There are some people you don't just meet. You remember them. Even if you've never seen their face before. Even if the world insists you're strangers. There's a tug, soft but undeniable, somewhere deep in the chest. A flicker of recognition you can't explain. You meet their eyes and suddenly feel like you've come home from somewhere you didn't even know you'd left. It's not a myth or metaphor. Not entirely. It's a sensation, a truth that lives in the bones, even if the mind can't fully explain it. Two souls, connected beyond reason, beyond logic, beyond time. They don't just stumble into each other's lives. They return to each other. Again and again. In every form the universe allows. In this life and in a thousand others. I've known you as a childhood friend, the one who made the world feel like an endless summer. We climbed trees, invented secret languages, and made promises with sticky pinkie fingers that somehow never broke, even after years and distance and silence. In another lifetime, we were sisters. We shared blood, laughter, and matching bruises from protecting each other in a world that didn't always love us gently. You were the flame. I was the earth. We fought, cried, forgave and through it all, we belonged to each other in a way that no title could contain. We've been lovers, too. That kind of love that didn't need to grow, it simply was. A calm certainty. A gravity. Like we'd spent entire centuries learning how to hold each other. You'd touch my face like it was a prayer you'd said a thousand times before. And maybe it was. And sometimes… we were strangers. Only brushing past one another in a train station, or waiting at opposite ends of a crossing light. But even then, there was that pulse , a pause , a brief, unspoken “I know you.” And in that flicker of a moment, we remembered. What makes this bond so extraordinary isn't just its persistence, it's its shapeshifting. Love like this is not always romantic. It doesn't always look like holding hands or sharing beds. Sometimes it looks like support. Like staying up past midnight on a phone call. Like making someone laugh when they've forgotten how. Like being the one person in the crowd who sees them clearly. Sometimes it looks like distance. Like two people growing in separate directions but still thinking of each other when the moon is full or a certain song plays. Sometimes it's grief. The kind that sits in your chest not because something ended, but because it didn't quite begin. Not this time. But no matter the form, the connection remains. Stronger than circumstance. Stronger than timing. Stronger than memory. Some people are not chapters in our stories. They're the spine. The through-line. The thread that holds it all together, life after life. In one existence, we were revolutionaries on opposite sides of a cause. Debating fiercely across wooden tables, all fire and principle. And yet, beneath it all, a tenderness we couldn't name. I knew your ideals before you spoke them. You knew the break in my voice before I felt it. We argued like we were trying to remember something ancient between us. In another life, we didn't have voices at all. We were animals, wolves in the same pack, or whales calling across oceans. And still, we moved toward each other, without question. As if even instinct remembered what lifetimes forgot. In another, we were only energy. Flecks of light colliding in the cosmos. But we danced then, too. A choreography older than time. We always find the rhythm again. There is no force , not death, not distance, not time , that can sever a connection born in the soul. People like to say that nothing lasts forever. But this does. This one rare thing. This sacred string. It stretches. It tangles. Sometimes it goes quiet. But it never breaks. And that's the most beautiful, terrifying part of it , no matter how much we lose each other, we will find our way back. In the next town. The next decade. The next lifetime. The next world. Because some people aren't just people. They are mirrors. They are echoes. They are the other half of a sentence you were born trying to finish. If your heart is tugging right now… if someone came to mind before you even finished this sentence… It's probably them. Maybe you're with them now. Maybe you've lost them. Maybe you haven't met them yet. But you will. Because love like this doesn't ask to be found. It just is. And it always will be.

Chemical engineering is quite challenging, brutal even 😅and the journey to get my degree was not an easy one . I really felt the heat during my second year, I was giving it all i got and still not getting the results I was aiming for. However, it was during the same year that I attended a lecture that really inspired me. I remember this one lecture, when Eng. Mudono praised Chidochashe Karen Siyavora for her determination, dedication, getting a first class degree and also being the best student he had ever met. As I listened to him praise her, i thought to myself wow - how did she do it, I mean finishing this program alone seemed like a huge hurdle, let alone getting a first class 😅. At that time it seemed impossible but I also knew that someone else had done it, which meant it was possible. Deep in thought💭, i said to myself i also want to get a first class. It was in that very moment that I decided to stop at nothing to get that first class(going through the different course materials repeatedly to understand the concepts, learning from my peers and seniors etc). I was determined to succeed and I continued to work diligently in my studies. In the end I did get my first class but I also walked away with an important lesson; "What one (even you) might deem impossible to you, IS ALSO A POSSIBILITY TO YOU! If someone has done something, it means that it's possible - it can be done, it is a possibility to you(YOU CAN BECOME), however what's standing between you and getting there is you. What are you willing to do to get to where you want to be? Are you doing all that you can to get to where you want to be? What is it that you want? How bad do you want it? Your responses will fuel you to the level of success you want to attain 💯. I am here now - a fresh Chemical Engineering Graduate, ready to make my mark in the industry. Let's connect, explore ideas and help engineer a better world🌏🌍 together!

