to behave themselves. During the visit, she gave them “the look” several times so they stop misbehaving. But they have driven her crazy the whole time—they spilled juice, jumped on the couch, played soccer in the hallway, told family secrets and asked for seconds. One could forgive the kids for anything, except asking for seconds.
“Mama… can we stay for a sleepover? Please?” said the boys
Their mom laughed. “After the mess you made today? No way.”
The boys looked down. Then Djawed said, “We promise to help clean up.”
“And no fighting,” Racim added quickly.
Their mom continued smiling but it was a cold smile. “Put your shoes on. We’re leaving.” she said firmly.
“Come on, let them stay! Don’t you remember the mess we used to make a Uncle Faycal’s house?”
She turned to see her brother.
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“It’s no bother at all. Kids will be kids. We have to let them be kids.”
“Alright” She whispered.
“YES!” the boys shouted and ran off to their cousin’s room.
That night, the boys played video games, made instant noodles, and built a fort in the living room. They played music, they danced, and they told all sorts of stories. They made their beds on the floor using lots of soft blankets and pillows.
When the lights went out late at night and the room grew quiet, Racim whispered to Djawed, “I can’t sleep. I want to call Mama.”
“No way! Don’t ruin this for us. Just stay put until the morning. Everything is fine. I am here, you’re safe. Everything will be okay.” Said Djawed. And he started telling his younger brother a soothing story until he drifted to sleep.
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Text:
" You know, people always say that having a steady government job is the safe option. A regular paycheck, health insurance, paid holidays… sure, that sounds good. But here’s the thing — when you work for the government, or for a private company for that matter, there’s a limit to what you can accomplish. You're following their rules, their schedule, their vision. You trade your time and energy for a monthly wage, and most of the time, you don’t even get a thank you. I mean, you could push hard to make an impact but it can be so hard going against the grain. Plus, it could all go to waste if a higher up decides to block your ideas and initiatives. There’s also a limit to how much you can earn and
I don’t like that.
when you work for yourself? It’s different. You’re the boss. You decide when to wake up, how to spend your time, and what projects to take on. If you want to try a new idea, no one says no. You just go for it. Only the market can decide. Every hour you work is an investment in your future, and the future of your family. There’s no limit on how much you can grow and how much you can make. That’s really motivating.
Sure, it’s not easy. There’s risk. There’s stress. Some days, you might make nothing. But then one day, a client says yes, or your product sells out, or your idea finally works—and that success is yours. All yours. And for me, nothing compares to that feeling.
Freedom, growth, creativity — that’s what I get from working for myself. I guess, at the end of the day, it’s a question of personality. It’s a personal preference. I personally can’t stand the feeling of stagnation. I had a government job for years but I ended up quitting. I worked hard but I felt like I was just spinning my wheels. My colleagues loved lounging, drinking coffee and gossiping. What was a pleasant life of low stress for them was a nightmare for me. I felt antsy and burnt out from boredom. Everyone thinks that you can only burn out from working too much. How about from doing nothing? Or doing something that is meaningless to you? So, what they call “the safe job” was unsafe for my mental health. I had to go.
Anyways, I’ve learned more, grown faster, and felt more alive in the past five years of having my own business than in all my years behind someone else’s desk. I am grateful for what I’ve learned there but it wasn’t sustainable for me. So no, it’s not always safe. But I’d rather do this than anything else in the world. "
Text: On Fridays, Our House is a Zoo
Most people get Fridays off so they are special for almost everyone. But at our house, they’re not just special—they are wild. Every Friday, our big family gathers, and it’s chaos.
Mom wakes up early to prepare couscous. The smell of spices and the heat of the steam fill the kitchen. Dad sweeps the patio. All the cousins love to run around and play there. Grandma, who lives with us, makes some Halwet Ettabaa. Everyone loves those cakes. My siblings and I get ready for the mess that’s about to happen. Manel, my older sister, hides all the valuables and all the breakables. “Can’t trust those kids!” She says every single time.
Around noon, the first knock comes. It’s Uncle Karim and his family. Aunt Leila is carrying trays of sweets, and their twins rush past her to grab the best seats in the living room. “Don’t break anything!” Aunt Leila shouts, but the kids are already jumping on the couch. More cars pull up. Aunt Sarah’s car is very full. She has five children. The house fills up quickly.
The uncles go to the nearby mosque for the Friday prayer. They eat when they come back. The aunts gather in the kitchen, laughing and telling stories as they help Mom with the food. The cousins play noisy games, and someone always ends up crying.
