Peace: Writing Assing. 3 Draft 3

What about peace? Do we really need peace? Do we really want peace? Why is it so important to us? Peace is something humans could never have. It is the most unreliable world in the English language.
A word that doesn't make any sense at all. World issues can never be solved in a peaceful way. When the Treaty of Versailles was set up to maintain world peace; it did not work. One country after another dropped out of it. Eventually we ended up with the World War II. With it came more jobs, more power, and more suppression. Between World War I and World War II we had the time of the great depression, the time of peace, the time good for no one. Even now, how many problems can you think of that have been solved in a peaceful manor. After 9/11, there was no negotiation with the Taliban or any other government in the Middle East. We just went in there and bombed the daylights out of them. Do you think we really have restored peace? It doesn't matter to us how many innocent people we kill to get something called "peace." It has been seven years since that horrible day when the planes were crashed into the twin towers. That day did not only change the lives of many Americans but also changed the meaning of Peace. Now Peace means "I am going to kill you before you kill me."
People are forgetting the real meaning of Peace. The meaning that God gave us as a present. In Pakistan for example, the Taliban are killing hundreds of innocent people, because of a decision that the government made. The decision to fight back. The decision to create even more wars. These problems could have been solved through negotiation with other side, but our governments didn't want that. They are afraid of a peaceful world. People want peace, but they don't have the power to have it. It is our government who does not want peace. It is them who have forgotten the real meaning of peace. It is because of them that the word "Peace" no longer makes any sense. They are the ones who have separated Jews from Christians and Christians from Muslims. No one likes war, no one likes regression either, but the people who benefit form the uproar of the wars want it to stay. Those people are the ones who we elect to lead our lives. The ones who have the power because of us. They like seeing the blood shed from the veins of their own people. They are the enemies of peace. Without them we would have no culture, no tradition, no race, and no religion. We would all be humans. We would all be the same. There would be nothing to fight about. We would have no reason to have the word peace. We would have it like we have air, water, and sunlight. We would be human.

Peace: Writing Assing.3 Draft 2

What about peace? Do we really need peace? Do we really want peace? Why is it so important to us? Peace is something humans could never have. It is the most unreliable world in the English language. A word that doesn't make any sense at all. World issues can never be solved in a peaceful way. When the Treaty of Versay was set up to maintain world peace; it did not work. One country after another dropped out of it. Eventually we ended up with the World War II. With was came more jobs, more power, and more suppression. Between World War I and World War II we had the time of the great depression, the time of peace, the time good for no one. Even now, how many problems can you think of that have been solved in a peaceful manor. After 9/11, there was no negotiation with the Taliban or any other government in the Middle East. We just went in there and bombed the daylights out of them. Do you think we really have restored peace? It doesn't matter to us how many innocent people we kill to get something called "peace." It has been seven years since that horrible day when the planes were crashed into the twin towers. That day did not only change the lives of many Americans but also changed the meaning of Peace. Now Peace means "I am going to kill you before you kill me." People are forgetting the real meaning of Peace. The meaning that God gave us as a present. In Pakistan for example, the Taliban are killing hundreds of innocent people, because of a decision that the government made. The decision to fight back. The decision to create even more wars. These problems could have been solved through negotiation with other side, but our governments didn't want that. They are afraid of a peaceful world. People want peace, but they don't have the power to have it. It is our government who does not want peace. It is our government who has forgotten the real meaning of peace. It is because of our government that the word "Peace" no longer makes any sense. They are the ones who have separated Jews from Christians and Christians from Muslims. No one likes war, no one likes regression either, but the people who benefit form the uproar of the wars want it to stay. Those people are the ones who elect to lead our lives. The ones who have the power because of us. They like seeing the blood shed from the veins of their own people. They are the enemies of peace. Without them we would have no culture, no tradition, no race, and no religion. We would all be humans. We would all be the same. There would be nothing to fight about. We would have no reason to have the word peace. We would have it like we have air, water, and sunlight. We would be human.

