diy

Do it Yourself; Tips and ideas for DIY projects to create your next family heirloom, personalize your photo album and more.

The Love That Stays Off-Camera
I didn’t notice the fire until it was almost too late. It was a Tuesday in late October. Dry wind, brittle leaves, the kind of air that crackles with danger. I was inside, scrolling through bad news on my phone, when the smell hit—acrid, sharp, wrong. I ran outside just as smoke curled over the ridge behind our street.
By KAMRAN AHMAD2 months ago in Families
The Last Gallop
In a small village nestled between golden wheat fields and sun-cracked hills, there lived a horse named Bahar. He wasn’t sleek or swift, nor did he have a pedigree worth boasting about. His coat was dull in places, his legs bore old scars, and one ear was half-torn from a long-forgotten storm. But to twelve-year-old Rehan, Bahar was more than a horse—he was memory, comfort, and home.
By meerjanan2 months ago in Families
The Last Day of 2025. Content Warning.
2025 was an objectively hard year for me. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't extremely thrilled to be done with whatever this last year has been! It is fitting that I want to use Wednesdays to write wacky things... and the end of 2025 is on a Wednesday - as it has been one wacky year!
By The Schizophrenic Mom2 months ago in Families
The Space Between Noticing
The city woke up loudly, but Jonah always noticed the silence first. It lived in the early hours, tucked between the hum of traffic and the clatter of metal gates opening for business. It lingered in the spaces most people rushed through without a second thought. Jonah didn’t rush. He never had.
By Yasir khan2 months ago in Families
Sex, Love, and the Intelligence That Creates Worlds
There is an intelligence at work long before we call it desire, love, or faith. It decides timing. It governs attraction. It instructs the body how to heal and the soul when to open. Most people encounter it in fragments — during intimacy, moments of clarity, or sudden knowing — without realizing they are brushing against something vast and ordered.
By Aja Truth2 months ago in Families
The Weight of White
Frank stood in the kitchen's shadowed glow, the old refrigerator hum a dull counterpoint to the quiet outside. Three AM. The world was going white. He hadn’t meant to wake, but the sheer lack of sound had pulled him from a restless sleep. No wind, no cars on the street, just the soft, insistent pressure of falling snow. It piled on the sill, a thick, clean blanket over the gritty urban landscape he usually saw. He watched it for a long minute, a slow swirl, like sugar being poured from a height.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
The Eye in the Fold:
Once you notice the hidden center of the cube, it’s hard to unsee it. The drawing no longer feels like a static object with six faces; it becomes a system. Lines converge. Directions collapse inward. A square appears where nothing was explicitly drawn. That emergent center isn’t decoration—it’s functional. It exists because perspective demands it.
By Aja Truth2 months ago in Families
You’ve Been Drawing the Fourth Dimension Since Childhood
That simple cube sketch you learned in school isn’t just a way to fake depth on paper. Embedded in its lines is the logic of higher dimensions—an emergent center that appears only when perspective does the work.
By Aja Truth2 months ago in Families
Moonlit Reckoning
The house groaned around Elena at eleven-thirty, a familiar protest of settling wood and old pipes. She sat at the kitchen table, the last of her herbal tea cooling, a film like grief on its surface. Lila should've been home an hour ago. No text, naturally. Not a peep. Elena tapped her fingers on the worn Formica, the sound too loud in the quiet. This was their rhythm now, a silent, syncopated beat of expectation and disappointment, a constant, low thrum beneath everything.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
The Weight of Glass Petals
The air in Elara’s sunroom always tasted of dust and something vaguely metallic, like old pennies left too long in a forgotten jar. It wasn’t a sunroom in the cheerful, plant-filled sense, no. This was a sanctuary for her flowers, shelves upon shelves of them, each one painstakingly crafted from glass, catching the weak afternoon light like tiny, frozen moments. A garden of crystal, she called it, though no soil touched these roots, and no bee ever buzzed near their delicate, sharp petals. They were her life, her entire world, balanced precariously on antique mahogany.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
What Happens When She Is Dishonored?
A World With No Honor A lack of honor—especially toward the feminine—doesn’t just feel wrong. It fractures everything it touches.
By Aja Truth2 months ago in Families
The Unspoken Volume
Elara's car crunched gravel, a sound too loud for the oppressive quiet of her grandmother's property. The house, an old brick beast, sat slumped under the weight of years, ivy clutching its walls like desperate fingers. She hadn’t been here since she was a little kid, not properly, and the air still carried that same smell: dust, lemon polish, and something else, something sharp and metallic, like old pennies.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families