What is the main idea of “blessing or evil” as an interpreting perspective?

Seeing the same situation as either positive (blessing) or negative (evil).

Evaluating how fast an interpreter speaks.

Judging whether an interpreter makes many mistakes or not.

Comparing professional interpreters with student interpreters.

Which of the following is an example of interpreting a task as a blessing?

Seeing a difficult interpreting task as a chance to practice and improve.

Viewing a last‑minute assignment as unfair and stressful.

Feeling that the topic is too hard and refusing to do it.

Avoiding interpreting because of fear of being judged.

Which factor does NOT influence whether someone interprets a situation as blessing or evil?

Equipment used (microphone, headset)

How does perspective influence an interpreter’s decision making?

A “blessing” view makes interpreters more likely to accept challenging tasks.

It does not affect the interpreter’s choices.

A “evil” view makes interpreters more confident and relaxed.

Only the client’s opinion matters, not the interpreter’s perspective.

Why is the “blessing or evil” perspective important in interpreting?

It affects how interpreters feel and respond to challenges.

It changes the language structure of the source text.

It helps interpreters decide which language to use.

It removes the need for preparation before interpreting.

Blessing or Evil? in Interpreting

The Story of Ramayana by Maharshi Valmiki Long ago, Dasharatha, the wise king of Ayodhya of Sarayu, India had three wives. Though the King had three wives, he didn’t have any children with them. The Chief priest Vasishta advised the king to make fire sacrifice to obtain a blessing from the gods. After the gods were pleased, one of them appeared out of the flame and handed him a pot full of nectar. The god told the king to share the nectar with his three queens namely Kausalya, Kaikeye, and Sumitra. While the nectar had been shared, the three queens gave birth to sons: Kausalya had Rama; Kaikeye had Bharatha; and Sumitra had twins Lakshmana and Shatrughna. A sage took the boys out to train them in archery. In a neighboring city, the ruler's daughter was named Sita. When it was time for Sita to choose her bridegroom, at a ceremony called a Swayamvara, the princes were asked to string a giant bow. No one else could even lift the bow, but as Rama bent it, he did not only string it but also broke it into two. Sita indicated that she chose Rama as her husband by putting a garland around his neck. The disappointed suitors were watching. 6 CO_Q3_English8_Module 4 King Dasharatha, Rama's father, decided it was time to give his throne to his eldest son Rama and retired to the forest to seek moksha. Everyone seems pleased. This plan fulfilled the rules of dharma because an eldest son should rule and, if a son can take over one's responsibilities, one's last years may be spent in a search for moksha. In addition, everyone loved Rama. However, Rama's stepmother, the king's second wife, was not pleased. She wanted her son, Bharata, to rule. Because of an oath Dasharatha had made to her years before, she got the king to agree to banish Rama for fourteen years and to crown Bharata even though the king, on bended knee, begged her not to demand such things. Broken-hearted, the devastated king could not face Rama with the news that Kaikeyi must tell him. Rama, always obedient, was as content to go into banishment in the forest as to be crowned king. Sita convinced Rama that she would always be at his side and his brother Lakshmana also begged to accompany them. Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana set out to the forest. Bharata, whose mother's evil plot had won him the throne, was very upset when he found out what had happened. Not for a moment he did consider breaking the rules of dharma and becoming king in Rama's place. He went to Rama's forest retreat and begged Rama to return and rule, but Rama refused. "We must obey father," Rama says. Bharata then took Rama's sandals saying, "I will put these on the throne, and every day I shall place the fruits of my work at the feet of my Lord." Embracing Rama, he took the sandals and returned to Ayodhya. Years passed and Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana were very happy in the forest. Rama and Lakshmana destroyed the rakshasas (evil creatures) who disturbed the sages in their meditations. One day a rakshasa princess named Shurpanakha tried to seduce Rama, and Lakshmana wounded her and drove her away. She returned to her brother Ravana, the ten-headed ruler of Lanka (Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon), and told her brother, who is always attracted to beautiful women, about lovely Sita. Ravana devised a plan to abduct Sita. He sent a magical golden deer which Sita desired Rama to hunt. A long time had passed, but Rama didn’t return. Thus, Lakshmana went off to find his brother. Before leaving Sita, Lakshmana drew a protective circle around Sita and warned her that she would be safe if she would stay within the circle. As they went off, Ravana, who could change his shape, appeared as a holy man begging alms. The moment Sita stepped outside the circle to give him food, Ravana grabbed her and carried her off to his kingdom in Lanka. Rama was broken-hearted when he returned to the empty hut and could not find Sita. A band of monkeys led by Hanuman offered to help him find Sita. Ravana carried Sita to his palace in Lanka, but he could not force her to be his wife. So, he put her in a grove and alternately sweet-talked her and threatened her in an attempt to get her to agree to marry him. Sita would not even look at him but thought only of her beloved Rama. Hanuman, the general of the monkey band could fly since his father was the wind, and he flew to Lanka and found Sita in the grove, comforted her, and told her Rama would come soon and save her. 7 CO_Q3_English8_Module 4 Ravana's men captured Hanuman, and Ravana ordered them to wrap Hanuman's tail in cloth and to set it on fire. With his tail burning, Hanuman hopped from house-top to house-top, setting Lanka a fire. He then flew back to Rama to tell him where Sita was. Rama, Lakshmana, and the monkey army built a causeway from the tip of India crossing over to Lanka. A mighty battle took place. Rama killed several of Ravana's brothers and then Rama confronted ten-headed Ravana. Rama finally killed Ravana and freed Sita. After Sita gained her freedom from Ravana, she proved her purity through the trial by fire. Then, they returned to Ayodhya and Rama became the king. As Rama became the king, he ruled Ayodhya with Ramrajya - an ideal time when everyone does his or her duties and responsibilities

