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Finding Neverland Blog Archive

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Humans of New York in Pakistan (Part 10)

Humans of New York in Pakistan
"I want to be a teacher, like my mom."
"What's the key to being a good teacher?"
"Don't hit the children."

(Karachi, Pakistan)

Humans of New York in Pakistan
“He’s my only grandchild. Every time he does anything, I enjoy it. The other day he pulled down the TV set. I didn’t even mind.”

(Karachi, Pakistan)

Humans of New York in Pakistan
“I’ve been complaining about a good friend to my colleagues recently, and I need to stop. This is someone who’s been like a brother to me. When my pockets were empty, he stepped in to help me out. Recently he’s done some small things that bother me. And I’ve somehow allowed those small things to blind me from all the big things that he’s done in the past.”

(Karachi, Pakistan)

Humans of New York in Pakistan
“My father was killed in a suicide bombing in 2003, while he was attending Friday prayers. We were at home. We’d prepared a lunch for him and were expecting him any minute. Suddenly our relatives began calling to ask if he’d been at the mosque. He left us a small, sweet message before he died. He said: ‘I love you all and follow what I taught you.’ The ambulance driver told us that he refused to be taken away, and that he insisted they treat other people first. We believe he was martyred. And we believe that those who are martyred never die. We think he’s still with our family and shares our concerns. Whenever I am tense or nervous, or achieve something big, I smell him. He had his own smell. I don’t know how to describe it.”

(Karachi, Pakistan)

Humans of New York in Pakistan
“My husband passed away eight years ago. His death ruined my life. I couldn’t pay rent anymore. The people in the neighborhood tried to help me at first. Every day they would arrange two or three hundred rupees to pay my bills and send groceries to my house. But eventually their charity ran out and they told me it was time to seek help from God. Now I sleep on the floor of a relative’s house, and during the day I sit here and beg to pass the time. This is the fate God has chosen for me. When I talk about these things, my heart begins to sink. If I stay quiet, I feel OK.”

(Karachi, Pakistan)

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