Author: zoyawrites

Causal determinism, the idea that the future is predetermined by natural law, works hand in hand with the principle of cause and effect: every event in the universe has a cause, and if we trace it back far enough, the event can be predicted by its prior causes. Therefore, we can track every past event to the event that preceded it, and also predict (in theory) the event that will follow. The sheer predictability of the universe might seem to render humans devoid of any free will, or chance to make decisions for themselves. But can this theory be rebutted?

One possible response is compatibilism. This theory creates a harmony in which the concept of free will and the principle of cause and effect can coexist. Compatibilism accepts that, due to natural law, complete regulative control is impossible, but argues that free will can still exist in a meaningful sense. Certain choices can still be made by humans, guided by their likes, dislikes, preferences, and selections. Ultimately, there is always a choice within limited circumstances, leading to millions of alternate possibilities inside a small spectrum of likelihoods.

Additionally, having free will holds humans morally accountable for their actions, forcing us to think about the consequences we may face if a crime is performed. This leads to a third position: libertarianism. This is the complete rejection of determinism. It conveys the idea that humans have genuine control over their own actions, and if those actions do not infringe upon others, they are freely chosen. Linking back to accountability, libertarianism stresses that a person could have chosen differently but committed to a specific action — and so can be judged for it. This rests on the Principle of Alternate Possibilities, which claims that we can only praise or blame someone if they really could have done otherwise. As libertarian thinkers argue, humans must take responsibility for the choices they make in their lifetime.

Libertarianism and determinism therefore appear as two ends of a wide-berthed philosophical spectrum of thought concerning the existence of free will and moral responsibility. Compatibilism, however, positions itself in the middle. Compatibilists argue that external coercions do not matter so much as whether the person acted in line with their own desires and intentions. In 1969, Frankfurt’s thought experiment challenged the idea that free will requires genuine alternatives. It depicted a man faced with two options: A or B. Unknown to him, circumstances ensure that he must end up choosing A regardless. The man still chooses A of his own accord, and so he remains responsible — even though he could not have done otherwise. This shows that one’s own will is central to responsibility.

But then there is the question of punishment. Libertarianism and compatibilism both allow for consequences and accountability. Determinism, however, presents difficulties. If natural law causes every event to unfold necessarily, and nobody can change what is fated, then should criminals really be punished if they were always destined to commit crimes? The three main aims of punishment are retribution, reformation, and deterrence. But for hard determinists, because humans are not truly accountable for their predetermined actions, retribution — the idea of “an eye for an eye” — is out of the question. Instead, punishment can only be justified in forward-looking ways: reformation, to improve behaviour, and deterrence, to prevent future crimes. In this respect, determinism aligns with aspects of the modern world, where punishment is often framed not just as payback, but as a way to improve society and ensure a safer future for all.

Ultimately, the tension between determinism, compatibilism, and libertarianism remains unresolved. Determinism reminds us of the power of natural law, compatibilism offers a practical middle ground, and libertarianism protects our deep sense of freedom. Yet each view faces challenges: determinism undermines responsibility, compatibilism risks redefining freedom too narrowly, and libertarianism struggles to explain how free will escapes causation. Whether humans are truly free or not may never be decisively answered, but the debate remains central to how we think about justice, morality, and what it means to live responsibly.

In conclusion, free will affects not only ourselves but also those around us. It lies in the small choices we make each day, choices that can shape a better existence for others and allow humanity to live in a form of harmony — though this remains more an aspiration than a reality.

Jaipur Rugs, founded in 1978 is a luxury goods company that creates high quality artisanal carpets: hand-knotted and carefully crafted for your home. After initial weaving, the carpets undergo 18 intensive stages of preparation before being put on the market, taking up to a month. Measurement, knot counting, repairing, knot beating, back burning, washing, cleaning, shearing, carving and embossing are just a few of the steps in this intensive process. But is that all that they do?

The dictionary definition of an artisanal product is “A product made in a traditional or non-mechanised way”, according to the google dictionary. And if anyone employs the ‘traditional’ aspect into real life perfectly, it is Jaipur Rugs. Across the states of Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan (both in India), groups of female artisans in the rural areas of India utilise their creativeness to drive a passion of rug weaving, fuelling the possibility of an independent lifestyle, breaking boundaries, and giving families a chance to reap the benefits of the women’s labour. Jaipur Rugs does this by eradicating the middle man from the equation (Rug vendor-employer-rug maker) to truly establish a relationship with the women who create the rugs. This ‘middle-man’, in the past, exploited the women, driven by biases rooted in casteism, with low wages. Contrastingly, Jaipur Rugs strives to empower and reward the women for their work, celebrating their creativity.

The company sets up a training area, free of charge in each village, where the women learn exactly how to create the detailed, beautiful carpets from multiple yarns of wool. Following this, the trained women are free to work with Jaipur Rugs, or with a different corporation. The company sets up a loom right in the artisan’s home, enabling them to create the carpets without worrying about childcare, or having to travel to a different location. With Jaipur Rugs, they noticeably prioritise the choices and opinions of the women who work for them, giving them the opportunity to choose their own path, and creating convenient ways to work. Many young women use the money they earn from weaving carpets to fund their higher education – for example a BA in arts, or a degree in mathematics. Even after one project is complete, the artisans are given a choice to remain working for Jaipur Rugs, or with a different corporation all together – there is never a binding, exploitative contract. Complete freedom in their employment is a tangible possibility.

