Now i am going to talk you about the period when i had problems with selecting variety works. In that time i had number of choices to work and earn extra money. But everything lead to negative outcome. If i am not mistaken it was a year ago, i had just finished my 3rd year at the university. And i need to earn much money in that time because of variety personal reasons. Firstly, i went to apply to one of the big supermarket for the position of cashier. Then after a day market administration called me to work there as a market staff. It was the first time that i communicated with clients as a salesmen. Earlier, it seemed me more difficult to interact with them but, i realised how to speak with them easily. In that day, one of the market cashier helped me for how to interact and converse with clients. I learnt every aspect of work and also, i used to use the cash calculator. But, in that day i thought as an alien there. Because most of the experienced workers especially, male staff were more ignorant with me and they sometimes were unhelpful with my chores. And that is why i just started to decide not to return there and continue to work. But i did not regret my decision about abandoning the job. After several days i had the 2nd chance to apply to the new job position. And the next occupation was in the office. This was a small agency business that sells natural medicines ,which made from the milk of domestic animals. I heard the work opportunities and its ambitions from the hr staff. And that all inspired me work there and continue my future carier with them. The team was incredible there. Each person was so helpful. But what stopped me carry on the job was the product they wanted to sell. It was natural but there was no any noticeable affection for sick people who injured for a long period. I just understood that condition and i could not do that activity as they did. Because all seemed a lie for me and i did not desire to say patients that they want to hear. Anyway it does not helpful for patients. And once i hear from manager about the lack of effect the certain medicines and they decided to sell another type of medicine for males. And that just forced me stop working there. And i did not return to that work position. However, i experienced several challenges about applying jobs. Despite fails, i did not stop searching new difficulties for me. After a day i found the other work that was much suitable for me. It was loading the freights at warehouses. It was so exciting job because of various reasons. The working team was funny guys and also they were kind with me. The working condition was fantastic. One main drawback was the job was physical not mental. People needed to be more physically strong for that position. And i had lack of enthusiasm because of it. Next day i called the staff manager and warn that i could not continue the job. This was my last decision and i had no idea for working after this. Because i lost my much time wasting for searching the jobs. But what i learnt from them was not just challenges or any misunderstandings, why people need to be so optimistic and how to solve any troubles that they face in unsuitable time. This all showed me being more brave before doing or beginning the new challenges. And i did not regret for my sufferings. It was all just amazing and unforgettable.

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"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."

Because I was eight years old and the only girl in the neighborhood at that time, my ten-year old brother always let me tag along with him and his friends. When the boys played baseball, my brother would say to me, “Hey Sis, you're so good in the field, go over to that spot and wait for a fly.” That spot was not just in “out” field, it was in “left-out” field. But, at the time, I was too young to realize what was happening and way too enthralled with the idea of being part of my brother's team. At the same time, my brother, Frank, although making sure I didn't get in harm's way or the way of the game, every now and then, asked his friends to hit a ball in my direction so I could “field” it. Naturally, that play never counted but it sure made me feel important and like I was someone incredibly special. Despite being only 27-months older than I was, Frank always found a way to do just that – make me feel special. However, there was one day in particular that, to this day, brings a warm feeling to my heart. It was the day we climbed the Iron Man. In a section of the park near our house, sits a statue. I didn't know it at the time, but the statue was and still is a memorial commemorating the battle between the U.S.S. Monitor and the Merrimack, which was fought in 1862. The Monitor was only six months old at the time of its sinking and the street on which we lived was named after the massive and historic ship. The statue is huge and made of iron. It depicts a man in a semi-sitting position holding desperately onto a rope that stiffly hangs just below the ship's deck on which he sits. This was a favorite place for the boys as they would climb the statue and sit for hours looking at everyone who walked through the park. From that height, a child felt you could see for miles. On one of my “tag along” days, Frank and the other boys decided to climb the statue. I stood at base looking up helplessly. I, too, wanted to climb the big iron man, but was too small to reach. Finally, my brother stretched his hand down. “Come on, Sis, grab hold. I'll help you up.” As I took his hand, he explained where I should place my little feet and what part of the statue I should grab to hoist myself while he pulled me up. Within seconds I was sitting in the lap of this great iron man. I was on top of the world. I looked around and as my heart fluttered with excitement, saw the wonders around me that the others had seen from such a great height for so much longer than I had. As the boys laughed and joked among themselves, I was quite content to sit in silent awe. Eventually, it was time for dinner. One by one, the boys climbed down. I was the last to begin the descent, trying carefully to place my feet around the iron man's wide arm. My legs were just a bit too short. I couldn't get down. My brother realized my plight and ran to help. “Hey, Sis, turn around and kneel on the spool. Wrap yours legs around the rope. Then hold on to his arm and let yourself slide down. Once you get low enough, let your feet drop and then let go. I'll catch you,” he said. While I trusted my brother with my life, I didn't trust my life with my little hands and