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

If you can fill your heart with compassion for friend, foe and stranger alike; if you can out of your soul hatred strike and instead resolve kindness to fashion… If you can embrace with every fibre of your being empathy for each suffering living thing; if your soul can of love and tolerance sing and vow to only the good in all be seeing… If you can sincerely forgive and forget every slight and slur hurled like words of stone darts; if you succeed in mending broken hearts and offer solace to those running in fright… Then have you conquered your nature cynical, Raised your mere humanity to heaven's pinnacle.

Sunny April days started after a rainy March. My mum took me and my siblings to a local bazaar to purchase clothes and other necessities for spring. It is quite common in Uzbekistan to buy goods in a traditional bazaar despite having big malls and clothing stores. While entering the tall gates of the bazaar, I saw several foreigners. It was the first time I had ever seen foreigners in my hometown. I used to see them on TV occasionally when I visited the city. At that time I was learning English myself; I used to learn by watching TV shows in English and visiting my uncle every weekend. I was so passionate about talking to those foreigners but due to my shyness and lack of English skills, I hesitated and kept wandering around the bazaar with my mum and siblings. It had been more than an hour since we came to the bazaar and we purchased several things. At that time, I saw a woman tourist who was having some difficulty communicating with a saleswoman. She was going to purchase a traditional Uzbek dress. I was so shy as I had never talked to foreigners before but I was also worried about her difficulty in communicating. So I went towards her, greeted her and introduced myself. After that I translated what the saleswoman was saying. In Uzbek bazaars, bargaining is very common. So, I started bargaining on behalf of the tourist. The saleswoman was not very happy, as she was going to charge her a bit more. Then, I told the tourist to go to another store as this one was expensive. Before we left the store, the saleswoman agreed with the price we offered. Interestingly, leaving the store was a part of the bargaining, it often works when salespeople are too stubborn. After buying the dress, we talked a bit and I introduced the tourist to my family members who came to the bazaar with me, and she took several photos of us. The tourist was from Italy and I enjoyed talking about Italian history and art as we had a few books about Italy in our house. Then, I spent more than an hour showing the bazaar to the tourist. At the end of her trip, she offered me money, which I rejected right away. She was very surprised and tried to give money to me several times. I rejected and talked about Uzbek hospitality. Then she stopped me and gave me her business card. I did not have any social media or telephone at that time. She thanked me many times, gave a hug and said bye. It was one of the most inspirational moments of my life and I was so proud of being able to communicate with someone from another part of the world. It further inspired me to study English and learn about the world. When I talked about rejecting money, my family was very proud of me. I showed them the business card I got and we started to set up a Facebook account for me! I opened my own Facebook account just to reconnect with that Italian woman. We searched several times and it was not possible to find her because there were too many people with the same name and I also almost forgot her face as she took our photos but we did not take any photos together. It felt quite disappointing, however, I kept her card, remembering her saying, when you come to Italy, call this number and I will show you around. After that experience, I started to work on my English every day and go to historical sites on weekends to practice my English with foreigners. Most of the time, I volunteered as a tour guide, talking about my hometown and helping them communicate with other locals. At the same time, I also took advantage of Facebook, I started my own blog on Facebook where I post about Uzbekistan. Shortly, I gained a lot of followers from all over the world. After more than a year had passed since I met the Italian tourist, I decided to search for her again. At this time, I was more aware of how Facebook works and the possibility of finding someone through a phone number. So, after several attempts, I managed to find that Italian tourist and commented under her Facebook post. Shortly, she replied and we reconnected! It is not easy to describe that feeling in words. It has been over 7 years since that memory and we are still in touch. She also introduced her family members to me and I am thinking of visiting Italy in the near future. Overall, I would describe this memory as a life-changing moment. I had an amazing feeling when I was able to communicate with someone from another country, from a totally different background. That feeling motivated me to keep learning English and seek study abroad opportunities. As a result, I came to the US to pursue my education at an international campus. For the future, I plan to pursue my career at international organizations like the UN or the World Bank, and contribute to close ties between nations just like my friendship with that Italian tourist.