I visited the village Manpura, an hour drive away from Jaipur city, is a place rife with talented women. As for the women who follow a specific designed plan for the rugs, I heard from a talented creator of the rugs, and, a mother of 2. Whilst demonstrating how to weave a mere piece of thread into a rug worth thousands of pounds, she revealed that in 2010, she married an abusive alcoholic. Through hard work and effort, she earned enough money to leave him, take her children, and build a small house of their own in Manpura. Jaipur Rugs acts as a bridge, that before, was impossible to cross, but now allows a woman in jeopardy to a future of stability and freedom. Now, not only are the artisans able to gain financial security and domestic independence, but are able to hone their creativity skills in the Manchaha programme, enabling the once disadvantaged women to take control of their lives, and their career.

Manchaha, translating in Hindi directly to what the heart wants, is an initiative created by the daughter of the founder, upon seeing a creative invention tossed away in a village. There lay an empty ‘Supari’ (betel nut chewed with paan – snack) packet, with a colourful array of wool threaded around it, fashioned into a children’s toy. This simple act exacerbates the immense creativity that can turn litter into an abject that sparks joy and happiness amidst a perhaps difficult, Darwinian setting.  This led the daughter to form Manchaha – essentially spontaneous weaving, drawing from everyday life. This can be people, festivals (like Teej, Diwali, Holi, etc) or even food… we saw a woman create multiple prints of a ‘softy’ (soft serve ice cream). To pay tribute to the multiple women that participate in this initiative, their pictures are displayed in the Jaipur Showroom, along with pictures of prestigious awards that the women have won (11 in total), enabling them to travel from their villages to faraway locations like Germany, Austria… all over the world. Locations that may have once just been shapes on a map, have now become everlasting memories due to the creative design. ‘Freedom’ Manchaha is an additional programme, creating impromptu designed rugs from members of prison. Encased in black and white stripes to represent a classic jail uniform, are repentful ideas, hidden stories, and enclosed emotions that are barred from society, but released through a commercial means, is a rug, rich with the emotions of an inmate. It is seen as a form of therapy, and relaxation. All in all, Manchaha is a massive success, promoting the rug as not just another item, but someone else’s story – their feelings and emotions, all bundled up into millions of knots of thread.

The ‘Happiness Project’, created by the company, enriches and teaches their employees in the village about how to harness their mindfulness and utilise it for the better. The company’s employees their personal relationships with the artisans, filling the villages with laughter. These employees teach the artisans to channel the attitudes and existences of some animals into their mindset. These animals, for instance, Deer, Horses, Sparrows, and Fish, all constitute towards different positive aspects of human tendencies and wishes. For example, a sparrow is the ultimate form of freedom: able to soar through the sky, with no bounds but the atmosphere, promoting curiosity. Or, a deer: the ultimate wanderer and explorer, encouraging people to be venturesome. Each employee is given a booklet, and asked to express their emotions, thoughts, and feelings through writing and drawing, enhancing their creativity even more.

Jaipur Rugs, founded in 1978 is a luxury goods company that creates high quality artisanal carpets: hand-knotted and carefully crafted for your home. But it is so much more than that. It is female empowerment. It is financial security. It is the harnessing of creativity. Getting to do what the heart truly wants. It is mental wellbeing and creativity. The duality of this company – a manufacturer, yet also, an empowering establishment, enables customers not to just experience the luxury of their carpets, but experience an enriching story.

Bright, blinding lights and the sound of people cheering. The soft hum of the piano as the opening queue played to the dancer’s routine. As the pointe shoes dug into her swollen, over-practiced feet, anticipation was rife within her.  millions of pairs of eyes seemed to bore into her soul as she delicately pranced into the abyss that was the stage. 

As the violin began to play, her cue to start was immanent. The routine almost felt like muscle memory. Somehow she felt her pointe shoes slide across the stage and her arms float gracefully, and all of a sudden she had began to dance. 

Enthralment. That is all she could describe it as. The air brushing gently against her skin was a sensation only the most fortunate people of the world could feel, which filled the ballerina’s heart with pure ecstasy, causing her to increase the velocity of her gracefully flailing limbs, slowly but surely. The ballerina’s body picked up speed, as did the dramatic hum of the orchestra serenading her dancing. She fluttered her eyelids down and shut herself off from the visual distractions, enabling her sixth sense to take over, swayed by the ambrosial sound of the instruments. Turn after turn, pirouette after pirouette, and the young woman was practically levitating in the air. Her jumps steadily got higher, more forceful, harnessing every part of the ballerina – the physical (her literal mass), and the emotional (her feelings and thoughts, consistently channelled into an unconscious stream of movement. 

It was a beautiful thing. Until it wasn’t. 

It is said that some people view the world as black and white. Good and bad. Passion and bore. Dancing, and staticity. But these people do not comprehend that there is a duality in all aspects of life, and that the best things can hold painful truths and realities within them. However, this fact cannot be understood until an experience is made. 

