It was sunny and hot. Not just hot, it was extremely hot. Sun was literally roasting me and everything and everyone around me. Well, what else could I expect from Africa? My team and I drove by car, taking our time. We were driving through a local village. Everyone stared at us as if we were aliens. Especially children. I took a pictures of old cracked houses, half-naked toddlers and older kids, which smiled and played despite their suffering. It was so hurting and at the same time fabulous… After a few shots, we stopped. I got the things we brought to the citizens of here out of the trunk. The children started sprinting towards us. I laughed, and gave them toys and candies. Not much later their parents came, and we provided them with fresh water, flour, sugar, milk, first aid-kits and other necessary things. They thanked us, they were delighted, and I took pictures again. Someone even began crying. We were sobbing too. Afterwards, the guys from my team played football with the children. I preferred to take a walk and make some shots. I wandered and wandered until I met a boy, sitting lonely and somehow sad, like the only flower on the field. He was about 5 years old. «Hey, little kid» I said. Fortunately, I was one of those in my team who knew their language. He did not answer. Instead, he looked at me with his big intense eyes, full of pain and simultaneously love. «Do you… do you understand me?» I asked. He nodded. «Why are you not playing with other kids? And… Where are your toys or… candies?.. Wait, did you even get some?». «No» he said quietly. His voice was gentle as little cockle bells. «Where can I get them here?». «Me and my friends made a gift for your people. You didn't know? I thought all people who knew said to entire village». «No. I was here. But I saw that auntie Uzuri, our neighbor, ran in that way. Is it why she ran away?». «I guess». «I see» he said, then he looked far away. «Aren't you sad?». «Should I be sad?» he smiled weakly. «If I were you, I would be». «I am not». «That's good» I was glad. «Weren't you curious why that aunt ran? You did not ask?». «No» he answered sadly. He was silent for a while, then whispered: «My sister is very sick. Now she is sleeping, that is why I decided to go outside and breathe some air». «Pity…». How terrible it was! What was worse, we had nothing to gift them with. I should ask some stuff from my team. Later. Then I recalled something. I had lollipops in my pocket! My little niece gave me them before our fly. Thank you, niece. «Here, take it. It is not much but…» I got out two candies. At that moment, his smile was almost ear-to-ear. He took them with his thin little hands, and said «Thank you!..» He took both candies, and opened them. Then he offered me one. «Take it» he said. «What is it for?» I giggled. «For your kindness». These words melted my heart. He continued holding candy, and I took the picture of this ineffable moment. «Keep it» I said then. «Give it to your sister». I cuddled the most softhearted person I ever met and left him with words «I'll be back soon!» Tomorrow other volunteers came. We… well, I called them because of that one boy. I ran up to his house and said to him «Come on, there are medicines for your sis, water and food». He was over the moon and was jumping for joy. After few days, we travelled to another village and continued volunteering. I still ponder about that boy and his action a lot. As a photographer, I saw a million of things which wondered me, however this time it was something more than just «amazing». Indescribable. He lives in situation not suitable for humans, but did not lost his humanity.

“Do you think it will be worth it?” an anxious Chukwuka asked his sister Adaeze. “I don't know; I sure do hope so," she replied. For almost a decade now, Chukwuka and Adaeze have lived in a run-down apartment in Lagos State, Nigeria, near the border between Nigeria and the Benin Republic. They lost their mother, who had been their primary caretaker since the death of their father. His death left a void in their family, forcing their mother to sell their home and move to a tiny apartment. Unfortunately, their mother contracted HIV after being tested with an infected needle at an underfunded government hospital. Adaeze and Chukwuka spent the little wealth they had caring for their mother, but unfortunately, it was not enough to save her. That all happened eight years ago; now, at 28 and 26, Chukwuka and Adaeze live only with the memory of the family they once had. The death of their father forced them both out of school, and now Chukwukwa is a petty trader earning less than twenty thousand naira a month while Adaeze is unemployed. But there is hope. Amid all this tragedy and despair, hope arrived from an unexpected place. “We are pretty much packing our entire lives and moving in with a stranger,” Chukwuka said, seeming more anxious. “I know this is a less-than-ideal arrangement, but we can't keep on living like this,” Adaeze responded. A man claiming to be their father's brother had reached out to them and offered to take them in. Chukwuka is very skeptical and detests the thought of leaving his home, but Adaeze is open to the idea. The next morning, they begin their five-hour journey to Ado-Ekiti in Ekiti State, where the man resides. Adaeze and Chukwuka opted to take a bus from Lagos to Ogun State, then take another bus from Ogun State to Ekiti. They arrived at the bus station early in the morning and boarded the bus, getting the best seat available under a cool air conditioner. Adaeze quickly fell asleep, leaving a perplexed Chukwuka to think of possible scenarios that could happen. His thoughts were gloomy and dark and always ended with either him or Adaeze being killed. The bus arrived at a station in Ogun State, and Adaeze and Chukwuka boarded their next bus. Chukwuka felt a lot more relaxed, and she found it very easy to fall asleep again. Adaeze too fell asleep. As the bus progressed closer to Ekiti, the driver stepped down along with some other passengers, unknown to the two siblings. A man dressed in black took over the driver's seat and began driving the bus to an unknown location. Adaeze opened her eyes, looked around, and saw the bus was empty and parked in what seemed like a forest. Two men rushed into the bus and began shouting at both Adaeze and Chukwuka to come out. The two siblings were shaking and confused. Chukwuka began lamenting and shouting, “Oh Adaeze, see what you've done. I knew I should have stayed home!” he screamed. Adaeze remained silent, struggling to process what had just happened. The two were escorted to an abandoned building and told that they would be unable to leave. Adaeze, upon hearing this, began to beg the strange men, "Please, sir, let us go; we have nothing; we are poor and can barely feed ourselves." The men looked at her with no empathy and left the room. Chukwuka began shouting at Adaeze, “How could you do this to us?! How could you lead me into following you on this suicidal journey to meet the unknown? We are finished." Adaeze kept silent, deep down, though she knew what he said was true; it was her fault. Two nights had gone by. Adaeze and Chukwuka sat in different corners of the room, silently waiting for their fate. A strange man entered the room. “The boss will be arriving today, then he will decide what to do with you two," he said. That sentence sent chills down Adaeze's spine. “We have to escape,” she said, “There's a hole in the ceiling; if we can jump high enough, we can crawl through the vents and escape”. Adaeze did it first, then Chukwuka reluctantly followed. They crawled for about 10 minutes before they made it out, but they had one problem. They were trapped in a forest. Chukwuka dropped to the floor and lamented, saying, “Where do we go!? We're going to die of starvation; all hope is dead!!”. Adaeze responded, “Get up! We've come too far to give up." Immediately after she said this, a brown Jeep appeared from a hidden path. A white woman named Sophia came down and offered them a ride, saying, “You guys look lost; let me take you to a safer place.” Adaeze knew it would be disastrous to still attempt to find their uncle, so she accepted her offer. Sofia was a 67-year-old adventurer. She was kind enough to take the two siblings in with her. She gave them a home, clothes, food, and water. She also sponsored their education so they could get decent jobs. Despite all the lamenting by Chukwuka, Adaeze was fierce and kept them safe. Chukwuka was wrong; hope was not dead.