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

Daniel's life had always been hectic, with meetings, deadlines, and the never-ending bustle of city living. He was proud of his work as a financial analyst, but recently he felt that something was lacking. He had lots of material possessions, therefore it was not a desire for them. There was a deeper urge, a need to go beyond the numbers and accomplish something worthwhile. After a particularly demanding day, Daniel was going through his phone one evening when he noticed an article. It was about a local soup kitchen that was having trouble filling volunteer positions for the winter. "Help Needed: Make a Difference This Holiday Season" was the headline. He had considered volunteering in the past, but he had always written it off as being too busy. But something stopped him this time. Daniel signed up for a shift the next morning. It was a hive of activity that Saturday when he arrived. Meals were being prepared by volunteers, who also set up tables and grinned warmly to greet each visitor. Jack, the team leader, promptly introduced himself to Daniel and gave him a rundown of the basics. “First time volunteering?” While giving Daniel an apron, Jack enquired. Daniel tied the apron around his waist and said, "Yeah." "I always wanted to, but I could not seem to find the time to do it." Jack grinned. "There is always time to get started. There is always room for one more set of hands." The first thing Daniel had to do was serve soup. He observed the variety of people who entered the building as he ladled the hot broth into bowls. There were young families, old men and women, and those who appeared to have seen better days. But despite coming from diverse origins, they all had thankfulness in common. Every "thank you" Daniel got was genuine and frequently accompanied by a smile that gave him the impression that he was making a difference in the world. Daniel found himself lost in conversation with the guests as the hours went by. He got to know Mr. Carter, an old jazz musician who was full of nostalgia for his career. Maria was there, a single mom caring for her two kids. John was a reserved man who tended to keep to himself, but when Daniel inquired about the book he was reading, John's eyes brightened up. John answered, "The Grapes of Wrath," grinning a little. "It is about people attempting to find hope during really challenging situations." Daniel nodded, seeing an unspoken bond between him and John. He came to see that everyone had a backstory, a life full of both successes and setbacks. The goal of the soup kitchen was to give them human connection, dignity, and respect in addition to nourishment. Daniel had not felt this fulfilled in years, yet by the end of the day, he was tired. He was approached by Jack as he was clearing up. "You did well today," Jack remarked. "You are free to return at any time." Daniel grinned. "I believe I will. This was... more rewarding than I expected.” Daniel then started helping out every Saturday. He eventually established himself as a welcoming presence at the soup kitchen, one that the patrons eagerly anticipated. He contributed his professional talents to the organization's budget management as well. More than that, though, he discovered that the relationships he formed offered him a feeling of direction that his profession had never provided. One day John caught him in the act of leaving. Daniel accepted a little, wrapped present from the calm man. "What is this?" Startled, Daniel enquired. John answered, "Just a small something to say thank you." Daniel opened the parcel later that night. A battered copy of The Grapes of Wrath was inside. John had put a brief note on the inside cover, "For helping me discover hope again." With a knot in his throat, Daniel took a seat and held the book. He understood then that receiving something considerably bigger in return was the genuine gift of volunteering, rather than merely giving. It was about knowing what it meant to be a part of a community and how even modest deeds of kindness might have a profound impact. That was the gift Daniel had been looking for the entire time. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It is simple to lose sight of the influence we have on other people's lives in a world where we are frequently engrossed in our daily activities. In actuality, though, each of us can change things, regardless of how insignificant a gesture may appear. Your actions can have a profound impact on others, well beyond what you may have imagined. These actions can be as simple as being there for someone when they need you, lending a helpful hand, or saying something nice. Let's make a difference, let's change the world!

