My grandfather loved horses. He loved them so deeply it drove him to create, though not in the way most might imagine. He never rode a horse; he wrote about them. The first Black journalist at the biggest racing course in the city. Imagine it: a Black man writing about horses in apartheid South Africa, a racist regime where such ambition was deemed absurd by many. Insane, even. But he did it. My grandfather was the kind of man who didn't believe in boundaries, only starting lines. I grew up around horses, not in stables or pastures, but on paper. Frozen mid-gallop, muscles taut, victory in their eyes. They were captured in the photographs that accompanied my grandfather's articles, framed and hung on the walls of his study. His byline glinted proudly beneath each one, a testament to his craft. These weren't just pictures or stories. They were bricks in the home he built from the ground up, one word at a time. Sunday afternoons were for stories, beginning after Sunday lunch. We'd gather around his armchair in the lounge, eager for the tales born from his imagination. Horses with names like Minor's Revenge, a sleek, gray thoroughbred with a white stripe down its back. In one tale, Minor's Revenge was a cautionary figure in a story about greed, teaching my brother and me lessons on gluttony and sharing. Or there was Greased Lightning, a horse that drank from a well during a thunderstorm and gained the power to run faster than the wind but only when it rained. These weren't just stories. They were folk tales, life lessons wrapped in humor and hooves. My grandfather had a gift for spinning tales that left us in stitches while planting seeds of wisdom we wouldn't fully appreciate until much later. He was a very funny man, my grandfather. He believed that a smile costs nothing but gives much. He had the warmest, most radiant smile, a smile I can see vividly in my mind whenever life gets me down and keep in my heart always. I miss his smile. He was witty and had jokes for days, capable of putting a grin on anyone's face. When I was sad, I never stayed sad for long. I've spent hours throughout my life on my granddad's lap, laughing and soaking in his hard-won wisdom. He had a way of making the extraordinary seem possible, of turning the ordinary into magic. With every story he wrote, he built his home. With every story he told, he built his family. Though he is gone, he will always be remembered for the man he was, the best man I've ever known. Today, I love horses. I ride them almost every day. When I'm in the saddle, I think of him and all his stories, his voice bringing horses to life in our imaginations. I'm the granddaughter of a man who loved horses, a man who wrote his way into history, who built a legacy one story at a time. And every time I ride, I carry his love with me, galloping into the horizon of dreams he made possible.

"What?! The lexicon has never sounded so heavy in my listening vessels before this day. It felt both interrogative and exclamatory at the same time - so loud that I still heard the echoes for some seconds after she said that to me. Kadijat, a petite, dark-skinned, 5'7" angel with long hair and four eyes. We had only recently started talking a semester ago, and we were getting along perfectly. So I thought, but I guess I was wrong in the long run. Kadijat didn't occur to me as someone I should cautiously be friends with initially. She seemed accommodating and full of vibes, so I felt free around her as time went on. We would meet at times and have interesting chit-chats about different stuff - school, life, and so on. Although this occurrence was not a regular routine, it still felt beautiful the few times we did have them. One of those beautiful moments was during our Friday cognitive projects. My group had a really tough one that week because, for some reason, the lecturer decided to give us the most tedious topic. I was occupied the entire week trying to fix it alongside Tommy and another girl; I don't recall her name, but she did excellently well on the project. We successfully finished our project before Thursday that week, and I couldn't feel more relieved. I was just going to take a stroll around school before heading home to rest when I saw Kadijat completely immersed in her notebook on the walkway. This was unusual; Kadijat wasn't one to be so serious about schoolwork. “Hello, K! Can you hear me?” I called out again. This time, I guess she heard me, as she turned her head slightly toward my direction. “Hi, dear! What's up?” she said with a weak yet spontaneous voice. She sounded like she was going to collapse at any moment. “I'm good, just taking a stroll,” I responded, still worried about her demeanor. “Are you okay? What's keeping you so busy?” “Oh, it's my project, dear. I'm just so tired right now. My other group members left me