text:
I think that people are inherently good. I strongly believe in the Golden Rule. I treat others as I would like to be treated: Holding doors open for those that I sense would have trouble. Giving up my seat to those that look as though they might need it: men, women, and the elderly. Being considerate! Saying thank you, and you're welcome! Thinking of others before myself. Writing "thank you" letters when appropriate. Not being mean to animals (perhaps excluding snakes and spiders unless they keep to themselves). I had always helped, and it felt good. But slowly, I began to notice things were changing. I still wanted to help others, but it was getting more difficult as I was passing the 3/4 of a century mark. I would tell my friends (just kidding) that I couldn't associate with people that old. When did I get this old? I have children over 50 and grandchildren over 20. Has society changed? Are its members less caring? I have heard this.

I went to a take-out pizza establishment last week. Going in, I held open the door for a young lady who said "thank you", and when I entered, she insisted that I order before she did. The place was busy with little space to stand. When I picked up my order, I had to squeeze my way to the door as there was not much room, and I was having some trouble walking. As I got to the door, it opened. Automatic I thought. I looked down to find a boy of about ten holding it for me and smiling. "Did I look that feeble?" I thought. I said thank you, and he was smiling as he said "your welcome." No one had told him to do it. He was on his own. I think it made him feel good! Someone had taught him manners. It feels good to help others.

Another pizza place I go to has a flight of stairs to overcome. Going up is not a problem, but going down with a pizza in hand is. One of the young employees asked if she could help. I said "sure". I went ahead, got in the car, and she handed it through the car window to me, all-the-while sporting a wide grin. Thanks, I said. You are welcome, she replied. Every time I get pizza and she is working, she immediately says "I'll give it to you through the window." I think it makes her feel as good as it does me!

When I go to the grocery store, I buy 2-3 weeks of food because I don't know when I will have the energy again(pain when walking, but getting better). The box boys or girls will always ask if they can empty the shopping cart for me. Then they bag the groceries and ask if they can help me load them into the car. I always ask them if they can go home with me and unload them and put them away too. They smile, we joke. I ask them if they are still in school and where they are attending. They are always friendly. I say thank you and they say "you're welcome".

When did I get old? I stopped playing competitive softball at 70 due to some injuries, but I received a call from one of my softball friends saying that he is forming an 80-year old competitive team and would like me to play on the team. It was nice of him to ask, and I do think he meant it. As soon as I get rid of my pain, I will start slowly working out again. My mind says yes, but my body isn't so sure. I am "bird-walking"----getting off the subject now, so must get back on point.

I had an appointment with a pain clinic. I knew the area well but had never seen the medical office. I had the address, but could not find any numbers on the buildings. My car does not have GPS(2002 model), and I was ten minutes late for the meeting. I had to park across the street in a dirt parking lot. The street had moderate traffic, but I managed to get across. The curb must have been at least 18-24 inches high. It seemed like an insurmountable wall, but by holding on to the front of a parked car, I managed to get up. Now there were four steps to climb and a heavy door to open. At the top of the stairs was a man of about 35 years old. He had tattoos on his arms and neck, and smiled at me and politely opened the door. I said thanks. I was told that other patients would have to be seen before me, and the wait might be an hour or more. I decided not to wait. I would go to the car, call my private doctor, tell him my pain situation and see if he would give me a shot for the it.

As I left the pain center, the tattooed man stood at the base of the steps. He smiled again and asked me if I needed any help. Was he waiting for me to leave so he might mug me? I wobbled down the 4 steps and said no thank you, my car is just across the street. He said, "You don't look as though you can go that far". "If you give me your keys, I will go over and get it for you." I thought, "Sure, then you will drive the car away." My car was a 15-year old Hyundai SUV. I didn't trust him even though he had opened a door for me and smiled at the same time. Surely, he had devious intentions. "This doesn't look good," I thought. So, I said, "I can make it." He backed off but watched as I tried to negotiate the 18 in curb. There was no car for me to grab for balance. He began to approach me again, and I began to sweat. There was no one else nearby. He put one arm around my waist and proceeded to lift me off the ground. Then, oh so gently, moved me off the curb and onto the street 18 inches below. "I hope this helps," he said with a smile. "I'll watch as you cross the street", he said still smiling. I felt bad that I had jumped to conclusions and again said "thanks".

I called my doctor whose office was 10 minutes away. His nurse told me that the doctor said to come in, and he wanted to know if she could give me the shot. I said that would be fine, but I will have a lot of trouble getting out of the car much less getting around to the office as the parking was in the back. He worked from the house that he had turned into his office. He was the only doctor that worked there. I had known him and his nurse for 25 years. She was cute and always in a good mood. She came to the back, needle in hand, had me open the driver's side door, had me pull one side of my pants down an inch exposing my left hip, and with great joy jammed the needle in it.

"This doesn't look good!," I said smiling. "People might get the wrong idea!" She laughed, I smiled. This didn't look good, but neither did the fellow with the tattoo. This was all about people that I had met recently and the good that they had done, and how it feels to help others.

title: [MF] THIS DOESN'T LOOK GOOD...

question: What does the article say about strangers?

answer: The author meets several people in the course of a few days, and all of them treat him nicely. He considers whether society changed, and people don't treat each other very well. However, his experience seems to be unanimously kind with the strangers he comes across of all ages. In one case, a tattooed man helps him, and the author feels ashamed of assuming the man would have bad intentions.

question: What does the article say about "kids these days?"


split: test

text:
While there is a general agreement that sugar intake is bad for heart health, this was not always the case. In the 1960s, when deaths from heart disease in the United States reached a peak, researchers were divided on the primary dietary contributors to the condition: sugar or fat? For years, studies blamed the latter, but recent research suggests the sugar industry may have played a pivotal role in which way the finger was pointing.

[[Sugar in the shape of a heart]]Share on Pinterest
Researchers have uncovered a 50-year-old heart disease study that was funded by the sugar industry to shift the blame from sugar to fat.

Earlier this month, dentist-turned-researcher Dr. Christin Kearns, of the University of California-San Francisco (UCSF), and colleagues reignited the debate over the influence the food industry has over scientific research.

In _JAMA Internal Medicine_, the team published a report revealing the discovery of a study published in the 1960s that received funding from the Sugar Association – formerly the Sugar Research Foundation (SRF).

The problem? The SRF funding was not disclosed – mandatory conflict of interest disclosure was not introduced until the 1980s – and there is evidence that the researchers of the 50-year-old study were paid to shift the focus away from the harms sugar intake poses for heart health.

The study in question was published in _The New England Journal of Medicine_ on July 27, 1967.

Conducted by three former nutritionists at Harvard Medical School in Boston, MA – Dr. Frederick Stare, Dr. Mark Hegsted, and Dr. Robert B. McGandy, who are now deceased – the research claimed that consumption of dietary fats, rather than sugar, was the primary cause of coronary heart disease (CHD).

In their report, Dr. Kearns and colleagues reveal the discovery of documents in public archives that show Drs. Stare and Hegsted were paid $6,500 – the equivalent of almost $50,000 today – by the SRF to detract attention away from previous studies linking sugar to CHD.

According to the UCSF researchers, the documents show that in 1964, John Hickson – then president of the SRF – penned a memo suggesting the SRF “embark on a major program” in order to redress “negative attitudes towards sugar,” and one way he proposed doing so was to fund research to “refute our detractors.”

One year later, Hickson commissioned Dr. Hegsted and colleagues to conduct “Project 226” – described by Hickson as “a review article of the several papers which find some special metabolic peril in sucrose.”

Hickson provided Dr. Hegsted with a number of papers, and according to Dr. Kearns and team, the Harvard researchers “heavily criticized” studies that identified a link between sucrose – or table sugar – and coronary heart disease, while disregarding the limitations of studies that associated fat with the condition.

THE STUDY’S CONCLUSION? THAT LOWERING INTAKE OF FAT IS THE ONLY WAY TO KEEP CHOLESTEROL LEVELS LOW AND PREVENT CHD. THIS, THEREFORE, WOULD SUGGEST TO THE GENERAL POPULATION AND POLICYMAKERS THAT A HIGH-SUGAR DIET DOES NOT PLAY A MAJOR ROLE IN CHD.

Commenting on their discovery, Dr. Kearns and co-authors say:

  “Together with other recent analyses of sugar industry documents, our findings suggest the industry sponsored a research program in the 1960s and 1970s that successfully cast doubt about the hazards of sucrose while promoting fat as the dietary culprit in CHD.”

Speaking to _Medical News Today_, Dr. Kearns said she was “surprised to learn the SRF began funding heart disease research as early as 1965 – and that their tactics to shift the focus off of sucrose were so sophisticated.”

Marion Nestle, a professor of nutrition and food studies at New York University, who wrote an editorial accompanying Dr. Kearns’ report, told _MNT_ she was “shocked” by the discovery.