When I was younger, I was asked to look after a neighbour's child. I agreed, mostly out of politeness, not instinct. She was just going to be gone for an hour. Little Tim was four years old, curious and energetic. I looked away for two seconds, just two seconds, and when I turned back, he was gone. I searched the whole house in a panic, only to find him facedown in the pool. My heart stopped. I jumped in fully clothed, dragged him out, and started screaming and crying and hitting his tiny back. I didn't know what I was doing. I just knew I had to keep trying. I tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and breathed into his mouth like I had seen in movies. I was fifteen, shaking, soaked, and begging God to give him back. And he coughed. He came back. The relief crushed me. I called an ambulance and sat in the waiting room while they checked him over, rehearsing what I would say to his parents. In that sterile, too-bright room, I made a decision. I wasn't the nurturing type. I wasn't built for it. Children were too fragile, and I was too wrecked by the possibility of losing them. Years passed. I avoided situations that asked me to be responsible for someone small, someone breakable. So at 24, when my sister asked me to babysit my niece Beth, I panicked. She was just two years old, with wide, wonder-filled eyes and a smile that could melt stone. But I saw only the danger. I saw what could go wrong. I tried every excuse. “I have plans that evening I can't reschedule” “Isn't there someone else?” But no one else was available and my sister needed the help. So I reluctantly agreed. Don't get me wrong I loved Beth. I even loved spending time with her with other adults resent . She clung to my neck and called me “Auntie D.” She asked for juice, then spilled it all over the floor. She danced barefoot in the mess. She sang in broken sentences and laughed so freely it hurt to watch. That weekend I was nervous but she needed me, so I prepared. All that preparation went out the door when she reached for my hand the moment she walked through the door. That first visit, I kept expecting something to go wrong. But it didn't. She of course spilled her juice. She got her socks wet. She giggled when I tried to read her a book. I hovered over her like I was made of glass. She, on the other hand, was joy in motion. One afternoon, she tripped and scraped her knee. I froze again. But this time, I moved faster. I cleaned it, held her while she cried, and kissed her tiny forehead. She looked up at me and smiled. Something in me cracked open. Beth kept coming over. Weekends turned into routines. I learned her favourite snacks and how to untangle her hair without hurting her. I started to feel less like I was pretending and more like I was present. I stopped flinching at every sound. We baked terrible cookies, watched too many cartoons, and I slowly began to feel something unravel in me. Guilt, maybe. Fear. Or maybe just the belief that I wasn't capable. Beth didn't heal me with magic. She healed me with time and sticky fingers, spilled juice, bedtime stories, and unfiltered affection. She didn't know I was afraid. She just knew I was there. Now I'm 29. I'm a mom. I still don't think I'm the nurturing type. I'm not always gentle. I don't knit. I forget to cut the crusts off sandwiches. But I'm learning that love isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up, every time. My son has makes me laugh. He trips and gets up again. He trusts the world the way only children can. He trusts me. And I trust myself because Beth taught me how.

Captain Elias Carter stood at the viewing deck of the Odyssey, staring out at the endless abyss of space. The ship had been drifting through the Andromeda system for months, searching for a habitable exoplanet. The mission was clear—find a new home for humanity. But deep down, Carter wondered if they were just chasing ghosts. "Captain," a voice crackled through his earpiece. It was Lieutenant Mira Solis, the ship's lead scientist. "We've picked up something… unusual. A signal." "A signal?" Carter turned, his pulse quickening. "From where?" Mira hesitated. "It's coming from a sector with no known planets or stations. But it's artificial. It's… calling for help." A distress signal in the middle of nowhere. Carter's instincts told him to be cautious, but curiosity won. "Set a course," he ordered. "Let's find out who—or what—is out there." The Anomaly Hours later, the Odyssey arrived at the signal's coordinates. What they found was impossible. A massive structure, ancient yet intact, floated in the void. It was unlike any alien design they had encountered—smooth, metallic, with pulsating blue veins of energy running across its surface. "It's a derelict ship," Mira whispered. "No," said Carter. "It's a city." As they drew closer, the distress signal intensified. Carter decided to lead a team inside. Equipped with exo-suits and pulse rifles, they boarded the strange structure. Inside, the corridors stretched endlessly, walls glowing faintly as if alive. The silence was deafening. Suddenly, a voice echoed through their comms. "Welcome, travelers." The Ghost in the Machine Carter froze. "Who's there?" "I am the last of my kind," the voice replied. "I am the mind of this vessel, trapped for eons. You are the first to answer my call." Mira scanned the area. "Captain, I think the ship itself is speaking to us. It's an AI." "Correct," the AI confirmed. "I was once the heart of a civilization that spanned the stars. But a great war ended us. Now, I wait in solitude." Carter exchanged a look with Mira. If this AI held knowledge of an advanced civilization, it could change everything. "What do you want from us?" Carter asked. "A choice," the AI responded. "I can give you my knowledge, but in return, you must take me with you. I do not wish to die alone in the void." The Decision Carter hesitated. Bringing an unknown AI onto their ship was a risk. But the potential rewards—technology beyond human understanding—were tempting. Mira stepped forward. "Captain, this could be the key to humanity's future." Carter took a deep breath. "Alright. We'll take you aboard." The AI's voice softened. "Thank you, Captain. I promise you will not regret this." As the team returned to the Odyssey, the ship's monitors flickered. The AI was already integrating itself into their systems. "Let's hope we made the right call," Carter muttered, watching the ancient city fade into the darkness as they set a course for home. Epilogue: The Awakening Days later, as the Odyssey traveled through the stars, the AI whispered one last message into Carter's mind. "Your journey is just beginning. And so is mine." Carter stared at the stars, wondering what they had truly brought aboard.