As the ballerina took her final leap through the air, she opened her eyes and immediately saw the hundreds of people mesmerised by her movements. Their eyes, boring into her soul once again, seemed to excite her, as she felt the scrutiny of her passion running through the audience’s brains. The uncomfortable feeling could have lasted forever, as the ballerina basked in the attention from her onlookers. But as gravity has it, no moment truly lasts forever. 

A snap of her bones. A tear in her muscle. Searing, blinding pain enveloping her ankle, eyes, head… her whole body was writhing with agony as she fell from what seemed like the top of the world. Suddenly, the onlooking eyes on her felt unnerving, embarrassing, and unsettling. She felt a shrill scream emerge from her throat as reality settled in… and as she peered down to look at the source of the agony, all she saw was her ankle. However, this ankle was grossly misshaped, with a horrifyingly ivory tinted stick protruding from her skin.

It was her bone, and from here, the ballerina’s scream grew shriller, deeper, and panic stricken, as she realised her passion may not be tangible anymore……

The princess stared indignantly at the room around her. The stuffy palace court triggered the princess (albeit her being sat in the royal seats near the top). It unlocked rude, hypercritical thoughts which ran through her head, reacting to the ignorant and stupid comments delivered by the people beneath her. She could admit that she was easily grouchy, bad-tempered, and irate, but only when she had a justified reason, and this one was no different. There were always thoughts swirling around the princess’s head, and they were getting overwhelming.

The meeting’s minutes felt like they multiplied endlessly. Finally, the bell rang, signifying the end of the meeting. The princess rushed out of the stuffy room into a soothing view of the picturesque cliffside, overlooking an assortment of houses, different shapes and sizes stacked up next to eachother, all under the shadow of a grand stone castle, wrapped in jasmine and ivy, causing the kingdom to smell as beautiful as it already looked. Trees danced around in the warm summer wind, and the serene sound of running water filled the air. A blanket of cornflower blue sky was spotted with birds chirping happily to no end, golden rays of sun cascading down; all immensely contradicting how she felt now. She thought back to the events that had ensued minutes before.

The Princess had been planning her debut to the Kingdom’s government for almost six months. As she tried to clear her mind, distractions flooded her head; judging the way people dress, looked, spoke.

“Why on earth was he wearing that colour?,” she thought. “And him; his hair could grease a pan. My ideas are going to be miles better than these people.” It had taken a lot of convincing her father, the King, to let her speak, because Princesses, let alone women, were not permitted to voice their political opinions.

Unconcentrated, caused her head to whip around in surprise when her name was called. She stood at the stage, but as she spoke and her eyes buried in her notecards, she could already hear low voiced chattering overlapping her speech that she had worked so hard on After ten seconds of disrespect towards the Princess, her own Father had piercingly talked over her, raising a fresh topic whilst giving her a disappointed look through his peripheral vision. Shame made itself evident through a rising redness on the Princess’s cheeks and she let herself lose concentration as her father rambled:

“…And please remember, anything after the boundary gates is OUT OF BOUNDS! Please do not…”

The Princess decided to walk away her frustrations. She walked and walked, immersed in her own thoughts, just muttering to herself.

“I wish people would listen to me! I have such insightful thoughts in my head, and if only they were not dismissed as childish…,” spat the disgruntled Princess.

But an unfamiliar voice interrupted her monologue. She tripped on a tree root, tumbling down, hitting the ground hard. But it was not the usual yellow pebbled pathway that swirls its way through the Kingdom floor. It was mud, viscous and brown. The Princess realised she was not in her Kingdom anymore but nearing the forest; the out of bounds woodland that held nothing but trouble.

She felt a sharp pain in her ankle, wincing, reflecting on how her actions had led her here, to this unknown place, where she was sure to-

Frightened, the Princess whipped her head around to track the voice that had caused her accident in the first place. A stumped, old woman stood in front of her, flashing a cunning sneer, with an eerie, almost green tinge encompassing her pale skin. Her eyes glinted a shade of dark red, her ears pointing behind her matted black locks, contrasting her pale skin. The Princess had an instinct to get out of there, run away as fast as she could to the familiarity of her castle.

“Would you like to come inside? I can heal your ankle up in no time,” smiled the old woman. “Please, Princess,” remarked the woman with a sly grin. “I know what led you to me – I know what you crave; people to listen to your thoughts and ideas. Am I correct?”

The Princess looked bewildered, shocked on how this woman knew so much about her life, her innermost thoughts, and feelings, of which she did not tell anyone. But something intrigued her, questioning:

“How do you know about that? Who are you?” stammered the frightened Princess.

“You have so many questions: but I have an answer to all your problems. Please come in”, the woman spoke, gesturing to the hut behind her while her abhorrent features shone in the moonlight.[ZS3] 

The Princess was on the verge of declining the offer when an almost unbearable pain shot up her leg. She reluctantly nodded and was helped inside by the strong old lady, contradicting how she looked. The old woman’s house was draped in bottle green poison ivy, spotted with bright ruby berries. The windows glowed with an auburn light from inside, and the roof pumped out fragrant air, radiating warmth. Darkness had fallen, and the Princess only realised how cold she was. A tall, dark, oak door was half open, full of the answers and solutions that she craved, and relief, a possibility of saving, washed over her. The Princess was led inside.

“Make yourself at home,” the old woman muttered, and she walked through a door at the back of the house.