Peace: Writting Assig.3 Draft 1

What about peace? Do we really need peace? Do we really want peace? Why is it so important to us? Peace is something humans could never have. It is the most unreliable world in the English language. A word that doesn't make any sense at all.
World issues can never be solved in a peaceful way. When the Treaty of Versa was set up to maintain world peace; it did not work. One country after another dropped out of it. Eventually we ended up with the World War II. With was came more jobs, more power, and more suppression. Between World War I and World War II we had the time of the great depression, the time of peace, the time good for no one.
Even now, how many problems can you think of that have been solved in a peaceful manor. After the 9/11, there was no negotiation with the Taliban or any other government in the Middle East. We just went in there and bombed the daylights out of them. That is how we restored peace to this country. It doesn't matter to us how many innocent people we kill to get something called "peace."
It has been seven years since that horrible day when the planes were crashed into the twin towers. That day did not only change the lives of many Americans but also changed the meaning of Peace. Now Peace means "I am going to kill you before you kill me."
People are forgetting the real meaning of Peace. The meaning that God gave us as a present.
In Pakistan for example, the Taliban are killing hundreds of innocent people, because of a decision that the government made. The decision to fight back. The decision to create even more wars. These problems could have been solved through negotiation with other side, but our governments didn't want that. They are afraid of a peaceful world.
People want peace, but they don't have the power to have it. It is our government who does not want peace. It is our government who has forgotten the real meaning of peace. It is because of out government that the word "Peace" no longer makes any sense. They are the own who have separated Jews from Christians and Christians from Muslims.
No one likes war, no one likes regression either, but the people who benefit form the uproar of the wars want it to stay. They like seeing the blood shed from the veins of their own people. They are the enemies of peace.
Without them we would have no culture, no tradition, no race, and no religion. We would all be humans. We would all be the same. There would be nothing to fight about. We would have no reason to have the word peace. We would have it like we have air, water, and sunlight. We would be human.

The House/ Writing Assignment #2 Draft 3

Nothing could ever be heard from the house behind Uncle Tom’s garage. There were no cars, no people, not even mice or cats that could make the slightest sound. Every time I went past it, I felt a chill in my body.
The walls of the house were very gray and ghost like. The roof looked liked an old scarf with mud stains on it. The windows of the house which had Jesus and Mary painted on them with bright colors, had now turned into a very muddy colored paintings like the one’s form the Middle Ages. The house smelled like rotten milk forms the outside. I had always wondered why that place looked so lifeless. There were other houses in that neighborhood that no one had lived in for years; some probably even older than that house, still none of them looked so frightening.
As I entered Uncle’s house I wondered about what might have made that house so creepy. “Uncle why is that house so terrifying” I asked.
He knew exactly what I was talking about. “Why do you want to know?” He said. “Well Uncle I have been coming here for a long time now, and every time I am here the only thing I can think about is that house.”
He began the story unwillingly. “About fifteen years ago a couple lived in that house. They weren’t any different than anyone else in this town. They went to work in the morning, came to Church every Sunday and often went out on weekends. Then one rainy night she told him she was leaving him.”...“Who told who” I interrupted
Do you want to know the story or not?
“Yes!” I replied and he continued. “He could not believe what he had just heard. As she took off her wedding ring, he remembered how soft her hands had felt when he had given it to her. He remembered the first time they had met. Their first date. The day of their wedding, and many other happy times they had spent together. Now it was all over. It didn’t matter to her how much he loved her or what he would do with out her. She was leaving him for absolutely no good reason. Without thinking about it he took a knife and stabbed her as she turned around. She screamed but it could not be heard because of the lightning outside. Now there was blood everywhere. On the floor, on the wooden table they had made after they had first moved into that house.
What had he done? Why had he done it? She was the world for him. She was his life.
He looked at her, she was not dead yet. I hate you she whispered to him and she died. The light went out, he felt scared now. What if someone found out? He saw the lights of a police car from his house as it was passing by. He took the knife once more into his hand and stabbed himself.
There bodies were found three days later by the police in a dump truck.”
“How did they get there” I asked
“No one knows, but if you ever go inside the house; it wouldn’t look any different then what it looked like fifteen years ago.”
“But how do you know so much about it and you never told me what their names were or why he killed her.”
“There are some things that I do not know and some things I do not wish to tell you.”

