When an elderly woman passed away in a nursing home, many believed she had left behind nothing of worth. But while sorting through her few belongings, the nurses discovered a letter. What they read silenced the room. It was a poem simple, honest, and deeply moving. “What do you see, sisters? What do you truly see when you look at me?” Do you see a grumpy old woman, a face worn by wrinkles, eyes that drift far away? A woman who seems confused, who pushes her food aside, who doesn’t respond when urged to try harder? Do you see someone careless with her belongings, who quietly accepts whatever is done to her being bathed, fed, spoken to, even scolded without protest, without voice? Is that all you see? Is that who you think I am? Then open your eyes, sisters, because that is not me. Though I sit here quietly, though I do as I’m told, allow me to tell you who I truly am. I am the little girl of ten, running barefoot through fields, surrounded by a family who loved me. I am the hopeful sixteen-year-old, dreaming of the future, waiting for love to find me. I am the young bride of twenty, my heart racing as I promised forever. At twenty-five, I became a mother, holding tiny lives that depended on me, building a home filled with care and devotion. At thirty, my children grew, and I clung to the bonds I believed would never break. At forty, though the nest grew quiet, my husband stood beside me, making sure I was never alone. At fifty, grandchildren played on my knees, and love returned in a new, gentler form. Then the skies darkened. My husband was taken from me, and the future suddenly felt fragile and uncertain. My children, with lives of their own, drifted away, and I was left with memories— of love, of laughter, of years that slipped by too quickly. Now I am here. Old. My body weakened, my beauty faded. Where once there was strength, there is frailty. Where once my heart beat boldly, it now feels heavy, like stone. And yet—within these worn walls, the woman I once was still lives. My tired heart still remembers. In my mind, I love again. I laugh again. I relive joy and sorrow, triumph and loss. I know now that nothing lasts forever. Time spares no one. So I ask you— open your eyes. Truly see me. Before you is not just an old woman. Before you stands a lifetime. A soul still alive beneath the wrinkles, a heart filled with stories, love, and memories. Remember this the next time you meet an elderly person. Look beyond the fragile body, beyond the tired face. Because inside, there is still a young soul waiting to be seen.

If you ever needed proof that hypocrisy is not a bug but a feature in the digital age, look no further than Imran Ahmed, the CEO of the Center for Countering Digital Hate (CCDH). For years, Ahmed’s organization acted as a self-appointed speech police, famously publishing the 'Disinformation Dozen' report that pressured social media platforms to deplatform specific individuals, including us. Now, facing a potential visa revocation from the U.S., Ahmed has reportedly clutched the very First Amendment he helped others sidestep, pleading for “constitutional protection.” The irony is so thick you could cut it with a censor’s scissors. The