When the Princess looked around the old woman’s dwelling, she gasped: rows and rows of glass bottles and jars covered the oddly large expanse of the walls, an explosion of colours meeting her eyes. On the other side was a substantial bookcase, collecting dust, but filled with exquisite books of all shapes and sizes, stretching from the ceiling to the floor. An unfamiliar yet enticing smell had the Princess following the scent through the dwelling to a tall, bubbling cauldron, with the old woman hunched over it, spooning some of the bubbling liquid into a slight glass bottle.

The old lady inhaled pensively. “I have the cure, or the medicine, to make everyone listen to you. With this- “, gesturing to the bottle she clutched, “- and a few other ingredients, I can make your dreams reality.” With this, the Princess started to look at her options; to accept the fact that she was never going to be taken seriously with her political ideas without a little help. Perhaps this was her ‘little help.

Scrunching up her face, the Princess whispered:

“Yes. Make everyone listen to me.”

The old woman obliged, filling the bottle with green, blue, and silver powders, each of which made the liquid in the bottle glow with colour and flashes. Once it had stopped erratically bubbling, the old woman gently handed the flask to the Princess, who was shaking with anticipation.

The Princess’s hand shook as she took the bottle from the woman’s wrinkled hands. Heat radiated out from the glass. She brought it up to her nose, a scent of burning wood wafting up her nose as she inched her hand up towards her lips.

As she sipped, the drops of liquid felt like fire down her throat. The Princess’s eyes started to shut, involuntarily, and as she tried to fight back…

Darkness. Silence. Stillness.

With a start, the Princess woke in her cozy bed, confused as how she got there. ‘Where was the witch?,’ she thought. ‘Did the potion even work? That old hag was lying to me, I bet.’

“P-Princess? What are you talking about?,” a voice uttered from the other end of the spacious room. The Princess’s chambermaid stared at her with a nervous look on her face.

“What do you mean, what am I talking about!” the Princess snapped. “Go away, maid.”

Unfortunately, peculiar incidents in the Princess’s day did not stop there. In the afternoon, whilst with her tutor, she thought:

“This tutor is imbecilic! I could teach myself this without this idiot being here.”

But to her surprise, the tutor stared at her, shocked and offended, and promptly walked out!

More and more incongruous affairs happened to the Princess, up until the next session of royal court the following week. More ready then ever, she sat in her chair, contemptuously listening to the, in the Princess’s opinion, deliver their discourse.

“I cannot believe my father lets buffoons like this even attend the royal court. When will people learn that my ideas are better then any of these peasant’s?,” the Princess thought. But to her complete horror, an uncomfortable taciturnity spread around the citizens in the room like a disease. Their eyes all pointed towards the Princess, dazed, looking at her with appalled expressions.

“Surely they couldn’t have… heard me?” The Princess thought, panic wrapping her face like a blanket.

“We did, Princess.” Her father said, as the Princess’s eyes popping in disbelief. “This court is adjourned.” And as the people began to disperse, heart sinking, hands shaking, and head aching, the Princess realised when her problems had begun. Her problems being that ever since she had seen her, people had been able to hear her thoughts. Who is ‘her’?

The woman in the forest.

She tore herself away from the suffocating courtroom, racing down the yellow pebbled road that meandered through the Kingdom. Rain poured onto the Princess’s hair; an anomalous grey sky above, filled with storm clouds as far as the eye could see. She ran and ran and ran, until she arrived at the familiar viscous brown mud, sludgy from the downpour flowing from above.

However, there were nothing but trees in front of her for miles on end… the old woman’s hut was nowhere to be seen!

The Princess came to the realisation that she would have to solve her problems herself. She sat down, apathetic to the mud enveloping her dress, breathed deeply, and concluded that if she could not control when her thoughts came out, she would have to control her thoughts.

In the coming days, the Princess made haste to purposefully treat people better, whether it be in her head, how she thought about them, or how she acted. Word had spread about the scandal in the royal court regarding the outspoken, brazen, rude Princess, but despite this, she was determined to amend her newfound reputation. And soon enough, after weeks of despondent and timorous looks in her direction, people started to warm up to her again and matters started to improve, with an established respect for the Princess’s ideas. She realised it was half about what her idea was, but additionally about the way she delivered it; politely, pleasantly, and respectfully, even if she did not agree with it. Changing the fundamentals of how you think is not easy, but over a prolonged period, the Princess managed to terminate her grouchy, bad-tempered, and irate mannerisms for fair and sweet ones.

Unfortunately, after however many times of returning to the out of bounds woodland to spot the old woman again, but everything regarding her had dissipated mysteriously, leading the Princess to wonder if she was but a figment of her imagination, put in place by an ulterior, omniscient motive with an agenda to make her more pleasant. Nonetheless, the Princess gathered courage and stepped foot in the court accompanied by her novel mannerisms and was given immense respect and encouragement with her ideas. Sometimes, she tracks the scent of burning wood, all too familiar to her from that night with the old woman and feels grateful for her inner voice transformation.

Berlin. I was sixteen years old. It was the 1st of August, 1944, my birthday. And my birthday was my favourite time of the year; and it wasn’t your typical reason for receiving presents… but it was because my father came home.