The House/ Writing Assignment #2 Draft 2

Nothing could ever be heard from the house behind Uncle Tom’s garage. There were no cars, no people, not even mice or cats that could make the slightest sound. Every time I went past it, I felt a chill in my body.The walls of the house were very gray and ghost like. The windows of the house which had Jesus and Mary painted on them with bright colors, had now turned into a very muddy colored paintings like the one’s form the Middle Ages. I had always wondered why that place looked so lifeless. There were other houses in that neighborhood that no one had lived in for years; some probably even older than that house, still none of them looked so frightening.As I entered Uncle’s house I wondered about what might have made that house so creepy. “Uncle why is that house so terrifying” I askedHe knew exactly what I was talking about. “Why do you want to know?” He said. “Well Uncle I have been coming here for a long time now, and every time I am here the only thing I can think about is that house.”He began the story unwillingly. “About fifteen years ago a couple lived in that house. They weren’t any different than anyone else in this town. They went to work in the morning, came to Church every Sunday and often went out on weekends. Then one rainy night she told him she was leaving him.”...“Who told who” I interruptedDo you want to know the story or not?“Yes!” I replied and he continued. “He could not believe what he had just heard. As she took off her wedding ring, he remembered how soft her hands had felt when he had given it to her. He remembered the first time they had met. Their first date. The day of their wedding, and many other happy times they had spent together. Now it was all over. It didn’t matter to her how much he loved her or what he would do with out her. She was leaving him for absolutely no good reason. Without thinking about it he took a knife and stabbed her as she turned around. She screamed but it could not be heard because of the lightning outside. Now there was blood everywhere. On the floor, on the wooden table they had made after they had first moved into that house.What had he done? Why had he done it? She was the world for him. She was his life.He looked at her, she was not dead yet. I hate you she whispered to him and she died. The light went out, he felt scared now. What if someone found out? He saw the lights of a police car from his house as it was passing by. He took the knife once more into his hand and stabbed himself.There bodies were found three days later by the police in a dump truck.”“How did they get there” I asked“No one knows, but if you ever go inside the house; it wouldn’t look any different then what it looked like fifteen years ago.”“But how do you know so much about it and you never told me what their names were or why he killed her.”“There are some things that I do not know and some things I do not wish to tell you.”

The House/ Writing Assignment #2 Draft 1

Nothing could ever be heard from the house behind Uncle Tom’s garage. There were no cars no people not even mice or cats that could make the slightest sound. Every time I went past it, I felt a chill in my body.
The walls of the house were very gray and ghost like. The windows of the house which had Jesus and Mary painted on them with bright colors, had now turned into a very muddy colored paintings like the one’s form the Middle Ages. I had always wondered why that place looked so lifeless. There were other houses in that neighborhood that no one had lived in for years; some probably even older than that house, still none of them looked so frightening.
As I entered uncle’s house I wondered about what might have made that house so creepy.
“Uncle why is that house so terrifying” I asked
He knew exactly what I was talking about. “Why do you want to know?” He said.
“Well Uncle I have been coming here for a long time now, and every time I am here the only thing I can think about is that house.”
He began the story unwillingly. “About fifteen years ago a couple lived in that house. They weren’t any different than anyone ales in this town. They went to work in the morning, came to Church every Sunday and often went out on weekends. Then one rainy night she told him she was leaving him.”...
“Who told who” I interrupted
Do you want to know the story or not?
“Yes!” I replied and he continued.
“He could not believe what he had just heard. As she took off her wedding ring, he remembered how soft her hands had felt when he had given it to her. He remembered the first time they had met. Their first date. The day of their wedding, and many other happy times they had spent together. Now it was all over. It didn’t matter to her how much he loved her or what he would do with out her. She was leaving him for absolutely no good reason.
She turned around and he stabbed her with a knife. She screamed but it could not be heard because of the lightning outside. Now there was blood everywhere. On the floor, on the wooden table they had made after they had first moved into that house.
What had he done? Why had he done it? She was the world for him. She was him like.
He looked at her, she was not dead yet. I hate you she whispered to him and she died. The light went out, he felt scared now. What if someone found out? He saw the lights of a police car from his house. He took the knife once more into his hand and stabbed himself.
There bodies were found three days later by the police in a dump truck.”
“How did they get there” I asked
“No one knows, but if you ever go inside the house; it wouldn’t look any different then what it looked like fifteen years ago.”
“But how do you know so much about it and you never told me what their names were or why he killed her.”
“There are some things that I do not know and some things I do not wish to tell you.”