legs. Frank assured me I'd be okay. He stood directly beneath the stiff iron arm. I knelt at the edge and did what my brother suggested, but with one added thing. I closed my eyes. If I was going to fall and kill myself, I didn't want to watch. Suddenly, I felt Frank's gentle hands grab me. “You're down, Sis. Safe and sound. Let's go home.” I opened my eyes, gratefully and happily, as Frank gently put me on the ground. He grabbed my hand to walk the short distance from the center of the park, across the street to home. It didn't matter to him that his friends stayed and watched. After all, he was the big brother taking care of his little sister. As we approached the parks exit, I turned to give the big iron man one last look for the night. As I did, I realized I'd learned some particularly important things from my experience. Although for a while I felt like I was on top of the world, I didn't need a statue to keep me there. My brother's love and protection did that better than artificial things could ever do. I didn't need to climb a statue to see the beauty and the wonders of the world. They were right before me – at my own eye level, in my mind and heart. As we grew, I married and moved away, my brother enlisted in the Army and was sent to Viet Nam. Although he returned after his Tour of Duty, he did not return whole. There was something lacking in his spirit. Years later, we would find out that he contracted the cancer that would consume him before his 51st birthday. Several decades have passed since then, and although Frank is no longer a physical part of my life, I think of him daily. When I recall that day when I sat atop a statue, I smile and realize: my brother was my Iron Man.

As a child you never notice the reality that plays around you. The broken playground in the backyard can be visualized as an evil lair, with the cracks that sail across the streets containing hot lava instead. In a darker sense, the arguments held in your parents room can be seen as the monsters you're always hiding from. There are a number of truths that lie behind a child's eye that become distorted for their own understanding of the situation. As a child I would always live in my head, a tv show would be running in there 24/7, where everyday was an episode and every major event that had happened in my life was a finale that would tie up the whole “season” together. The last season I created as a child was a major shift from the playfulness of the world to the actual reality of it. The season kicks off when I'm about 8 years old, living in an impoverished household. Though in my eyes, this so-called “house” was the main setting to my show. While I ran around the house, fighting henchmen and saving the world, my mom was in the kitchen cooking spaghetti. The smell of tomato sauce and boiling noodles roamed across the house, it consisted of the emotions you get on a warm, sunny day. What added on to that feeling was the fact that my mom was cooking which is something she does when her body isn't fighting against her. My Mother would stay in bed most days because of the aching pains she would feel all over, I never knew why and never really asked. As an 8 year old, all I really needed to know was whether she was sick or not, as long as my mom didn't feel sick that day I was fine. Either way, my step-dad was occupying the bed so my mom couldn't lay down even if she wanted to. About a good hour later my step-dad wakes up, already angry at the world but more specifically, my mom. It was almost out of nowhere, every step my step-dad took resembled an earthquake. The anger shown on his face reminded me of a monster I visualised before, I thought the monster was gone but it only came back stronger than ever. It was strange to view my step-dad that way knowing how delicate he was with my siblings and I. Stomping towards the kitchen, he yells gibberish to my mom, frightening her, as if she can see the monster I see as well. This episode played out differently, instead of me being the hero like I always am, this time I was simply experiencing this. I watched as the whole scene played out. My step-dad pulled my mom by her arm and into the garage. I could see her struggling to get out of his grip and failing over and over again. My step-dad placed my mother on a bed we had in the garage. I saw my mom crying, helpless from the attacks the monster brought on her. I sat there, letting the episode play out. My younger siblings eyes were wide, I could see the fear their facial expressions painted. “Mano, come to the room with us”, my sister screamed, holding my little brother's hand. “It's ok, go to the room and take Ricky with you.” The whole time my mom was getting hit I just sat there pretending like nothing was happening. I was used to hearing the fighting but I never witnessed it, then again it shouldn't be something a child should witness. After being hit jab after jab, she finally got my attention. “Mijo, call the cops!”. As soon as she said that I got up and it finally hit me, this wasn't a show I was just watching, it was real life. My step-dad finally stopped and gave me his phone telling me to call them as well. After I called 911 things calmed down and by the time the cops came, my siblings and I were as good as new, riding our bikes outside as if nothing happened. My mother told me that they took my step-dad to get some help, I saw him in the back of the cop car not being able to look us in the eye, the sad part was that I wanted him to be helped and come back to us, because even after looking at him like a monster, he was still my step-dad. Even after coming back, I still recognized a monster. That monster was the main antagonist for the season, and I lived with it, watching it affect my mom and my siblings for years. I wanted it to disappear, to leave my family alone, and to just let us be happy, but it was always lingering behind us. Until finally, CPS had come to the house and after a couple of visitations, they finally got rid of the monster, breaking a family apart as well. This season finale, it wasn't the one I wanted but it was the one I got. I wonder if the monster still lives in my step father, or if he finally became the dad I remember him being before this monster got a hold of him. Although my visualization of the world is no longer playful, it is still bright and hopeful. I try my best to take that childish view of the world and combine it with the reality, giving me space to dream big and see more than what is shown through reality. I just hope that vision never leaves my sight and I keep that vision no matter what's to come my way.