It was 1944, the time of WWII, so in short, deep grief, fear and despair. But for me, my birthday provided an escape. It trumped all the negatives.

I climbed down the stairs, feeling wistful that a missing piece in the puzzle of our family would be complete. Almost complete. My mother’s side of the family (her parents, her sister and their kids) had moved to London when I was born, but we didn’t end up going; it’s always been my dream to visit the UK. I guess not so much anymore, since the two countries are opposing.

I took a deep breath and stepped outside.

The sky was a beautiful cornflower blue, not a white puff of cloud in sight, the trees were sweeping and a deep green, and the air filled with not only a deep warmth enveloping anyone who had the fortune to be under the deep glare of the beams, but a certain feeling in the air engulfed me.

I stood by the door, waiting anxiously, closing my eyes in anticipation, nervousness, excitement, until I heard footsteps coming up the cobbled paveway leading up the road to the house. I looked down, and saw some scuffed up leather boots, with an eccentric blue trim; I immediately knew who it was.

“Vater!!”, I exclaimed, sprinting towards him, throwing myself at him. 

“I missed you so much”, he said. 

The whole family was reunited together: my mother, my father, and me. Just like it was almost 4 years ago. We ate a meal together, played some games, and my life finally felt whole again. After a while, I retired to my room, thrilled from all the fun we had had today. I walked into the kitchen to drink some water when I heard my parent’s hushed whispers, listening from the stairway.

“You’re going to have to move, honey. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be”, my father whispered, wearily. “I have to keep fighting this battle, and you two will not be able to survive here over our savings. Not until this war ends. I have already spoken to your sister, she is ready to take you in”.

I peeked a glance at my mother’s face, her looking outraged.

“WHAT!”, she exclaimed. She looked around again, her face apologetic but her deep brown eyes telling a different story. “How do you suggest we even get there? How do you suggest your daughter would take this news?? And…”. My mother’s gaze to my father suddenly softened, looking him deep in his eyes. “How do you suggest we would even cope without you?”.

Wait.

Without him? Let alone moving, leaving Germany, my whole life behind? But… I cannot manage without my father.

I stepped in, consciously stomping my foot so they would acknowledge my presence, and to snap them out of the trance my mother put the two of them in with her emotional outburst.

“Dad, you can’t be leaving. We… we need you here. I need you here”, I said, tears welling in my eyes. But under all those tears spilling out of my eyes, deep down, I knew what he was saying was right. I had seen our financial situation; the rations started to need to last longer, things needed to be stretched out.. But I didn’t want this argument to be. I knew what my mother and I had to do, for the best.

A few days passed, and we had managed to pack together our house. My father had left, to go back to the trenches, and I promised him a letter every week.

Dear Vater, 

You have only been gone a few days yet so much has changed. I miss you so much. It’s so surreal, having to pack everything. I could only bring one bag, so I made sure to keep the copy of the book you gave me for my birthday, Oliver Twist. He persevered, and I know I can do the same.

Mama and I brought together all our valuables and pawned them, giving us enough money to pay Aunt’s friend to take us in a cargo train to France, shipping resources (and us), from which we will travel to Calais and take a boat to Dover. From there, we shall travel to London. Aunty and cousin Anna wrote us a letter, containing their address. They live near the river Thames!

But for me, the strangest part is having to change my name. Obviously, the name Karin is palpably German, and for the least dangerous route, Aunt suggested I change my name to Karen, for safety purposes. I suppose it sounds the same, more or less, so I will try not to focus on it. In London, I will be homeschooled along with cousin Anna, by her father, who seems to be inexplicably wealthy, and is also a trained teacher. 

I could write pages and pages more to you, Vater, but we are only allowed one sheet, and Mama wants to write on the other side.

All my love to you Vater, I will write to you when we get to London.

Yours Sincerely, 

Karin.

A year and a bit later, 4th of September, 1945

I opened my eyes, reluctantly, after having a dream about my father, in Germany, about our old life. I looked to my right; and the opposite cot was empty, meaning my mother had woken up. I grudgingly sprung out of bed, and settled into the morning. 

I was in the midst of making tea, staring out of the window in a daze, when the usual bang at the door for the paper came around. I opened the door and, out of habit, reached down, not looking up.

But to my surprise, when I scanned the front page, only 2 words caught my eye; ‘war over’.

I looked around, but the only thing I could see were some scuffed up leather boots, and a ball rose up in the throat when I saw that familiar old blue trim. I gasped, and looked up, tears welling in my eyes.

“Vater?”, I whispered. He looked just the same, yet so different, like he had aged 20 years since I last saw him, even though it had only been 1.

It was him. He was back from the war, and I would never lose him again.                

THE END

Stories. Every culture is based on stories, which have been told over and over again, modified, changed for tens of thousands of years; and this is what we call mythology.

There is a deeper meaning to it though, because different people believe that different mythology has existed, because they believe it in their own respective religions.

Ever since I was a child, I have been immersed in Indian mythology, whether it be with my family during festivals like Diwali and Holi, or the collection of books my dad has collected over the years.

Meanwhile, I was also deeply interested in Greek and Roman mythology, which are both inherently similar, reading books like ‘the Roman mysteries’, ‘Percy Jackson’.

This essay has many different answers, and possibilities to explore. Here comes the hypothesis of my essay; are these 2 mythologies connected? Similar, but different?

