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Journal featured post. A corporate culture and workplace favorite.
The Man Who Fixed the Clock
I didn’t notice the clock was broken until it stopped. It sat on the corner shelf of my grandparents’ living room for as long as I could remember—brass, ornate, with Roman numerals and a soft, steady tick that marked the rhythm of every visit. My grandfather wound it every Sunday without fail, even in his nineties, even when his hands shook.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Journal
The Boy Who Carried the Ball Home
I didn’t go to the game for the score. I went because my nephew asked me to. He’s twelve, wears his hair in a messy bun, and talks about basketball like it’s a secret language only he and the ball understand. “It’s not about winning,” he’d said, eyes bright. “It’s about who shows up when it matters.”
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Journal
The Night Sovereignty Went Silent in Caracas
At 2:00 a.m. on January 3, 2026, Caracas was asleep. In a modest apartment on the city’s outskirts, a family jolted awake as windows rattled and car alarms screamed. The sound was unfamiliar—not fireworks, not thunder. It was heavier. Louder. The roar of aircraft tore through the night sky, followed by explosions that made the ground tremble.
By Shahjahan Kabir Khanabout a month ago in Journal
The Simple Reason AI Fails Frequently Is The Same As Why Humans Fail Frequently...
AI has taken the world by storm over the past couple of years. It has taken off so much... That businesses are now starting to replace workers with AI.
By Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, DFM, DHM, DAS (hc)about a month ago in Journal
The Phone You Can See Through
For years, smartphone innovation has followed a predictable script. Better cameras. Faster chips. Slightly thinner designs wrapped in familiar glass and metal. The changes mattered, but they rarely surprised anyone. Now, a strange and almost unbelievable discussion is spreading through the global tech community—one that sounds more like science fiction than a product roadmap.
By Shahjahan Kabir Khanabout a month ago in Journal
Charlotte Rose Harper Autobiography
My name is Charlotte Rose Harper, and every life has a beginning—but not every beginning is loud. Mine unfolded like a slow sunrise over brick buildings and narrow sidewalks, shaped by patience, observation, and the quiet insistence of becoming. If you are reading this, then you are stepping into the story of Charlotte Rose Harper, a woman whose life has been defined not by spectacle, but by substance.
By Omasanjuwa Ogharandukunabout a month ago in Journal
Victoria Jones, Daughter of Tommy Lee Jones, Found Dead in San Francisco
The new year is often imagined as a blank page — clean, hopeful, and full of promise. But for one Hollywood family, January 1 arrived not with celebration, but with devastating silence.
By Omasanjuwa Ogharandukunabout a month ago in Journal
LinkedIn and Bangladesh’s Digital Workforce Transformation: Youth, Startups, and Future Skills
By Tuhin Sarwar | Dhaka। 02। December । 2025 । From her modest home in Sylhet, 24-year-old Rafia Hussain flips open a second-hand laptop, logs into the LinkedIn app and reviews an inbox of messages from clients in London, Singapore and Dubai. She adjusts a brand mock-up for a global startup, schedules a call with a US design director and uploads a revised style guide all before breakfast is done.
By Tuhin sarwarabout a month ago in Journal
Why We Watch the Fall
I’ve never worn gloves. But I’ve stood in my own ring. It was a rainy Tuesday in March. I sat across from a hiring panel, my résumé trembling in my hand, reciting answers I’d rehearsed for weeks. I’d been unemployed for eight months. My savings were gone. That job wasn’t just a paycheck—it was my lifeline. When they said, “We’ll be in touch,” I knew. The silence that followed wasn’t neutral. It was final.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Journal
The Boy Who Didn’t Look Away
I was seventeen the first time I saw someone truly lose—and not just lose, but lose in front of everyone. It was a school assembly. A poetry contest. My friend Mateo had spent weeks writing a piece about his mother’s hands—how they cracked from cleaning other people’s houses, how they still braided his little sister’s hair every morning before dawn. He stood at the mic, voice trembling at first, then rising like a song. For three minutes, the gym was silent. Then he finished. And no one clapped.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Journal