Sometimes a person faces a challenge alone with plenty of preparation. Thusly comes commandment four in Exo. 20:8—11: “Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.” The Sabbath is God's training plan for eternity, for the challenges of the mortal and immortal life, and believers may practice the Sabbath independently of mortal mentors. There are common win-or-lose challenges in the mortal life. One situation is where an adult person loses control of his or her bodily functions and may get injured. I could use as examples emotional outbreaks (such as tantrums, grandstanding, crying in fear, desire, sadness, and/or anger) or mental breakdowns and severe (extremely uncontrollable) mood swings; loss of focus while driving or working, physical breakdowns such as heart attacks, seizures; aneurisms; strokes; vomiting; fainting; sweating; shivering; defecating (or diarrhea); bedwetting (urination); falling to the ground (stumbling, tripping) unpredictably, uncontrollably, itches; and fight/flight responses as reflex reactions. Victory would be to maintain control and normal bodily function in the face of adversity, such as Covid-19 or old age, or regain normal bodily function without anyone else's help after losing control. Defeat would be to lose control of normal bodily function and require help to regain control. This above-written list is only a small sample of common challenges of the mortal life. The challenge could be worse if one loses control of normal bodily function without anyone to help regain control when the same person needs and seeks help. Help may not be conveniently available for regaining control of normal bodily function. What happens when adults cannot rely on others to help when needed? Instances may occur again over a person's adolescent and adult lifetime for losing control, and, in this case, such a person would need to get help unless he or she is not also incapacitated at the time. One may not have the convenience of a nearby hospital, pharmacy, retail outlet, gas station, rest room, emergency clinic, or convalescent center handy when the need for help with regaining control happens (and a change/wash of clothes). One may not have the convenience of proper comfort and care nearby when the need arises. Help from other mortals is not always there when the need for help arises, when the need for knowledge, skill, wisdom, and material resources (comfort, food, shelter, clothes, sanitation, medicine, medical and preventive care, money, transportation, etc., etc.) becomes realized. Mortals cannot always expect other mortals to hear and respond to the cry for help. As examples, there are drowning victims, or shipwrecked passengers, chronic unemployment from the Covid-19 pandemic, and stranded victims of car accidents. Hopefully, either there is someone mortal to intervene, or God must intervene. Sometimes, the challenge demands that only God can intervene. There are always challenges where only God can intervene to save the day and applies to the basic lessons of the Christian faith. My first metaphor is about living and learning as a Christian despite unexpected emergencies, despite the propensity of the flesh to sin, ignorantly or otherwise. My first metaphor is about living by faith in God's grace and by God's commandments with the challenges and temptations of the mortal life, emergencies or not. All mortal believers occasionally neglect to remember and apply their basic, first lessons in the faith (i.e. the Ten Commandments) until after stumbling into sin and temptation again. Therefore, a mortal believer may occasionally soil him or herself with sin when heavily burdened with the cares of the mortal life. Who would help a believer to recover to his or her feet in the struggle of life against sin? How would such a believer find grace and rejoin the race? The struggle with sin, ignorance, forgetfulness, and the temptation to sin for the believer continues ongoing during mortal life until the flesh perishes from earth. A Christian cannot ever afford to forget his or her first, basic lessons about sin and forgiveness, about God's laws and grace, especially if no one else (no one mortal) cares nor is available to help with recovery. Any stumbling Christian, just as a newborn infant or elderly, deteriorating person, must learn to fend for him or herself against sin and Satan throughout mortal life when no one mortal is available to help. Christians must learn to maintain themselves, get back into the competition against the flesh and Satan, and live penitently always. My first metaphor helps my readers to understand how sin and temptation are a constant struggle in the mortal life. No mortal nor holy angel is exempt from the temptation to sin. Suffering the temptation to sin while struggling with adversity is the demand of the mortal life, and God makes the provision of training His children for eternity with the fourth commandment.