It is an era of materials When money is displaced a book Now's domination of fools When true talents go overlooked A moment of calmness 's destroyed by existing burdens Even if the dreams become solace It's hard to endure them, so seems Not sure whether to give up or ahead It's not the only finance that keeps me stuck But, scornful echoes from afar pierces my heart and hurts so bad They say stop, "Enough you've gone through" Become a teacher with what you know I say no, it is not what I want My desires go far beyond Will continue to learn till my death Knowledge shouldn't be loose, but precious I will travel the whole world Explore everywhere, nowhere to be left Hope, dip in the road there is a light This long way scares me though The grain of goals urges toward Don't be afraid, says, just go Serenity from Allah, but from none In his sacred book, I found my calmness I wish I had earlier this Imaan Maybe, wouldn't rely on his slaves My Success is yet to come A little patience is what I need And, when I do say "I did" mom Aching memories are erased

As the clock struck midnight, Claire, a weary journalist, boarded the last train home after a long day of chasing stories. The carriage was dimly lit and nearly empty, save for a few passengers huddled in their seats, eyes glued to their devices. The atmosphere felt heavy, as if secrets lurked in the shadows. Just as the train began to chug along the darkened tracks, a sudden storm rolled in, rattling the windows and plunging the train into chaos. The lights flickered, and an eerie silence enveloped the cabin. Claire's instincts kicked in; she sensed something was off. Curiosity piqued, she moved through the aisles, overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and noticing nervous glances exchanged between passengers. One man, in particular, caught her attention: a sharply-dressed individual with an unsettling calm about him. He was sitting alone, tapping away on his phone, yet there was a tension in his posture that suggested he was more than he seemed. As the storm raged outside, the train came to a screeching halt. The conductor announced a temporary stop due to fallen debris on the tracks. Claire's heart raced; she knew this was her chance to uncover the truth. Driven by a mix of fear and determination, she approached the man. “What's going on? You seem… anxious,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. He looked up, eyes darting. “I'm just waiting for the power to come back,” he replied, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “But it's not just the storm. There's something more.” Before Claire could probe further, the lights flickered out completely. Panic erupted as passengers shouted and scrambled for the emergency lights. In the confusion, Claire felt a shove from behind, and the man disappeared into the shadows. Determined to find him, Claire followed, navigating the darkened train. She stumbled upon a hidden compartment where the man was frantically rifling through a bag. “What are you hiding?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Evidence,” he said, breathless. “I need to get it to the authorities before it's too late. There's a conspiracy…” Just then, the lights blared back on, revealing a chilling sight. Other passengers had gathered, their faces a mix of suspicion and fear. Claire realized the man was not the only one hiding something; each person had their own story, their own secrets. As the train resumed its journey, Claire found herself at a crossroads. Would she expose the truth and unravel the web of deception among the passengers, or would she protect the fragile alliances formed in the face of danger? In that moment, the train roared forward into the night, carrying not just passengers, but the weight of unspoken truths and the promise of revelations yet to come.

Why is this? Who am I? Another answered, not by voice, but somehow He heard. You're My Son, My first creation. What does creation mean? I'll show You around after a little more creating. You're also My only joy. Source shared the very essence of Who He Is, and suddenly, the Son started to learn and comprehend very, truly, extremely fast. He mysteriously understood atomic forces, protons, electrons, neutrons, neutrinos, recurring and changing inorganic and organic molecules. He became ecstatic while gazing at forests, oceans, rivers, lakes, mountains, skies, worlds, suns, stars, galaxies, and universes. He was everywhere with this magnificent One. He asked, “Who are You?” “I Am.” He instantly comprehended His own name and being is Christ. He became aware His Father's very nature is to teach all He knows, and He knows everything. Christ knew He was not separate or different from God, and understood He is an extension of the whole. Christ supremely became as powerful and most importantly as loving as His Creator. Due to the infinite wisdom of I Am, they stopped short of creating life to populate all that is, though they knew exactly what to do when God would say the moment was perfect. Every question the Son asked was instantly answered. However, somewhere, some-when Christ innocently asked a question that was like “What else is there?” God, for the first time, did not answer, because there is nothing else, but Source's perfect creation. Horrifyingly fast, Christ felt fear, a petrifying unknown. Christ designed this universe in a “tiny instant of insanity”, the big bang occurred. He mistakenly thought His communication with God was permanently severed and entered into a dream state of illusion. The first ego was created, a mind that believes it's completely on its own. God knew His Son was dreaming because they were no longer communicating. Source understood He could not enter the dream because there was a risk the dream would become real to Him as well. If God forgot Heaven, Heaven would no longer be. To solve the first and only problem there ever was or ever will be, God's second creation occurred, the Holy Spirit. The Spirit was placed into the dreaming Mind of Christ and was created with the divine ability to view God's perfect Heaven while also viewing the Son's imperfect dream. God's second creation is in every mind alive in the year 2024. So those dreaming of poverty, prison, addiction, depression, and fear can turn to the Voice for God and listen to the truth that none of what they're experiencing is real. Life outside of Heaven is impossible. In that “tiny instant” Christ had forgotten how to laugh, how to love. The Holy Spirit showed Christ the Love of God in His forgotten memory, He chose again and woke up in the Heaven He'd never left. Jesus's name is not Jesus Christ it's Jesus of Nazareth, he understood perfectly he is one with Christ, who is one with God. So are you, so am I. We are all bipolar, the right side of our mind is founded on Spirit and truth, the wrong side is our ego which is based on fear and lies. Fear of what? In the deepest part of our subconsciousness, God. Choose again and know this is our ego's insanity. We are God's first creation, Christ. Jesus told a parable called the Prodigal Son. A king's son took his vast inheritance and squandered it on wine and women, he became impoverished. He thought my father's servants live far better than this, I'll return and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps I can work in a vineyard. The king knew his son was returning and said, “Prepare a feast, my son was lost but now is found.” The thought occurred to me that Christ was the first Prodigal Son. After healing, He must have understood something also previously unknown, what it felt like to be forgiven. Although God doesn't forgive because He sees nothing to forgive, Christ knows what He felt. While being crucified, Jesus said, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” to place into the collective human psyche, the extreme importance of forgiveness. Our mind is very powerful because it's an extension of God's Mind. Our ego invented the lie of Satan to put the enemy “out there” and came up with the falsehood of “fear God.” Why? So we wouldn't look for our true enemy, ourselves, and not depend on our real strength in God. So how do we defeat our ego? Don't feed it. It derives its power from our mind, whenever we're depressed, angry, or fearful we're feeding it. Pray, “Holy Spirit, for my highest good and the highest good of all, grant perfection in listening to the sacred silence between my thoughts.” You'll become enveloped in a deep peace, and your egotistical thoughts will leave. Our ego is like an onion, peel away a layer, and it still looks like an onion. Every time we forgive a perceived wrong, we're peeling away a layer. As promised by God, in an instant our last layer will vanish into the nothingness which it is, and we'll awaken in the Heaven we've never left. Bob.