to sort it out as the group leader, and I can't help but feel so confused.” “Oh, sorry about that,” I said. “Projects can be so draining when you have the wrong set of people on your team, you know.” I slowly reached for the project topic, which was already written on the paper in her hands. “Is this your topic?” “Hm, you're lucky, you know. I have done a personal project on this before.” “Really?” she asked, her eyes opening wide as if she had just woken up from a nap. “Yeah,” I responded. “Maybe we could sort it out together with my work and then make changes where necessary.” She felt relieved to hear this, as though I had lifted a huge burden off her shoulders. We spent time sorting through the project. It was quite time-consuming, but I didn't notice the time passing as we had both fun and beautiful conversations while working on it. A few hours later, I was seeing her off to her street, from where I would later turn back to reach my own house. I felt tired, but it was worth it. I didn't get to socialize with people every day, so the few times I did were so beautiful to me. Kadijat was absent from school for a while, or let's say she stayed away from school. I noticed that after a friend called my attention to it. So I decided to reach out to her via a phone call. I was eager to know why she was away, and at the same time, excited to share all the school gist I had with her. That was when I heard the word, "What?!" I couldn't respond for a second, still trying to process from where such a cold response emanated. I mean, I had the right person on the line - Kadijat. Yes, she was the one I had, so why this hostility in response? I tried to make excuses for her in my head. Maybe she wasn't in a good mood, I said, but nothing prepared me for the next sentence. "Why are you calling me?" she added. It was at this point I realized she was serious about her tone. I simply told her my reasons for calling, and she felt touched. Me reaching out to check on her was so sweet to hear. But I could barely continue the call; I was lost in thoughts. So I bid her goodbye and ended it. I didn't do that without asking the reason for her tone, though. She based it on the fact that my number wasn't saved initially, so she didn't know it was me, which was even crazier. I had a really busy day at school earlier, but this night was more stressful than the entire day. I had just learnt something invaluable: to stop assuming your place in people's lives. Yeah, you heard me. You never really know what you mean to them until they show you. This was someone I thought of as a friend, it turned out we weren't even acquaintances, lol. Now I have to listen to "Sincerely Benson "so "What?!" do not keep ringing in my head.

It was a warm summer evening. Ethan strolled along the Seine River in Paris, the gentle breeze playing with his hair and carrying the scents of freshly baked pastries from nearby cafés, mingled with the fragrance of blooming trees. The moon reflected on the dark, glassy surface of the river, while across the promenade, muffled laughter of tourists blended with the melody of a street musician playing the accordion. Ethan walked leisurely, watching the city lights that seemed to melt into the golden glow of the twilight sky. He cherished these walks. Paris, which once felt foreign and distant, had become his home, yet it still held onto an air of romantic mystery. Ethan valued these rare moments of solitude when thoughts of the past and future would come unbidden, mingling with the hum of the evening city. Ethan was a grown man now, with many victories and failures behind him. Life had taught him to be a realist, sometimes even a skeptic, giving him the air of someone distant from the world around him. Over time, his contact with his family had grown less frequent. He had moved to Paris long ago, chasing new horizons, but deep down, he sometimes longed for the warmth of his childhood in Marseille. His family still lived there—his mother, father, and, of course, his grandmother, who had always been his source of comfort and kindness. Ethan often tried to keep memories of the past at bay, but tonight, they washed over him with unexpected force. At some point, his steps slowed. He caught a faint, familiar scent of warm pastries wafting from a small nearby bakery. Ethan stopped in his tracks. The aroma was like a bridge to the past. It reminded him of his grandmother's pies—golden, with a crisp crust and a luscious filling. She used to say her pies were "the cure for all troubles." He remembered how, as a child, whenever he felt sad or upset, his grandmother would meet him in the kitchen with a plate of steaming pies. "Eat, and everything will be fine," she'd say with her warm smile. He recalled one particular day when he came home in tears after a fight with a neighborhood boy. His grandmother wiped his tear-streaked face with her apron before handing him a cherry-filled pie. In that moment, the world seemed bright and joyful again. Her pies were more than just food—they were her love, her care, her warmth. Lost in these memories, Ethan almost unconsciously turned toward the bakery from which the familiar aroma wafted. He purchased a small box of warm pastries and stepped back onto the street, pausing at the corner as he gazed at the glowing lights of nighttime Paris. He pulled out his phone, the screen displaying a list of contacts he rarely called. His finger hovered over one name before confidently pressing the call button. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity, and then he heard it—a voice, surprised yet so familiar and warm, just as it had been in his childhood. “Hi?” Ethan smiled, watching the calm flow of the Seine. “Hi, Granny…”

I'll never forget the day my daughter's spine betrayed her. She was 12 years old, and her body was a puzzle of awkward angles and gangly limbs. But it was the X-ray that revealed the truth: her spine was curved, a sinister S-shape that seemed to mock us both. As a single mother, I felt a wave of fear wash over me. How would I take care of my daughter on my own? How would I provide for her medical needs, her emotional needs, and her everyday needs? But as I looked at my daughter, I saw a spark of determination in her eyes. She was scared, but she was also strong. And I knew that I had to be strong for her, too. My son, Jack, who was 10 years old at the time, was also by our side. He was a sweet and gentle soul, always looking out for his big sister. As we navigated the challenges of my daughter's scoliosis, Jack was a constant source of comfort and support. At first, the doctor recommended that my daughter wear a brace for 23 hours everyday. We were perplexed but hopeful that it would help correct the curvature of her spine. But as time went on, it became clear that the brace wasn't enough. The curvature was worsening, and the doctor told us that surgery was the best option. I was terrified. The thought of my daughter undergoing major surgery was overwhelming. I remember the night before the surgery, my daughter came into my room, her eyes shining with tears. "Mom, I'm scared." she whispered. I held her close, feeling my own tears fall. "I'm scared too, baby," I said. "But we'll face this together, okay?" The next morning, as we prepared to leave for the hospital, Jack gave his sister a big hug. "You got this, sis." he said, trying to sound brave. My daughter smiled, her eyes shining with tears. The surgery was a blur of waiting and worrying. Jack and I paced the hospital waiting room, our hearts heavy with anxiety. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor came out to tell us that everything had gone perfectly. My daughter spent hours in recovery, and when she finally woke up, she was groggy and disoriented from anaesthesia. But as soon as she saw me and Jack, her face lit up with a smile. "Mom," she whispered, her voice weak but full of love. "I'm okay." The road to recovery was long and challenging. My daughter had to learn to walk again, to move again, to be careful not to hurt herself. But she was determined. She worked hard every day, pushing herself to get stronger, to get better. And Jack was right there with her, cheering her on, supporting her, and loving her every step of the way. He helped her with her physical therapy, he brought her favorite foods, and he sat with her for hours, watching movies and playing games. As the months went by, our little family grew closer and closer. We faced challenges together, we supported each other, and we loved each other with all our hearts. One day, as we were sitting on the couch together, my daughter turned to me and smiled. "I'm so glad I had the surgery," she said. "I feel like myself again." I hugged her tightly, feeling a sense of pride and gratitude. We had faced a tough journey together, but we had come out stronger on the other side. As we sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, I knew that our little family was unbreakable. We had been through the fire and had come out the other side, scarred but stronger. And as I looked at my two children, I knew that I was the luckiest mom in the world. I had two kids who loved each other, who supported each other, and who made me proud every single day The experience had taught us to appreciate the little things, to never take our health or our relationships for granted. And it had taught us to face challenges head-on, to be brave, and to support each other every step of the way As we sat there, basking in the warmth of our little family, I knew that we would always be okay. We would face whatever came next, together, as a team. Years have passed since then, and my daughter is now a strong, confident young woman. She still has scars from the surgery, but they're a reminder of her strength and how far she's come. Jack is still her rock, her confidant, and her best friend. He's a reminder that even in the toughest times, there's always hope, always love, and always a reason to keep going. As I look back on that journey, I'm filled with a sense of pride, gratitude, and love. We faced a tough road, but we faced it together. And in the end, that's all that really matters