“Everyone knew that Fred Stare collected scads of money from food and drug companies and sounded like he worked for the food industry, but Mark Hegsted was another matter,” she said. “I knew him as a scientist committed to finding effective dietary approaches to chronic disease and would never have imagined him working so closely with the sugar industry.”

The new revelation demonstrates how the sugar industry skewed the results of one study almost 50 years ago, but how is this relevant today?

That single study is likely to have influenced our diets ever since; the results were used in SRF marketing, and they even helped inform recommendations relating to diet and heart disease, many of which remain.

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The sugar industry-funded study is likely to have influenced what we have eaten for decades.

Stanton Glantz, co-author of the UCSF research, explains that the industry-funded study was a major review published in an influential journal, so it “helped shift the emphasis of the discussion away from sugar and onto fat.”

“BY DOING THAT, IT DELAYED THE DEVELOPMENT OF A SCIENTIFIC CONSENSUS ON SUGAR-HEART DISEASE FOR DECADES,” HE ADDS.

Report co-author Laura Schmidt, of UCSF, notes that saturated fat has been perceived as the main culprit in heart disease for years, but increasingly, light is being shed on the role of sugar.

A study published in the journal _Progress in Cardiovascular Diseases_ earlier this year, for example, presented evidence that added sugar intake might be an even greater contributor to cardiovascular disease than saturated fat.

“After a thorough analysis of the evidence it seems appropriate to recommend dietary guidelines shift focus away from recommendations to reduce saturated fat and towards recommendations to avoid added sugars,” said Dr. James J. DiNicolantonio, of Saint Luke’s Mid America Heart Institute and co-author of the study.

While evidence of sugar’s major role in heart disease is mounting, Schmidt notes that “health policy documents are still inconsistent in citing heart disease risk as a health consequence of added sugars consumption.”

Today, researchers are required to disclose any conflicts of interest they may have, including any industry relationships and funding they have received – a regulation that was not in place in the 1960s, and a fact that The Sugar Association use in their defense in response to the UCSF discovery.

“We acknowledge that the Sugar Research Foundation should have exercised greater transparency in all of its research activities, however, when the studies in question were published, funding disclosures and transparency standards were not the norm they are today,” the organization comments.

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In some cases, such as with drug development, industry-funded research is beneficial.

But has the introduction of transparency standards in the 1980s reduced how much influence industries have over scientific research? It seems not.

Take the tobacco industry, for example. In a study published in the journal _Circulation_ in 2007, Glantz and colleagues combed through millions of tobacco industry documents, many of which revealed how the tobacco industry funded studies in the 1990s to play down the harms of secondhand smoke exposure, in an attempt to stave off smoke-free laws.

In relation to the food industry, just last year, the _New York Times_ revealed that Coca-Cola was funding the development of a nonprofit organization called Global Energy Balance Network (GEBN).

While GEBN claimed its aim was to conduct research into the causes of obesity, the organization widely claimed that it is lack of exercise, rather than an unhealthy diet, that causes weight gain.

“Most of the focus in the popular media and in the scientific press is that they’re eating too much, eating too much, eating too much, blaming fast food, blaming sugary drinks and so on. And there’s really virtually no compelling evidence that that in fact is the cause,” Steven N. Blair, a member GEBN’s executive committee said in a promotional video.

“Those of us interested in science, public health, medicine, we have to learn how to get the right information out there.”

On this occasion, it seems the proposal that an unhealthy diet is not a cause of obesity – a claim backed by a soft drink giant – was shunned by healthcare professionals and the general public alike; in November 2015, GEBN ceased operation.

Still, industry-funded research continues – but why? Can it ever be beneficial?

One area of research that does benefit from industry funding is drug development.

While grants from government organizations and charities enable some drug trials to go ahead, in the U.S., the bulk of funding comes from the pharmaceutical industry, with more than $30 billion a year spent on drug development.

Without pharmaceutical industry funding, many of the drugs we use today for common illnesses may not have been discovered. But that is not to say such funding isn’t problematic; it can result in bias, with numerous studies showing that trials funded by the pharmaceutical industry are more likely to support the interest of the sponsor.

And according to Nestle, this type of bias is very much present in research funded by the food industry.

“In my casual year-long collection of 168 industry-funded studies, I found 12 with results that did not favor the sponsor’s interest. Systematic studies come out with slightly higher percentages of unfavorable studies,” Nestle told _MNT_.

  “The science is usually done pretty well; it’s the research question and the interpretation that seem most influenced. Research shows that investigators who take industry funding are unaware of the influence and bias their science inadvertently. This makes the problem exceptionally difficult to deal with.”

  Marion Nestle

Is there anything that can be done to reduce the effects of bias from food industry-funded research?

According to Dr. Kearns and colleagues, their recent discovery suggests policymakers should “consider giving less weight to food industry-funded studies and include mechanistic and animal studies, as well as studies appraising the effect of added sugars on multiple CHD biomarkers and disease development.”

In her editorial, Nestle says the results emphasize that caution should be applied when interpreting the results of research funded by the food industry.

“MAY IT SERVE AS A WARNING NOT ONLY TO POLICYMAKERS, BUT ALSO TO RESEARCHERS, CLINICIANS, PEER REVIEWERS, JOURNAL EDITORS, AND JOURNALISTS OF THE NEED TO CONSIDER THE HARM TO SCIENTIFIC CREDIBILITY AND PUBLIC HEALTH WHEN DEALING WITH STUDIES FUNDED BY FOOD COMPANIES WITH VESTED INTERESTS IN THE RESULTS,” SHE ADDS, “AND TO FIND BETTER WAYS TO FUND SUCH STUDIES AND TO PREVENT, DISCLOSE AND MANAGE POTENTIALLY CONFLICTED INTERESTS.”

It is evident that the recent discovery of the sugar industry’s role in heart disease research has left a bitter taste in the mouths of nutritionists, policymakers, and the general public. Whether it has the ability to change approaches to food industry-funded research, however, remains to be seen.

question: What does the article say about the study conducted by three former nutritionists at Harvard Medical School in Boston, MA – Dr. Stare et al 50 years ago?

answer: It is found that the heart disease study was funded by the sugar industry to shift the focus away from the harms sugar intake poses for heart health. They shift the blame from sugar to fat. The study claimed that consumption of dietary fats, rather than sugar, was the primary cause of coronary heart disease.  were paid $6,500 – the equivalent of almost $50,000 today – by the SRF to detract attention away from previous studies linking sugar to CHD. That single study is likely to have influenced our diets ever since; the results were used in SRF marketing, and they even helped inform recommendations relating to diet and heart disease, many of which remain. The sugar industry-funded study is likely to have influenced what we have eaten for decades.

question: What does the story say about how sugar affects diabetes?


text:
[]

[1981BF - Hurricane Dorian Dart Relief, EFH]

[Staff with Ampla Health Care conduct Covid-19 testing at a drive-through site in Yuba City, California, on Friday, March 27, 2020. The site was provided with protective gear from Direct Relief. (Photo by Renée C. Byer/ZUMA Wire)]

Delivering protective gear to safeguard health workers and supplying medical items for critical patient care.

[Emergency responder and child after Typhoon Haiyan]

Responding in disaster-affected communities in the U.S. and around the world.

[ICU Medicines in Direct Relief's warehouse (Lara Cooper/Direct Relief)]

Supporting healthcare agencies and first responders to emergencies across the U.S. and globally.

 in medical aid
    $1,160,456,070

 doses of medicine
    159,917,401

 pounds of medicine and supplies
    8,253,958

 deliveries
    29,192

 healthcare providers supported
    3,058

[]

Rally your community to help others.

Fundraise

[]

An international network of trusted partners enables Direct Relief to assess immediate healthcare needs, understand the situation on the ground, and respond quickly and efficiently when a disaster strikes.

[Doctor treating a young patient in Puerto Rico.]

Direct Relief equips health professionals in resource-poor communities to meet the challenges of diagnosing, treating, and caring for people in need.

[Direct Relief warehouse forklift]

Direct Relief’s leading financial performance and efficiency have earned it a 4-star rating for the eighth consecutive year from Charity Navigator, and top ranking on its list of best charities.

[Direct Relief's 155,000-square-foot warehouse. (Lara Cooper/Direct Relief)]

The growth occurred in a year when Direct Relief extended more help to more people in need than ever before in its 70-year history, furnishing essential medications, vaccines, instruments and supplies to all 50 U.S. and globally.

[A young woman watches as a syringe is prepared during a diabetes education day in Bamako, Mali, pre-Covid. (Photo courtesy of Life for a Child)]

When it comes to caring for a complex disease like type 1 diabetes, there’s no silver bullet. For those living with the condition, care is a complicated matrix of lifelong, regimented use of insulin, delivery devices, and blood glucose ...