I adore white marble, Love frescoes and moss on trees, Go wild for avant-garde. Cherish seaside moments, Towers and tombs, Ladybugs. Compact cities, bus rides, Watching people, Red headphones. Filming videos, moon, stars, Waves, mountain wind, Serene tea evenings. Hugging mom, Loving my body, Blinking lashes. Freedom to eat, Grateful for my parents, Happy to write these words. I am 21 years old. My story is both interesting and mundane. It flows calmly, like a peaceful river, morphing and bending under natural circumstances. I divide my life into three parts. Part One: Beginnings The start is quite dramatic and sad, but don't worry; it was quite a while ago. My biological mom died soon after I was born. My dad, already with my 11-year-old sister, couldn't nurture us both. Thankfully, he had two brothers and two sisters. My aunts and uncles took proper care of me. I was always between the village and the city, traveling regularly. But I especially loved the village: the chirping of birds, insects, the variety of animals, rainy days, and small children like me running outside, stargazing, and looking at the clouds without a care in the world. I loved creating DIY things and gifting them to my relatives. I strived to be as creative and fair as possible. If someone got a knitted scarf, another would get something of equal value—a super cute and detailed drawing, a notepad, and a scrunchie. I remember walking around with only one earring for a while, afraid of piercing my ears. Now, I have eight piercings: two on my helix, four on my ears, one septum, and one lip piercing. It's funny how life can turn around. I was exceptional in my village class and agreed with my mom's (aunt's) opinion (my Russian language, literature, and homeroom teacher) about applying to prestigious schools in the city. There was one particular school I dreamed of attending. It required extensive knowledge. After thorough preparation, I finally entered the examination room. But my heart sank after the first math test; I wasn't keeping up and solved only half the problems. Disappointed, I burst into tears when I saw my mom waiting outside. We almost returned to the village without trying the second round, but something told me to try anyway. While studying biology, my mom received a phone call. After the call, she came to me with a happy smile and said, "YOU GOT IN!" I knew what she meant immediately, and a waterfall of kisses followed. She always seems more anxious, happy, or nervous for me than I am myself. That's what it's like when you're a Capricorn and your mom is a Virgo. This is how the first part of my life ended—characterized by peacefulness, total protection, and love, despite some hurdles and struggles. Part Two: Teenage Years The teenage years are my second life stage. Studying from 6 am until 1 am, striving to perfect my grades, participating in olympiads, projects, competitions, and extracurriculars like dance club, volunteering, and Chinese, was an inseparable part of my life. I saw the highest number of clever and intellectual people and wanted to be just like them. This was the hardest and most curious part of my life, where I formed my worldview. I fell in love with a girl for the first time and dated a boy. I was deeply into science. I achieved great victories, won honorable places and mentions, expanded my worldview, and learned to be productive and disciplined. I don't like talking about this part of my life much since it was quite boring, filled with endless studying. Part Three: Introduction to Real-Life The next part of my life began when I moved to Hungary to study Business Management and Administration at Debrecen University. Initially, I imagined participating in tons of extracurriculars, opening my own business, and just chilling. The reality turned out differently. I started tutoring in the first semester, earning my own money without asking my parents for anything. I have already visited 11 countries, although I never prioritized travel before. I went to concerts, volunteered at an Ed Sheeran concert and several festivals, showed Turkey to my mom, found my place in Berlin, and, most importantly, got an opportunity to escape the rat race. I am still learning about new opportunities and seem to understand what I am supposed to do. I am incredibly grateful for the life given to me, and this is far from the last part of my journey!

If I remember my childhood, I was mostly a very belligerent and cheerful child. Almost every day I came home with a bleeding nose and a torn shirt. Every time I used to gossip behind the backs of my schoolmates who fought, I thought my decision was right. One day, a boy and I got into an argument about picking fruit from an ordinary tree. That boy insulted me in front of my friends, and I got angry. I couldn't control myself, and when he turned around, I threw a stone at him. The stone hit the boy on the head, and blood started to flow from his face. My friends around us ran away in fear. I was in a hurry and wanted to run away. But I decided to help him. The boy did not say anything, took out a handkerchief from his bag, and held his head. Fortunately, the wound was not serious, and the bleeding stopped after a while. As I washed my hands in the ditch near the tree, my anger had subsided, and I was thinking about why I had thrown the stone at him, because at that moment I realized that I had almost lost my mind. The boy dusted his clothes and started to leave without saying a word, picking up his bag. I was shouting after him to stop. He did not look back and walked slowly along the side of the road. The boy's curly hair glistened, either from the trail of blood or from the rays of the setting sun. I didn't know what to say to the boy as I walked by him. Both of us were walking together in silence. The boy and I were returning home together when he entered a restaurant at the beginning of the road and took out two samsas. He gave me one of the samsas. I was very surprised because I hadn't even apologized to him yet. Later, I found out that his mother worked as a simple dishwasher in that restaurant, and the boy gave me the samsa that he got from his mother for no reason. I went home and thought for a long time. I couldn't say sorry to the boy's face. I wrote all my words on a piece of paper and gave it to him during the break. He forgave me. Later, we became very close friends with him. Sometimes I think that he could take revenge on me, but he never did. Even though he was poor, he was always kind to me. But I know for sure that even if he were rich, he would not take revenge on me. But he is now dead, and I miss my friend very much. It was the greatest experience of my life. Currently, I have successfully resolved many conflicts; I have turned enemies into friends; I try not to make a decision when angry in any conflict, not to be jealous of someone, and to do good to my enemies. This experience was given to me by a friend.