December 27 2007/ Draft 3

“Benazir Bhutto has been assassinated,” my mother told me as I entered the kitchen. For the first couple of seconds I could not believe what I had just head. How could it be true I asked myself? I sat down in shack. This was Benazir Bhutto, the Pakistani Pri-minister. The daughter of the East. She seemed like the person who would always be there. Her death wasn’t possible.
As a child I just saw her as another politician that came on T.V every now and than, however even as I grew up, I never really realized how important she was in my life. I never realized how much I admired her, and now this tragic event had completely confused me. I was angry at myself for criticizing her when I felt like she was wrong, but now it seemed like she was always right. I felt like something had sucked all the happiness out of me.
She was not related to me, she wasn’t even a family friend. Then why did I care so much? I had never even met her. Now I felt guilty. I felt like I had taken her for granted. Then another thought struck my mind; what about al those people who died with her. How would their families feel? I felt even guiltier. I was in a country where I was safe, where there were no suicide bombings or military operations and I had done nothing to deserve it. Before now I had never even cared about anyone dying in those bomb blasts or who was responsible for them.
So was it all over? Was there nothing to look forward to? I felt like this had happened before. Without even thinking about it for more than a second, I remembered everything my dad had told me about her father’s assassination during an army government by General Zia-Ul-Haq, and now General Pervaze Musharf had killed her in the same city that her father was killed in. Everything everyone had ever done for the Pakistan People’s Party seemed worthless. How could she have been killed with so many security guards, a bulletproof car and most importantly the people of her party, who were her biggest protection? As the day progressed, I felt even more depressed. I felt like I was suffering from an incurable disease. There was nothing in the world that anyone could have ever done to make her come back. Seeing the hopeless faces of the People’s Party workers made that winter day darker than usual.
At night when I was watching BBC, I saw her three children, one of them my age. I started to think what it would be like to lose my mother. How could I live without her? I felt selfish and egotistical. I was taking everyone in my life for granted. I had never seen death so closely before. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t because in a way that would be accepting her death. Also because half of my family who were with me at the time was against the Pakistan People’s Party, so if I cried in front of them, they would think I was crazy; crying for a politician. I felt like I hated them. They were being very insensitive and they didn’t even care about how my parents and I felt about her.
That night I couldn’t go to sleep. I couldn’t tell my parents how I felt because I knew that would make them even more miserable. Then I remembered what I had hard a man saying on T.V earlier; “How many Bhutto’s can you kill, out of every house a Bhutto will come.” That one sentence gave me a very comforting feeling, as I fell asleep.