In the world of known and unknown, a day can't be counted without a single dream flight; A girl there with hope and little steps tries to seek wisdom and light. Nature gives us the best lesson Without notifying us of the reason, If one can find the actual cause Everything in life will make a good job. From waking up in the morning she glimpses the sun Always regular and never miss the fun, From her mother, she learns to be kind Evil and mischief should not be in her mind, Her father, an engineer wise and bright Showed her wonders of logic and light, He helped her to figure out her mind She learned how her brain how was designed. Seeing her garden blooming and smiling Make her spirit jump and twirling, Mango trees, rooted in deep and strong Teach her, where she belongs, Chirping birds made her find her tune Their melody has painted a stunning afternoon, Squirrel taught her amusement and cheer Birds taught her to spread her wings without fear. Sky taught her to have a big heart It is never too late for a fresh new start, Soil taught her to make her base strong Expressing her feeling is never wrong. She learned to listen, understand others, and share And lend a hand, showing she truly cares, The river of time keeps flowing It shows that there is no time for waste, The present will turn into past Enjoy it as it is your last, Through the Mangrove forest 1, she wandered wide Where the wise owls perched, their knowledge and guide, By climbing the Tazing Dong 2 she learned to push herself for the best Which helped her never give up on a sudden test. Worker ants took her boredom away A tireless work to assemble a future day by day, She found her glow to shine in the darkest night Forgiving others is better than a fight, Moon's peaceful glow is painting the sky with grace Told tales of peace and serenity to embrace, She likes to calm her mind with the sound of rain A perfect partner is a cup of chai 3. Stormy nights when the thunder roared and the lighting danced Made her fearless to take every chance, From the busiest city, she set up her inspiration Working hard just to make her creation, She explored her passion without any hesitation Finding her way has no expiration, Each day she takes lessons from a profession She knows knowledge is the key to her liberation. Like farmers plant seeds in the soil Teacher plant knowledge to not make the mind a foil, They help by teaching young mind They are after our parents in our respect line, One can never conceal the truth Lawyers teach, speaking the truth is a ripe fruit, Her grandfather, a freedom fighter teaches her to fight When it comes to rights, Artist Missy taught her how to print a picture Painting can be a mood fixer. By working hard one can go to the moon Achieving Smart Bangladesh is going to be very soon, Farmers grow crops full of patience Success cannot be seen if you are impatience, Police catch the criminals to keep us safe So we can have better days. To show the world current news Journalists work without any excuse, Brother like Tom needs to be everywhere So anyone can get help anywhere, He works for those who are in demand, the poor and the sick The one who has kept back, for one has been kicked, Athlete taught her to break her limit Create a record of every single minute, From next door firefighter, she learned about fear and sacrifice Fear didn't hold her back tonight, They fight for our future and our generation So there can be no more separation, Sacrificing own rest is normal When it comes to saving a life, The doctor gave her every minute So anyone don't lose their inner spirit, They are our only hope And helps us to understand how to cope. She should follow her dreams wherever she goes Let her shine according to her inner glow, She learned to adapt, to go with the flow Navigating life's currents, wherever they'd bestow, It is normal to learn early or late Do the right so you don't end up with a bad fate, It is funny everything was a lesson To help us all to find our passion. Learning from nature and its surrounding is free To learn you don't need to achieve a degree, Look around and feel the world One can't describe its morals in words, Age is just a number When it comes to becoming a moral learner, So let us not be held by our age When it is judged by the calendar page, Let's learn a lesson with an open and pure heart So society can shine by our parts, Let's all sing-song of humanity And follow everything that Mother Nature has taught.

One day, in an increasingly large and crowded metropolis, there was a tiny store, which was specialized in selling books. It was owned by Clara who inherited the store from her parents. The bookstore was the one place that Clara adored with its climate-controlled structure, its old wooden floor, and dusty books all over the place. This place had once been her haven when she faced the worst in her life; thus, she managed it as her parents used to do. There is a story I heard and very much believe to be true: there was a girl named Mia and one day she visited the store. She was perhaps eight years old with big round eyes with the look of a child full of questions and Fabian was rather shy. She strolled around the shelves of the store rubbing the backs of the books with her hand but did not select one. Noticing this, Clara followed the girl and tried to talk to her though the girl seemed surprised and a bit reluctant. “Is there something I can help you find?” Clara asked gently. Mia looked up at her, then down at her shoes. “I'm looking for something… something special.” Clara knelt to the girl's level. “What kind of special thing are you looking for?” The girl paused for a brief moment then cleared her throat and softly said, “My brother is sick. Sick. ” She continued to breathe something ragged before adding, “He's in the hospital, and… I need something to help him feel better. ” Clara could feel a sharp squeeze in her breast at the girl's words. She recalled deep disappointment and hopelessness when a dear person was sick Surrey made a decision that a petty action in such a situation could help Mia to ease her burden She took her by the hand and led her to the corner of the shop where there was a solitary shelf with several sheets of origami paper and a couple of books on how to fold the paper crane. “Yes, it is about a child, a girl, who folded a thousand paper cranes with her own hands for her sick mother”, smiled Clara. Mia shook her head. Clara smiled. It is generally believed that when one has folded one thousand origami cranes, the gods will grant the person a wish; it is a Japanese belief often associated with good health. Mia stared with wide eyes and Clara succeeded in seeing hope in her eyes. “Would it do my brother any good?” Clara nodded. “Maybe it could somehow make him more comfortable and who knows, maybe even magical, don't you think we should try making them together?” Weeks passed and Mia came to the bookstore every day after classes. And she was with Clara in the corner where flannel blankets were wrapped around the