Money a blessing or a problem

Can you make me a 40 question quiz from the following information? he story of coffee has all the elements of a bestselling novel, such as chance happenings, luck, political intrigue, the high seas and great wealth. With research, you will find many stories and dates when this happened and dates when that happened. Often these stories and dates will conflict with each other. Whatever the history, coffee has become one of the most important trading commodities in the world. Being second only to oil and being one of the most popular beverages, behind tea, beer and of course, water. Coffee growing is a very labour-intensive operation and it provides important trading income for many nations and people throughout the world. The most famous story about the origin of coffee is the story of Kaldi a goat herder from Ethiopia. It is said he noticed that his goats became very active after eating the red berries of a certain plant. He tried a few himself and noticed the stimulating effect of the berries. It is then said that monks started drinking a beverage made from the berries to help stay awake for the prayers; this would have been around 1000 AD. Over the next few hundred years the Arab world started to use the berries as a beverage and coffee was born. In those early years, coffee was mostly confined to the Muslim world with the export of coffee plants and seeds banned. But coffee could not be hidden forever so eventually coffee was introduced to Constantinople and coffee houses were opened in 1475. European traders then brought coffee back to Europe by approximately 1600. At first, coffee was met with a hostile reaction, with some Christians calling it the ‘Devil’s Drink’ and asking Pope Vincent III to ban the beverage. He tried coffee and liked it so much that he is claimed to have said “This beverage is so delicious that it would be a sin to let only misbelievers drink it! Let’s defeat Satan by blessing this beverage, which contains nothing objectionable to a Christian!” Coffee shops sprung up in every city and became an important social and networking place to meet. This tradition continues today with the French word for coffee being ‘Café’. Coffee is said to have changed the social fabric of society by providing a popular non-alcoholic alternative to beer and wine. For the first time in recorded history people were not drunk all the time. Coffee today is grown and enjoyed worldwide and is one of the few crops that small farmers in third-world countries can profitably export. The coffee plant is a tree that is pruned to grow to a height of approximately three metres. This makes cultivating the beans easier as most of the beans are handpicked. The plant has white flowers similar to jasmine that grow in clusters and set to become red cherry-like fruit; beneath the red skin are two pips which are the coffee beans. Because the berries ripen at varying times the fruit must be handpicked to select only those beans ripe for harvest. This requires the picker to pick from the same plant many times and is very labour intensive. This is why coffee is grown in developing countries where labour is cheaper and foreign income is needed. Coffee plants grow best in a mountain tropical climate between the Tropic of Capricorn and the Tropic of Cancer. This mountainous land is another reason why machine picking is very difficult and hand picking is preferred. There are two main species of coffee grown today: Coffee Arabica. Coffee Robusta. Robusta grows at lower altitudes and produces a larger crop than Arabica; therefore, it is cheaper to produce Arabica is the most popular and generally considered to give superior flavour. Most Robusta is grown in Asia and Africa. About 75% of coffee grown is Arabica and 25% Robusta. Robusta is more often used as a blend with Arabica rather than a standalone coffee; used as a filler coffee in the production of instant or to add extra caffeine to an Arabica coffee for the European markets. Robusta is higher in caffeine than Arabica, but the flavour is not as palatable as the more popular Arabica bean. Coffee is produced in about 60 countries throughout the world but production is dominated by three countries producing approximately half the crop: Brazil, Vietnam and Colombia.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