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Life is that journey which one can't predict. If you have strength to survive even in the toughest phase of the life then you are a real warrior. I mean up or down is a part of life. “Get busy living or get busy dying.” That's the choice which one has to make. Life has turned in an unexpected way for everyone on this earth. Everyone lives were affected because of Covid-19. Everyone had discussed the situation of every person who got affected but none had mentioned about the future generation i.e. students. Well the girl name is Bhanu. She is a final year student who didn't had any idea how her life was going to change. She is a little carefree, honest, hardworking and kind person. Her daily routine starts like a normal person waking up at 5.30, doing exercise, attending classes, spending quality time with her friends in hostel like by playing cards, by hearing out each other, by celebrating festivals like Holi, Lohri, Christmas. Once she had played a prank on her junior. She with the help of her friend Kajal executes the plan. That junior had feelings for a girl from Bhanu's Department. Bhanu saved her friend's number with his crush name. They both talked as if a senior which is not less than a friend now is talking with another friend. Bhanu said that Amar has feelings for you and he is a really nice person. To this Ana (actually Kajal) replied that I also have feelings for him. I also want to tell this to him. Bhanu took the screenshot of this and shared it with Amar. She convinced him strongly that it is the truth. That night Bhanu had a sound sleep but Amar was so restless, excited and nervous that he couldn't sleep for the single moment. He came to know that it was a prank the very next morning. All laughed a lot on him. Amar also laughed with all three. That's the bond they all four of them shares with each other. The fourth member of the group is Akbar. When the Lockdown started her life has changed completely. From student's point of view her future seems to be at the edge of cliff. She had lost the golden opportunity of being the volunteer in National Science Exhibition. She also couldn't clear the entrance for which she was preparing for past 4 months. Both the things happened on the same day. Obviously, any student would feel demotivated than lockdown started. Life seems to be more challenging to her now. She was now at her home with her family. Earlier her mornings were all about work-out. But now she plays badminton with her father. Most of the time she loses but sometimes she does win from her father. Her father teases her a lot about it and she smiles a lot on it. That's the bond between a daughter and a father. Earlier she used to get ready for classes now she is with her mother in the kitchen. Afternoons in the hostel were sharing lunch with friends but now she eats with her family. In the evening she used to go to guitar class with her friend and then for an evening walk in the ground. But now she just keeps on seeing her surroundings how the things had changed a lot. Sometimes she keeps on staring the beauty of Moon. After spending quality time with her family, talking to her childhood friends on phone and giving some time to herself. She came to know that Covid-19 is a blessing in disguise. She has regained her lost confidence. Everyone wants to secure their future but the action which one takes makes the all difference. Its not like she had achieved something big during lockdown. But the steps she took will definitely makes the difference. After all "Rome wasn't built in a day." She started writing again. She had started giving time to drawing also along with the photography. She tried to enhanced her skill to a next level during this Quarantine period. She sometimes misses her guitar which she used to play with her hostel friend. She started attending some webinars of her interest. She had also completed some of the courses. She won't be able to do all this if she didn't have plenty of time in her hands. She had learned her lessons from the situation. The most crucial lesson which 2020 had taught her and each person out there is to keep on appreciating the loved ones while they are with us. She also had learned that every situation is a door to a new opportunity. That's how a final year student deal with the situation. Sometimes life is not about profit or loss. It is more than that. I wish a very happy and a bright future to Bhanu. I hope just like Bhanu everyone out their find their path. Lastly live the life to the fullest as “Time once gone cannot be recorded.”