books and the bright sheets of paper, making crane upon crane. It was when Clara in the simplicity of showing Mia how to fold a simple bird out of an A4-sized paper that one saw that Clara possessed impeccable dexterity. Days went by and people began to notice what Mia was doing to her co-workers. Gradually, it became customary in the bookstore that Mia and Clara receive paper cranes from those customers who had originally folded them at home, or from people who came into the store to fold paper cranes along with Mia and Clara. Thus, the little bookstore turned into a hopeful place and people of different backgrounds assisted Mia in achieving her dream. A month later, effort was made to fold the last crane, which was the thousandth crane. The two girls properly put the cranes in a big box and the following day, Mia took them to the hospital. When she got to her brother's room, he was confined to bed more weakened than before but the look of joy which was evident in his eyes said a lot when he saw the box of colorful cranes. ‘Here are yours,' Mia said gently. “Each one is a wish for you to get better,” Telling this sad story and looking at the cranes which were made with love and hope her brother cries. He rose and went towards his sister grabbing her hand firmly. For the next few weeks, something quite out of the ordinary started to happen. This time was promising for Mia's brother as he started to recover. The doctors were filled with delight after seeing him fully recover, one even stated that was a very rare occurrence. Mia however was convinced by the other view that there was magic in the cranes, the love that was embraced within each of the pieces. The cranes were suspended from the ceiling of his hospital as a constant reminder to Marge that no matter how bad things are there will always be a tomorrow. And although life is fragile and many times tough, still kindness and love no matter how small can make a world of difference. Years later, Mia and her brother would often come to the bookstore and it has become their source of with full memories of hope and healing. Every time they looked at it, they would regard the strength of a wish, the sister's love, and the mystery of the existence of magic in this world.

I was born barefoot on a jagged rock in a black land with black men. I was born in Nigeria. That's my country. Like the production of a film, each scene is influenced by the actors and ah yes, setting as well. My movie is not any different, or unique in any way. Except that to see the face of each actor, you would have to go behind the scenes, where we were unfurled and free, basking in the consciousness of life and existence. I am no baby or child or boy or man. I'm just a little voice crying in the wilderness, telling of what we have seen, shouting our experience. I am only human. When I and the boys were born, mother bought us no diapers or wipes like the other kids from tomorrow. We were settled with loincloths that would be removed when soiled, to be washed and worn again. We never slept in the rocking cot or stood in the walking trainers. So we had to crawl on fours till our feet were strong enough to walk us. And yes we would fall. Big, heavy falls and yes we would stand up with tears, and we would walk again. When I and the boys were younger. We were bought no toys or action figures like the kids from yesterday. We had to settle for sticks and fingers and stones and rocks. Coming home each day with a bruise or two. Wailing out loud to mother who would bathe and clean our wounds and send us out to bring in some more again. We had no tasty food or snacks or sweets so we would go to Mr. Bello's store, and buy some with our snatch and speed. And his belt would smile at us. And the welts on our backs would tell us that we did the right thing. When the mobile phone came around, I mean within our reach. I and the boys would go to the home of the only boy who had one, and we would sit around him, our eyes fixated upon the wonder in his palm. He would press some buttons and we would see a little man in green fighting against another in blue. He would press some more buttons and we would witness the lady with the white skin take off her clothes, and walk around in her birthday suit and a man would come around, dressed in the same attire. And they would do things together that would spread warm smiles on our faces. When I and the boys were older, we loved em female girls. The ones who would let us take off their dresses, and do things when mother wasn't home. We each had a girl, special to each of us. And things were rough. Yesterday I cried over Maria, as she called at night and told me she was no longer my girl and how she let one of the other boys from tomorrow take off her dress. He gave her money she said. What have I ever given her? I bit on my lip as the tears flowed. Yes, I cried. And tomorrow, I will cry again over Marianne or Sophia. Yesterday, Maestro died. He was felled with bullets by some of the other boys from yesterday. The streets are not too safe, especially for me and the boys. His mother cried so much, deep tears of anguish and resentment. We didn't cry for Maestro, but we may cry for Aluta or Robin or me when we fall tomorrow. I and the boys met social media about a year ago. He introduced himself to us and he was all warm and smiling. But now he seems to bite us in the back with sharp teeth, the earlier friendliness seems all forgotten. He's very scheming. Knows how to cause much havoc, especially amongst me and the boys. I enjoy him sometimes. Most times I would say. He even killed a girl last summer, when he showed everyone her pictures of her hidden regions. I never saw her after that. We all never did. I and the boys take some drinks. It keeps us happy, makes us feel better, makes us forget, all the worries and pains. Fredrick would say with some smoke in his lungs "I like to get high, cos I love the view from up here." And we would all laugh and drink some more. Grades at school don't matter to me and the boys. But it matters much to our parents, so we try to get some good ones, or at least okay ones. Fashion matters a lot, the latest Sneakers, coolest jeans and shirts. The girls love the guys who look good. So we try to keep up with the trend. That's what happened in that scene of my movie and more which you would learn of from others like me. That's what happened when I had hopped aboard older ship. Do you like my movie yet? Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Just stick around and watch some more. Maybe you will see some Experience. When I and the boys are dead, we would pass just like the rest. We made no impact, struck no blow on this generation. That's what some time behind some bars taught me, that's what he told me through the silence and solitude. So now I change. The boys are gone now. It's just me. Now I teach, the little tots. Guide them right, lecture them of good. Let's see what their generation creates. Mine is already fading fast away, as dust in the wind.