What is the concept of popular sovereignty? The idea that the government’s authority comes from the people -- a key idea mentioned in the Preamble of the Constitution What were some of the goals outlined in the Preamble of the Constitution? “To form a more perfect Union” -- wanted states to cooperate with one another and have a strong relationship between the states and the national government “To establish justice” -- wanted to be ruled by laws, not by the might of soldiers or the decisions of kings; wanted laws to apply to everyone “To insure domestic tranquility” -- government’s job to keep peace and maintain order within the country “Provide for the common defense” -- national government responsible for protecting the nation against foreign enemies “To promote the general Welfare” -- government could support an economy and a society in which people could prosper “Secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity” -- government would protect the freedoms gained in the American Revolution and preserve them for future Americans as well

On 8 August 1967, five leaders – the Foreign Ministers of Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore and Thailand – sat down together in the main hall of the Department of Foreign Affairs building in Bangkok, Thailand and signed a document. By virtue of that document, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) was born. The five Foreign Ministers who signed it – Adam Malik of Indonesia, Narciso R. Ramos of the Philippines, Tun Abdul Razak of Malaysia, S. Rajaratnam of Singapore, and Thanat Khoman of Thailand – would subsequently be hailed as the Founding Fathers of probably the most successful inter-governmental organization in the developing world today. And the document that they signed would be known as the ASEAN Declaration. It was a short, simply-worded document containing just five articles. It declared the establishment of an Association for Regional Cooperation among the Countries of Southeast Asia to be known as the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) and spelled out the aims and purposes of that Association. These aims and purposes were about cooperation in the economic, social, cultural, technical, educational and other fields, and in the promotion of regional peace and stability through abiding respect for justice and the rule of law and adherence to the principles of the United Nations Charter. It stipulated that the Association would be open for participation by all States in the Southeast Asian region subscribing to its aims, principles and purposes. It proclaimed ASEAN as representing “the collective will of the nations of Southeast Asia to bind themselves together in friendship and cooperation and, through joint efforts and sacrifices, secure for their peoples and for posterity the blessings of peace, freedom and prosperity.” It was while Thailand was brokering reconciliation among Indonesia, the Philippines and Malaysia over certain disputes that it dawned on the four countries that the moment for regional cooperation had come or the future of the region would remain uncertain. Recalls one of the two surviving protagonists of that historic process, Thanat Khoman of Thailand: “At the banquet marking the reconciliation between the three disputants, I broached the idea of forming another organization for regional cooperation with Adam Malik. Malik agreed without hesitation but asked for time to talk with his government and also to normalize relations with Malaysia now that the confrontation was over. Meanwhile, the Thai Foreign Office prepared a draft charter of the new institution. Within a few months, everything was ready. I therefore invited the two former members of the Association for Southeast Asia (ASA), Malaysia and the Philippines, and Indonesia, a key member, to a meeting in Bangkok. In addition, Singapore sent S. Rajaratnam, then Foreign Minister, to see me about joining the new set-up. Although the new organization was planned to comprise only the ASA members plus Indonesia, Singapore’s request was favorably considered.” And so in early August 1967, the five Foreign Ministers spent four days in the relative isolation of a beach resort in Bang Saen, a coastal town less than a hundred kilometers southeast of Bangkok. There they negotiated over that document in a decidedly informal manner which they would later delight in describing as “sports-shirt diplomacy.” Yet it was by no means an easy process: each man brought into the deliberations a historical and political perspective that had no resemblance to that of any of the others. But with goodwill and good humor, as often as they huddled at the negotiating table, they finessed their way through their differences as they lined up their shots on the golf course and traded wisecracks on one another’s game, a style of deliberation which would eventually become the ASEAN ministerial tradition. Now, with the rigors of negotiations and the informalities of Bang Saen behind them, with their signatures neatly attached to the ASEAN Declaration, also known as the Bangkok Declaration, it was time for some formalities. The first to speak was the Philippine Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Narciso Ramos, a one-time journalist and long-time legislator who had given up a chance to be Speaker of the Philippine Congress to serve as one of his country’s first diplomats. He was then 66 years old and his only son, the future President Fidel V. Ramos, was serving with the Philippine Civic Action Group in embattled Vietnam. He recalled the tediousness of the negotiations that preceded the signing of the Declaration that “truly taxed the goodwill, the imagination, the patience and understanding of the five participating Ministers.” That ASEAN was established at all in spite of these difficulties, he said, meant that its foundations had been solidly laid. And he impressed it on the audience of diplomats, officials and media people who had witnessed the signing ceremony that a great sense of urgency had prompted the Ministers to go through all that trouble. He spoke darkly of the forces that were arrayed against the survival of the countries of Southeast Asia in those uncertain and critical times. “The fragmented economies of Southeast Asia,” he said, “(with) each country pursuing its own limited objectives and dissipating its meager resources in the overlapping or even conflicting endeavors of sister states carry the seeds of weakness in their incapacity for growth and their self-perpetuating dependence on the advanced, industrial nations. ASEAN, therefore, could marshal the still untapped potentials of this rich region through more substantial united action