1- My 1- love 2- for you 3- has kept growing, 5- continues soaring to new heights, 8- and will never stop expanding to galactic scales. 13- As the Fibonacci sequence tends to infinity, so does my love encompass eternity. I could read his letter repeatedly and still wonder how his words are reflected in his actions. We have been romantically together for almost two years now, yet I keep falling in love with him every single day. I never thought that I would feel this kind of love in my whole life- a love that's selfless, worth fighting for, inspiring, something that teaches me to be a better person everyday. A great blessing that I consider is to have that love be reciprocated and even more. I am writing this short story for us. Someday, we may go back to this page and be reminded of our beautiful love that I believe is worth a story to tell. Our story begins in a simple first meeting at a McDonald's branch in Kraków, Poland, 2016. We were Erasmus Mundus masters students back then. My fellow Filipino classmates, who happened to be his former workmates in the Philippines, introduced us to each other as we all decided to travel and explore some European cities together on that Christmas school break. It was only a week-long trip, yet a memorable one. A trip with fellow Filipinos is always an enjoyable one- sharing jokes, laughter, meals and even money, and not worrying about any cultural differences. I got to know him as a friend of my friends, but not yet to a personal and up-close level. We haven't contacted each other again after that Poland trip, until some time in 2018 when our Filipino group planned another trip together again. This time, it was in Switzerland. Such a nice trip and great company, wandering in the green pastures and picturesque Swiss cities. We talked, but again not to a personal and up-close level yet- maybe we really didn't think about each other nor we consider ourselves friends when we are not travelling together. Anyway, how I loved my experiences as an Erasmus Mundus student. Little did I know that through this scholarship grant, I would get to know the person whom I will love for the rest of my life. We had another travel experience together, in 2020, after the lockdown, when we visited our common friend in Germany at the same time. We were not Erasmus Mundus masters students anymore in 2020, rather we were 2nd year PhD students in our own fields. I would say that it is in this travel where we got more comfortable with each other. We started talking on casually like good friends, sharing stories and experiences back when we were still in the Philippines before our master studies, drinking beers together, and talking about PhD lives. It is in these travel that I sensed how true and kind person he is. He loves his family. He always stands for what is right and just. He values education. After 2 years, we met again in Germany. This time, he has just finished his PhD and just started in his first job in Europe. Yet he was the same humble man I got to know better in 2022. As for my status, I haven't finished my studies at that time. I had just resigned from my work contract as a PhD student, and found my first job in Europe as well. I was so down with my PhD that I had to quit it and moved to a new country. I was suffering from mental and emotional challenges and all I wanted was to start a new life somewhere, alone, and far away from my PhD life. I have worked so hard for in the past 3 years, yet somehow I was not able to manage well and ended up feeling I have not accomplished anything. We met in Germany, we started to talk more often as we are sharing experiences in moving in to a new country and starting our first jobs in the industry. I was able to share to him why I had to quit my PhD studies, but little did I know that he was so concerned with me. He truly understood what I had to go through, yet he wanted to motivate me again. He didn't want me to just give up my PhD. He knew perfectly all the struggles, yet he still believed in me. During those times, he encouraged me to keep fighting. I explained to him that I was having anxiety and depression with finalizing my PhD and it was a hard time for me. There were time when he would remind me of my Chemistry knowledge in order to explain my analytical results, read my discussions and comment on them, and asked me practice questions in preparation for my defence to the examination board. He guided me until I was able to pick myself up again. Fast forward, I finished my PhD in 2023 with flying colours, and we are still together in Germany, working in our same respective companies, and living our lives together in the best possible ways we can, and always with smiles in our faces. To love, to inspire, to motivate, to keep learning- these are, I think, the greatest lessons I'm learning from him since then and until our lives remain.