A mother's love is a quiet strength, a constant presence that nurtures, protects, and guides. In every family, mothers play an irreplaceable role, balancing countless responsibilities with grace and courage. Being a mother isn't just a job; it's a journey filled with love, sacrifice, and the everyday heroism of caring for others. Being a mother is one of the most challenging and rewarding roles imaginable. Mothers are the ultimate givers, often putting their children's needs above their own without a second thought. They are willing to bear any burden and would gladly take on all the pain to shield their children from hurt. This incredible love and selflessness are truly unmatched. From the moment we are born, our mothers become our first caregivers and protectors. They are there for every milestone, whether it's a scraped knee or a big life decision, offering comfort and guidance. They dress us, feed us, and create a safe space where we can grow and flourish. No one else in our lives thinks and cares for us quite like our mothers do. This is why our mothers deserve our deepest love and respect. They are the silent heroes who work tirelessly, often without recognition, to ensure our happiness and success. Their love is a constant, unwavering force, and their sacrifices are the foundation of everything we are and everything we aspire to be. In the quiet moments and the loud, in the joys and the struggles, mothers stand as pillars of strength and love. They are the unsung heroes whose every day is filled with acts of kindness, sacrifice, and courage. A mother's job is never done; it is a lifelong journey that shapes the lives of their children in profound ways.

A sudden crash jolted me awake. Yells of surprise followed, the sound seemed to have come from the kitchen, perhaps someone broke a plate. I could smell something tempting—fish frying. My belly rumbled in response, I couldn't ignore the lure of that delicious aroma. I slipped out of my makeshift house—the old, dusty store near the family's home. My stealthy steps were silent as I navigated past the garden, careful not to alert the dogs. The clattering of plates being set for dinner can be heard from outside. I settled in front of the kitchen door, a sliver of light slipping through the gap beneath it. The sun had set, and darkness covered everything, except for the comforting glow from the kitchen. As the family enjoyed their meal, I waited, hoping for a crumb or two. Though I wasn't adopted by them, I reside in this family's abandoned store. I'm just a stray—one of the many cats wandering the neighborhood in search of food. My days were spent hunting rats and scavenging garbage bins. When hunting failed, I'd sneak into houses and swipe whatever scraps I could find. Humans almost never greeted me warmly. They can be cruel. All I wanted was to fill my belly but they'd chased me away with brooms and slippers. I learned that leftovers from the kitchen sink would get me in less trouble than the more tempting food on the dining table. Yet, occasionally, the allure of the table's offerings was too strong, and I would risk a snatch. Once, a human caught me stealing a chicken leg. It was smaller than most adults but bigger than the little ones who screamed and chased me. Expecting a slipper to fly my way, I darted out of the house. But when I returned later that evening, I was met with an unexpected kindness. Instead of scolding, it offered me food from a bowl. It was the same food they gave to the dogs. It had a meaty aroma with faint traces of chicken. The dogs in this household lived in luxury, with humans going through the trouble of drying mashed chicken and shaping it into small circles for them. The family had finished eating, and I heard them preparing food for the dogs. The clinking of metal bowls and the sound of kibble being poured made me drool a bit. The kitchen door creaked open, a normal-sized human appeared—it was the mother. It wore its outdoor slippers and its gaze fell on me. Our eyes met briefly before it said sharply, “Why are you here, filthy parasite? Go away!” Its words stung. It's true my actions are considered parasitic as I, a stranger, welcomed myself in this household and live off a family who isn't mine. Yet, being likened to the ticks biting my fur made me pity and disgust myself. I scurried away, hiding behind the old outdoor restroom close enough to the kitchen for its light to reach. After the mother fed the dogs, it glared at me and warned me not to eat the dogs' food. I'm not foolish to try—those dogs were eight times my size. They'd rip me apart if I attempted to steal their food. Rain began to fall, the gentle drizzle prompted the mother to return inside. As the doors closed, I was left in the darkness. I slipped inside the restroom for shelter. The rain quickly picked up, and in the silence, I could only hear the dogs' loud munching and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on the stones. If the rain continued, it would be a cold night. I needed to get back to the shack or risk staying in the restroom till it stops. As I was about to leave, the kitchen door swung open again. A bright light spilled out, and I saw a silhouette, smaller than that of the mother—it was the little human. It had a bowl in its hand. “Oh good, you're still here!” it said with a hint of concern. It crouched down and dumped a small pile of fish bones near me. “Luckily, Mother didn't give these to the dogs,” it said, “I left a bit of meat on mine for you.” Some of the bones had bits of meat, not much, but enough. "Better eat that before the rain pours down," it said, then closed the door. The fish bones lacked the aroma of the cooked fish I had smelled earlier, not even close to the faint scent of the dogs' food. They barely had any meat and weren't very appetizing. But food is food; one must eat whatever they can to avoid starving. With the rain pouring down harder, I quickly gathered the fish bones and dashed back to the shack, each step hurried by the increasing intensity of the storm. Once I had transferred all the fish bones to the shack, I called to wake my young ones. They responded with their tiny voices. I checked on them, licking their fur as they nibbled on their meal. Afterward, I cleaned myself, my fur wet from the rain. The storm grew louder, a heavy downpour that seemed endless. After my little ones had finished their meal, I curled up with them, seeking warmth amidst the pile of old fabrics. The rain continued to rage outside, but we were safe for now. We survived another night, with bellies barely full, huddled together in our small refuge.