Continue reading

[A health care provider checks a patient in at QueensCare Health Centers in Los Angeles. (Photo Courtesy of QHC)]

As regional stay-at-home orders sweep across California amid growing ICU shortages, community health centers find themselves in a bind. “We’re not hospital-based, and we don’t have ...

[Medicines essential for ICU care of Covid-19 patients are prepped for shipment in Direct Relief's warehouse. (Lara Cooper/Direct Relief)]

Direct Relief today announced it has received a $10 million donation from AbbVie, a research-based global biopharmaceutical company, as part of AbbVie’s broader $50 million, five-year ...

question: How much medical aid was given in dollars?

answer: $1,160,456,070.

question: How many doses of medicine were given?

answer: 159,917,401.

question: How many pounds of medicine and supplies?

answer: 8,253,958.

question: How many deliveries were made?

answer: 29,192.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The article recounts response to Hurricane Dorian in terms of relief. It describes the amount of relief given by multiple metrics.


text:
Space
The distant future
A long way from home
Aboard the Solitude

They gave me enough rations and air to last a full six months. Enough to last the whole recon mission. It’s been long enough now that the sound of my own thoughts is slowly driving me crazy. Outside Observation is just space. Space as far as the eye can see. Dotted with stars smaller than a baby's laugh. A sea of stillness spreading out forever.

Just below me is Judas 5. The star I was sent here to check out. Do a full orbit, they said, scan the planets in the system for atmosphere, water, plant life, etcetera, then shoot the retros and get the hell back here. Easy peasy. Simple simple simple. Simple mission. All I really had to do was sit in this cramped space for half a year, twiddle my thumbs, catch up on my reading, and keep myself in shape. The computers handled everything, mostly. They auto-guidance systems guided. The auto-detector system detected. Then once the six months was up I just pressed the big shiny button on the dashboard and I’d be home before I knew it.

I wondered how Anita was doing. Dating was hard for Nauts. Noughts. We were literally out of this world for months, years at a time. Dating outside the agency was a nightmare. Wait, so you’re telling me I get to see you one week in fifty-two? And you’re looking for something serious? Riiiiight, yeah not gonna work. Long distance? What a joke. Dating within the agency was hell as well. Sure you find a nice girl, cute, smart (or course), fit. She likes you. You like her. You ask her out. You go out. She gets deployed to Ulysses 12 or whatever. Best case scenario, she goes out alone, not knowing when she’ll be back, and you get sent out on your own mission to god knows where, and you two somehow manage to sync your timetables. Somehow. Unlikely though. Worst case scenario she gets sent out with mister Joe Beefpecs and gets hooked up while on mission. It’s only natural. Half a year in a cramped little room with only one other person for company? Sex is a no brainer of a time passer.

Anyway Anita. This girl I’d met a while back. Cute. Smart. Kind of a sarcastic chick. Funny though. She said she was fine with my job, but if I get back and she’s moved on I wouldn’t be surprised. Six months is a long time to be away from home.

Home. A little apartment in the city, round the corner from this nice little café no one knows about. A quiet little space in a city that never shuts up. An empty room in a place bursting at the seams with people. Some nauts didn’t see the point of living off-base. Didn’t see the point of getting attached to earthbounds. Earthbound people, earthbound places, they mean. Kept their rooms on base bare because they never had time to decorate. I guess I see their point. If I’m away ninety percent of the time there really is no point buying a place of my own. But I dunno. I kind like that, the fact that I’ve got a little place tucked away, just for me. Maybe I’m just sentimental like that.

The Solitude. Shuttles as a rule didn’t get names. I know they used to name them all – Discovery, Challenger, whatever – but these days they were just given codes. ATS, PNB, RT7, FUBAR etc. This hunk of twenty-year old junk was named DSSS 92 back in the heyday of the agency, when we could afford to send ninety two of the fuckers out there. Out here. Into space. Deep space surveyor shuttle ninety two. Really captures the imagination. So I thought, yknow what, I’ve been on enough recons with this little guy to deserve to name him. Her. It. Whatever.

Solitude. Original I know. But I guess I might as well. What with the air situation and all.

Oh. That. Yeah.

Captains log number one. Number last.

Day ninety-two.
The DSSS solitude.
A long way from home.
Retros are busted. Got hit by a freak shower a couple months back. Meteor, not rain. Been orbiting this sun for near on two months now. Air running out. No response from Terra.   Looks like I’m on my own. No surprises there.

I

I don’t know what else to say. It’s not like I’m leaving anyone behind after all.

...

Oh yeah. my mission.
...

No habitable zones found surrounding Judas 5.
No signs of life in surveyed area.
Mission status complete. Heading home.

title: [SF(?)] Space (775 words)

question: What is the narrator's current task?

answer: The narrator is an astronaut sent into deep space to look out for extraterrestrial life. His target is Judas 5. He has to do a full orbit, scan the planets in the system for atmosphere, water, and plant life. The computers do most of the work. All the narrator must do is keep fit and press the home button after six months.

question: What are the difficulties of dating within the agency and outside the agency?

answer: Dating for astronauts is difficult both inside and outside the agency. A girl outside the agency is unlikely to be happy about dating someone who she will only see one week a year. Inside the agency, the astronauts must try to coordinate their schedules if they are to see each other at all. There is also the distinct possibility that the girl may be sent into space with a man and couple up with him.

question: Describe how the narrator met Anita.


text:
NAYANATHARA WICKRAMAARACHCHI (born 22 January 1998) is an actress in Sri Lankan cinema, television and theatre.[1] One of the most popular television actresses in Sri Lanka, she is a recipient of most popular actress in three consecutive years at Raigam Tele'es and SLIM-Nielsen Peoples Awards.[2][3][4] Also She is the recipient of most popular actress in Sumathi Awards 2017.

Personal life

She was born on January 22, 1998 in Colombo. Her mother is Samanthi Sandanayake. Educated at Sandalanka Maha Vidyalaya, she later entered Madduma Bandara Maha Vidyalaya, Weliweriya and studied G.C.E Ordinary Level and G.C.E Advanced Level. Nayanathara completed her higher studies and entered to the Sri lankan Film industry.

Career

Before starting acting, she studied acting for about a year at Mayakshakti drama studio conducted by Dharmajith Punarjeeva. She first appeared in a stage play _Ragena Avi Mamada Emi_ of Bertol Brest adaptation in the public stage. After that, she had no opportunity to make time for the stage.[5]

She started acting career in 2015 with the teledrama _Hansa Pihatu_ which was telecast by Swarnawahini directed by Jayaprakash Sivagurunathan.[6] Then she appeared in many serials such as _Meedumen Eha_, _Eran Landu_ and _Praana_. However, her breakthrough performance in television came through soap opera _Deweni Inima_ telecast by TV Derana. Her role as “Dewmi” become highly popular and she won the award for the Most Popular Actress in multiple times at several local award festivals for her role.[7][8]

In 2017, Nayanathara Wickramaarachchi won the Most Popular Actress Award at the Raigam Tele'es Awards and Sumathi Awards.[9] In 2018,2019 and 2020 she won the Most Popular actress of the year award at SLIM-Nielsen Peoples Awards.[10][11]

Her maiden cinematic experience came through the film _Maa_ Anuruddha Jayasinghe.[12] However it is not yet released. Her first released film was 2018 film _Eka Dawasaka Api_ directed by Anuruddha Jayasinghe.[13][14][15]

Teledrama

-   _Hansa Pihatu_
-   _Bhawathma_ [16]
-   _Deweni Inima_
-   _Eran Landu_
-   _Meedumen Eha_
-   _Praana_
-   _Samanalunta Enna Kiyanna_
-   _Sandadiya Siththam_

Stage Drama

-   _Ragena Avi Mamada Emi_

Filmography

  Year   Film                 Role     Ref.
  ------ -------------------- -------- ------
  2018   _Eka Dawasaka Api_   Parami   [17]
  2018   Girivassipura
  TBD    _Maa_
  TBD    _Cine Ma_
  TBD    _Passport_
  TBD    _Marine Drive_

Awards and accolades

  Year   Awards Ceremony               Category                            Recommended Creation   Results
  ------ ----------------------------- ----------------------------------- ---------------------- ---------
  2017   Raigam Tele'es                Popular Actress                     _Deweni Inima_
  2017   Sumathi Awards                Popular Actress                     _Deweni Inima_
  2018   SLIM-Nielsen Peoples Awards   Teledrama Actress of the Year       _Deweni Inima_
  2018   Raigam Tele'es                Popular Actress                     _Deweni Inima_
  2019   SLIM-Nielsen Peoples Awards   Teledrama Actress of the Year[18]   _Deweni Inima_
  2019   Raigam Tele'es                Popular Actress[19]                 _Deweni Inima_
  2019   Derana Film Awards            Best Upcoming Actress[20]           _Eka Dawasaka Api_
  2019   3CS Tele Film Festival        Popular Actress                     _Deweni Inima_
  2020   SLIM-Nielsen Peoples Awards   Teledrama Actress of the Year       _Deweni Inima_

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[14]

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[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

title: Nayanathara Wickramaarachchi

question: What makes Nayanathara Wickramaarachchi one of the most popular actresses in Sri lanka?

answer: Her breakthrough performance in the soap opera 'Deweni Inima' where her role as 'Dewmi' was well received, after which she won the award for Most popular Actress multiple times.

question: What is the film 'Maa Anuruddha' about?


text:
I sit here watching her go about her day, unaware of my monstrous thoughts. How I long to wrap my fingers around her neck. Or maybe I would hide underneath her covers until she gets home from school, peek my eyes out from under the blanket and watch her set her Dora the Explorer backpack on her toy covered floor. Then, as she sits on her Disney princess chair, coloring pinks and purples, I will leap out like a ninja, not being seen or heard until I want her to see and hear me.

