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In the vast expanse where stories begin, Amidst the chaos and the din, A journey unfolds, both daunting and grand, Of finding your way in this vast, sprawling land. There once was a soul, lost and adrift, In the labyrinth of life, caught in its drift. With eyes that mirrored the starlit sky, Yet within, a storm brewed, ready to defy. He wandered aimlessly, through streets unknown, His heart heavy, his spirit overthrown. In the heart of the city, where dreams take flight, He sought refuge from the endless night. Every step he took echoed a silent plea, To find his place, his sanctuary, to be free. But the city's noise drowned out his cry, As he gazed upon the endless sky. The stars above, distant and cold, Seemed to mock his struggles, untold. Yet amidst the chaos, a whisper faint, Guided him forward, through fear and constraint. Through bustling crowds and empty streets, He walked, his journey bittersweet. For every smile, every tear he shed, Led him closer to the path ahead. In the depths of despair, he found a spark, A glimmer of hope in the endless dark. With each dawn, a promise anew, That his dreams, his desires, would come true. But the road ahead was fraught with strife, Filled with trials that tested his very life. Yet he pressed on, his spirit unbroken, With faith as his guide, his words unspoken. Through storms that raged and winds that howled, He weathered the tempest, his resolve unbowed. For in the heart of adversity's snare, He found the strength to rise and dare. And so he journeyed, through valleys deep, Where shadows danced and secrets keep. He scaled the mountains, he crossed the seas, In search of a truth that would set him free. With every step, he grew stronger still, As he embraced the power of his own will. For in the crucible of pain and strife, He discovered the essence of his own life. Through laughter and tears, he learned to see, The beauty of his own humanity. For in the depths of his darkest night, He found the courage to embrace the light. And as he reached the end of his quest, He realized that he was truly blessed. For in finding his way in the big world, He had discovered the essence of his own unfurled. In the vast expanse where stories cease, He found his home, his lasting peace. For in the journey, he had come to find, That the truest home lies within, forever kind. The world may be vast, the journey long, But within us, we carry a song. A melody of hope, of love, of grace, Guiding us forward, to find our place. So when the night seems dark and cold, And the journey ahead seems bold, Remember the soul who dared to roam, And found his way, to a place called home. © Akhmedova Zakhro

Covid-19 became such a catalyst in time for people and their lifestyles. It changed everyone for better and for worse. But there was definitely something we were able to benefit from, the ability to hear the silence and not have to worry about it being so quiet. Why it was so quiet or what we had to do to fix it, because it didn't need any fixing. I could walk into my room and exist in the silence, in such a pertinent time to the state of the world all I truly cared about was being able to feel peaceful. Being able to stare at the 4 walls around me and look to the ceiling and know there is nothing calling my name and no responsibilities I had but to just sit with myself. I didn't know what to do with myself, all this free time I had to myself being something I'd never imagined I'd ever have and don't think I will again. And not that that's bad, but I long to have that peace again. I never slept, but it worked in my favour, three years down the line I know what I want to do with my life. It never felt right staying stagnant in my room and my surroundings being the same. I would spend the late hours of the nights and early hours of the morning constantly moving and rearranging my room, the furniture would be turned sideways or shifted across the room for a new perspective. But the question still stands, what was I trying to achieve? Should my bed flush to the wall? Away from the wall? Would my dresser come off less demanding in the room if I placed it horizontally? I always found a way to change and analyse everything I changed and did. Then there was also the silence, of course there was never any actual silence, just the faint noises of my presence. The shuffling of my feet across the tile floor, the scraping of the furniture legs as it glided across the room. The television playing whatever movie I could think would make me feel serene. Some nights I'd come up with something to watch outrageously sad and end up just stopping what I was doing to sit on the floor and watch the saddest love stories, or other nights I'd be dancing along to Billy Elliot or even finding myself again and again in the characters on the screen. Every night was different, a different movie, a different layout and a different feeling. Usually spending the earlier hours of the morning filling the time doing something like editing a powerpoint between friends or clearing my closet or cutting my hair… again and again. In the impetuous days, it was funny how the nights became unhurried, steady and undemanding. Each day and night melting into one another, something that was such a cause for worry 3 years ago still feels so recent as yesterday. The busted little radio I spent days and nights trying to fix, the odd projects I would pick up thinking I had a hope of ever getting them to work again. Realising as the times passed all this fixing and rearranging was just a distraction from what I was really meant to be doing. This was the perfect time, the only time I may have had to do this, find myself. I tried everything, painting, cooking, baking, pottery, writing, everything you could dream of. But I was blind, I was always looking for some thing that would make me me, but that was the problem wasn't it? I tried to materialise my character, who I was trying to understand. Trying new things over and over again. But it all took me back to the quiet. That was who I was. That is who I am. I'm not a painter, or a cook, I'm the peace from dusk til dawn, or atleast that's what I feel when I am me. Sitting in my room, moving and changing, that's me. Unbothered, Uninterrupted, Unchanged but doing all those is what made me me. I was how I lived when at peace. How I functioned is this high anxiety time. Sitting and consuming the silence with movies of all genres and fixing everything around me. It was finding where I fit into my own life. And I have, going on to do what made me stop in my tracks from always trying to fix everything. I know I want to evoke the emotions in others that the movies did the me, I want to make people think, feel and cry. And I want them to fall in love and understand themselves just like I slowly but surely did.

