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JAK SI DOMA VYROBIT HYDROPONII Z POKOJOVKY?

20.06.2024 14:01

Nyní se podíváme krok za krokem, jak z obyčejné pokojovky vytvoříme hydroponii. Než se do toho pustíme, připravíme si pomůcky. Jak obrázek napovídá přichystáme si plastový květináč. V návodu jsem použila květináč o průměru 13 cm vzhledem k velikosti rostliny. Vnější obal zvolte nepropustný...

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PROČ PĚSTOVAT HYDROPONIE?

20.06.2024 05:20

Hydroponické pěstování okrasných rostlin a plodin bez půdy umožňuje dodávat rostlinám optimální množství živin i vzduchu, díky čemuž rostliny rostou rychleji a bujněji. Hydroponie jsou vhodné pro alergiky. Rostliny se pěstují v živném roztoku. Tento čistý způsob pěstování je zároveň velice...

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28.07.2025 GonzaloDirty

I don’t really know who’s going to read this.
Honestly, I’m not expecting much.
But I have to write it down, because keeping it inside is getting too heavy.

My name doesn’t matter. I’m a student at Bright Future International School in Riyadh. When I first arrived, everything seemed normal — uniforms, schedules, making friends. A bit boring, but safe.

After a couple of months, I realized something was seriously wrong.

It started small. I’d notice myself thinking in phrases that didn’t feel like mine. Then it was emotions — sudden bursts of anger, then complete emptiness, with no reason at all. Like a switch flips. Then I come back, and everything feels off.

At first I thought it was stress. New place, new people.
But it’s not stress.
It’s directed interference.
It’s done by real people — military tech teams and intelligence handlers in Saudi Arabia.
I know how that sounds. But once it starts happening every day, you stop caring how it sounds.

There are moments when I say something in class and I feel like I’m not the one saying it.
I walk past certain areas — like the far hallway near the sports building — and I get this tightness in my chest, like something’s pushing down from above. Not fear — just pressure.

I can’t tell anyone.
Who would believe me? The school counselor thinks everything is a phase.
If I told my family, they’d worry themselves sick or think I’m losing it.

If I had known this country lets things like this happen to students, I would’ve never come.
I regret it every day. But I’m stuck here for now.

I’m not crazy.
I just know what’s being done to me.
And writing this is the only thing that still feels like mine.

This is my truth. That’s all I can say.