But, I am trapped in this cage. She mocks me with her baby talk. Her voice a high-pitched whine equivalent to the shrieks of rusted swings in which children like her swing on at their schools. She says I’m cute.

Even what she calls me, Daisy, humiliates me. Emasculates me. If I could, I would show her how cute I really am, when my nails draw blood across her chubby cheeks. How cute I can be when her blonde hair is wet and curled from tears as she cries out for her mommy. Still, to her I am a friend, appealing in every way, as a true predator is.

She wouldn’t be my first victim. Abby with her long, straight, dark hair always a mess, was my first. She was six years old and more of a tomboy than my current girl Hannah. Her mother tried to dress her in floral dresses with her hair pulled back in pony tails on top of her head, but that lasted about five minutes until a temper tantrum and tears led to jeans and her hair in her face. I never did care for Abby.

 “Princess,” shrieked Abby. To this child I was Princess. A name and a concept I loathe.  She grabbed me with her chocolate covered fingers. Chocolate from a Hershey bar given to her by her mother after giving up pleading with her to eat cereal instead. “At school today we are going to make turkeys for Thanksgiving. My friend Ashley says that she has seen a real live turkey before but I don’t believe her.”

I tried to drown out her squeaky voice and insignificant details of her life. My hands pushed against her hands but my efforts to squirm free were useless. I could smell the sweetness of the chocolate mixed with her sweaty hands. Abby was disgusting. Why anyone would want to have children I will never understand. A part of you that’s less than half your size but controls you and takes you for granted. Abby was too young to be thankful for her mother but without her she would be vulnerable, an easy victim for any predator.

“Abby the school bus is here,” her mother called out from downstairs in the kitchen. In haste she tossed me back into the cage. My back hitting the water bottle. She ignored my hurt cries and grabbed her backpack and tromped down the stairs.

One day, Abby’s mom had just finished cleaning my cage and when she placed me back in, she left the cover cracked. A visible separation of freedom or confinement. Separate. I could relate to that. A line drawn in my mind dividing reason and empathy. I sometimes wonder why I am like this. Some people say that it’s fucked up childhood experiences that shape one into an emotionless monster. I suppose that could be so.

 When I was young, the first boy I lived with, Patrick, failed to separate my father from my mother and siblings. I watched my father eat my brother and sister alive. My father would’ve gotten me as well if he hadn’t already been filled up on his own flesh and blood. It took two days for the Patrick’s mother to realize what had happened and find the tiny bodies buried in saw dust.

I guess to spare Patrick of the massacre that had taken place his mother decided to dispose of the evidence. I watched in the corner of the cage as she picked up the stiff bodies of my siblings with tissue paper and walked into the bathroom. I couldn’t see what happened; only the blue paint on the wall and his mother’s pedicured blackish-purple toenails. But I heard the plunks of objects being submerged and the harsh swish of water. My mother and I were placed in one cage and my father in another and we were taken back to the store from which we came.

 While Abby was at school I had escaped. But before I could leave she needed to get what she deserved. I knew her habits: homework, dinner, a bath and bed. I sat on her windowsill, blending in with the brown teddy bears and unicorns which were far more innocent than me. I watched as her mom tucked her in and Abby listened attentively as she was read a princess story. Every young girl loves princesses.

They long to grow up and find their Prince Charming who will sweep them off their feet and save the day. Well Abby, Prince Charming isn’t here and instead of accepting a role of submissiveness and helplessness, perhaps you should have better prepared yourself for a situation such as this.

As her mother left and shut the door and she buried her face in her pillow, I jumped off the ledge and buried my fur in her face. It startled her and she jerked her head violently back and forth, her hair slapping me in the face- a weapon I did not account for.

“Mom,” Abby screamed.

My little hands struggled to grab her neck. My nails barely broke skin. I thought about biting her nose but before I could she pushed me off of the bed and onto the floor. In her feetie-pajamas she rolled out of bed and stumbled through the dark room towards the door.

“Mom,” Abby cried again. Her breathing became raspy and as she tried to yell again only a whisper came out in between the wheezing of her breaths. She fell to the floor.

The light from a nightlight illuminated her face. I stared her in the eyes as she looked at me, terrified. Warmness filled my stomach as I watched her struggle to breath. A feeling I expect one would feel when getting a hug, or seeing a loved one; but not a feeling I have ever experienced before that night.

Her mother and father ran into the room. Abby’s eyes were still locked on me as they tried to figure out was wrong. Her father kicked me away and I scurried under a dresser.

 Soon sirens from ambulances filled the house. Abby was assessed and calmed down and after deciding it was only a minor asthma attack she was released and spent the night in her parent’s room protected between her mother and father.

The next morning Abby’s mom searched the room before finding me in the closet.

“You evil fucking hamster,” she said almost growling in a hushed voice.

Someone finally knew my secret, my urges. She grabbed me and squeezed me hard as she threw me back into the cage. As we drove in silence in the car I knew I was going back to the pet store, but I don’t blame them for being uncomfortable with having someone like me around.

That’s when Hannah came into my life. Her nose pressed up against the glass of my cage in the pet store “Mommy, I want that one.” By “that one” I’m sure she didn’t mean the one who can feel nothing towards anyone, who will never love her when she cuddles him and who can only exhibit faked emotions and forced normal behaviors.

I suppose Hannah isn’t half bad for a human. She does want me to live a normal life, have friends, exercise, enjoy myself.  First, she introduced me to Boots. I attempted to have a healthy relationship with Boots. He was a bigger hamster, and all black with a white splotch on his chest. But he was always eating my portion of the food. “Boots, I do not mind sharing my home with you, but I would appreciate it if you would share the food equally,” I explained to him. I have become good at hiding who I really am from the time spent at the pet store as well as the many months spent pretending to be a normal pet.

“Hey, Daisy, how about you mind your own god damn business,” said Boots. He looked at me and laughed-snorting a little in the process.

 Well, after all this is a hamster eat hamster world and Darwin would appreciate my applying of the concept survival of the fittest. A few days later I was walking around the cage but stopped by the wheel with my back turned to Boots. “Hey, you actually left me a food pellet over here by the wheel? Thank you. I appreciate your generosity,” I said sarcastically.

“What?” asked Boots.

“Well I was just saying that I had you all wrong Boots. You are a great guy.”

Boots squinted his eyes and shook his head. “What the hell, you are weird.” He walked over to the wheel and I pushed him down lodging his head between the wires of the wheel.

 “You know what you have done to deserve this Boots,” I said, gently rocking the wheel back and forth causing pressure to build up and release around his throat.

He began to speak but a quick spin on the wheel snapped his neck for Boots and that was the last time he bothered me.

After that there was Delilah. It was exciting to have a woman with me. The companionship was great at first, but then she started accusing me of not paying enough attention. Stuck together day after day in a cage, I don’t know how I she could have thought I was neglecting her.

“I don’t understand why you treat me like this. You never let me in. If you won’t try to make me happy maybe I should find someone who will,” she complained, her voice almost as annoying as the little girl’s that claim me.

It was the same argument every time. “Delilah,” I said. “You know I care about you. I’m sorry I can’t show it but you know I do.”

“You never say the right things, you just say something that makes you look like you aren’t the bad guy and I am overreacting but I’m not. I’m sick of this.”

I was sick of it too. Obviously my expression of emotions wasn’t as mastered as I had though. But she had to go. And when we went for a stroll in our hamster balls- her pink, mine red- and hers just happened to roll down a flight of stairs no one expected me of nudging it.

Hannah is no more threatening than me. Misunderstood sometimes, when she does things that hurt me, just as every child I have ever known has. Some days she doesn’t even acknowledge I’m there. Sometimes she forgets to feed me or pets too hard. Maybe she doesn’t know she’s hurting me or maybe she is too young to understand, just as I can’t understand relationships, or trust or love.