Vivid imagery and descriptions in a story will remain in your mind long after reading. While dialogues make a statement to ignite your understanding, descriptive language makes a story come alive to leave a lasting impression. A story should feature dialogues complementing great narratives to make it an immersive read. How does a story capture the interest of a reader? The first few lines in a story are important elements to attract a reader to pick up your book. Readers are interested in reading a story until the end when the descriptions are clear, concise, and engaging enough to pull them into the story. While poets often leave the interpretation of a poem to the reader, narratives must be imparted effectively for understanding. When I delve into a book, I am drawn by the vivid imagery and descriptions in the narratives. If an author has painted a captivating, relatable picture of what the book represents, it would interest me to read the whole story. Here's an example: 'Witnessing their love for each other, were the blue corals and pebbles that lined the seabeds, while the rays from the sun glistened like pearls on the shimmering waters.' Dialogues are important structure-building elements of a story. Dialogues add depth, and realism, and are a vital component to effective storytelling. However, stories can be told without them if the imagery and descriptions ignite an interest in a reader's five senses. ‘The Road' by Cormac McCarthy is a fine example of a successful fiction novel without dialogue that won the Pulitzer Prize in 2007. McCarthy concentrates on rich descriptions to attract the reader's senses, adding depth and rhythm to the story. He was so good that his book exemplified the power of descriptive language to pique a reader's interest and win the coveted title. A dialogue-free novel conveys a character's thoughts and reflections through internal monologues that will provide motivating insights into the story. Descriptions expressed profoundly empower a story. To engage your readers use aesthetic language and metaphors. ‘The lush, breathtakingly beautiful green landscape starkly contrasted the blue of the turquoise waters.' When describing an emotion, make sure the reader feels the story as it unfolds. In a reader's mind, he should be able to see, hear, taste and smell. This way you will engage a reader's senses to respond to your descriptions as you want them to. It is in the hands of the author to align a reader's thoughts with his. For instance, if you are talking about the sea, describe how deeply connected you are to the beauty and vast expanse of the ocean. How do the lapping waves affect you? Or the tides as they rush ashore? Use metaphors to describe nature's phenomenal wonder. ‘The translucent waters covered her feet in lyrical movements.' Write different descriptions of the scenes so you make the story intricately variable. They work wonders to create a lasting impression in the reader's mind. ‘The vivid imagery and descriptions in her writing capture the beauty and magic of the sea, likening the eyes to the breathtaking turquoise waters and exploring the wonders of the underwater world, including the delicate anemones.' In the above description, by referring to the anemones as delicate, the sea creatures' strength, vulnerability, beauty, and resilience are explained as they survive a rough underwater habitat. Through creative figures of speech, the readers will imagine and discover the magic of enchantment and intrigue in the words. ‘With eyes as breathtaking as the turquoise waters of the sea, she discovers the true magic of the island.' Textures, colours, sounds and smells are sensory details to focus on to build a rich setting for a story. Create an awesome emotional experience and add authenticity to your stories so readers will never forget how your book made them feel. Some of the stories I have read have impacted me emotionally to a great extent, and the words and imagery still evoke the same feelings as when I first read them. Authentic writing involves properly researched and truthful narratives incorporated into the story to create a deeper connection with the characters and themes. Storytelling is the ability to emotionally engage the reader and leave them feeling contented with your book at the end. Not only do vivid imagery and descriptions emphasise enrichment and broaden perspectives, but they also inspire personal growth. As an author, your goal is to impress a reader so that he will return to read more of your stories. Isn't that the dream of an author? To have his book recognised as a compelling read so that he attains credibility and is renowned as a writer. Storytelling is the art of weaving narratives and dialogues masterfully to enliven a reader's mind with a well-crafted story. Cheers to the great storytellers of all time.

There is not a single day here in the village of Maroź. Night followed by constant night is all the townspeople know. Daytime is a myth, a legend at this point. Not a single soul alive has seen, or felt the sun on their face. Cold dreary days are all that we have to look forward too. Until the prophecy of old is fulfilled that is. The elders in our village have passed down this tale for decades. A young man on his 21st birthday will come into his magic and enter the spirit realm where he will stand the test against time. He is to save the Sun Goddess who has been lost to the spirit realm, a prisoner of the dark spectral world. She has been gone for so long, no one believes in her story anymore. The start of the end of this tale, begins now. The rain was beating so hard upon the ceiling, the wood slats couldn't squeeze tight enough for the moisture to not penetrate. The liquid, making its way down the posts, dropped onto Koulders face. Waking him for the tenth time that night. He just wanted to sleep past midnight and get his birthday over with. Ever since his mother passed away he has not had much motivation to enjoy these days. He decides to sit up and think. It was all he was good at anymore. It didn't get him very far nor did it get his mind off hard subjects. Trauma was his way of life, all he knew. All he would ever be. He would have laid back down and drifted off had it not been for a short rap on his door. Filled with a sense of anxiety at a social visit, Koulder made his way to the door. There stood a hooded figure drenched from the nights torrents. Koulder slammed the door shut and locked it. He didn't know who that was and he wasn't prepared to find out. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Another rap much louder then the first sent him throwing the door open and demanding the visitor state his business. The hood came down. There stood a woman of middle age, with long brown locks tied up in a bun. She stated she was cold wet and hungry and asked if Koulder could help her. Unable to turn the poor creature away he invited her in. Once inside the woman was no longer a mere woman. A sorceress, old and evil and of the spirit realm had just entered his domain, knowing very well who Koulder is and the prophecy he doesn't know, that's about to kick in. She attacks Koulder with his back to her, holding him by his neck against a wall. He doesn't know what to think everything happened so quickly. She is too strong to pry off of him and the evil dead stare in her eyes was all too much for him Koulder passed out from the anxiety of the situation. Waking up, Koulder is surrounded by a thick white fog. He is not in the dwelling he knows so well. Feeling full of energy all of a sudden, he gets up to investigate. As he stands he here's a woman scream. Wanting to investigate he heads to where he heard her. Flying ghostly apparitions appear left and right, Koulder is realizing he is in the spirit world that his master had warned him about. Go head to head with a Banshee and she could send you to the spirit world where it's hard to remember who and why you are while she she dines on your body in the waking world. Koulder was lucid enough to remember his masters words. His magic hadn't grown in him yet so he was unprotected in a hostile world. Reaching the area he heard the scream he is blinded by a light so bright he can't even comprehend what it is. Behind the light, the silhouette of a very beautiful and naked woman stood trembling. She sees Koulder and begs him to leave before the Tempest returned. An evil old banshee more powerful than the simple monster he has encountered. Seeing her standing there vulnerable broke something inside him. In just a short time Koulder, who has surely turned 21 by now, was rudely awoken by the angry leaking sky, attacked by a banshee and sent to a creepy land to come across a beautiful naked angel and she is terrified. Too much has happened to make him just turn away. Focusing and breathing, he can feel the power surge inside him. Something is awakening. He won't run. He will get his peace and rest. He will save this woman. Knowing the realm has a portal from past stories, Koulder and the mysterious woman set out to find it. Aware the tempest could catch them at any moments notice. Before the left he set a trap for the old banshee so she wouldn't be able to follow them. The bright woman told a story as old as time itself tho it felt like hours to her. She was kidnapped from her home in the sky. Forced to live in darkness so the banshee could have full domination in the dark. She was the Sun Goddess. Recognizing Koulder was the man to fulfil the prophecy, the bright lady touched his forehead. Power shot out of his head and into the sky above him, illuminating the space between them. He was the lamp to her light. Thru the portal she kills the banshee and together they bring the sun back to a world lost to the dark for way too long.