Galveston, Indiana − 29 March 2024 Noah is on his way home after school under dark, cloudy skies. While he is crossing the road called “Skinwalker Road,” he sees a white dog with white pupils that might be a Labrador retriever sitting in front of an abandoned church, staring at him abnormally. It seems like it is creepily smiling at him. Noah: Jesus, what kind of creature is it on this earth? He ignored it and started walking home, crossing by the church. Suddenly, in the middle of his path, the dog appeared and stared at him abnormally. At that time, Noah froze for a few seconds. Then, after taking a deep breath, he picked up a stone to throw at the dog. Noah: You shitty doggo! Get out of my way! Surprisingly, the dog disappeared like a television turning off. Noah didn't wait for a second there; he started running towards his home. At midnight, he is preparing his school bag for tomorrow's classes. At that time, his eye captures a white figure sitting at the top of the road lamp through his room's window. He steps closer to the window for clear vision, but he sees nothing at the top of the road lamp. Then he is turning off the room's light and closing the window before going to bed. Half an hour later of his sleep, he is feeling heavy weight on his chest, his arms are becoming paralyzed, and he can't inhale properly. He opens his eyes; he sees nothing in his room, but as he is moving his head left, towards the mirror beside his bed, he discovers something horrifying! A scary creature with a tall human body and head, like the dog he met on the path at noon, is opening its mouth wide towards him! In the morning, as the sun rises, Noah's mother is knocking on his room door to wake him up for school. Noah's Mother: Son, wake up, or you will miss your school today! At that moment, she feels as though she has stepped on something damp. As she is looking down, she sees blood coming under the door. Noah's Mother: JESUS WHAT THE!! NOAH!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!! Noah's father comes quickly. As he sees the situation, he becomes so busy that he breaks the door as fast as he can. After breaking the door, what they see is blood splattered around the room, and Noah's body, half eaten, falls to the floor. Since that day, Noah's death case has remained unsolved.

The crisp February air was warmed by a sixty-five-day-old Samoyed puppy. My uncle and aunt had promised me this puppy, Lucky, upon my election as deputy head girl. Although I wanted a cat, I was excited when Lucky arrived, his fur white as snow, with jade-black eyes and a tiny nose with pink spots. Lucky was introduced to his brother, Bantu, our grey cat. Initially scared, Bantu soon became best friends with Lucky, dispelling the myth of cat-dog enmity. Lucky quickly took over our basement, playing in the backyard with his chewed FIFA replica football and making noise with his bone toy. He was skeptical about the garden vegetables, often carrying them around as if he owned them. Lucky loved belly rubs and could charm anyone into giving him one. Our days were filled with walks and laughter with Lucky and Bantu. Life seemed perfect, but reality has its imperfections. As April approached, the school focused on final exams, and I secluded myself in my room to study. Lucky became my escape from anxiety, his presence calming me. The night before my last exam, I planned to spend my free time with Lucky. However, on 28th May, I felt distressed, and during the exam, I felt as if I was going to get sick. After the exam, I hurried home, convinced this summer break would be the best. While eating, I heard my brother scream, "Lucky is not moving, something has happened to him." My father and brother ran downstairs where my mom was with Lucky. My mom told me Lucky's body was cold and he wasn't moving. I couldn't breathe, the pain of losing him overwhelming me. Lucky's absence filled our home with silence and excruciating pain. The staircase where I used to call his name was now empty. I couldn't see him one last time, and the guilt of not loving him more weighed heavily on me. It was the realization of losing my ‘Lucky' charm. Leaving behind some cherishable memories and a longing heart.