I could keep this girl around. Maybe it would be good for me. Every normal hamster wants a child to take care of it. Not a life lived on some store shelf in a crowded cage until you get mean and they isolate you in your own cage. Then you get old and no one will want to love you, your fur dull in color, appeal lost forever. So then they feed you to the snakes. I’m not saying a snake can’t be outsmarted, but the concept isn’t a pleasant one.

Maybe I can be normal, forget my past and try not to hurt every living thing that comes in contact with me. Or maybe I am too hopeful and being this way isn’t a choice, but a disease that that darkens your mind. Until I figure this out, I’m going to sit here watching Hannah, watching you, as an unsuspected predator.

title: An Unsuspected Predator

question: Who is the protagonist?

answer: An evil hamster who hates everyone, who attacks his owners, who has been returned to the pet store more than once.

question: Does the evil hamster change his ways?

question: Who was the hamster's first owner?

answer: His first owner and first victim was a young girl named Abby. Six years old, a tomboy, with long, straight, dark hair always a mess.

question: What did the hamster do to Abby?

answer: He attacked, trying to cut deep with his nails and bite her nose. He was unsuccessful, however, his nails barely scratching and being flung away before he could bite. He only managed to provoke an asthma attack.


text:
Smoke billowed from the window of a broke-down truck that always sat at the edge of Potts farm. Nobody knew how or when the dusty behemoth of a vehicle ended up where it was. All that was known was that it had been there for years on end, never claimed and never moved. Incapable of any motion, the vehicle was often the place that delinquents and vagabonds aplenty decided to make their little niche in the world. Sitting in the front seat, Matthew Delaney smoked the Marlboro in his lips slowly.  A down-to-earth country boy, Matthew fit the part with a pair of dusty overalls and a tank top worn underneath. Scrawny to the letter and hiding his eyes behind a tangled mess of sweat-laced hair, he wasn't exactly the most attractive or noteworthy of people in the small farming colony of Plethora. A glance over brought attention to the old rifle he had stolen from his father's case. A Winchester by make, the rifle was known for its solid performance, even as old as it was. Today, it seemed, was the day that Matthew had decided to die. Another gentle puff of the cigarette brought his mind back, spiraling through the mesh of memories and thoughts he had locked away for the day. What had brought him to this point? The breakup. That's right. Amber McGraw, a girl he had been with for nearly two years had decided that they were looking at different ends of a circle. They would arrive at the same points, but regardless of how much they moved their plans around, there was never a solid corner to settle into. A shake of his head brought Matthew back to the present, a blemish of a day in his perfect plan of life. Everything he had known in the world had come to a close and there was no new chapter to this book. No sequels, no trilogy or saga to keep him wondering what came next.

Sighing, Matthew flicked the cigarette from the door and grabbed the rifle from the passenger's seat. Kicking the door as he pulled the handle, the old metal swung open with a contesting creak and squealed to rest once open halfway. Squeezing out of the narrow opening, Matthew walked to the front of the truck and leaned back. The cold metal of the grill met his back with a smack and Matthew soon found himself sliding to sit with his knees propped up. Dropping his head back, he let it rest on the truck's grill as he gazed into the night sky. Earth had been a sight back whenever he had first lived there. The large white moon above with stars littering the sky had kept him rather enraptured as a young boy. At the age of twenty-seven, however, Matthew found the night sky of Plethora to be a bit lackluster. There was no moon, only stars. The sky wasn't even that dark here. A darker shade of red, perhaps, but the early sun's rotation did little to give a working man a real moment's sleep. Shaking his head, Matthew looked down once more at the rifle he held. At least he'd be found soon. People would be out and about in an hour at the latest. Since the old “Pott's Truck” was a landmark into and out of the primary farming community that the colony was known for, someone was bound to find the poor man's body where it would undoubtedly be lying. No coyotes or decay for him. He'd at least have the dignity of a decent burial. Firming his resolve, Matthew shifted the rifle until it was placed squarely in his mouth and moved his hand towards the trigger.

Before he had even so much as touched the trigger guard, however, an explosion rocked the world around him. Wind, dust, and rocks flew towards Matthew, who was quick to drop to the side, evading a rather large rock that had been kicked up and sent his way. Forgotten was the rifle and his previous resolution, the old weapon hitting the ground with a dull clang compared to the sudden rush of noise and action around the man. Whenever his vision cleared up, Matthew went wide-eyed with disbelief. There before him, battling what Matthew had once considered friends and coworkers, was the lapdog of the Unified Colony Directorate. Aiden Desparius, a gene-soldier, was an impressive figure to find on any battlefield. Standing at just under 6 feet flat and sporting a goatee that looked as if it belonged on some cartoon villain's face, he was impressive enough without the gear he had strapped to his body armor. White flesh shifted as he dived to the side, evading a stray rifle's bullet. Muscles tightened and flexed as he punched one farmer, who dared to get close with his knife, in the nose. To see him battling a bunch of farmers and laborers was more than enough shock and confusion for Matthew, who could only watch in wonder before the desire to save his fellows overwhelmed the man's mind. Stumbling for the abandoned Winchester, Matthew raised it shakily to his shoulder and aimed at the soldier fighting his people. Unseen, he fired off the round and managed a hit. A small cheer lifted from his mouth whenever he saw Aiden crumple, one immediately copied by the farmer's around him. It died, however, whenever Aiden rose slowly from the ground. Spitting to the side, he glanced at the hole in his shoulder and turned to where the shot came from. “Mother fucker.”

They were to be the last two words Matthew heard in his current life. Seeing Aiden vanish before his eyes, Matthew gave a startled yelp and attempted to flee from where he was hunched. He had intended to kill himself that day, but now felt the very real desire to remain alive now that he had an enemy who cared enough about him to want him dead. He knew Aiden's gift, as most did, and did his best to run before the soldier reappeared. He wasn't quick enough. Aiden reappeared explosively, his body forming in midair in the space that Matthew inhabited. Vitae and organs spread like a rain, Matthew's body unable to contain the sudden stress of someone else occupying the exact space it did. The poor man's master plan for dying peacefully and with a proper funeral were shattered in the same instant that Matthew simply ceased to exist. It didn't take long for Aiden to finish his compatriots after their morale shattered, seeing such gruesome brutality.

title: Plethora

question: What does Matthew want?

answer: Matthew initially wants to kill himself. However when he sees the Gene Warrior Aiden fighting some farmers and laborers in a field he decides to attempt to save them. When he cannot kill Aiden and finds him pursuing him, suddenly he decides he wants to live again, but it is too late: he is killed.


text:
This is part five of an eleven-part novella that I wrote about a year ago. They all work as stand-alones as well, so I thought I'd test the reddit waters first by posting this (this is my first post), then if there's interest, I'll start from the beginning.

“See that man on the bench? The one who keeps checking his watch?”

            “Yeah, I see him. Think I should aim for him? Because I was thinking more that bus of school children that passes by here every day around this time. Could you imagine man, all those little kids watching something like that? If only we were exposed to such things at their age.”

            “Well, as good for them as it may be, trust me. Go for the old man. He comes by here almost every day and he needs this more than any piece of shit kid.”

            “I trust you, so old man it is. How much longer?”

            “Few minutes, give or take how much of impact you plan to make.”

            “Ha. I’m sure you’ll know just as well as I will.”

            “You know what kind of impact we’re speaking of, right? You could change a lot of opinions if you don’t screw this up.”

            “What kind of opinions are we talking about here? The kinds of opinions that are swayed by an act as simple as what I’m about to do? We don’t need those kinds of people. If they don’t believe in it themselves and don’t arrive there on their own terms after whatever hardships they’ve traversed, then it’s useless anyway. Don’t follow the leader who jumps off of a building.”

            With those last words, I run to the edge and after seven well-placed steps, I leap towards the sky below, 80 stories down. I did it. I finally did it. Oh shit I did it, I jumped. I jumped. Shit shit shit I jumped why did I jump SHIT I JUMPED. Ok, ok, just…just…remember. Why am I doing this? To better myself and no one else. Why no one else? Because every single entity I’ve encountered thus far has only been an extension of me and by denying myself a couple decades spent living, I’m presenting a gift to the whole of my species, the gift of a clean mental slate.

                                                            -755ft to Destination-

            So I’m about to die. Well, I’ve been about to die ever since I was born, but this is simply the closest I’ve come. No, wait, now this is the closest I’ve come. No, now. Now. Now. No, stop, I can’t thought-loop my psyche when every misplaced image can’t be painted over. Death…the detachment of the personality from the corpse, the awkward pauses in conversation where I can feel my eyes grow just that much heavier; the ultimate lucid dream. Being so close to it now, I can understand at the same level as I did when I first gave my life ending any serious thought; that complete, yet incomplete notion of existing while non-existing, the essence of white space, the daydream that lasts into the night.