After six years spent in Indonesia, I hardened myself a lot. I really thought that nothing could surprise me. I signed up for a partial scholarship which gave me access to free education despite having to be responsible for all my other personal expenses. However, coming from a very modest family, my ends of the month are never easy. But with experience, I got used to it. A fews years before coming to Indonesia, I was living with my parents and sisters. I can certainly say that we had a rather pleasant life. Then one day, diabetes took my father away when I was only 12 years old. Suddenly our standard of living had completely deteriorated , but luckily, though, my mother had an income. Yet, with four daughters in charge, our financial situation had changed. We had to move to the country side. I went from a spoiled child to a hard-working young girl. One day, when I was about 18, I had decided to apply for a full-funded one-year scholarship to learn the culture and Indonesian language. I was called for an interview. A few weeks later, I had gotten the call that I had waited for. I still remember my mother's face lighting up when I announced that I got the scholarship. Besides, I still had to obtain a passport, which was not cheap. My mother, however, always found a way to make things possible. Soon I had arrived in Solo, I had become more familiar with Indonesian culture.Towards the end of the program, I had met a man who promised to help me financially in order to obtain my bachelor's degree. I believed everything he told me. Although my family objected due to our financial situation, I applied and got accepted. My patience and endurance have been tested since the moment I signed for that scholarship.  It started with my trip to Malaysia to renew my visa. I left Indonesia with my tickets and the money for the visa. I was informed that I would get my new visa in the afternoon if I came to apply early in the morning. Therefore, I hadn't booked a hotel. The plan, however, was not panning out how I had imagined. I had to wait for two days to get my visa. So I slept at Kuala Lumpur station at night. The following night, tired and hungry, I had a very bad encounter, a man had been following me and began to chase me in the station. But I managed to elude him and hide in a bathroom stall. The next day, I finally got my new visa. So, I began heading back to Indonesia, a flight that, luckily, I was able to postpone. But again, as unlucky as I was, my flight had been delayed and I had missed my train from Jakarta to Solo by just a few seconds. I had nothing left with me. A man had seen me in distress, suggested that I sell my camera at a market near the station. I mustered up my courage and sold the one last, good thing I had on me so I could buy a return ticket that same evening. I soon learned that misfortune tends to follow me. A few months later, after I had just started university, I was involved in a motorcycle accident. My right leg was completely fractured . Fortunately, the Indonesian government offered insurance for injuries, which I was able to use to my advantage. However, as a result of the accident, I missed an entire semester of university that I had to make up later. As time passed, my relationship with my boyfriend had completely deteriorated. I started looking for an online job since working is forbidden for foreign students in Indonesia. But I couldn't get a single job. Having no other choice, I applied and was soon accepted for a babysitting job . After two months, the family decided they did not want me to be their babysitter anymore, without any reason given. As time went on, I have accumulated my rents. It had gotten to the point that I was even struggling academically. Since I lacked money, it was difficult for me to finish my final project. A few weeks before the Corona virus hit Indonesia, I landed a small job as a private French teacher for a little girl. I thought it would at least help me to pay my rent, but unfortunately, it ended as soon as it had started. Getting a scholarship and studying abroad could be the best or the worst experience someone could have, but it all depends on how we react to the challenges that accompany it. These last three months have been the hardest. But I felt that I no longer suffered from my situation. I have normalized the fact that I sometimes do not have food for a couple of days. It's frustrating but I'm learning a lot about myself. Besides, it also teaches me how to control myself and focus on my goals. Deep inside, I know I still have a very long way to go. I believe that someday I will return home with my hard-earned diploma in my hands and make my mom so proud of me. I have lived this way for the last five years, and while I have yet to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I still have hope that I will see it some day and that I will finally be able to close this chapter of my life.

In the beginning, and that was in February, Jaloliddin thought that this virus was not a threat to him, that he was “special”, like most of those around him. He lived an ordinary life: preparing for his exams, playing football with friends, and suddenly, in mid-March, the first case in Uzbekistan and the next day, quarantine was announced. It may seem immoral, but when the quarantine was announced, he was delighted, since next week he had an exam for which he was not ready. On the same day, he removed the chemistry and biology textbooks from the table and put the computer on the table and opened his favorite game, Counter strike, and it all began - he had not been getting up from the chair for hours, days, weeks and thought that he had a lot of time to have fun, as it is commonly said, "Who cares what?". The first month passed, the second month ... and gradually, he developed the habit of "waking up from sleep and living for the sake of video games." While playing new games on his gaming computer, he was amazed and enjoyed the graphics, but at the same time, something inside was disturbing him. After some time, he began not to be content with his people around him and became very aggressive: he started quarrels for no reason, criticized harshly his younger brother because of that he could not just lift a 10-liter bottle of water. But in an instant, he felt that something was going wrong. He reflected on his actions and realized that he had never been so rude to his brother, mother, close relatives. Finally, he asked himself a rhetorical question: “Is it all because of the quarantine?! Have I become so rude, uncivil because I'm just in quarantine ?! ” and came to the conclusion that something needs to be changed: “I adapt to life in quarantine and use it for the benefit of self-development, and I will do it regularly, without stopping at all costs!”