I turned on my phone, opened the College Board website, only to be met with the same text I had seen countless other times in the taxi: “Your AP scores will be available starting Wednesday, July 5th, 2023.” I turned off my phone again. Unfortunately for me, today was already July 5th, and seeing how China was 12 hours ahead of the eastern US, I had to wait until 8 PM—or another 7 hours—until I received my score. The taxi dropped off the four of us—my parents, my brother, and me—at the base of Emei Mountain, the tallest of the four sacred Buddhist mountains in China, just above 3,000 meters tall. There would be a difficult 4 hour climb before a gondola would take people the rest of the way. As I stood in the parking lot, the smell of lush vegetation and the muggy mountain air contrasted with the fumes from cars and smokers. I awkwardly stood in front of the visitor center. Hoping to not look out of place while waiting for my mom to get to the front of the line, I pulled out my phone; before my dad immediately ordered me to put it away. I shook my head but complied. I couldn't help my anxiety, as I needed the 5 on my AP Chinese exam. Part of my China trip was going to be a volunteering event, where I would be tutoring rural kids about science, math, English, and other activities, providing education to underfunded communities. However, one of the requirements was a 5 on the AP Chinese exam or an equivalent. Through some confusing signup process, I was able to register by essentially promising a 5 on this year's AP Chinese exam. As I trudged my way up the trail, the dense Sichuan fog began to clear. The gray sky provided a comforting cooling sensation as the climb became more arduous. My climbing efficiency dipped, as I found my family and I stopping more and more frequently. Wisps of fog rose as I took photos of the surrounding ferns, broad-leaved trees, mountains, and the occasional bird or monkey. Scaling the increasingly steep trail, my brother and I slowly pulled away from our parents and most of the other tourists. The deciduous surroundings were replaced by slender fir trees, and the sides of the path slowly became steep rock faces with sprouts of green dotting the sides of gray. Simultaneously, the stone path also became narrower, and each step became an undeniable reminder of my fatigue. I could not think about anything else besides rest. With my breaths becoming heavier and the gnawing in my legs increasing, I sought the railing for support. I blankly stared at the landscape ahead of me—a forested mountain on the left gradually descending, and a flat, sloping green valley below, expanding toward a miniscule city. Looking down, I felt a rising force start in my stomach then make its way toward my throat. In the face of the sheer openness before me, the worries over my modern-day problems were completely washed away by a mixture of awe, respect, and fear. My physical ailments were overtaken by an uplifting feeling of wonder and admiration. Feeling lighter on my feet, my brother and I continued to walk towards the gondola lift, where I continued to be overtaken by a sense of reverence for the landscape around me. Revitalized by an inexplicable force, my weariness from earlier slowly drained out of me, and I strode confidently towards the lift. Upon reaching the supposed “safe haven” which signaled the end stretch of my climb, I did not feel physical relief or boredom while waiting for my parents to catch up, but rather gazed into the distance in wonder. The gondola brought us above the fog, leaving the green portion of the mountain behind and carrying us toward the rocky peak. After a light twenty minute walk to the peak, the sun shone warmly in a cloudless sky save for a few wisps of cirrus. A small breeze ruffled my shirt, and as per my mom's orders, I tightened my hat.As it was getting late, we chose to have dinner at a small Buddhist temple, where we ate vegetarian dishes made with the local flora. After dinner, we finally walked to the large stone courtyard, where the centerpiece, an enormous gold statue of the Bodhisattva Pu Xian, towered over us. The 12-story statue, combined with the setting sun, began to replicate the same initial mixture of emotions I had first felt during the climb. After taking some pictures with the family, I walked to the stone fences lining the pavilion, and looked out at the sun cutting into the blanket of fog shrouding the land. I was approached by my brother: “It's 8 PM.” I opened my phone. My heart was steady, and I felt no fear, but rather a sense of calmness and inner peace. I opened the website without the restlessness I had felt in the morning. There, I was greeted by what would have been intense relief: a 5. Instead, I merely smiled, took a screenshot, and looked out onto the sunset.