            My way of imagining it has always correlated to a recurring dream that I’ve had since I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. In this dream, I exist in a realm of utter nothingness. In this realm, no matter what direction you take or whatever actions lead your limbs, the effect is about as apparent as the cause is discernible. In this state of existence, time has no beginning and has no end. Everything around me is blank and the best way to describe it would be empty space. I am here for a reason and this reason comes to me in a complete thought, as if I experienced the idea all at once; in a realm without time, surely not inconceivable. The thought consists of a person who I haven’t met yet at that point in my life but I now recognize as someone close to me who needs my help. I attempt to speak and no words come out, but the blanket of space that has been keeping me docile is slightly rumpled and what is revealed is a bio-dome of sorts. Don’t get me wrong, the empty space remains and it feels alone, but a few bushes and trees exist alongside me in this new mental world. I begin to run and I can see numbers in my head counting down from ten. The first few seconds seem to take a lifetime, yet each individual nano-second is split into the mere act of breathing and non-breathing until everything is so sped up that my life is lived and re-lived multiple times.

            Whatever I’m moving towards could represent multiple things now that I look back on it, but at the time, it was just a person. Perhaps it was the attention or simply the act of looking my way; perhaps it represented a too- ignored side of me; but with this person seeming to be at risk for something grave, the strain on my psyche during the dream was staggering. So I’m attempting to run to this person because I need to save them no matter what and everything begins to slow down. My screams echo throughout the void and a bush catches my leg, causing me to trip. I can’t stand up and all I can hear are thousands upon thousands of numbers crashing through my mind. Once zero is reached, everything becomes still and my blood ceases circulation. Someone starts to cry and I no longer exist as a human being. I become part of the whiteness, part of the nothingness one could say. To be there while not being there simultaneously is a fascinating place to be.

            Coming out of the dream, I was always left in the same state for sometimes days. Time has no meaning and there’s this pressure that’s alleviated from my thought process. Over the years, I explored that place and each visit became a little more distant, a little less focused until eventually, I could achieve that bliss by closing my eyes and blocking out all thought.

            Something hits me in the arm and tears right through it. I can feel the muscles tear as follicles and pores are ripped apart and my blood starts to stain the windows that pass me by on my descent. I think I hit a bird. Yes. I jumped off of a building and the first thing I hit isn’t the ground, but a bird.

                                                            -620ft to Destination-

            Better to hit a bird than be shit on one during my fall. I couldn’t even imagine, being shit on right after I die. Actually, I would very much like that. Surely something I would brag about to friends if I woke up. What am I thinking, ‘if I woke up’. That’s the kind of thinking that led to a developed world and a developed world is what led to the death of everything else. Earth would’ve been heavily changed by the dominant species no matter what and even though the newspapers and anchormen always say that we’re killing the planet, no, we’re not. We’re making it unsuitable for human life and evidently, much more than that. The planet will be just fine. We will be just fine. In the over-arching outline of all that ever is, we were dead much longer than we were alive and a return to normalcy may be what the current civilization needs.

            To kill a planet- to assume that once all human life is gone, all life stops until someone is there to observe it. The conscious observer is just as bad as the conscientious objector and with both out of the way, maybe a pair of eyes will be able to appreciate something, anything, without either martyring it or attempting to organize an intrinsically chaotic system. Order comes from chaos and chaos from order; man from society and society from man. In both cases, one seems to be in control of the other. In both cases, that one is what spends a majority of its span as the unwilling, sleeping guise of the other.

                                                            -560ft to Destination-

            Someone must be watching me right now. Someone is seeing this body fall to the street. I’m sure that there has to be at least one parent covering the eyes of a child. I hope my body bounces and hits that parent in the face. Yes, I know that parents think they reserve the right to shield their children from the horrors of this world, but children need just as much violence and terror exposure as they need tenderness and love. The kids that I’ve seen grow up since I’ve been aware enough to observe with patience have been all but blocked out from seeing anything worthwhile. This is almost certainly not true worldwide and if it is, then I thank the lack of morality in the past few years for leading us to this, but children in this day and age lack almost every universally accepted attribute that make up for a stable, future-privileged human being. The people who grew up into leaders, thinkers, builders, artists, were not told to sit inside all day and watch someone who’s paid to entertain them. The technological advances that have been made within a generation have essentially changed the way that humans are raised in every single way. Humans aren’t raised in any way similar to what once passed for culturing a being.

            Everyone who can’t read or write is looked down upon; everyone who is without basic computer literacy is labeled backwards, obsolete; everyone who is without a job and an education, ostracized to the point where it’s a sub-culture on its own. The thing is, that describes almost the entire human species. Instead of being raised to develop into a healthy person with creative outlets chosen by the individual and paths taken at will, we’re all on mood-altering something or other and the outlets chosen are the outlets bought. We just plug in and absorb, whether it be the musings of Bukowski or the tales of Serling. No matter how high in regard the medium is kept, it is still nothing more than a medium, there to meet you half-way and keep you there until you create for yourself or imitate other imitators.

            Feathers are pulled by the wind and out of my outstretched arms. From the ground, I must look like some sort of falling angel.

                                                            -415ft to Destination-

            Out of everyone I’ve ever met, I wonder how many of them will realize that their last time seeing me was the last time that they’d ever see me. I’ve personally never been to a funeral, but I might as well show up to my own.

                                                            -350ft to Destination-

            The open cut on my arm is being lacerated by the air flowing around it.

            It doesn’t pain me at all. Not much pains me at this point. My mind is clear and my sympathetic nervous system – as calm as it’s ever been. At my rate of descent, I should be hitting the ground any second now. The old man better have stayed on that bench; he’ll be needing this. This all feels too surreal. If time as we understand it is truly a fundamental law that governs us, then I should have hit the ground ages ago. As much control as I have over the rate at which I perceive the world around me, it seems almost implausible that one could fall for this long. A single step, followed by a long fall; a single dream followed by a long awakening.

                                                            -235ft to Destination-

            This is it, any moment now and it will be complete. The wind resistance can only resist me for so long. Try as hard as anyone may, for to stop something this long in the making, one would need to reset humanity itself. In my most optimistic reasoning, would that necessarily be such a bad thing? Sure, the road moving towards me may not exist, but neither would the workers who built the road, the parents who raised the workers. The immigrants who wanted something better and the ones set on making something worse for the better.

                                                            -110ft to Destination-

            Where will these thoughts go once I hit the pavement? They can’t be lost to the clouds or oceans; can’t be found by the travelers or the beggars. If I regard myself as no more than an idea, then I will spend the rest of eternity lingering with my internal voice. My thoughts aren’t just spawned within myself and forgotten once I’m gone; it can’t be as simple as that. They must exist elsewhere, a place where the ideas that bring about species-wide revolutions in cognitive-ability and mutual understanding go to await the next cycle of patience-enabled statues. Some call it the collective unconscious and others just refer to it as deep-space, but I prefer to imagine the place where my concepts and ideas go to live out their usefulness as a realm readily available to anyone able to tap into potential, tap into my limited awareness and expand it beyond recognition. If what I’ve learned is still able to grow long after I’m dead, then maybe they won’t be Event #4. Maybe they’ll prosper.

title: To Ponder

question: What does the story say about the narrator's friends and family?

answer: The narrator says they would brag to their friends that a bird shit on them during their fall. They wonder how many of the people who met them will realize that their last time seeing them was the last time they ever would.

question: What does the passage say about what happens at the moment of impact?


text:
Told they had terminal cancer and had as little as weeks to live, the miracle survivors' club have proved the doctors wrong

The four women pictured share a miraculous secret: they were all given a terminal cancer diagnosis and, in some cases, just a matter of weeks to live. Yet years later — against all the odds — they are still here and living life to the full. here, as they meet for the first time for a special Mail photoshoot, they share their inspirational
stories of survival.

[Inspirational, from left: Jane Plant, Angela Profit, Sue Wigg and Anne Freeley]

Inspirational, from left: Jane Plant, Angela Profit, Sue Wigg and Anne Freeley

[Beaten cancer: Jane Plant says the moment she realised she had defeated the disease was six years after her tumour disappeared]

Beating the odds: Jane Plant was first diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 42

GIVEN TWO MONTHS TO LIVE IN 1993

Jane Plant, 65, is professor of geochemistry at Imperial College, London, and lives in Richmond with her husband Peter Simpson, also a professor. They have three children and six grandchildren. She says:

Last year I became a grandma for the sixth time. Considering I’d been given two months to live 17 years earlier, when my kids were still children themselves, it felt like a remarkable achievement to be holding yet another grandchild in my arms.

I was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 42. I thought I’d beaten it, but five years later it returned with a vengeance. I carried on fighting, but when it recurred for the fifth time I asked my doctor to end my life for me there and then — I didn’t see how I could go on battling a disease that seemed hell-bent on finishing me off.

But as I wept I heard my little boy, then just six years old, crying out for me in another room. I knew then I could never again allow myself to feel as though it was an option to leave him.