. Surprisingly, from the next day, and this was in early June, he began to get up early in the morning, wake up his brothers and do morning exercises together in a huge hall. And after breakfast, he got used to teach his younger brother online lessons in mathematics and Russian on his gaming computer, from which loved games like Counter strike, Generals, could hardly be found after yesterday's “sweep”. During the day, he was used to read his favorite literature: “Do No Harm,” “When Breath Becomes Air,” the last of which was written by neurosurgeon Paul Kalanithi, who had already been writing such a heart touching book on his way to heaven due to lung cancer. In addition, Jalol was engaged in household chores (cooking, mending a broken socket, discovering new abilities in himself), communicating closer with his family and only in the evening was doing lessons from his favorite subjects: chemistry and biology. After each day, he got used to feel positive changes in the mood and atmosphere at home, but the main thing was calm in his soul, as he believed that he was not wasting time. It is worthy to pay attention that he realized quarantine was a part of new life which had not been discovered yet and the life for which we should adapt. Furthermore, quarantine is not so bad when you know what to do. All I wanted to say:” Accept a challenge, adapt to the situation and be persistent till the end without paying attention to the worthlessness video-games”. There are problems, challenges in life, not because you are Jaloliddin or Calvin, or simply because life is “offended” by you and wants to harm you by saying you are worthy of it and forcing you to say: “I'm tired of living! I'm tired of you!”. I used to think in exactly this way, but quarantine helped me to understand myself and I realized that there are problems and challenges to improve us - humanity, so that to make tomorrow better than yesterday. Therefore, quarantine is a great incentive to overcome the challenges and to say “I accept a challenge! I am able to adapt to the situation and will not give up until I succeed!” And of course, quarantine is the best way to get to know your family members even better and support each other during such difficult times. Take care of yourself and your family.

My grandfather and I were going to have dinner when lightning flashed outside the window and a few seconds later thunder rumbled nearby, confirming with its grunts that rain was about to fall. Large raindrops hit the pane of glass with force, tapping the sad melody known only to them. Sitting in a warm room with a loved one and watching the bad weather outside the window gives a unique feeling of comfort, peace, and inner harmony. I know that my grandfather had a very difficult life. He survived war, famine and the loss of his beloved wife. What strikes me most is not that he, despite all this, lived to be 90 years old, but that he has been carrying around his whole life the cheerfulness and the indestructible faith in humanity that is sometimes so cruel. I ask him about it. He takes a drag on a cigarette. “In 1944, I was arrested and sent to the Buchenwald camp. Appendicitis partially saved me. I was operated by a prisoner of war. And then every day I ripped open the wound so that it would strongly fester, and I would not be forced to work. I was in the quarantine block, where 1000 other people lived. We were packed in like sardines. Every morning 10-12 corpses were pulled out of the barracks and taken away on a gig to the crematorium. Before burning them, clothes were removed and golden teeth were ripped out. The commandant's wife regularly went out to the parade ground and openly chose people with "beautiful", in her opinion, skin. The prisoner got a commemorative tattoo, and after his death, bags and purses were made of his skin.” He lifts the sleeve of his pullover. “Look” He shows a light strip of skin on his left forearm. IT was here. The number that he got tattooed when he arrived in Buchenwald. Number 23724. He says that after his return from the concentration camp, he became an atheist. “I swore to myself that I would not bring Jewish children in this world. The world was saturated with anti-Semitism, and I did not want them to be offended or killed at any time, simply because they were Jews.” He sits in silence for a moment, takes a sip of the tea, looks out the window. On the terrace, several alpine violets bravely resist strong gusts of wind and the first winter colds. “I joined the international underground organization of Buchenwald, which was preparing an uprising. A receiver was hidden in the bucket of one of our members' hut. The Americans easily entered Buchenwald, whose liberation had already begun from within by our underground resistance. Later many wondered: how could a group of deadly exhausted people break through the armed guards and meet the Americans? What inhuman willpower had to be possessed? After all, every day only half of the prisoners returned from the quarry. The rest perished from exhaustion. In fact, those who are called people with a strong will are just people who know how to long for what they are fighting for. For a desire to be effective, its strength must be directly proportional to challenges that must be overcome on the way to the goal. This strong desire cannot, however, be blind, unreasonable. It should flow from the firm values and the principles of behavior of a man, should be determined by his worldview. I will never forget the night on the train bound for Buchenwald. It was snowing everywhere. The compartment was deadly cold. We were left for many days in wagons without beds, thus, without the possibility of somehow warming ourselves. An old man, who was very loved in my city, was sitting next to me. He was trembling all over and looked terrible. I wrapped my arms around him to warm him. I hugged him tightly to give off some heat. I rubbed his hands, feet, face, neck. I begged him to stay alive. I encouraged him. Thus, I kept this man warm all night. I myself was tired and cold. My fingers were numb, but I did not stop massaging the body of this man to warm him. Finally, morning came, the sun began to sparkle. I looked around me to see other people. To my horror, all I could see were frozen corpses. All I could hear was the silence of death. The frosty night killed almost everyone. Among the few survivors was the old man and me. The old man survived because I did not let him freeze, and I remained alive because I kept him warm. Let me tell you the secret of survival in this world. When you warm the hearts of others, then you will warm yourself as well. I do not call for abstract humanism where everyone should help everyone in everything and turn the other cheek when somebody hits them. But fixation only with oneself and one's problem only aggravates the situation. It creates an artificial wall between the person and the rest of the world, which leads to loneliness. When you support and inspire others, then you also receive support and inspiration in your life. As Zig Ziglar famously said, “You will get all you want in life if you help enough other people get what they want.”