When lunch is served, it’s pure madness. Plates are passed around, kids argue over who gets the most meat, and the youngest ones spill juice everywhere. But somehow, we all fit, squished together on chairs, couches, and even the floor, we are all full and we are all happy.
After lunch, the noise doesn’t stop. The kids race outside, chasing each other and yelling. The adults relax with coffee and pastries, still talking, still laughing.
By the evening, the house looks like a battlefield—crumbs on the floor, cushions out of place, and tired faces everywhere. But as the last car drives away, I can’t help but smile.
Every Friday, our place is a zoo. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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Text: We Make a Good Team
"Soraia and Fatma worked in the same advertising company. They were great teammates. One day, their boss called them into his office. He said it was urgent.
“Brace yourself, this is gonna be bad.” said Fatma to Soraia
“We have a big project,” he said. “Bimo wants a new ad campaign. We need something fun and exciting to show why people love their biscuits! Oh, also, they want it by Sunday!”
Soraia clapped her hands. “That sounds amazing!”
Fatma nodded. “But also a little scary. We don’t have much time.”
Soraia smiled. “Don’t be a wet blanket! This is a great opportunity to showcase our talent. Let’s be positive!”
They got to work right away. Soraia sketched ideas for posters and videos. She was the artistic one. She drew smiling kids dunking Bimo biscuits into their cups of milk. Fatma wrote catchy slogans like “Bimo: The Taste of Childhood,the Taste Happiness!”
By the end of the day, they had lots of great ideas. “This is going to be amazing!” Soraia said.
The next morning, disaster struck. Soraia opened her laptop and gasped. “Oh no! The designs are gone!”
Fatma rushed over. “What happened?”
“I don’t know! Maybe my computer crashed.”
Fatma took a deep breath. “Good thing I prepared for the worst. I saved everything on my USB drive. I knew something bad would happen.”
Soraia sighed in relief. “Fatma, you’re a lifesaver! I guess it pays to be a little bit pessimistic ha.”
They quickly got back to work. They made bright posters and a fun video showing a multi-generational family sharing Bimo biscuits during afternoon coffee. Even the famous mug with Noah’s Arch was there.”
On Sunday, they presented their ad campaign to their boss. He watched the video and smiled. “This is perfect! Bimo will love it!”
Soraia and Fatma hugged each other. “We did it!”
Fatma grinned. “And we learned an important lesson—always have a backup plan.”
Soraia laughed. “Yes! I’m the glass half full, you’re the glass half empty and together we make an excellent, realistic, safe, wonderful glass haha. We make a good team.”
A week later, Bimo’s new ads were everywhere—on TV, on billboards, and on social media. Soraia and Fatma felt proud of their work.
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My Way or the Highway
One day, Lina and Fedwa, who have been best friends since kindergarten, went to the beach and were shocked by what they saw. There were plastic bottles, candy wrappers, cigarette butts and plastic bags everywhere. There were even some dirty diapers half buried in the sand. It was disgusting. This beach used to be pristine. It’s where they used to swim and play as children.
“This beach is a mess!” Lina said. “What happened?”
“Savages! That’s what happened.” Said Fedwa.
“This is too much. I was here a few days ago and it was more or less clean. I’m not sure people are capable of making it this dirty in this short a time. I think that the current brought all this trash from somewhere else.” Lina said. “We should organize a cleanup.”
Fedwa nodded. “I hate to have to clean up after idiots, but I hate seeing the beach like this even more. Let’s get to work.”
Lina took out a notebook. “First, we need a plan. We should call the mayor’s office and ask for trash bags and gloves.”
Fedwa shook her head. “Are you serious? That will take way too long. That is, if they even answer. We should just grab some friends and start right away!”
Lina frowned. “We need permission first.”
Fedwa crossed her arms. “That’s a waste of time. We need action now!”
Lina sighed. “Fedwa, we have to do this the right way.”
Fedwa threw her hands in the air. “With you it’s always “My way or the highway!”. You’re so stubborn. I can’t deal with you sometimes.”
Lina frowned. “Fine! If you don’t want to plan, I’ll do it alone.”
Fedwa stomped off. “And I’ll clean up my way!”
For the next two days, Fedwa and her friends picked up trash without asking for help. But soon, they ran out of bags, and the city workers told them they needed permission.
Meanwhile, Lina got approval from the mayor’s office. The city gave her gloves, bags, and even t-shirts.
On Saturday, the cleanup started. Lina’s volunteer kept busy taking pictures. They barely lifted a finger. Fadwa and her friend worked quickly and efficiently.