My eyes trail his beautiful features. His tanned skin compliments his plump pink lips. My fingers outline his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones with sullen cheeks. Sometimes, I can't believe he's mine, an ordinary girl with boring pale skin and inky black hair compared to the red flames on his head. I swipe through other pictures, especially the ones we take together. My insides turn to liquid at the way he stares at me like I'm his entire world. I dial his number, every fiber of my being craving his voice. “Hey you,” He says, and electric currents surge through my veins. For a few seconds I go numb. “Vivian, you there?” “Brad,” I whisper, recovering. “I want to see you tonight.” “Babe, but I told you how busy I've been lately.” “Yes, two weeks now and I haven't seen you.” “Don't be like that. I call you every day.” I groan. “I want you, tonight.” “You want me? Like, want me, want me?” He confirms, getting the picture I'm trying to paint. A smile quirks at the side of my lips. “Yes, I want you, want you.” He chuckles. “What? Are you serious? Wow, I can come over now if you want.” “No!” I snap and suck in a sharp breath to relax. “I have to prepare first.” “I don't care how you look.” “I do. I've got to get ready, because tonight, I'll show you a different side of me.” He growls. It vibrates through my phone and the hair at the back of my neck stands. “I don't know what changed with you but I like it.” “See you soon.” I hang up. Quickly, I hurry to the shower, pull out my drawers, and browse through different products that belong to my roommate. She's out of town for a week. Good, I need to be alone with Brad. First, I go with facial cleansers, then scrubs to exfoliate dead skin, and a snail mask to give me a glassy look. After spending over two hours in the shower, I sit in front of the mirror stand. “Ahh, makeup,” I whine. I've never really done it before. But not tonight. Tonight, I've got to take his breath away. Finally finished with makeup, I dash into the kitchen to make his favorite meal. Mashed potatoes and beef stew. Just as I turn off the stove, my doorbell rings. He's here. I open the door. He pulls me in for a long kiss, sucking my tongue as though savoring my taste and etching it to his brain. “You look beautiful tonight,” he compliments, then sniffs the air and lets out a sharp exhale. “Gosh, I love you. You made me my favorite.” “Just the way you like it,” I announce, proud of myself. I lead him to the kitchen and he perches on a stool beside the counter. “I'd rather have your other food.” He winks. I smile, loving the attention. “You should eat first.” “I'll eat later.” “Brad...I've got bad plans tonight. Very bad plans.” I dish the food, filling up a glass with orange juice, and handing it over to him. His cheeks turn pink at my confession, and his mouth drops open as he processes my words. “Hmm. The things you say. What do you want to do with me tonight?” I smirk. “Bad things.” “You want to leave me speechless.” I lean forward, peering into his enchanting green eyes. “You'll be more than speechless when I'm done with you.” He groans, as though stifling an urge. “I'm on fire for you tonight. Do whatever you want with me. You can tie my hands to the bed stand. I won't complain.” I laugh. “Don't worry, I'll try other things.” He gobbles down his food, like it were a food competition, and chugs his glass of juice in one go. Brad rushes over to me, sweeps me off my feet, and lifts me from the ground. He carries me in a bridal position and takes me to the room, throwing me on the bed, and unbuttoning his shirt like his life depended on it. He gets on top of me and smothers my neck with wet kisses. “No, I want to be on top of you,” I tell him. “Whatever you want, baby.” He turns over and I climb on top of him. His eyes are on me and I smile. His hands caress me, impatient for some action. Action. I slip my hand under the pillow and retrieve the dagger I had hidden. His eyes widen in shock but before he can react, I plunge the blade in his chest, squeezing deep with all my strength. He coughs and red liquid gushes from his mouth. “You shouldn't have cheated on me.” I spit on his face, leaving the buried knife and getting off him to watch at a distance as he struggles. Soon, his arms are tired, slumping down and his head falls to one side. His gaping eyes stare accusingly at me. I sit in a curled position, rocking myself back and forth, whispering in tears. “You shouldn't have cheated on me.”