One similarity in Indian Mythology, apart from all the other Gods, Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the preserver), and Shiva (the destroyer) are considered to be the three most important Gods. In the same way, in Greek mythology, you have Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon who respectively rule the heavens, the underworld, and the seas. These three gods are like a holy trinity to their respective religions.

Like in Hindu mythology, Greek mythology has a god or a goddess for everything. It is interesting to think of how the myths have travelled and how cultures were influenced. There are 12 gods in Greek mythology, whereas there are Hindu deities, who take many, many forms of themselves, for instance, one of Vishnu’s incarnations is Krishna, and one of Lakshmi’s incarnations is Sita.

 In terms of appearance, of the gods, each one has a special thing that they carry around with them; like for instance, the two goddesses of wisdom, Saraswathi and Athena, both carry around an object, and are followed around by different animals. Saraswathi carries around a veena, which symbolises an ethos of passion, creativity and wisdom, which is exactly the kind of ethic that Athena portrays in the epic ‘Homer’s Odyssey’, in which she becomes the goddess of good counsel, in which she shows practical insight to help Hercules with his task and helps Homer return home after the Trojan war.

  And there are more correlations; Hinduism has the Saptarishis (the seven sages), and Greek mythology has the Pleiades (the seven sisters), and both of these are a cluster of stars.

 Moreover, another parallel the with gods; the god of death in Hinduism is Yama, and in Greek mythology it’s Hades. They both rule the underworld and decide the fate of anyone who crosses it. Furthermore, both mythologies have a sacred mountain which they both reside on; Mt Kailash for Hinduism, and Mt Olympus for Greek. Both the religions are monotheistic as well (worship more than one God).

Nonetheless, there are also many differences between the two, like what happens after death. The Greeks mummify their gods to prepare them for their sacred burial ground, and normal people go to the underworld if they’ve been bad, good people go to Mt Olympus if they’ve been good. However, in Hinduism, there is a seven-life cycle called Moksha – मोक्ष (freedom of endless cycle – samsara)

Greek gods also appear to live with and intermingle with humans, whilst Hindu gods live away from humans and are at most times, invisible.

Another part is the ethics of the cultures and mythologies because of the overlap; they began to incorporate elements of each other’s beliefs into their own mythologies when they came across eachother throughout, which can be referenced in the above paragraphs. The Hindu story “Mahabharata” also shares resemblances with the Greek epic “Iliad” in terms of themes of war, morality and duty.

All the similarities that I pointed out all add up to answer the hypothesis that I proposed in the beginning of this essay: and my answer is, I think that Hindu and Greek mythology are not entirely linked, but very similar, like with the gods and the fact that each one has a special (or more than one) attribute, or characteristic, or the cluster of stars.

Or maybe they’re similar because they are both ancient and were formulated over many years by writers who have composed stories to preach humanity’s lessons of life.

Every small little detail adds up to the fact that two entirely different worlds may be interconnected.

Two different worlds!… but thousands of parallels.

Some people believe that money is the answer to happiness.

Well, think about it; it can buy you anything that the average human ever needs; your house, car, and it puts food on the table.

And if you have it, enough left over to buy you the non-necessary things, your wants, not needs, like clothes, luxury homes, basically anything you want, because you can.

But money, and the want and need for money can also lead to bad things, such as gambling, and using up savings, high house prices, high public and private debts, inequality, the environment, and democracy, booms & busts, and occasionally financial crises, depressions and unemployment.

In any case, the need for money is always there. Everyone reading this essay has grown up with needing to have at least a little money to pay bills, rent, mortgage, the stuff you truly need.

 But where did the notion of money even come from? Who invented money? And was it one of the most deadly creations made by a human, leading to most of the world’s, and people’s problems today?

On one hand, money makes everything much quicker and easier; especially transactions. Its a crucial component to life; it meets our needs and fulfils our desires.  Money also gives people a sense of security as it provides a safety net against unforeseen circumstances such as emergencies, job loss, or unexpected expenses. This makes them more secure and able to invest in other good things, such as schools, education in general, healthcare, and personal development, which leads to greater opportunities and a higher quality of life. It also acts consequently for people’s actions, and it causes them to be careful of what they always do.

Before all the making of money, and banknotes, trading was the way of getting the things that you wanted.  In ancient times, trade became a barter system where people exchanged one item for something else of the same ‘value’.

Money is nowadays essential to our economy; it has been proven that the ups and downs of currency can affect the whole monetary system for better or worse, which eventually comes round to affect us.

On the other hand, while money is undoubtedly useful, it can also have fatalistic effects for humans. The unequal distribution of wealth can create a divide between the rich and the poor, leading to social and economic inequality. This can result in marginalised communities and individuals being excluded from important opportunities, leading to frustration, furthered discrimination, poverty, and even violence. And like I mentioned before, the pursuit of money can often lead people to prioritise financial gain over other important aspects of life such as relationships, community, and personal well-being. This can lead to a culture of greed and materialism, and a world where monetary value is the only value that matters. In addition, money can be a source of stress, anxiety, and depression, especially when it becomes the sole focus of an individual’s life.