When Lina saw Fedwa’s team working hard, she sighed. “Looks like I bit off more than I could chew.”
Fedwa smiled. “Looks like you’re being used for a photo op.”
Lina looked down and then laughed. “I think you’re right. But hey, the job is getting done.”
They worked side by side until the beach was spotless.
When they finished, Fedwa said, “I was too stubborn. I should have met you halfway.”
Lina laughed. “Next time, let’s remember that we are on the same team.”
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"Like every morning, Hadj. Ali took his plastic chair outside his house, placed it in front of the metal door, and sat down. He spent the whole day sitting there, watching the world go by. He’s always there, rain or shine. His house was painted blue, which was a bold choice in this neighborhood, most houses were not even covered in cement. There were red bricks as far as the eye can see. He painted it himself.
Hadj. Ali was the eyes of the neighborhood. He saw children running to school, their backpacks bouncing. He waved to the mailman, who always smiled back. He watched birds fly from tree to tree, chirping their little songs. He noticed when young love started to blossom and when fights erupted behind closed doors.
He was the eyes of the neighborhood but above all, Hadj. Ali was the friend of the cats, all the cats and kittens from around the neighborhood. He pet them. He played with the. He fed them. He loved the.
One day, a boy named Sami stopped in front of Hadj. Ali’s house. “Good morning, Uncle!” Sami said.
“Good morning, young man,” Hadj. Ali replied. “Where are you going?”
“I’m coming to see you actually,” Sami said. “I have something to show you.”
Hadj. Ali was curious. “What’s that?” He said.
Sami giggled and got his phone out of his pocket to show him a video. On the video, one could see Hadj. Ali surrounded by a dozens cats. The cats seemed excited to see him. They were rubbing his legs and jumping around excitedly.
“I put this video on the internet, and it had more than one millions views! I received many messages of people who want to send you cat food so you can feed all your cats.”
Hadj. Ali was shocked. He wasn’t sure he understood everything, but he was very happy that the cats were going to get food.
Later, a cat came and sat near Hadj. Ali’s feet. It was a skinny, orange cat with big green eyes. “You are a star now, did you know that?” Hadj. Ali said, laughing.
Hadj ali was the heart of the neighborhood."
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Hang On a Second
Hang on a second. So, you're telling me that you can make Crepponi at home? My mind is blown right now haha. I never thought that that was an option. I thought Crepponi just magically filled those old ice cream machines and only the chosen few could pull the lever for that delicious freezing swirly goodness haha. I have to try it. What do I need?
- I know right? Well, you need lemons of course. When life gives you lemons, you make...crepponi. and you also need sugar and eggs.
-Are you for real? Eggs? Is this ice cream or is it Mouskoutchou?
- I will send you the recipe. But just FYI, it takes some time and you might not get it right the first time. You need to hang in there and keep trying and maybe the next time we hang out we'll be eating your very own homemade Crepponi.
- I am excited. Crepponi was such a big part of my childhood. One of my core memories was running to 3ammi Zouzou's shop with my cousins with our 5 dinars in hand. He would always give me more, or at least that's what it felt like. I loved him for that. Sabrina would eat so slowly, it would melt on her hands and she'd always cry about it. That was the routine. Haha (Ding) Oh I just got your text. Thanks.
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Text: A Flood
I was standing on the edge of the pasture near Oued Djedi, watching the gray clouds gather over El Djelfa. The air was thick with the smell of rain, and the wind blew through the trees. Farmers nearby were hurriedly moving their sheep to higher ground. They were shouting and waving their hands. Every once and again, their yells mixed with the sound of thunder. Suddenly, the rain began, light at first, then heavy and relentless. The once-dry river bed began to fill up rapidly. Within minutes, the water was overflowing its banks. I was scared.
The sheep were stuck in the middle of the river bed, huddled together. Their loud bleats were drowned out by the sound of rushing water. An old shepherd, holding a long stick, stepped into the water. He shouted and tried to guide the sheep to higher ground. Other shepherds joined him, using ropes to pull some of the animals to safety. I wanted to help, but my legs felt rooted to the ground, overwhelmed by what I was seeing.
The water carried many things with it—branches, trash, and even a bright yellow bucket I had seen earlier. People from the village came to help. Everyone was wet and muddy, but they kept going.
Just as quickly as it began, the rain stopped, and the water’s advance slowed. The shepherds, soaked and exhausted, managed to save most of their sheep, though a few were still stranded on small patches of higher ground. I was very impressed by their quick actions, their resilience, and their bravery. I was embarrassed that I didn’t help and a little shocked at how frozen I had been. As the sun broke through the clouds, casting a golden light over the muddy scene, I felt a strange mixture of awe and sadness. The river that was nothing more than dry rocks that kids play on had reminded us all of its power.