June of 2022. So far, I got an IELTS to get privielege from English subject and focused on studying the newly added subject of law for the entrance exams to the Tashkent State University of Law. I clearly remember the times that I read a law book for eight hours from morning till night without even going to school. This went on until January, and by January I had almost finished the books like 20 times. At that times I got very deep know to win against the law students of our whole region. I've won all the money from block tests, all the prizes, and some education centres even rejected me, just because I've been taking all the money. It was a wonderful times. And then June came. It was very difficult to study in the heat, it was very difficult to not sleep in the afternoon, but I did not stop, because there was very little time left until August. The exam was supposed to be on August 15th. On the night of July 28th, I remember very precisely, I was walking into the next room after my native language class and I heard a girl saying: "Exam dates have been announced, August 1st!!!!" And I was shocked when I heard that. I came home quickly. When I got home, I started planning for the next four days. I'll give you an idea of how hard I studied in those four days -- four days of reviewing the 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th grade law textbooks, the Constitution, the 6th, 7th, 8th, 10th grade history of Uzbekistan, and 10 block tests. So imagine that I did a 15-day plan in just four days. And finally, the long-awaited day that I never thought would be so tragic for me finally arrived. I was so excited about the test building that I felt 100% confident that I had the maximum knowledge to pass the test. As I walked into the building, I felt more confident and took a big step. The tests were distributed, and I had two hours. I opened the textbook, and I did my first law exam. And I was so happy to open it, because it was so easy to do the law test, and I could do it in just eight minutes. And the joy of doing compulsory subjects has stayed with me. But as soon as I opened the math compulsory block, all of a sudden the excitement was gone. I struggled to answer those three questions, and I was about to give up, but then I remembered the difficulties I had faced during my matriculation, and I felt that those three questions were nothing. Again, with the fire in my eyes, I was thinking logically, drawing, and working on the questions that I couldn't get out of math. I was so excited, I thought it was going to be at least 187.9, score, so I started copying the answers from textbook to the actual title.There was very little time left to copy, I had to copy two questions per minute. I got it right on time. I was so excited about the fact that I could now compare my transcript to my transcript and shout it out loud when I got out, that I took my transcript and compared it to my transcript. And I looked question 41, which was a B in my test book and an A in the title. I couldn't believe my eyes and I checked it three times. It was as if ice water had been poured on the fire in my eyes.I quickly handed the title to the controller, and a minute ago, the boy who was thinking about shouting loudly could not even make a little sound. I've gotten to the point where I don't want to step out of the binomial that I've stepped into. I felt like a celebrity when I walked out, because there were so many people who knew me and wanted to know if I had scored 189 score or not. Unfortunately, I had misplaced the question, which was worth 3.1 points, in the exact title, and I couldn't fix it, and no one would listen to me. Imagine, from January to August, I never scored less than 186 to 189 on any of the block tests, but I may have mistaken the easy test two or three times over the block test. I don't regret making mistakes because of my lack of knowledge, but I'm hurt that I made mistakes when I had access to the grant with my knowledge. So I was recommended to TDYU as a contract student. My family felt sorry for my work, but they encouraged me, believing that there was some wisdom in it ... .

"So, you've finally caught up, huh? It took you agents quite a while. As for your 'kings and queens,' they're probably too busy lounging in their opulence to care about the real struggles of the people," she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. The agent tightened his grip on the weapon, a glint of irritation in his eyes. "Watch your tongue! You're in no position to provoke. We're here to deliver justice, whether you like it or not." The woman, undeterred, maintained her defiant stance, shielding her family with the strength born out of desperation. Her eyes glared at the agent, a fire of defiance burning within her. "Justice? You're just puppets dancing to the tune of those in power. You won't find justice, only oppression," she retorted with a steely resolve. Her mind raced, searching for any opportunity to shield her family from the looming threat. The agent, unmoved by her words, signaled to his comrades, tightening the grip on his weapon. "Enough talk. Your rebellion ends here." The atmosphere grew tense as the woman braced herself, ready to face whatever unjust fate awaited her. The lead agent's voice reverberated through the room, a stern declaration of charges that hung heavily in the air. "Ezzah Edison, you are under arrest for plotting and leading a rebellion against the government, a treasonous act that undermines the very fabric of our society. Your involvement in initiating a conspiracy against the I-Landers, spreading false rumors, engaging in hate speech, and attempting murder can no longer go unpunished. Surrender yourself voluntarily, and justice will follow. Refuse, and we will use force to uphold the law."The weight of the accusations pressed on Ezzah like an unrelenting force, but her eyes never wavered.With a defiant gaze, Ezzah stood tall despite the circumstances. "Arrest me if you must, but know that the rebellion will not cease with my capture. You can imprison my body, but the spirit of resistance will endure," she declared, her words cutting through the tense atmosphere. The children, wide-eyed and terrified, clung to each other, absorbing the gravity of the situation. The lead agent, unmoved by her rhetoric, motioned for his team to secure Ezzah. The room became a battleground of wills, a clash between the enforcers of authority and a woman determined to defy the chains of oppression. As they approached her, she couldn't help but notice the trembling hands of her children and the anguished expression on her husband's face. Ezzah Edison, once a pillar of strength in her community, now faced the harsh reality of the consequences of her actions. The intruders closed in, their movements deliberate and unyielding. The sound of metal restraints echoed in the room as they prepared to take her into custody. In that moment, Ezzah glanced at her family, finding solace in their eyes despite the fear. She whispered words of reassurance to her children, promising that the fight for justice would endure. As the agents restrained her, she cast one last defiant look at the lead agent, a silent vow echoing through the room. "Fear not, my cherished ones. Fear not, my beloveds. In the shadow of adversity, the robin and swan shall stand guard over the sanctuary of our souls," Ezzah whispered tenderly, her voice carrying the weight of a mother's unwavering love and a rebel's undying spirit. The arrest unfolded like a somber dance, a struggle between an individual's quest for freedom and a system determined to maintain control. The children, now forcibly separated from their mother, clung to the remnants of familiarity, their world forever altered by the intrusion of authority. The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the bustling village outside—a stark contrast to the turmoil within the Edison household. "As I tread the path to trial, know this – I am the embodiment of truth, and you stand on the wrong side of history. The grim reaper may soon beckon, but the flames within my spirit shall endure. Fire, my friends, cannot be extinguished with more fire," Ezzah declared with a serene yet resolute demeanor, leaving the gathered villagers with a lingering sense of defiance.