There is also a lot of examples of this in media and social culture; the idolisation and glorification of money, being rich, and spending money. In countless songs, movies and even books, the idea of being rich. one example is ‘National Anthem’, by Lana Del Ray, which contains the lyrics: “money is the reason, we exist”, and “money is the anthem, of success”. Lana Del Ray has a enormous fan base, mainly younger people, which can vastly influence them that money is indeed the reason we exist, and lead them to making mistakes with money in the future. Her music still promotes good ideologies.

Money can also tear apart families. Statistics from ‘Ramsey solutions’, states that 41% of married couples’ fights are about money, coming from a survey conducted across America in 2020. This can cause stress to the couples, and it is most likely to have an ill effect on the children.

To conclude this essay, in my opinion, I believe that money is the most evil humankind creations, mainly because it can deteriorate the mental wellbeing of a person, and make them believe that money is the only thing that matters, due to a number of reasons: the culture of glorifying money in the media, the use of money to segregate and discriminate people, and it causes stress, depression and anxiety, especially if you have the pressure to make money to support your family and all the things you invest in, which may be good things, but are more often than not, expensive. And if you can’t manage to afford these things, this causes rifts and arguments in you family. All of these frequently cause mental health issues and stress, which makes money an evil thing.

In short: I agree with the statement ‘money is the most evil humankind creation’, because of all the reasons stated above me. While money is good, the bad reasons outweigh the good, by far.

During the day, the weather is beautiful. But at night, it’s different.

It’s like a monster that was hiding in the blue skies, is activated by the moonlight unleashing rains, lightning strikes, thunder as loud as a lion’s roar. It gave me an ominous feeling, as if trying to warn me of something sinister. As I heard the wind howling, the trees swaying, the rain pattering, all a sort of eerie melody, that encouraged me to run back to my car. 

Even so, I took small steps towards the seemingly haunted building, and although there was a light illuminating my path, I could feel an impending darkness overwhelming me each step I took. 

I snapped out of stupor, and craned my neck to ogle the building in front of me.

The dishevelled building, with a decaying, steel gate towering over me like a mountain, stood opposite to me. It was a gloomy sight. I reached for the keys in my pocket, and exerted all my force into pushing open the rusted gate. Once inside, I could take notice of the wall detailing; almost satanic decor. 

Stained glass windows depicted brutal slaughterings, filled with mystic characters, surrounded by a fiery landscape.

Altitudinous, spiky turrets that led as far as the clouds, carvings of demons engraved deep into the walls.

My coworkers always laugh about the asylum being haunted, but they don’t have the night shift like me.

I hauled my mop and bucket, and the light breaths of my uneasiness started to sink into me. 

In the cells, I could distinctly see all the inmates, sitting up, head down, looking away.

I had a new job as a janitor. All the workers here always warn me about one prisoner… in cell 666.

They said he was a demonic creature, hardly human, with such pale skin, that you could see his veins, arteries, everything underneath. They said his eyes were bloodshot, dirt building up on his face. They said his face was battered with bruises all over, red, purple, and the infected wounds turning a sickly yellow. Agonising to look at him… there was a rumour that he had a craving for blood.

I erased my footprints, again. I guess I was paranoid. I didn’t want anyone to follow me. I was being cautious, my head forever spinning.

Maybe I should just leave now.

All that stopped when I finally saw him. I let out a soft gasp when I set my eyes on the… little boy?

He had smooth waves of hair, like honey, silky soft skin, with a red flush lining his skin. As he stood up, I managed to glimpse his eyes, and they were blue as a summer sky.

I was mesmerised. But… this wasn’t the monster that my coworkers had described?

My head jerked up, as I saw a battered sign:

          CELL 666: PROCEED WITH CAUTION  

What could it mean? Caution? Why ? The kid inside this room looked fragile, and the sweetest person I had ever seen.. I needn’t be afraid of him.

Even so, I didn’t really want to attract his attention, and so I continued on my rounds, again, swishing my mop , dragging my bucket. But I might’ve been too loud, for I heard someone’s cracking voice:

“I w-want water! Please!”. I realised it was coming from the cell I had just passed, the angelic looking boy kneeling by the hole in the door.

He looked so pathetic I could hardly say no, let alone ignore him.

Before I could react, my body led me to his cell, opened the door, and took him by the hand to lead him out.

I heard him murmur a thank you, so faint, it felt like his voice had been ripped out. He sounded parched. 

I sat him down, and went to the bathroom to fetch a cup of water for him.

Are you still there?”, I shouted. I almost jumped at the volume of my voice, because it contrasted with my silent surroundings. 

After I filled the cup, I paced back to where I seated him, and slowly checked the other inmates, so as not to disturb them.

But what I saw absolutely shook me to my core.

They were all lying face down, as if sleeping, but a small pool of blood had emerged from their heads, slowly expanding, like when an ink pen stayed on the page for too long.

Maybe I had stayed here for too long…

I frantically looked around, desperate for any sign telling me that this was all a dream, a figment of my imagination. 

The boy had disappeared, along with my keys, which I’d kept next to him.

I slowly turned around, and saw a trail of blood, which I decided to follow. This led me to something horrifying…

My breathing was already hypersensitive, panicked. I tried to cover it with my hands, but in futility. 

And when I caught sight of the thing, it really shocked me to my core. It was exactly the monster my coworkers had described. 