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Text: Watch Out
"We are in a bit of a disagreement with my husband. I’ll tell you what happened and you tell me what you think. So, I got a bank draft the other day and found that 250 000da was missing from our account. I was shocked. I thought that someone had hacked into our account so I immediately called Zakaria. He said that it wasn’t a mistake and that he used the money to buy a watch. A watch! 250 000da for a watch! I lost it. I couldn’t believe that one, he would splurge on such a frivolous item and that two, he wouldn’t ask for my opinion prior to making such a big… he calls it “an investment”, I call it throwing money out of the window for something that your phone can do, that your oven can do, that a stupid microwave can do; to tell the time. We merged our finances when we got married and now we have a joint account so we generally discuss bigger purchases. I felt blindsided. I hung up on him and spent the day watching the clock, waiting for him to come home. I called my sister first and she said that I should stay calm and try to see things from his point of view.
When he got home I asked him. I asked him to tell me his side of the story. He said that it was a very high-end piece and it was actually a bargain. A watch of that caliber usually goes for 750 000da or more. He said that it was beautifully crafted and that it could be passed down to our son and maybe even his son after that, like a true family heirloom. He said that just because I don’t care that others don’t notice. According to him, a nice watch is an indicator of success. It puts you immediately in a higher social status and his clients would definitely notice. It was overall a great investment. By this point I was agreeing with him. I could understand where he was coming from, plus he’s been doing so well at work, I thought that he had the right to treat himself. And the he added the part that I didn’t like. He said that he didn’t have to justify himself, that I was a control freak and that I wasted more than 250 000da this year alone buying low-end bags. I was furious again. "
Text: "Yesterday morning, I walked into my bathroom and immediately felt my socks get wet. What a bummer! I was already late. “I don’t need this.” I thought. I looked down and saw a puddle of water on the floor. At first, I thought I had spilled some water the night before, but then I noticed it was still dripping from the side of the bathtub. “Oh no,” I said to myself. “The tub is leaking!”
I grabbed a towel and tried to soak up the water, but it just kept coming. I didn’t know what to do, so I called my dad. “Dad, the bathtub is leaking!” I said. “There’s water everywhere. What should I do?”
He told me not to worry. “I’ll call Karim,” he said. “He’ll fix it.”
Karim is a plumber who lives nearby. We call him every time we need help. He answered right away. Dad explained the situation.
“Hi, Karim, how are you? How’s the family?” Dad said. “Look man, our bathtub is leaking, and I can’t stop the water. Can you come to help me?”
He asked where the water was coming from. I looked closer and saw it was dripping from underneath the tub. “It’s coming from below,” I told him.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll bring my tools and be there in an hour.”
When he arrived, he brought a big toolbox and got right to work. He checked under the tub and said, “There’s a loose pipe. I’ll tighten it and seal it so it won’t leak anymore.”
We watched as he worked, using wrenches, tape, and some special glue. After a little while, he stood up and smiled. “All done!” he said. “The leak is fixed.”
We were so relieved. “Thank you, Karim! I truly appreciate you coming so fast.” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Keep an eye out for leaks in the future. It’s good to catch them early.”
After he left, I cleaned up the bathroom and put everything back in place. In the commotion, I forgot that I was already late. Now, I am super late. That should be my superhero name. Super Late."
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Text: " “That guy is the worst! I don’t want to work with him. Please, pair me up with anyone else.” I begged my boss but he wouldn’t hear it. He said that Samir has experience with this project and that he would be able to lead me. So not only do I have to work with him, but I also have to follow him? How am I supposed to work with a guy I don’t trust? I don’t know how on earth he earned the trust of the boss but from what I have seen, he’s a loose cannon. He is unpredictable and not in a good way. He plays the fool but I can see through him. He is a calculating, conniving, always looking out for number one kind of person. I don’t trust him farther than I can throw him. I have proof for what I am saying. I saw him take credit for work he didn’t do. I saw him steal our colleagues ideas. I saw him harass one intern and bully another, plus I know he cheats on his wife all over town. And I know all this is after being here for only one year. Who knows what else he is guilty of? Who knows if he steals from the treasury or if he cooks the books? Who knows if he lies about us to look good? Oh my God! What am I going to do? I can’t stand the idea of working closely with him. Integrity is very important to me. I just want to do my job and go home. I don’t need this kind of added stress. "
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