Every day I reevaluate my life: achievements, failures. I review events. I try to approach life philosophically, analyze the past, predict the future. And everything seems nothing special. Sometimes it feels insufficient. What else to fill my days with? I pour myself another cup of coffee and go to the window. The wind rustles the poplar leaves. Pigeons perch on the wires. Not a single crow in sight! A fly darts across the windowpane. It's flawless. I wish I had wings like these! I sip my coffee, observing people on the street. Everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere. None of them even suspects that I'm watching them. There goes the heavily sweating overweight man rushing to cross the road. The light will turn red soon, and cars will traverse the pedestrian crossing. Hurry up, chubby! Not far away, at the bus stop, a young woman sits with a stroller. The baby inside, snoozing quietly. It's not easy for him to adapt to the new environment. Luckily, mom is right there. But it won't always be like that. Enjoy the moments, little one! And here comes the well-groomed gentleman in a hat. Though it saves his bald head from the heat, his attire is entirely inappropriate for the weather. Black tweed suit and monochrome polished shoes. The crimson tide tightly cinches his neck. The blue shirt is buttoned up all the way. He is serious and focused. So, what if it's 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit outside! "Keep up appearances!", as they say in Odessa. Good luck to you, sir in the hat! And now a young lad is racing at full speed on his new bicycle. He is well-prepared for the ride, equipped as needed! Shiny helmet, elbow pads, and knee pads. Hand on the horn, as if on a pulse! May your ride be successful, young lad! So, hour after hour passes. Faces, colors, and scents change. The clock hands inexorably carry me into the past. I think about all these people, trying to predict what will happen to them after they leave my field of view. But they don't think about me. They don't even know that I'm observing them. So, hour after hour, I piece together an endless puzzle of human destinies that momentarily intersect with mine. And we have one thing in common: we are strangers, and we are unlikely to ever meet. After all, all of this is happening only in my mind. A mind that was never born. Just like me.

Ever wondered what it's like to be loved? For 14-year-old Sophia Park, the second child of the Park family, this remains a distant dream. Unlike her younger sister Bora and older brother Ethan, who are showered with affection. She's accustomed to it. The more her family acts cold-hearted, the more she feels solitary. And it breaks her heart every time. A typical evening with the Park family. Everybody has their own bust. Ethan came home from work. Bora rushed to her brother on the instant; Ethan picked his little sister up and kissed her cheeks profoundly. In the meantime, our Sophia was watching this scene with teary eyes. She continued watching her brother and sister bond. Then she walked to her room, sighing heavily. She heard as her brother and sister were playing games in the next room. She could hear their giggles and laughter. She wanted to cry but she couldn't. Not even a single drop of tears could escape her eyes. But she knew deep down her soul was hurt. Then her phone buzzed, indicating she received a new message. She opened the message and read the text. “Hey, princess? How have you been?” She smiled while reading it. It's her friend, Alex. Her only friend and pal whom she is comfortable with and she feels at ease with him. Alex knows everything about her. “I'm good. Nothing serious happened.” She texted back. “Can I call you?" Alex texted. Sophia agreed. They had an enjoyable video call. They talked about their days and incidents that happened today. She is really content with him. After talking with her friend, Sophia started doing her schoolwork. She was peacefully doing her homework when her little sister came in. “Sophia, can you do my homework too?” She asked in a demanding tone. “Sorry, Bora, I'm busy. I also have my schoolwork to do,” she replied politely. Bora stomped her feet in anger. She punched Sophia and walked away from her room. Sophia groaned in pain as Bora punched her back. She ran behind her to catch her. But she witnessed something terrible. She saw her sister falling from the stairs. She couldn't help her. Bora fell from the stairs, and a loud thud can be heard. Every family member stopped doing their work when they heard a voice. Bora was lying on the floor; her head is bleeding, and Sophia is beside her. “What did you do?” Ethan asked as he suspected that Sophia did it intentionally. He bent down and took Bora in his embrace. “I-I…” Sophia looked at her brother with wide eyes. “I am asking you, you dumb. Why did you do it? Are you jealous of her?” Ethan asked with anger visible in his tone. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her on the floor. Ethan tightened his grip on her wrists, making her hurt. “I did not do anything. She fell herself. I didn't push her,” Sophia defended herself, not believing her blood brother is blaming her. “And should I believe that? I know how you are jealous of her. I know how you hate my little princess,” Ethan raised his voice. Sophia can't even form normal words because of shock and hurt. Her soul shattered into million pieces after Ethan's words. Suddenly the house felt oppressive and sultry for her. She wanted to disappear from this world. Meanwhile, parents called 911 and an ambulance. Paramedics took Bora to the hospital, and Sophia was taken to the police station for interrogation. “I'm not guilty. I didn't take any action.” As she was taken by police, she muttered, “I am innocent.” She had tears streaming down her face. She finds it incomprehensible that her family did this. Why? Nothing was even looked into by them. After reaching the station, cops asked her several questions regarding the incident. But she did not answer. “I'd like to sit in prison.” Since it was the only thing she said, “I accept responsibility for it.” She spoke with earnestness and sensibleness in her tone. She was prepared to accept responsibility and leave her callous family since she was truly hurt. Even the police were taken aback by her singular response. Cops did not ask any further questions. They put her behind chambers. Meanwhile, Bora was hospitalized and put in a resuscitation room. Family members are around her, worrying about her health as she didn't open her eyes. Everyone was busy with Bora, and no one even dared to visit Sophia or even think about her. Sophia was in the police station. She hasn't said a word. She lost her hope and motive for living completely. Her life, once painted in black and white hues, felt completely dark. She was sitting alone in a prison cell, looking at only one spot. She can't believe that her family doesn't care about her on this level. She has already given up on her future. She has already accepted her wistful fate, and the silence around her echoed her despair. The weight of her choices pressed heavily on her chest, making each breath feel like a struggle as memories of happier times with Alex flickered faintly in her mind, like distant stars lost in the night sky.

Thorin was looking for a lost temple in the Western Ghats forest with his team of archaeologists when he got separated from the group. He didn't have any maps or a compass with him at the time, so he was in deep trouble being lost in the middle of a forest. All he had were lots of vegetables and fruits like carrots, beets, corn, potatoes, pumpkins, bananas, apples, and melons. After seeing them, he realized that all of them were high-sugar vegetables and fruits. Suddenly, he had an idea. He also had a couple of balloons and some plastic containers. He put all his vegetables and fruits into the container and sealed it so that no air could pass inside, allowing methane gas to be produced. He knew that it would take at least two days for the required methane gas to be produced, so he kept some fruits for himself to eat during those two days. During this time, he made a bow and some arrows. Then he built a fire by filling a plastic cover with water and shaping it into a sphere; using it like a convex lens, he concentrated the sunlight on the tinder. Then he ripped a part of his shirt and bound it to the arrowhead end of the arrow. In the evening of the third day, he filled the three balloons with methane gas using tubes so that the gas wouldn't come into contact with the air. Since methane gas is lighter than air, the balloons started to rise, and right when the balloons were about to go out of sight, he dipped the arrowhead into the fire, and after it started burning, he released the arrow from his bow so that the burning arrow hit the balloon and the balloon burst because of the reaction between the fire, methane gas, and oxygen, producing light and sound. His friends, who were searching for him, saw the light and heard the sound and rushed in its direction, and Thorin was rescued.

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.