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

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

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

In a rather small town in America called Maple Wood there lived a man, who was a rather old man by the name of Harold Thompson. Some of you never had a chance to meet him in person, although one could easily remember him as a kind man, who always smiled. Uh was a man who had wasted over half a century of his life sticking to one house, a neat-looking thatched-roof cottage home at the of a blind street. He had a good wife, Margaret, and a daughter Emily now a grown-up lady, who got married and resides in the city as observed in the text. Margaret had died 5 years back and ever since then, Harold had been on his own in the world. Although his daughter came to his house often, he had the feeling the house was more empty than before. There was once a time when Harold was cleaning one day, more specifically in the attic when he found a box that had not been used in years. In letters, all of them enclosed in a dusty but very much untied faded blue ribbon. They were ardently penned lines that Margaret had written to him at the beginning of their relationship. Harold took his seat untied the ribbon and spread open the first of the letters. When he painstakingly went through Margaret's letter full of hope, dreams, and love the events that they have shared blew his mind. He could just feel her giggling, the touch of her hand holding his, and could just imagine the twinkle in her eyes. Thus for the next few days, Harold spent his time with the letters. Everyone was a treasure to him and the extent to which Margaret loved him was depicted by these flowers. So after climbing to the middle, he saw a letter that looked different at the bottom of the box. It was placed in a new envelope, with his name on it written in curled Margaret writing. Perplexed he cautiously unfolded it. Thus, the letter from ‘My Dearest Harold' jumps right in. "If you're reading this, it means I am no longer by your side. I know how much you miss me, just as I miss you. But I want you to promise me one thing: die, my dear. Live as we used to live before, life has so much more to offer you the things and moments to feel happy You made my life full of joy every day, and I want you to have the same in the search for happiness without me. When Harold met Margaret's words, he wiped his cheeks and swallowed a lump of emotion that formed at the back of his throat. The letter went on, telling him to go out, to be with people, and prove that life was still as great as it was before. In the last line of the letter, Margaret penned down, I will be with you in spirit, in each stride you make henceforth, Love Margaret. Ever since the day of receiving the letter, Harold kept on thinking about it. Margaret had always been the one willing to take risks the one who encouraged him to go out and explore more. And now, even after she has died, she was prodding him to live life to the fullest measure. One day Harold woke up, and within a few minutes, he decided something. He put some clothes in a small backpack, put the letter in his pocket and went on a trip. He visited the parts of the world they wanted to visit but either couldn't or didn't get the opportunity to. Sometimes men are lucky to meet new friends and they indeed reveal to them about Margaret and your life experiences. The sea was as far as his eyes could see it; the wind was playing with his hair as Harold stood on a cliff and such position made him realize the serenity in life. He knew she was with him; in the sunsets, the laughs, and the new adventures that he was about to start in this new chapter of his life. Last of all, he was glad that he finally understood that their love transcended time and space it was within him and it inspired him to live each day and each moment with happiness and passion as the two always used to do. Harold got back to Maplewood months later with a glow on his face than he had ever had before. He had the wish to provide a full life as was expected by Margaret, so he continued living to the fullest. Although he longed for her daily, he had to accept that they were together for a lifetime and gave eternal light to his loneliness in old age.

With every new human invention to make life easier , new worries arise leaving doubts and fear take place. In April 1986, group of mathematics teachers in Washington were protesting against students use calculators, worrying about destroying students calculation abilities and rust their brains, In the 19th century, during the industrialization revolution in Britain a group of handicraft men smashed machines in factories fearing of being replaced or losing their jobs to machinery.Now in 2024, we no longer have this fear. Teachers encourage the children to use calculators, and most of factories are filled with machines.Despite that, we still have similar fears towards a new technological revolution. Opinions on AI can be divided into 2 teams , one that sees AI as a threat to many jobs and will eventually lead to unemployment and other sees it as unreasonable fear and that there will be still more jobs for human , but both of teams agreed on that AI still have a long way to go till it becomes smart enough to replace man,there are jobs that have to have man element as it needs mental processes. However , an event occurred in 2022 let the 2 teams reconsider their thoughts , it was the start of ChatGPT.surprisingly, ChatGPT took 5 days after release to reach one million user. In order to understand how ChatGPT reached its current qualities, we need to travel time back and ask How does computer understands words? Computer is more or less a machine that performs logical and mathematical processes so ,How does it understand words and reply to us? This type is called language model , All what it does is when you give it a sentence it can predict the next word all it needs is a large collection of words and data whether from books , Wikipedia or other sources and make this language model memorize what comes after each word and that is called training model. After a few months of releasing ChatGPT, students started using it to do their assignment, programmers used it to write codes faster and find bugs in their codes .Not only that , a professor in the university of Wharton gave ChatGPT an MBA exam , it solved and passed it . The fact that language models left the world of computer nerds and became accessible to anyone that not an expert, it is considered a historic moment, but leaving us with an important question,Is the AI a curse or a bless?