Writing has always come easily to me. That isn't to say that my writing is anything special, only that when it comes to sitting down and putting a bunch of words together I think I'm pretty dang alright at it. I've met people that say they have such a hard time writing but it's difficult for me to understand that. Those same people always try to attribute my lack of understanding on the matter to my education (I have a degree in English) but the truth to that is I wouldn't have pursued a degree in this subject if I wasn't already good at it. I'm being 100% honest – being pro-active is not my strong suit. If it comes between making a decision of taking the “easy” route or the “hard (but, in the long run, more beneficial because it teaches you about hard work, perseverance and blah blah blah)” route I'm not going to think too long on which one I'd prefer to take. Essays in college were a breeze, although I'm still sometimes shocked at the quality of work I was able to produce under the circumstances I put myself in. Example: its 8pm the night before my 16 page essay on [insert some literary debate here] is due. I have yet to open a word document. Sure, I've put some thought into what I want to write. That's the hardest part, right? Sitting down and putting all my thoughts into words in one cohesive structure just came so easily to me. I think it has something to do with the amount of privacy you have while writing. No one is listening to you stumble through your words or hearing your attempts at constructing a well worded sentence. You have complete privacy to say what you're thinking. You have the ability to rewrite and reorganize your words. You can take a minute to think on exactly which word best articulates the thought you are trying to express and, if you don't like it, can decide to change it later. You can't do that when you're talking. Well, I suppose you could but it would be weird. This brings me to my road bump when it comes to writing – who will be reading my words? Because, like I said, I consider writing very private. Concern of who will read my writing once I'm finished is a huge deal to me. With college essays it didn't matter much because I knew the person reading my essay would be someone educated on the subject I had written about and would be judging my words based on my display of knowledge on the subject. That isn't too intimidating because it's not creative writing. It's not something that would unveil ideas and thoughts that completely originated in my mind. I once took a Science Fiction class in college and for the final we had to write a creative sci-fi short story. That terrified me. Completely and utterly terrified me. I couldn't hide behind facts and information that were accessible to everyone on a subject that has been widely discussed for years. These would be words and thoughts that were 100% my own. Had this not been an assignment and I was writing something for myself that I could decide who, if anyone, could read it I think I would have enjoyed writing it much more. Once the story was done I began second guessing all of my ideas. Is that really original or am I completely ripping something off? Is this plot even believable? Does it make sense at all? Those were my road bumps. The actual process of writing the story came effortlessly – thoughts into words. Easy. Having to deal with my thoughts on them afterwards – yikes. Turns out my instructor thought it was great and so did the select few I shared it with. They all told me I had a “gift” and should be very proud. This made me feel uncomfortable. Receiving praise for something that came so easily to me didn't seem merited or earned. I truly felt as though I made no effort. I've always sort of blushed when people make comments like these and brush them off faster than they can be laid on me. Only recently have I decided to try to embrace this “talent” I have and attempt to open myself up to the possibilities it may grant me. The catalyst for this change of thought occurred yesterday when someone told me how talented and gifted I was after reading a cover letter I wrote for a job. A cover letter. A simple, short, nothing-special piece of writing that I was trying to use to convince someone to hire me. I finally decided that I should try to start sharing my writing with people. So here I was with this brave (ha) new confidence. I went online to see where I could put this bravery to the test. The first think I came across was Biopage, and they were asking for people to submit writing on the subject of… anything they wanted. Well shoot, if there's anything else further from a prompt I don't know what it is. This project called for me to come up with something 100% on my own for others to read and it was perfect. So here I am. I sat down and just started writing. I figured talking about why I was here was as good as anything else I could come up with. So now I'm ready to get my ideas out there, terrified as I may be.