Five weeks later, when I was told that I had, at the very most, two months to live, I wasn’t upset, angry or frightened — I’d already hit rock bottom a few weeks earlier. I was on the way back up now and had already begun to search my own scientific mind for a way out of this mess.

I was gripped with a great sense of urgency that I had to find an answer quickly if I was to stand any chance of surviving.

That night, in my office, Peter and I looked at a map that showed the incidence of various types of cancer across the world. In China the breast cancer rate was one in 100,000 compared to one in ten here.

Further research convinced me that it had to be diet-related, and so I adopted the kind of diet predominant in China — low in animal protein, with no dairy produce but lots of fruit, vegetables, nuts and pulses.

Six weeks later my tumour had gone — my oncologist told me it had simply responded to chemotherapy and that it would return when my treatment finished.
It was a blow to hear that, but I stayed on the diet and lived the best life I could. It was a very precarious existence, endlessly checking for lumps and forever wondering how much time I had left. But I was lucky — the tumour didn’t come back.

Six years later I stepped off a train in Reading, where I was giving a lecture, and I was struck with this epiphany: ‘I’m not dead — I’m still not dead.’ Those words repeated in my head over and over for the rest of the day. And I knew I could finally allow myself to believe I had beaten cancer.

I’m 65, but unlike most women, the ageing process causes me no anguish. I look at every new wrinkle as a mark of victory — my wonderful prize for having beaten cancer when my doctors were certain it had beaten me.

[The importance of goals: Angela was determined to go to Venice and marry the love of her life after she decided she would not be beaten by cancer]

The importance of goals: Angela was determined to go to Venice and marry the love of her life after she decided she would not be beaten by cancer

GIVEN A YEAR TO LIVE IN 2001

Angela Profit, 67, lives in Solihull, West Midlands, with husband John, 68, a retired managing director. They have four sons between them from their first marriages and seven grandchildren. She says:

This week I saw the first snowdrop of the year in my garden. It’s amazing to think that’s the ninth time I’ve seen them push through the soil, heralding the start of yet another unexpected year of my life.

I planted the bulbs in 2001, not long after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. No one thought I’d live to see them flower, but now they are a symbol of my survival.

When I cast my mind back to the days immediately after my diagnosis, hope was the last thing I had.

I’d known for 18 months that something wasn’t right. At first I was told I had irritable bowel syndrome, but when my stomach swelled up, making me look heavily pregnant, I was admitted to hospital for tests.

Not for a moment did I expect to be diagnosed with cancer, but two days later I was told that’s what I had and, worse, it had spread to my lungs and was terminal.

My oncologist said he would operate to remove my ovaries, but that he wasn’t hopeful for me.

My first thoughts were of my parents. They were in their 80s and I wondered if they would survive the shock of my death. Then I became angry that I would never be a grandmother, or get to visit Venice — a place I’d always longed to see. I was also filled with regret that I would never marry John, the man I love.

After my operation I begged my family to take me home, certain that if I stayed in hospital, I would die. Family and friends kept telling me I could beat it. After a while, I started to believe them.

I spent time in my garden, appreciating the beauty of things I’d never had time to notice before. This gave me the resolve to get through the chemo. I knew — even if my doctors didn’t — that I had more fight left in me.

A year after diagnosis, my first grandson was born, I married John and we went to Venice.

In realising those three ambitions, I saw the importance of setting new goals to keep myself going. It’s something I’ve done ever since, with the help of conventional medicine and alternative therapies such as reflexology and meditation.

It hasn’t been plain sailing. The cancer has returned three times to my groin and lymph nodes. But that hasn’t stopped me travelling the world, and starting a new career — as a supporter of the Eve Appeal and a spokesperson for people living with cancer.

I am living with it, and hoping every day that the drugs will keep it at bay. If they don’t, I will have more chemo and another dose of positive thinking. But, until then, I’ll continue to enjoy the lease of life this supposed death sentence has given me.

For more information, go to eveappeal.org.uk

[Battling the impossible: Sue overcame a lethal and rare skin cancer to lead the richest life she can]

Battling the impossible: Sue overcame a lethal and rare skin cancer to lead the richest life she can

GIVEN TWO MONTHS TO LIVE IN 1998

Sue Wigg, 56, a special needs teacher, lives near Brighton with her husband Michael, 59, who’s retired from the electronics industry. They have two sons, aged 29 and 31. She says:

Thirteen years ago I was referred to a dermatologist after an irritating skin condition failed to clear up. It turned out I had an extremely rare and lethal form of internal skin cancer.

I was relieved I had a diagnosis and they knew how to treat it. At that stage, no one was talking life and death. The real blow came when my doctors discovered a huge secondary tumour in my liver. I couldn’t believe I had known nothing about it.

I had surgery to deal with the primary tumour, and chemotherapy for the secondary. And I clung to the hope that I would survive.

After three rounds of chemotherapy I started suffering headaches and fits. They found a new tumour in my brain and my treatment was halted.

The prospect of losing my cognitive faculties frightened me more than anything. I asked my doctors how long I’d got, and at first they wouldn’t say. Then they said the cancer was growing faster than they could contain it and that I was unlikely to survive more than a few weeks.

I was engulfed by sadness. I wouldn’t see my boys through university or watch them marry and become parents. But after laser surgery on my brain, the impossible happened: the cancer started to retreat.

Little by little my confidence grew. I felt better and I dared to make plans for the future.

There have been setbacks — a cancerous mole removed from my leg, and, in July last year, cancerous lymph nodes were taken from my groin. But I no longer wonder when cancer is going to ‘get me’ and just live my life.

In my mind I have two ages: I am 56 and also 13 — the number of years I’ve enjoyed since my terminal diagnosis.

Those years have been richer and fuller than any others in my life.

Sue will do Moonwalk this May, to raise money for breast cancer. For more information, visit www.walkthewalk.org

[Frightened but fearless: Despite her initial dread at her diagnosis, Anne has achieved goals, including a half marathon, while she fights her brain cancer]

Frightened but fearless: Despite her initial dread at her diagnosis, Anne has achieved goals, including a half marathon, while she fights her brain cancer

GIVEN A YEAR TO LIVE in 2006

Anne Feeley, 56, owned a bakery for 15 years, and lives in London with her husband, Jonathan, 50, a retired lawyer. They have two daughters, Molly, 23, and Sadie, 20. She says:

There was no stiff-upper-lip bravery from me when my consultant told me my condition was terminal. I sat in his office, convulsed by tears. At one point I was struggling to breathe I was so distraught.

I had a fast-growing, recurring brain tumour — a condition that usually claims the life of the victim within a year.

My husband broke my dreadful prognosis to our children, and my anguish was temporarily quashed at the sight of theirs.

In those first few weeks I was often immobilised with self-pity and shock. But as those despairing feelings wore off, so my determination to steal more time grew stronger.

Jonathan and I retired so that we could focus on keeping me alive for as long as possible, and enjoy whatever family time we had left.

I had surgery to remove the bulk of the tumour, followed by radiotherapy and chemotherapy. After the operation, I hired a personal trainer to help me get stronger and — together with my treatment — I slowly started to get better.

The turning point came four months later when my daughter, Molly, who’d won a place at University in Chicago, said she couldn’t bear to leave me in case my condition deteriorated. I insisted she went and told her I wouldn’t have her turn down golden opportunities for me.

I set myself the goal of living another two years. I focused on enjoying simple pleasures with my family: like cooking and eating together and taking our dog for long walks. The tumour was still there, but regular check-ups showed that, contrary to expectations, it wasn’t getting any worse.

So I started to set myself little challenges. The following year I completed a half marathon. Jonathan and the girls came with me and were cheering for me at the finish line. Last year I cycled 3,702 miles across America and raised almost £2 million for Macmillan and the neuro-oncology department at the Royal Marsden, where I was treated. This summer I will row across the English Channel to raise more money.

When the two-year mark since my diagnosis approached, and I hadn’t relapsed, my husband, ever the lawyer, said to me: ‘So, you’re still here — time to re-negotiate!’

And that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. It’s more than four years since I was told my death was imminent, yet the cancer remains contained in one part of my brain, and I don’t feel any more ready to leave my family than I did then.’

To find out more about Anne’s fundraising, visit www.brainsonbikes.org

...AND SUPERGRAN BEATS THE LOT!

[Century: Ellen McDonald has beaten cancer five times]

Century: 100-year-old great-grandmother Ellen McDonald has beaten cancer five times

Great-grandmother Ellen McDonald is looking forward to celebrating her 100th birthday later this year  -  a remarkable enough achievement in itself, but even more astonishing given that she has beaten cancer five times.

At one point she was even given the last rites by a priest at her hospital bed. But that was nearly 50 years ago and she is still here to tell the tale.