My first memory of COVID was late at night in December of 2019. I saw it on the news, looking at my phone in a pitch black room – a room in the apartment my family had just moved into. An apartment that was small, 11 stories high, and about 7,000 miles away from where I used to call home. When I was ten, my parents shifted the entirety of my life by moving us to Kyoto, Japan. What made me remember this moment - looking at my phone at the news in the midst of unpacking and struggling to live in this completely new culture - is that I told people. I told others about COVID and everyone shrugged it off; as did I, not realizing it would change the trajectory of our lives – everyone's life. A few months later: It's February, 2020. Light was streaming in through the thin brown curtains of my open-windowed classroom at school, all 20 students sleeping on chairs or squishing onto the one stained couch at the back of the room, all looking for a cushioned seat to sink into. Three teachers were jammed in the room. First they said we would be wearing masks. I didn't think anything of it, as did everyone else. The following week, my teacher, standing in the shadows of the light bleached room, said we would all be going into online classes. Everyone was silent. No one understood. Throughout the next three years the borders in Japan stayed closed. Traveling back home over the summer required 5 hours of paperwork after 20 hours of flying, plus quarantine. Only at the start of this year did the Japanese government finally release their grasp on the Mask Mandate. Even today about 85% of people still wear masks; it's like a regularity now, a parasite that people have learned to live with and don't know how to live without. I was in online school for over nine months in total, and staying home wasn't the worst part - it was being told I was going to be able to go to school in person, and then a few weeks after actually being able to see people, we would have to go back into online school. March 2021: The waves licked at my feet in beautiful Okinawa Japan in the late afternoon during spring break. We had been at in-person school for five months when I got the email –- we would be going into online classes for two weeks. That turned into over two months. In the US people sat outside their houses on lawn chairs, talking to their neighbors through their windows. Japan doesn't have front lawns, or back ones. They have windows that are only opened when clothes need to be baked in the sun because dryers take too much space in the house. I talked to almost no one for a year, and, having just moved to a polar opposite country to the one I had been previously living in, I felt trapped in a cage labeled “overwhelmed.” For the first couple months where we lived free of COVID in Japan, there were many foreigners visiting. Where we lived, we weren't surrounded by only Japanese, but also those from the west who somewhat made it feel like home. Then, the borders closed, and the land was quiet. My world felt silent for two years. As I was able to begin riding the train again each morning, not trapped in my home, I realized how being foreign and living in Japan was not pleasing to some. The stares. People crossing to the other side of the street when you are near. Moving to a different bus seat when you get too close. Though every country experiences these problems, living in a closed-off Japan, trapped from the rest of the world - trapped me too. But then I met a girl online, and she filled my life with light. And soon I met another, who lived close by and came over to my house often. Though there were days I felt alone, I knew that I had wonderful people around me - and I will never forget the hilarious Zoom calls with my friends from school… I miss them. I moved back to the US in June, and not wearing a mask felt odd, but freeing. I now live in Texas, and I see that everyone talks to everyone. They are kind – they say excuse me if they are in your way, and they smile at you more often than not. Being in Japan, not talking to many people for so long due to language barriers and the extensive shut down COVID inflicted on the country made me realize how deficient I was in the complex action that was being social. Despite all of this, Japan was a blessing, and COVID wasn't a curse. It was painful; but it also made me stronger. I understood the meaning of looking out for myself, and to simply enjoy life as it was. Sitting at home and typing at my laptop for a whole summer resulted in an entire book that has infusions of my life in it, something I never would have done if COVID didn't occur and I didn't have the time. COVID resulted in me learning about myself, even if it was a struggle to realize that. Those four and a half years were worth it, even through the hard times, and experiencing the entirety of COVID in Japan, though difficult, allowed me to see the goodness in a newfangled place halfway across the world.