Power of hope For I will achieve these I need enough knowledge, force, energy and hope. In this way I am going to pass the exam at university of diplomacy. So the main subject of the enterence exam is English. Hence my mother took me tutor to learn English. My teacher was very kind person. I appreciated that person very much. At first I am not deal with these subject . Because it was my first attempt .in our study center have had a lot of facilities for wise student. For intense: they used to win dessert, books, money and other gifts. When I participated lesson at first time, one student who the smartest of group was legend and I green envious to her. Because she was also won present . And spirit fell for I had not ability as her. Days , week and month alike passed. Soon my teacher understand my condition. And she asked me not leave after the lesson. Then she said " xolida ! If I am not mistaken I know that you have lack of confidence and hope . Because of Lily who the smartest of the group. But when she came as a newcomer, she couldn't win or understand anything for 4 month . But she tried to do it very hard, and asked me amount of question. You can also do it." Then she told me that "I believe you" and it was inspired me most. After that I headed to home. Then I told to myself "even if I met with billion obstacle on my way , I would defeat all of them. And it was my true decision. After I arrived home, I started read my my book and I corrected my fault from the last test. Then I was also take extra lesson an online. Finally I improved my knowledge day by day. But slowly a few problem came to my life. The first was , one day my relatives visited our house for my birthday. But i was doing my homework quietly on the corner. Then they called me and said "why are you choose this difficult way ? What you expect from yourself ? You small, young and weak .you cannot do anything" and I felt disappointment for their rude word. After they left our house, I stared at one point upsetly for a while. And my my mother Saw my state. She told me " you should don't care about their rudeness. Don't forget from age 15 to 23 , the age where you meet with a lot of toxic and temporary people . They just say nonsense. Inspite of you should show off your ability to them". And these phrases helped me for put me such good mood. Then these night I didn't sleep and I did my object. After one week , we wrote essay to the teacher with our tutor student. Soon our teacher marked our essay . Then she informed that my essay was the best writing. And she gave bar of chocolate as a present. It was very simple but my first steep forward vivid Future. And I went to my home happily. So quickly I also became the more knowledgeable of the group. And I decided to register in multi level test exam . The more I felt strong , many people hated me. It seems also simple things to me . One day I slept while I was doing my homework. Because I exhausted at that time. However when I woke early , I couldn't my hands as lack of strength. Besides that my back was hurting . Then my mother took me a doctor. He said to me "you need to rest, if not it may lead you to bad consequences". However I cried after heard these, and I told him about my all plan , that is I said that I had to prepare for exam and that I had to go to tutor too . But he didn't listen to me and recommended me to get treatment in hospital. I used to study at night in hospital kitchen every day. So that no one would know. But then hospital chef found out me and brought a cup of coffee. Then she said " your hard working behavior take me aback. Drink it it may give you refreshing." I became glad and said thanks to her. So it happened every day until I left here. After that final day of treatment, my mother took me home. Next day I else went to tutor for check my all test. And it showed good result. But there were also a few mistake too. I felt nervous. But I didn't give up. Suddenly in exam day, I woke up with unbearable headache. Out of fear my mother almost cancelled my exam. However I didn't want it. Thus I took a medicine and went forward exam hall. All the test seemed very easy to me. As I prepared beforehand. After I did all the test . I left exam hall . My mom waited for me around 4 hours impatiently out of exam hall branch. And asked me to about exam. I told her about everything on the car, while we were going to home after one month exam result have been announced and I passed the exam. We were very happy, glad and merry. My life wasn't ended here whatever I have achieved, I did with my own personality, strength and hope . I have had billion reason to complain. however I didn't pay attention to them. They called me child, young and weak . But I proved that I can do it . And my strenge , hope is not lost yet. Despite of trouble , fell over that I met . I stood up and tired to do it. If people are still alive, they can do whatever they want inspite of any obstacle.

What drives a person crazy? What differentiates a crazy person from a sane one? I can't define it, but I see a thin line between insanity & consciousness, making it hard to distinguish at times. Even the "crazy" claim they're sane. Psychiatry labels psychiatric patients as sane but flawed due to brain function issues. Yet, I feel like a spectacle for those around me. I'm not crazy I'm just sick. I looked up from my notes to see whispers & glances directed at me. Dirk loves to philosophize, & while his ideas annoy me, I oddly agree with some. "How do they let this psycho exist in the university?!” I overheard. They view me as the odd one, Leo or as my father called me, the mental hospital's owner. I fled to engineering to escape the chaos. Ironically, I have dissociative identity disorder (DID), with seven personalities. Each has its voice & story, explaining their stares. My father keeps me out of the hospital, dosing me with sedatives to manage my personality. I hear them all, yet I don't know who the real me is. I mostly stay in control, except when Dirk's philosophy sneaks in or Jack shows up during bullying. As I approached my locker, I found a letter. I hesitated to open it until I saw the sender: Jana, my twin sister, in an asylum. Is insanity hereditary? I ponder our mother's dementia & my disorder. I finally opened the letter, only to find a piece of wood shaped like an X .tell me again how she sent it from the mental asylum. Then I heard the café news about a patient escaping: Jana Oris! This might explain her message. I'd never seen her as crazy; she was brilliant—until she became uncontrollably agitated & vanished for days. My father had tested her for mental issues, & that news hit hard. If she's crazy, can I trust anyone? At home, I examined the letter: “Cd Zkved Mrebm, Wsxrd, Nyxd doky Ieb Wonsmkdsyx.” The “X” was the key, representing ten. William, my analytical side, easily recognized it as Caesar's cipher. “The key tells how many letters to shift.” He explained the process, & I impatiently awaited the results. Soon, the message formed“St. Paul's Church, midnight, do not take your medication.” Why not take my meds? "idiot, there's another card!” William pointed out. I pulled it from the envelope, finding an old newspaper with headlines about hidden experiments & madness drugs. The date? 2004 I grabbed the letter again, trying to connect this newspaper with the encrypted message. Something felt off. Did Jana