In the old days, in the village of Elms, a wandering family of unknown origin settled down. They built a house on the edge of the fields, near the ghost forest. This family consisted of only an elderly couple. Wherever they went, they went together. The wife was always silent and solemn, never uttering a word. The husband was tall and gaunt, with a face like iron and a nose resembling a bird's beak. His eyes were cloudy and sunken, exuding a cold phosphorescent glow. The husband was a master hunter. His flintlock rifle seemed to have eyes. Whenever he raised it, birds and wild animals rarely escaped death. Behind their house, there were heaps of bird feathers and animal bones piled up like mounds. The bird feathers were disheveled and black as ink, while the animal bones were limestone-white, dotted with yellowish, foul-smelling marrow stains. These piles resembled graves. The hunter seemed like the embodiment of Death in the forest. Birds and animals feared him. The other hunters in Elms were both envious and resentful of him. He spared no creature within the range of his rifle. It was said that someone once saw him shoot a peacock in mid-dance. A peacock in mid-dance, with its head curved like a blade of grass, its tail fanned out in a semicircle displaying vibrant colors, sunlight reflecting off it like golden flames, its legs gracefully swirling. Only love could swirl so elegantly. And then – “Boom” – his rifle fired, releasing a red flame. The peacock fell, its iridescent wings stained with blood. The old wife came, dry and dark, silently picking up the peacock and placing it in her basket. However, the old man spent his life hunting only common birds and animals. He never captured any large animals weighing several hundred pounds. His rifle could only shoot small, foolish creatures. This was his torment. The entire village of Elms shunned the couple, not speaking or socializing with them. Seeing them, people would turn away. Thus, the old hunter lived a lonely life with his silent wife. By the end of that year, the forest of Elms was in upheaval, trees withered, birds disappeared, and no trace of animals was found. The villagers suffered greatly, claiming that Then (the deity) had begun to punish them. The wandering hunter also found it difficult to make a living. The couple wandered the forest. For the first time in his life, the old man faced this situation. For three lunar weeks, his rifle remained silent. He would wake before the third rooster crow and return late at night. His emaciated wife no longer had the strength to follow him and stayed home, tending a fire that burned with a ghostly blue flame, not red but green like wolf eyes. One time, the old man was away for a whole week. He was exhausted, his knees buckled, and his muscles felt like they could be pinched off like leeches soaked in blood. He had trudged everywhere without finding anything. Not even a sparrow or a butterfly. He was anxious and frightened. Was Then punishing the world as rumored? Finally, exhausted, the old man staggered home. At the stream near the village, he paused and looked at his house. There was a light, a ghostly blue light. Surely his wife was still waiting. He closed his deep, cloudy eyes. After a moment's thought, he turned back to the forest. His nose had caught the scent of animals... He was in luck. He saw it. The peacock was dancing. Its feet moved gracefully to the right, its tail spread out in a circle, shifting to the left, the intense blue on its head feathers glistening. The old man raised his rifle: “Boom!” The shot echoed. He heard a piercing scream. He ran to the fallen creature. It was his wife. She had gone to the forest to wait for him, holding a peacock feather. The hunter lay face down in the pool of blood on the decaying leaves, thick and musty like the smell of rats. His mouth gurgled like a wild boar's. He lay there for a long time. Black clouds hung low, the forest darkened, hot and stifling like a fevered body. Near dawn, the old man suddenly sprang up like a squirrel. He had the idea to use his wife's corpse as bait to hunt the biggest animal of his life. He lay in the bushes near her decaying body, rifle loaded, anxiously waiting. But Then punished him. No animals came, only death approached. Days later, they pulled his crooked body from the bushes. A bullet wound pierced his forehead. He had finally hunted the biggest animal of his life.