I only remember that dark, windy night. The accident. I was having a dreadful headache. I hit the wrong pedal, I accelerated. From there on, I can't remember anything, just me waking up in an ambulance. I couldn't hear anything, just my own breath hyperventilating. Immediately, I arrived at the hospital and the nurses took me to a private room to be checked. It was bizarre that they checked me constantly, which led me to believe I was very injured. I was trying to sleep when I heard a doctor entering the room. When I opened my eyes, I saw a tall man with a white coat. He said that I needed to be transferred to another hospital where I could be monitored by specialized equipment. They took me to a black van where I couldn't see anything through the windows. They started talking. I couldn't hear any words from the stress I was experiencing. Abruptly, I started feeling very dizzy. —Do you know where you are?— That was the first thing I heard after waking up. I was sitting in a chair looking at the wall, zoned out. I just got transferred or at least that was what they told me. Apparently, there was an accident; I can't remember anything. —Pass patient 16 to a room, he is not answering— No, no, no. What room? Get me out of here. I got to the room. I want to get out of this place, yet I don't even remember my name. I just want to get out. —Get me out of here— I repeated to myself while the people in white coats were connecting stuff to my body. I don't want this, make it stop! —Get me out of here— I yelled, but apparently, no one heard me. —Get me out of here— I cried out for help, again no one heard. I was trembling. I couldn't feel my body, which to be honest, I didn't even recognize as mine anymore. My heartbeat quickened. Tick tock I heard a clock. —Get me out of here!— Tick tock. —Get me out— Tick tock. —Get me— Abruptly, everything went dark. Silence. I wasn't dead, I couldn't be. —Patient 16– then everything was bright again. —You blacked out— said the man in a white coat. Then everything went back to normal, if normal is the word to define this whole situation. The past days, the doctor said I've made improvement both physically and mentally. I don't know how I made progress if I never felt off. However, I do experience nightmares, and I don't like the looks I am getting from the people in white coats. They seem as if they are hiding something. The doctor said fresh air would be good for me and that I needed to go for a walk. I don't like going for walks, it scares me. The voices in the halls scare me; nevertheless, I'll go later. I don't know where I could end up. I evaded the halls; I couldn't help myself. They're too scary, so I made my way through the garden. I ended up in a forest with yellowish-leaves. I lost track of time. There were stones on the ground with names of people, also there was a big hole that looked as if it was going to be filled up soon. I panicked; I don't like to panic because of the voices, the voices that come from nowhere. They talked about death. I refuse to think I'm going insane because if there is one thing I am is sane. Rain poured down, it felt like acid. As the rain showered on my shoulders, I ran. ——— My phone rang; I picked it up wondering what could've happened so late at night. —Dr. Collins here— I answered. —Yeah Collins, I've got a patient here; he's outside. He's at the yard, you know, the yard— he emphasized, it was obvious he was at the graveyard, but why? —Also this patient doesn't match any of the files I have here, Is he a…— —Patient of mine?— I interrupted, anyone could be hearing. —Yes, yes he is. I'm on my way— then I hung up. Before I left I checked on our latest operating procedures on our “volunteers”; most of them were still in progress. I went quickly to the main lobby. Once the door opened, the cold wind of late autumn night flew through my coat, down the hall Dr. Bailey spotted me. —Collins!— she called my attention. —Bailey— I responded. —Our procedure with 66 was a succes, yet there is a patient outside, patient 16– she stated. It couldn't be 16 he was… —I'll hurry, thank you— I interrupted my thoughts and arrived at the CCTV room. —Stephan?— —Hello sir, you see the patient, he's been staring at that stone for at least ten minutes— I then saw him turn around. When he saw the camera, he ran into the woods. I had to go. —Sir, there's a gate, after our last escape we reinforced it— I left without answering. ——— I felt scared, the eye on the wall, it looked at me. I ran into the woods. The voices kept screaming, sounds of pain. Someone screamed. I felt whimpering, the voices were no longer there, no more screams. There was a thunderstorm. A shower of lighting hit the ground. As the last strike hit, so did my body, and everything went cold.

LaBlanche, an intrepid detective with an eagle eye for detail, returned home late one night. She had been out on a case all day, and all she could think about was pouring herself a glass of wine, and curling up with a good book. But as she opened the door, something felt off. The house was too quiet, too still. LaBlanche had been in many dangerous situations in her life, but she had never been quite so scared as she was in that moment. She crept through the house, slowly making her way to the study, where she knew her husband was meant to be. To her shock, she found him lying on the floor, motionless. For a moment, LaBlanche couldn't move. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. He had been murdered, she realized. With a trembling hand, she reached for the phone and dialed the police. When the officers arrived, they brought LaBlanche in for questioning. She gave her statement, but despite her best efforts, she could not provide them with any leads. For hours, the detectives interrogated her, trying to discover any hidden clues that would lead them to the killer. But LaBlanche had nothing to give them, and eventually they let her go with a warning. She stepped out of the police station with a sense of determination. She would not rest until the killer was caught and brought to justice. She knew that she had to act fast, as time was running out. She had to find out who had done this, before they struck again. LaBlanche set out to investigate the murder on her own. She retraced her steps, thinking of all the people her husband had met in the days leading up to his death. She visited his work, talked to his colleagues and friends, and went through his emails and messages. But she could not find any clues that would lead her to the killer. One night, as LaBlanche lay in bed, she heard a strange noise coming from the study. She got up and crept towards the room, her heart pounding in her chest. As she got closer, she could hear footsteps coming from inside. With trembling hands, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. To her surprise, she found a man standing there, rifling through her husband's desk. He looked up as she walked in, his eyes widening in surprise. LaBlanche recognized him as one of her husband's colleagues, a man who had always seemed a bit too interested in their personal lives. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. The man hesitated, then stammered, "I was just looking for some papers that I left here earlier." LaBlanche knew he was lying. She took a step closer, her eyes fixed on his face. Suddenly, she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. She knew then that he had murdered her husband. She just had to gather enough evidence to prove it.LaBlanche's mind raced with a million thoughts all at once. She had to keep the man at bay while she searched the room for any evidence that would confirm her suspicions. She took a step closer to him, her gaze still fixed on his face. "What do you mean you left some papers here earlier?" she asked him. "And why are you so afraid?" "I...I left some important documents here earlier," he said, his voice shaking. "I needed to come back and get them." LaBlanche didn't believe him. She knew he was lying. She continued to edge closer to him, looking for any sign of a struggle. And then she saw it - a small cut on the man's hand, barely visible in the dim light. "What happened to your hand?" she asked him.The man tried to hide his hand behind his back, but it was too late. LaBlanche had seen it. She took another step closer, and this time, the man stepped back. "I...I cut it on a broken glass earlier," he stammered. "It's nothing." LaBlanche didn't believe him. She knew that the cut on his hand was a sign of a struggle, that he had fought with her husband before killing him. "Show me your hand," she demanded, taking another step forward. The man hesitated, then slowly held out his hand. LaBlanche saw that the cut was deep, and still bleeding. She knew that she had found her evidence. "You killed him, didn't you?" she said, her voice low and menacing. The man looked at her, his face pale with fear. "I...I didn't mean to," he said.LaBlanche knew that this was just an excuse. She could see the guilt in the man's eyes and knew that he was lying once again. She had to make him confess. (CONTINUATION IN NEXT POST)