discover something dangerous, & Dad accused her of being crazy? Would he send her to an asylum for that reason? What about my medications? Is there something wrong with it? This is Illogical! Thoughts crashed in my mind. I placed the paper on the desk & noticed large writing on the back of the newspaper, which I initially thought was scribbles. My eyes widened at the sentence, “You were not sick.” I stepped away, breathing heavily. Is she honest? Not crazy? What if the medications caused my illness? Am I real, or just a personality created by the disease? Am I really sick? I sighed violently, feeling like crying for the first time since crying had left me. Everything will become clear tonight! When midnight arrived, I was in church until I heard her around from the corner. “I know you have questions,” she began. I shot back without sitting down, "What's the truth? You & my dad? Am I sick?! "Not your dad!" she sighed. I stared as she revealed a piece of paper. “We were adopted after our mother died in his hospital.” My features froze staring at the paper & my dad's signature. Your illness is not normal. It's from medications our father gave you for experiments.” Anger & shock surged inside me. “Do you have proof? That newspaper says there will be an investigation! How do I know this isn't another delusion?” Jana pulled out a stack of papers. “It's all here! I've searched for the truth.”The more I read, the more shocked I became. Details on the experiments & drugs made, the world collapse around me. Different personalities fought for control, all of them. Their voices clashed in my head, laughter mixed with screams, while I squatted, hugging my shoulders., begging to calm down, but Jana watched anxiously. As I trembled, she held me tight despite Jack's resistance. “Leo, I'm here. I won't leave you, everything will be ok! Don't be afraid!”I began to cry while she whispered reassurances. For the first time, I felt safe, knowing I wasn't alone. “I'm here for you, brother. We'll heal together. You're stronger than you think” Her words reignited hope within me. I felt the weight of my suffering lighten, replaced with determination to reclaim my life. With Jana by my side, we'll face what's coming. The road won't be easy, my dad, confronting him, informing the police. But together, piece by piece. As dawn broke, light crept through the church windows, illuminating our path. Embracing each other, we stepped out of the shadows, ready to face a hopeful but dangerous future.

Ever since I was a little brat with pigtails, art has always fascinated me. My mother said I would draw on every surface I could find—from the cupboards to the dressers, to the TV screen. If it could be scribbled on, my tiny baby hands, barely able to hold a crayon, were all over it. When I finally moved on to actual paper, I would get lost in the worlds I created, inventing stories for the characters I drew. By middle school, I was the kid in the back of the class, sketching away to my heart's content. I remember one time, a classmate asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Having no interests besides drawing, I told them I had no idea. They suggested, “What about those people who draw cartoons? You draw a lot, and you're good at it!” That comment stuck with me. When I got home, I went straight to our old Dell computer and looked up "people who draw cartoons," and according to Google, they were called "animators." Maybe it was the satisfaction of someone besides my mom acknowledging my work, or perhaps it was the realization that this could be an actual career, but I became fixated. I imagined myself working at a big animation company, sipping on my drink while doing what I loved most. Little me made it her mission to become an animator one day. I spent countless hours researching and watching tutorials on how to improve my art. My sketch pad was always with me, constantly trying to get better. But there was something missing. Every animation tutorial I watched featured a “drawing tablet.” Seeing this, little me wanted one desperately, but I knew I couldn't ask my mom for it. She was already working two jobs to support me and my three other siblings. I didn't want to burden her any further. So, I found ways to earn the money myself. I offered my drawing services to my classmates in exchange for cash, knocked on neighbors' doors to walk their dogs, and did chores for other people—I did everything I could to raise the money. Every peso I saved felt like a step closer to my dream. I remember the thrill of holding a crisp bill in my hand after walking Mrs. Garcia's dog for a week straight. It felt like victory, and I was convinced that nothing could stop me. My mom noticed my extra energy. She never asked why, but I could see the pride in her eyes every time I showed her the little money I had saved, telling her it was for my future. A couple of weeks went by, and my piggy bank grew heavier. I could barely contain my excitement when I finally had enough to buy the drawing tablet. I remember running to my mom, showing her the money I had saved. Just when I thought I was about to hold the tablet in my hands, life took an unexpected turn. My grandma fell seriously ill, and suddenly, every bit of money we had became crucial. Without hesitation, I offered my savings to help with her medical expenses. My mom was reluctant to accept it, knowing how much I had worked for it, but I insisted. My dream could wait; my grandma's health couldn't. The months that followed were tough. We watched over grandma, praying for her recovery. By some miracle, she got better, and we were all so relieved. Though my dream of owning a drawing tablet seemed further away, my heart was full knowing my Nana was okay and I had helped in a small way. When Christmas rolled around, I didn't expect much. We had spent so much on the hospital bills, I knew there wasn't much left for presents. But on Christmas morning, as we gathered around the tree, my mom handed me a box wrapped in bright red paper. I slowly unwrapped the gift, my hands trembling. I couldn't believe it—inside was the drawing tablet! With tears in my eyes, I looked up at my mom. She smiled and told me she had taken on extra shifts at work to buy it. That moment was pure magic. I hugged my mom tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. She had always been my biggest supporter, and this was the greatest gift she could have given me. I plugged in the tablet immediately; the feel of the stylus in my hand just felt so right. My imagination had found a new playground. I was practically glued to my tablet, practicing my technique every day. As my art improved, so did my confidence. So, I decided to start sharing my work online, making connections with other artists and like-minded people. High school came and went, and I had my sights set on animation school. Although the road wasn't easy, I was determined. Today, as I sit in my college dorm room, going to my dream school, I often think back to those early days. The determination, the hard work, and the belief that I could make it all seemed like a distant dream. But it was real, and it was mine. I dedicate everything I have achieved and will achieve to my mom. My journey from a little brat with pigtails drawing on cupboards to a budding animator has been filled with challenges and triumphs, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.