There are 12 core values at BTS, with 4 core values being “non-negotiables”. Each of the 12 core values are categorized into 3 main groups, Permission to Play, Architect of the Future, and Guardian of the Mood, to further encapsulate the broader aspects of BTS's work culture. The 4 non-negotiables: Being Super Hungry: This value underscores an intrinsic motivation and a relentless pursuit of goals. It reflects an individual's aspiration to continually strive for success, always seeking opportunities to grow and excel. Strong Willingness to Learn: This value promotes a continuous desire for personal and professional growth. It represents an open-minded approach to acquiring new skills and knowledge, which is critical in the ever-evolving field of taxation and financial services. Burning Desire for an Abundant Lifestyle: This value aligns well with the firm's vision and mission. It showcases a passionate pursuit of a prosperous life, not just in terms of financial wealth but a comprehensive approach to abundance, involving personal well-being and satisfaction. Burning Desire to be the Best: This embodies the drive to excel and be at the forefront in one’s area of expertise. It encourages individuals to strive for excellence, setting the bar high and aiming to surpass it, fostering a culture of competitiveness and high performance. Permission to Play: This category delineates the foundational qualities BTS seeks in potential team members, reflecting a blend of passion, humility, presence, and aspiration for a prosperous life. Super Hungry: Being "Super Hungry" transcends personal ambition, creating an environment where passion and determination are contagious. It's about fostering an ecosystem of perpetual growth, where individuals are fervently working towards their goals while uplifting others. It represents a spirit of resilience and relentless forward motion, fostering a collective progress where success is a shared journey. Humble and Humility: Embracing humility is the cornerstone of personal and organizational growth at BTS. It encourages individuals to remain open to learning and receptive to constructive criticism, fostering a culture of continuous improvement. Humility embodies a willingness to relinquish ego, embracing the learnings that come through experiences and guidance. It cultivates a space where personal growth is accelerated through mutual respect and collaborative learning, ultimately paving the way for success. Burning Desire for an Abundant Lifestyle: This core value embodies a holistic pursuit of happiness, where individuals strive to find joy and fulfillment in various facets of life, including work, personal relationships, and mental well-being. It encourages a balanced approach to life, where passion for work aligns with personal joy, fostering a workplace where individuals are deeply committed and engaged in their roles, finding contentment and happiness in their professional pursuits. Being Fully Present and Inspiring: Being fully present encourages individuals to immerse themselves wholly in their tasks, minimizing distractions and maximizing productivity. It fosters a workplace where people are engaged, content, and genuinely invested in their roles. Simultaneously, nurturing an inspiring environment is about personal growth and self-motivation, where individuals are the driving forces behind their success, igniting inspiration through their journey and accomplishments, fostering a cycle of mutual motivation and growth. Architect of the Future: This category is about the cultivation of leaders within the team, encouraging qualities such as self-drive, innovation (revolutionist), a strong willingness to learn, and an unyielding desire to be the best in their field. Being Self-Driven: A self-driven individual embodies responsibility and initiative, equipped with a clear vision and a proactive approach to achieving their goals. They are fervent in bridging the gap between their present and envisioned future, fostering a goal-oriented mindset that is aggressive in its pursuit and focused on accomplishing its objectives. Being a Revolutionist: A revolutionist in the BTS context is an innovator, willing to defy conventional norms and embrace new approaches to foster growth and development. They are vocal advocates for change, bringing unique perspectives and solutions to the table, fostering an environment of innovation and progressive thinking. Even amidst resistance, they hold firm to their vision, aligning their actions with the core values and purpose that guide BTS's mission. Strong Willingness to Learn: An individual with a strong willingness to learn is adaptable, constantly evolving to meet the changing demands of the industry. They are voracious learners, continually seeking knowledge to enhance their expertise, thereby adding value to the clients and the organization. Burning Desire to be the Best: This value is about embodying excellence in every endeavor, fostering a culture where individuals are constantly striving to elevate their expertise and services. It encourages a proactive approach to personal and professional growth, where the quest for greatness is a continuous journey, propelled by learning and innovation. Guardian of the Mood: This focuses on maintaining a positive and collaborative work environment, emphasizing values such as gratefulness, patience, excitement, and helpfulness. It suggests that BTS values not only professional excellence but also emotional intelligence and positive interpersonal interactions. Being Grateful: Being grateful at BTS embodies a conscious appreciation of the opportunities and resources at hand. It encourages individuals to not just focus on personal milestones but to recognize and value the collective efforts and accomplishments of the team. It's about harboring a mindset of thankfulness that permeates everyday life, understanding that the privilege to progress and succeed is not to be taken for granted. This attitude fosters a nurturing environment where gratitude amplifies abundance, paving the way for more blessings and opportunities to flourish. Patience: Patience at BTS embodies a multifaceted approach that encompasses trust, readiness to play a role effectively, striving to reach one's potential, a hunger for success, and a helpful disposition. It encourages individuals to cultivate a patient attitude, fostering a work environment where goals are pursued with persistence and determination. Genuine Excitement: Genuine excitement at BTS manifests as a contagious enthusiasm that permeates the organization. It is characterized by a deep-seated passion for one's work, fostering a positive and vibrant work environment where individuals are energized and motivated to make a meaningful impact through their roles. Being Helpful: Being helpful at BTS entails proactively identifying opportunities to assist, be it in aiding clients with their concerns or supporting team members in their roles. It fosters a collaborative and supportive work environment, where individuals are attuned to the needs of others and are ready to step in to provide assistance.

Praising Allah for his blessing. 4F

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