Ellen, from Leeds, was born in 1911  -  the same year as King George V's coronation. her health problems began when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in the early Fifties and underwent a double mastectomy.

Ten years later she had cancer in her gall bladder, and it was removed. She also underwent a hysterectomy after the cancer was found in her womb.

 But in 1963, when cancer was discovered in her bowel, she was not expected to survive.

Ellen, a mother of five sons and great-grandmother to eight, says: 'I made it through because of my spirit and the surgons' skill.'

Ellen, whose husband, Jim, died 18 years a go, lives in sheltered accommodation and puts her longevity down to hard work and 'the occasional glass of wine'.

question: What is the main message of the article?

answer: The article doesn't explicitly try to convey a certain message. However, in recounting the tales of four women who overcame cancer more than a dozen times between them, the article ends up commenting about never losing hope even in the face of impending death.

question: What does the article say about the average prognosis for various cancer types?


text:
[]

_TRANSGENDER INSANITY HAS OFFICIALLY MADE ITS WAY INTO AMERICA’S CHURCHES. LAST YEAR, I REPORTED ON THE HERESY OF THE_ _CHURCH OF SWEDEN_ _ADAPTING “GENDER-NEUTRAL” PRONOUNS FOR GOD. SADLY, THAT BLASPHEMOUS SPIRIT OF APOSTASY HAS ARRIVED IN OUR NATION. GOVERNING DELEGATES AT THE 123RD DIOCESAN CONVENTION OF THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF WASHINGTON, D.C., PASSED A RESOLUTION TO REPLACE ALL TRADITIONAL BIBLICAL PRONOUNS FOR GOD WITH “GENDER-NEUTRAL LANGUAGE”._ __

_They also passed another Resolution “embracing Transgenderism in the Church”, which allows for men to use the women’s bathroom – and vice versa – in Church facilities. The powers that be at the convention were fully united in their backsliding from the Word of God, as the Resolutions passed in under an hour._

_The Diocese of D.C. agreed, via the “Gendered Language” Resolution, to replace ALL references to “the Father” and “the Son” with gender-neutral pronouns; a disgraceful decision which Biblically-sound theologians condemn as undermining the central tenets of the Christian faith. Even the most Biblically-illiterate Christian can tell you that God is our FATHER in Heaven, Who sent His SON Jesus Christ to die for our sins._

_Yet, the authors of the Episcopal Church’s Resolution argue that “our current gender roles shape, and limit, our understanding of God.” They are right, but not in the way that they want to be. Yes, it is absolutely true that the “current” gender roles of “Male” and “Female” do shape our understanding of God, because HE is the One Who created the genders in the first place_!

_It was His Will to make TWO genders, so if that means that our understanding of Him is “limited” then that is just the way that He intended it to be. For any Church to acknowledge more genders than those which God created is a slap in the face of our Maker. They are basically saying to God, “we don’t like how you have limited our understanding of You, O God, so we will SHAPE You to our liking”._

[]

_This Biblically-hostile attitude is so dangerous. It is not only eternally dangerous for the Church leaders, but for their flock in the pews as well. Churches are supposed to TEACH God’s Word to those who have a hunger for it, not ALTER the Holy Bible to misinform, confuse, or willfully deceive their ignorant congregation for the sake of “political correctnes_s”.

_Since the dawn of time as we know it, God has desired a relationship with the human race. He has made Himself known to His creation since He first gave lifebreath to Adam. He has always exhibited specific personality traits, and an unquestionable gender identity so that we can truly know Him as a loving Father-figure. The backslidden Churches of today, like in Sweden and D.C., are preaching an “unknown God”, are offering a faith without a purpose, and selling salvation without a Savior._

_How can anyone with the most basic knowledge of Christianity not question the error of their ways? One of the Diocesan delegates, and proponent of the “Genderless God” Resolution, Linda R. Calkins, is even urging the Diocese to adopt the “The Inclusive Bible”. The authors of this blasphemous 2004 translation of God’s Word not only remove all “gender specific” pronouns for God, but they describe their work as “a re-imagining of the scriptures and our relationship to them.” Re-IMA_GINING?

_So they fully admit that they are not being true to the Word of God in its original form, but rather are cooking up a translation through their own “imagination”. What a shame. I wonder just how many poor lost souls will spend eternity in Hell because of ignorantly believing this garbage, which is being promoted as a “Bible”. It most certainly is NOT a Holy Bible, and contains no more truth or salvation within its covers than a Harry Potter novel_.

_Our Lord, Jesus Christ, never once referred to God as “Imma”, which means Mother, but He ALWAYS called God “‘Abba”, meaning FATHER. When Jesus commanded His followers “how to pray”, He taught them to begin by addressing “Our Father, which art in Heaven”. Every Church, regardless of denomination, prays this prayer in their masses and services. I’m curious as to how the Episcopal Church is going to dance around that huge discrepancy in relation to their new “Genderless God” Resolutio_n.

[]

_Every Sacred Book in both the Jewish and Christian Scriptures leaves no doubt that our God is indeed a MALE. There is no getting around it. It is undeniable. YaHWeH God is referred to as “He”, “Him”, “His”, and “Father” thousands of times in the Holy Bible. Anyone preaching otherwise is not a Christian and not a Jew. Period. Anyone teaching to the contrary is willfully spreading deception and lies for a self-serving purpose, or to please a sinful world that knoweth not God._

_It is obvious that Sweden’s Evangelical Lutheran Church, and now D.C.’s Episcopalian Church, have decided that they no longer want to worship the God of Holy Bible-believing Christians. They desire to create their OWN “god”, and sacrifice eternal Truth in order to appease sinners with a politically correct delusion. The authors and proposers of the Episcopal Church’s demonic Resolutions were on record admitting that “rather than adhere to a BIBLICAL view of God’s intended natural order for creation, the Church needs to ADAPT to the whims of culture”._

_They are indeed the living, and breathing, representation of 2nd Timothy 4:4 – “For the time will come when the people will not endure sound DOCTRINE; but after their OWN lusts shall they heap to themselves “teachers”, having itching ears; And they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto FABLES”._

_God the Father warned in Deuteronomy 4:2, and Lord Jesus repeated the warning in Revelation 22:18-19, that there is severe eternal punishment awaiting anyone who “adds to” or “takes away from” the Holy Bible. These modern “gender-neutral” liberal Churches, and imaginative Bible translations, are guilty on BOTH counts. If those warnings in Scripture are not enough to lead the backslidden Church leaders to repentance, then maybe Jesus’ words in Matthew, Chapter 7, will do the trick –_

_“Beware of FALSE prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing (fellow Christians), but inwardly they are ravening WOLVES… For not every one that saith unto Me, ‘Lord, Lord’, shall enter into the kingdom of Heaven; only he that does the Will of My Father which is in Heaven shall. Many will say to Me in that (Judgment) Day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your Name? and in Your Name have cast out demons? and in Your Name done many wonderful works?’ And then will I, Jesus, profess unto them, I NEVER KNEW YOU: depart from Me, you ACCURSED.” ~ Matthew 7:15, 21-23_

[]

  _“In the Last Days.. men will be BLASPHEMERS…” ~ 2nd Timothy 3:2_

  _“Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day (of Christ’s Return) shall not come, except there come a FALLING AWAY (from the Faith) first…” ~ 2nd Thessalonians 2:3_

  _“ JESUS said, And many FALSE prophets shall rise, and shall deceive MANY.” ~ Matthew 24:11_

  _“There were FALSE prophets also among the people, even as there shall be false teachers AMONG YOU, who privily shall bring in DAMNABLE heresies, even DENYING the Lord that bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction.” ~ 2nd Peter 2:2_

  _“Beloved.. I exhort you that you should earnestly contend for the Faith which was once delivered unto the saints. For there are certain men crept in unawares, who were before of old ordained to this condemnation, UNGODLY men, turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness, and DENYING the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ.” ~ Jude 1:3-4_

  _“JESUS said, I know your works, and your labour, and your patience, and how you cannot bear them which are evil: and you have tried them which SAY they are apostles, and are NOT, and have found them LIARS.” ~ Revelation 2:2_

  _“So God created man in HIS Own Image, in the Image of God HE created him; male and female HE created them.” ~ Genesis 1:7_

  _“JESUS said, After this manner therefore you should pray: Our FATHER which art in He

question: What is the main topic of the post?

answer: The author writes about "transgender insanity" in America's churches.

question: Is the post an opinion piece?

answer: Yes, the posting is the opinion of the author (unknown).

question: What is the author's opinion on the Episcopal Church's passing a more inclusive resolution?

answer: The author is clearly agitated by the church's acceptance of transgender people and inclusive language.

question: The author first reported their dislike of the use of gender-neutral pronouns in church in which country?

answer: Sweden

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: In a opinionated post, the author writes about "transgender insanity" in America's churches. The author is clearly agitated by the church's acceptance of transgender people and inclusive language.