December 27, 2008/ 2nd Draft

“Benazir Bhutto has been assonated,” my mother told me as I entered the kitchen. For the first couple of seconds I could not believe what I had just head. How could it be true I asked myself? I sat down in shack. This was Benazir Bhutto, the Pakistani Pri-minister. The daughter of the East. She seemed like the person who would always be there. Her death wasn’t possible.As a child I just saw her as another politician that came on T.V every now and than, however even as I grew up, I never really realized how important she was in my life. I never realized how much I admired her, and now this tragic event had completely confused me. I was angry at myself for criticizing her when I felt like she was wrong, but now it seemed like she was always right. I felt like something had sucked all the happiness out of me.She was not related to me, she wasn’t even a family friend. Then why did I care so much? I had never even met her. Now I felt guilty. I felt like I had taken her for granted. Then another thought struck my mind; what about al those people who died with her. How would their families feel? I felt even guiltier. I was in a country where I was safe, where there were no suicide bombings or military operations and I had done nothing to deserve it. Before now I had never even cared about anyone dying in those bomb blasts or who was responsible for them.So it was all over? Was there nothing to look forward to? I felt like this had happened before. Without even thinking about it for more than a second, I remembered everything my dad had told me about her father’s assignation during an army government by General Zia-Ul-Haq, and now General Pervaze Musharf had killed her in the same city that her father was killed in. Everything everyone had ever done for the Pakistan People’s Party seemed worthless. How could she have been killed with so many security guards, a bulletproof car and most importantly the people of her party, who were her biggest protection? As the day progressed, I felt even more depressed. There was nothing in the world that anyone could have ever done to make her come back. Seeing the hopeless faces of the People’s Party workers made that winter day darker than usual.At night when I was watching BBC, I saw her three children, one of them my age. I started to think what it would be like to lose my mother. How could I live without her? I felt selfish and annoyed with myself. I was taking everyone in my life for granted. I had never seen death so closely before. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t because in a way that would be accepting her death, also because half of my family who were with me at the time was against the Pakistan People’s Party, so if I cried in front of them, they would think I was crazy; crying for a politician.That night I couldn’t go to sleep. I couldn’t tell my parents how I felt because I knew that would make them even more miserable. Then I remembered what I had hard a man saying on T.V earlier; “How many Bhutto’s can you kill, out of every house a Bhutto will come.” That one sentence gave me a very comforting feeling, as I fell asleep.

December 27, 2007

“Benazir Bhutto has been assonated,” my mother told me as I entered the kitchen. For the first couple of seconds I could not believe what I had just head. How could it be true I asked myself? I sat down in shack. This was Benazir Bhutto, the Pakistani Pri-minister. The daughter of the East. She seemed like the person who would always be there. Her death wasn’t possible.
As a child I just saw her as another politician that came on T.V every now and than, but even as I grew up, I never really realized how important she was in my life. I never realized how much I admired her, and now this tragic even had completely confused me. I was angry at myself for criticizing her when I felt like she was wrong, but now it seemed like she was always right. I felt like something had sucked all the happiness out of me.
She was not related to me, she wasn’t even a family friend. Then why did I care so much? I had never even met her. Now I felt guilty. I felt like I had taken her for granted. Then another thought struck my mind; what about al those people who died with her. How would their families feel? I felt even guiltier. I was in a country where I was safe, where there were no suicide bombings or military operations and I had done nothing to deserve it.
So it was all over? Was there no hope? I felt like this had happened before. Without even thinking about it for more than a second, I remembered everything my dad had told me about her father’s assignation during an army government by General Zia-Ul-Haq, and now General Pervaze Musharf had killed her in the same city that her father was killed in.
There was not hope. Everything everyone had ever done for the Pakistan People’s Party seemed worthless. How could she have been killed with so many security guards, a bulletproof car and most importantly the people of her party, who were her biggest protection? As the day progressed, I felt even more depressed. There was nothing in the world that anyone could have ever done to make her come back. Seeing the hopeless faces of the People’s Party workers made that winter day darker than usual.
At night when I was watching BBC, I saw her three children, one of them my age. I started to think what it would be like o lose my mother. How could I live without her? I felt selfish and annoyed with myself. I was taking everyone in my life for granted. I had never seen death so closely before. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t because in a way that would be accepting, also because half of my family who were with me at the time was against the Pakistan People’s Party, so if I cried in front of them, they would think I was crazy; crying for a politician.
That night I couldn’t go to sleep. I couldn’t tell my parents how I felt because I knew that would make them even more miserable. Then I remembered what I had hard a man saying on T.V earlier; “How many Bhuttos can you kill, out of every house a Bhutto will come.” That one senence gave me a very comforting feeling, as I fell asleep.