From… cell 666.

I tried to breathe silently, but it caught up to me.

So I ran, sprinted, straining my breath even more, until I started to hyperventilate, choke on my own terror-stricken thoughts.

I kept running and running, speeding up when I heard: 

THUD. 

THUD.

I ran around a corner, and stopped to catch my breath.

Stopping might have been my biggest mistake, because, even though I was sprinting away, the brute took a mere few strides and caught up to me. Before I knew it, he was right there, towering above me as I quivered in fear, shock and disgust.

From what I had heard, there was so much more to this devil. He had eyes made of fire, swallowing you whole. 

The creature’s face, with bruises all over, turning red, blue, black, purple, the boils on its skin bleeding out a sickly yellow liquid.

“I have been waiting for this to happen for months”, said his raspy voice.

I jerked my head up.

“W-what?”, I questioned, a feeling of sickness in my stomach.

“I have been waiting. This particular day. When I could be freed from prison, this hellhole, and quench my thirst for blood.”

I stared at the monster in horror, feeling like puking.

“I have just been waiting for the right time to attack, for an unsuspecting, naive person to show up, succumb to my antics, and set me free…”. I noticed that as it kept talking, the creature was slowly approaching me, gliding, as if it was an angel, devil. Either way I knew it was welcoming me to death.

I began to shuffle backwards, my breath hitched, waiting, for something, anything, to save me.

“ Of course, I can never be free without killing every human in this building. And the last one… is…. you”, he menacingly whispered.

I kept on shuffling backwards, until I felt a thump, and realised I had hit a wall. Devil and a stone-wall. There was no way out of this situation. I closed my eyes and pretended it just wasn’t real… maybe it is still possible that this is still a dream?

“This won’t hurt one bit”, he said.

As soon as I opened my eyes, he had his claw-like hands, wrapped around my neck, squeezing, making me choke, begging him to release me.

The creature suddenly removed his hand from my throat, but started to cut me all over, bringing back the suffering.

The pain became too intense, and all I could do was lay there, limp, against the wall, while he continued to send me to my doom.

“Your screams are like music to my ears, human. You really thought there was a boy in an asylum? And you were idiotic enough to let me out…”.

I was helpless, and I could feel myself fading away. 

I passed out, not knowing what was happening, and I came to the ground with a bang.

~~~

I was being shaken awake. A policeman, dragging me upright, bandaging me up. Red, blue lights flashing. Everything a blur. 

I woke up in a hospital bed. Apparently patient 666 wasn’t a little boy. Apparently he went crazy, got out and murdered everyone, including himself. Almost like me too. 

Nobody believed me, and nobody listened either. 

That’s why I’m telling you this. 

I should’ve left earlier.

As I was heading out the door, on my way to school, Mum shouts out to me: “Hey Jazz! You forgot to take your meds! I put them in your bag. Okay?”.

What meds?, I think to myself. “Uhhhh okay”, I replied with uncertainty. “Bye…”.

“Hi Jazz!” chirps Kailee brightly.

“Hey”, I replied.

“Did you take your meds?”, she asks.

“Huh? What meds… What-”, I questioned.

Before I knew it, she was rummaging in my bag and said: “AHA!”

She handed me a small plastic box that said: 

 MPD MEDICATION.

MPD.

Multiple personality disorder.

“W-w-what?” I stuttered.

And then, I ran out of the classroom.

And then everything clicked. I know what happe-

No. Wait… What?

 I sink into a cupboard, trying to process my thoughts. It’s so dark in here. I can’t breathe. I hear the demonic voices whispering: “Jassira, we’re coming!”.

The funny thing is that I almost corrected them saying: “it’s Jazz!”, but of course I didn’t because I didn’t want to freaking die.

Hahaha! She’s so confused. Or should I say I am… Here’s how it all went down:

Jassira Williams is a girl with 2 people in her brain. Jassira Williams, and me, Juli. 

You see, I want this body for myself. And I will stop at NOTHING to get it. Those signs in blood? All me. Get ready. Because

I’VE GOT YOU NOW…

Oh, you’re back? Ok, let’s proceed from last time…

“AAAHHHHHHH!!!!” I screamed. “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL-”

There was writing on my wall. In red. It said:  

I CAN SEE YOU JAZz!

WATCH YOUR BACK.

“Hey!” exclaimed my mum. “Why the hell are you shout-”.

She stopped dead when she saw the writing. Mum stared at the red scrawl on the wall for at least 10 seconds.

“Go downstairs.” muttered mum.

“Umm…”, I yelped. “Why do I need to-”

“NOW!” mum yelled.

Jeez, ok. Did I mention my mother had anger issues?

I started on my homework. Maths, history and a bit of english.

That’s all I remember of that day. 

I probably had dinner at some point and went to bed. But that section of the day was all gone.

The next day, something even more strange happened. The only thing I remember from that day was me, in the kitchen.

These are my surroundings:

A bloody knife on the kitchen table (WTH), and droplets of (I presume) blood.

So I followed the glistening red spots, and my heart stopped.

Another message on the wall.

LOOK AT YOUR ARM, JAZZ.

DO YOU REMEMBER? 

I looked at my arm.

And there was a large gash on my arm, and my hand had dried blood smeared across.