Long ago, my health became detrimental to normal life. First intermittent, now it's more often having escalated at a city shelter. I could no longer continue to work or finish my university studies pending health changes. Shelter food made me choke, vomit or sent me to the loo. It affects me daily. Every meal is sheer torture: I never know if I'll keep it down. A fluoroscopy confirmed that frequent up-chucking has narrowed and scarred my esophagus irreversibly. These dark times must pass. Like a boa constrictor who regurgitates barely-digested animals complete with that sticky gelatinous saliva, my choking is a lengthy painful process. Unfortunately, my constant throwing up isn't seen as an ingenious way of avoiding danger. The turkey vulture purposefully pukes up an entire stomach's wing-heavy contents, so that a rare predator will turn away from the maggot-infested stinky shit and rotting carcasses. My purging is just plain embarrassing and uncontrollable. Like boas who feed on rodents, songbirds, lizards and other small mammals, my normal diet is varied. My favorite meal is fish/seafood, rice/risotto and grilled vegetables. I like chicken, beef, lamb, and pork but can't consume these proteins without painful hard swallows. I can relate to captive boas prone to Inclusion Body Disease characterized by chronic regurgitation and abnormal painful postural positions: their challenges are like mine with Eosinophilic Esophagitis and other serious ills. Like a non-venomous boa, I wrap my coils around my faith. With God around me, I trust that things will improve henceforth. Also coiling myself around my friends, church family and sister, they act as the editors of my life and writings. Like the monogamous vulture, I'm fiercely loyal to those I love. Now others need to stick by me through thick and thin. Dark days must soon pass. Like boas whose habitat is threatened, so is mine, as Toronto's housing crisis means rising costs and limited affordable accessibility. As boas have adapted their perambulation to a straight line, I adjust to the times. Extinction threatens vultures too: they are poisoned by eating dead livestock given medication toxic to them. Shelters have fed me food months-to-a-year-beyond-expiration dates, poisonous to my now-delicate system. By picking dead carcasses clean, unsuspecting environmentalist turkey vultures are on clean-up and recycling duty to prevent the spread of disease. Their acute sense of smell has helped gas companies detect gas leaks as vultures circled attracted to the smell of gas also found in dead animals. Concerned with the environment, I enter contests funding tree plantings, clean-ups, and literacy programs. When migrating or searching for food, vultures congregate in ‘kettles' flocks of several hundred. I feed off the Salvation Army Bible study groups, kettle-crazed too. Like a baby boa, I was immediately independent, somehow discerning appropriate food without instruction. According to my father, I was ‘contrary' from birth refusing to drink my ‘milkies' and spewing up formula. My parents fed me pediatrician-recommended melted ice-cream. Somehow, I survived my first year, lactose intolerance then unknown. Again, I puke up constantly: it's hard to get nutrients into me. I'm not like others. I never thought as others do. Research is in my blood. An independent thinker, I can figure out most things with little or no instruction. Nowadays, Google becomes my first line of defense when faced with an unknown. Similar to boas and turkey vultures I hiss if threatened or encountering social injustice or iniquities upon the vulnerable. My sometimes-biting words are intended to propel others to act. Now I observe people's movements and utterances. Like an eagle-eyed vulture, I wait for the next juicy story. I write stories for contests. I may win one or not. But either way I'm the better for honing my observational, research and writing skills. Contests keep me alive. Everyday I write to achieve self-imposed entry deadlines. Too busy to worry about all the exigent conditions around me, including my own life's horrors, I focus elsewhere. Dark periods will lift someday. Till then, I keep my mind active even when my body fails me. Sometimes I write in floods like the expulsion of a boa's or vulture's stomach contents. Virginia Woolf's stream-of-consciousness. Other times I hover, searching for words. Like a vulture circling its prey from high to low altitudes, I scavenge for details to fuel my stories by people-watching. My prey is not physically dead. Yet like the city's forgotten vulnerable many are dead in prospects, motivations, hopes and dreams. Like the turkey vulture circling overhead, I hope for that tasty tidbit. Rather than with menacing size, I want my writings to stand out shining a light on social injustice. I want to change minds - ‘What ifs” to ‘right now.' I'm different. Boa-Turkey-Vulture Me.