While rummaging through his op-ed notes, which he had barely jotted down, as he stood up to leave, Rufus sighed, as his mind or rather what was left of his sanity began to take a plunge into the abyss of what he called ‘the nihilist's cave'. It had been a rough day, as he had been staring at the blank Word document for hours, just waiting for the divine intervention after which he could start summoning his magical word prowess but all to no avail; the only highlight of the day remaining to be that of the scuffle he had with the Executive Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper, about his previous article being provocative. Rufus had come out with blazing guns, all pointed towards the Editor, declaring him as a threat to the ‘real' journalism; yes, Rufus was extremely protective of his work, be it good or bad. Anyways, now he was reminiscing and thus, going down a rollercoaster of emotions, with clouds of emptiness and a grief unbeknown surging throughout his heart, making him feel nauseous. He clinched the edge of his desk as hard as he can, such that his hands were soon red as a freshly pluck cherry. His mind gradually filled with doubts: was his work really magical or did he even have a passion for journalism? Amidst the war raging through his mind, he felt like a loser, as simple and as basic as that. ‘Your work is losing its quality, Rufus.' ‘Your articles don't exude that energy anymore.' ‘Don't you think that this career may not be the right choice for the person like you?' Colleagues' rants, boss' remarks, and a part of his own soul were simply breaking him into shards of nothingness, at the moment. The cab that he had booked had left after waiting for half an hour. Yet, here he was, alone in the office, slowly succumbing to despair. He remembered the Sales Manager job, Dad had told him about, just a week ago, when he had asked him for some money to pay the rent, because his writing job at the local newspaper hadn't been paying him much, as he hadn't been able to feature for some weeks now. He thought that maybe he should apply for that job, with a dilapidated state of mind. The prospect of writing down the resignation letter for his current job, soon surfaced up. Putting his op-ed notes back, he switched on his old Dell laptop, which at least took ten minutes to light up. Navigating the cursor, through the tiny alleys, surrounded by app icons, he finally reached his destination: the same blank Word document which he had stared at, the entire day. As he was going to complete the first sentence of his resignation letter, his phone beeped; it was an Instagram notification. A woman named Philly had direct messaged Rufus, while sharing one of his written pieces, which he had uploaded on his blog page. ‘OMG, I am in awe of how beautifully you write!!! TBH, I think you have made my day!' As he read the message, tears swelled up, his mind cleared and remembered his Literature teacher's words, ‘Rufus, People won't necessarily read what you write, let alone like it. So just remember that you just have to write on and on. That's what makes out the best of the writers.' The divine intervention that he'd sought the entire day for writing had finally come; it was simply a two-liner message on Instagram. He couldn't thank Philly more. Whenever he rethinks about resignation, Rufus remembers that day and Philly. It is the smallest of messages which may mean the whole world to anyone.

"An unexamined life is not worth living." Socrates My mother would always wake me up and say, "Come to pancakes." I was somehow a sleepaholic, and it was very difficult to leave my bed, to be honest. However, the fragrant smell of strawberry pancakes led me towards our small kitchen. My mom started laughing at me; she knew how to wake me up. I had never missed my morning classes because of my mom. Everything changed after COVID-19 was found in Uzbekistan. The pandemic of COVID-19 was officially announced in our country as well. My mom is one of the experienced nurses, and she went to the block areas of treatment for some unknown period of time. The first time, I had not been woken up by mom. I was too scared of losing my mom forever. Every day, I went to sleep and closed my eyes with only one dream: "Please, mom, wake me up." After some time, I raised the question of why I didn't do anything to help my community while my mom was combating this illness. I thought if we helped each other, it would be easier to fight against COVID-19. I texted all my classmates, and we made a solid decision to help our community. I organized a volunteer group called "Help for the Needy." Mostly, we delivered necessary products and medicine to elderly people in our neighborhood. Initially, there were 13 participants in our group, but a week later, another 18 people joined us to play their part in our community. I was not supposed to say I had done something big, although it was really helpful to combat this illness. It is worthy to say that our neighborhood is one of the first places to be considered free of COVID.Two months later, my mom came back home. She continued to wake me up like old times. Although I was mature and started to wake up by reminiscing. Honestly, COVID was a very challenging period for each of us; however, it taught me to be a part of society and truly wake me up to my own understanding. Moreover, I recognized the true values of each of my family members, friends, and relatives. This difficulty made me more sensible and mature. Life is an invaluable gift for all of us. Thanks for the challenges that forced me to value my mom. But I'm still loving my mom's voice: "Come to pancakes."

On a rainy day, the drivers hooked their horns while waiting for the traffic to flow again. Nearly 45 minutes to 60 mins of cars backed up from the highways, and the drivers began to be impatient with each other until the patrol police officers controlled the traffic, allowing people that get to their destination. Over by the pizzeria, Nicholas' Seeker, I begin my work shift by checking to see if screens need to sort out, restacking the boxes, grabbing sauces from the coolers, and refilling the parmesan and powder sugar shakers. As hours pass through the evening, orders flood the screens within minutes; Simon, the general manager, told us to kick into high gear. When I saw the food items flowing out from the oven, I suffered from a panic freeze and silently imagined daydreaming. Rosa and Lisa saw me freeze in my imagination and woke me up with a musical shake on my body. Immediately I woke up and witnessed food items dropping on the ground like a gumball machine. While they work on new and remake orders, Lisa, Rosa, and I speed us boxing orders as road runners dodge the coyote's traps. After four to five hours of rush orders, the screens started to clear, and everyone took a short break while eating, snacking, or drinking. While some days can run smoothly, there are days where it's out of control and let course take its wheel. That's why I kept pushing and let my mind run free. Next time we have rush orders, I'll bring my lucky pants and hat.