My little sister was given up for adoption when she was born in 1992. She is my mother's eighth and last child. To think I have been trying all that I can for the past 15 years or so to find an unknown person is sometimes so crazy to me. She could totally hate me, but I am going for it. Through the whole process, I just wanted to know that she was okay. I wanted to know that she had a good life and a good family. I always focused my search on finding her parents, because it was never my place to tell her she was adopted. I never wanted to hurt anyone. For many years, I felt like a failure. All this technology at my fingertips, and I still couldn't find her. I even applied to be on a TV show. I was in contact with the show for a little while but ultimately, they couldn't find her. “Where did I go wrong?” I thought. It wasn't until 2017 that I realized all that I had learned from trying to find her. Starting this journey opened a whole new world for me. My love of genealogy. I am sure it was always there, but it was flourished because of her. I have used all this knowledge to help so many people over the years. Some with great success and some with no solution at all. I decided to start my little side quest and Genealogy Girl was born! Since then, I have been able to help even more with their genealogy, finding family members, hunting graves, and returning photos/documents from estate sales/vintage stores to the original families/blood lines. It has been an amazing experience so far! For me, she is more than my blood sister. She became my inspiration for the amazing things that I do now to help others. I decided to buy a DNA kit from Ancestry.com. It took about eight weeks to get the results in which felt like forever. When I finally got the email that my results were in, I shrieked in excitement! I had about 3,000 matches. I just knew that one of those had to be my sister. I was so disappointed when there were no sibling matches. I was devastated. I just knew that I would never find her. I didn't even go through my matches for weeks. When I finally did, I found so many new connections. I was able to build my family tree so much more. I had contemplated buying more DNA kit from other sites, but it just didn't feel right. I slowed down on looking for her. I felt like that was a sign for me to take a break because it would happen when it happened. My half-brother decided to research his DNA and medical traits using a DNA kit from 23andMe.com in 2019. He and I have the same mother so I figured his DNA would pick up on any sibling matches. Unfortunately, there were matches for siblings. Since he and I are not full blood siblings, I explained that sometimes sibling matches can come up as a first cousin. It comes down to how the DNA matches according to the centimorgans in the DNA. Honestly, it is super scientific and I'm more artsy. So basically, I needed him to keep an eye out for sibling and first cousin. Fast forward to January 1, 2022, I still had not found my sister. I had the day off from work for the holiday, so I was being lazy lounging in bed. It was about 6:15p.m. when I got a message from my cousin on my mother's side about a DNA match from her account on 23andMe.com. She messaged me that someone was trying to find their birth mother and she figured that I could help. When I read the words “She was born in 1992 in Florida.” I lost my breath for a moment. I immediately began to cry. I couldn't find my breath or my voice. I texted my husband who was in the other room and he came into the bedroom and said, “Are you serious?” We were both in shock. Fifteen years or so of researching, joining groups on social media, registered with multiple adoption reunion groups, interviewed for a TV show, DNA testing and I still couldn't find her. She found me. Our first texts to each other were very guarded. I didn't know what she knew or didn't know, and I wasn't sure how much of my information was 100% accurate. Within a few hours, we were sharing pictures and a list of our favorites. We met at an airport in Pensacola, FL where she picked me and my daughter up for a trip to the beach. Meeting her and her family has been so rewarding. I cannot believe how similar we are in the most unusual ways. About six months later, we are so close. We talk multiple times a week and cannot wait to share things with each other. We are not afraid to have the hard conversations, but we are always transparent. Over the years I have read so many articles and blogs about the emotional toll that finding an adopted sibling can take on a person's mental health. There are so many things that can happen or go wrong. I was prepared for anything. I was prepared to hear the words, “I don't want anything to do with you." I was also prepared to cry if I heard those answers. It has been an emotional roller coaster for sure, but I have been waiting to get on this ride for a long time.

.GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI, INVENTOR OF THE INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE I am the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale, proposed&designed by me in 1991 to study the Indian monsoon and its weather problems and natural calamities in advance and it was published by all world journals.But our India was not recognize me. Kindly find out my invention in any/all websites/searchengines by searching it's aforesaid name and recognize me as the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale by making references in your research papers. Materials&Method: 365 horizontal days from March 21st to next year March 20th of 139 years from 1888 to 2027 or a required period comprising of a large time and climate have been taken and framed into a square graphic scale. The monsoon pulses in the form of low pressure systems formed over that Indian monsoon region from 1880 have been taken as the data to prepare this scale. Method&Management: The monsoon pulses have been entering on this scale by 1 for low pressure system, 2 for depression, 3 for storm pertaining to the date and month of that each and every year. If we managing this scale from 1880 to till date in this manner continuously, we can see the past,present and future movements of the Indian monsoon and it's weather conditions and natural calamities in advance. Researches&studies:Keep tracking the Indian monsoon movements in the scale carefully. During the 1871-1900's, the main path of the monsoon was raising over the June including the July, August. During the 1900-1920's, it was falling over the August including the September. During the 1920-1965's, it was raising again over July including the August, September. During the 1965-2004's, it was falling over the September. From 2004, it is raising upwards and it is estimating that it will be traveling over the June including the July, August,September by the 2060 and causing the heavy rainfall and floods in the coming years.. Study&Discussion: Let's now study and analyze the information recorded on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale with the rainfall and other weather data available from 1871 to till date, During the period the period of 1871-2015, there were 19 major flood years:1874,1878,1892,1893,1894,1910,1916,1917,1933,1942,1947,1956,1959,1961,1970,1975,1983,1988,1994. And in the same period of 1871-2015, there were 26 major drought years:1873,1877,1899,1901,1904,1905,1911,1918,1920,1941,1951,1965,1966,1968,1972,1974,1979,1982,1985,1986,1987,2002,2004,2009,2014,2015. Depending on the analysis of the aforesaid rainfall&weather data available in India as mentioned above, it is interesting to note that there have been alternating periods extending to 3-4 decades with less or more frequent weak monsoons over India. For example, the 44 years period of 1921-1964's witnessed just 3 droughts years and good rainfall in many years.This is the reason that when looking at the monsoon time scale you may notice that during 1920-1965's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been raising over the July,August, September in the shape of concave direction and resulting good rainfall and floods in more years. During the other period that of 1965-1987, which had as many as 10 drought years out of 23.This is the reason that when looking at the Indian Monsoon Time Scale you may notice that during the period of 1965-2004's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been falling over the September in the shape of convex direction and causing low rainfall and droughts in many years. Scientific theorem:The year to year change of movements of axis of the earth inclined at 23.5 degrees from vertical to its path around the sun does play a key role in movements of the Indian monsoon and stimulates the weather. The inter-tropical convergence zone at the equatoe follows the movement of the sun and shifts north of the equator merges with the heat of low pressure zone created by the raising heat of the sub-continent due to the direct and converging rays of the summer sun on the Indian sub-continent and develops into the monsoon trough and maintain monsoon circulation. Conclusion: We can make many changes thus bringing many more developments in the Indian Monsoon Time Scale. GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI Email me: girlapati@aol.com WhatsApp me: 91 6305571833

'"BASICS OF SOUTH AMERICAN MONSOON TIME SCALE are proposed&designed by me in 1991 to study the South American monsoon&it's weather problems&natural calamities in advance.Find it's details in all websites/searchengines by searching its name SOUTH AMERICAN MONSOON TIME SCALE BY GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI or get by sending your email to me. I urge the world scientists to design&prepare, establish&implement and conduct further researches&developments on this scale and break the mysteries of the South American monsoon. If you want to design&establish the scale, printout the basic empty scales enclosed at the end article and prepare this scale yourself. If you still have trouble in preparing this scale, contact me at my email and take my assistance.Kindly recognize me as the Inventor of South American Monsoon Time Scale by making references in your research papers in lieu of considering my immense efforts&sacrifices I have did for it and my quest to establish&implement South American Monsoon Time Scale to serve the people GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI girlapati@aol.com

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOCBDr5JWZH9-7K6zAfbOHWR0MCFf4CXc. This is a playlist with specific songs that I have chosen for you to listen to while you read my story. Enjoy :) You are here, in your room, sitting in front of your laptop watching some stupid TikTok videos, sometimes laughing and sometimes just with a poker face. You look through the terribly dusty window on which the sunbeams fall and what do you see? Some people may say that they don't see anything because there are no people, though, look at the trees, how tall and strong and powerful they are. Look at the leaves, have you ever seen them so green? No artist can ever depict such art on their canvas. Now ask yourself: did nature look so delightful, so colourful when there were so many people outdoors? Did it look like that? I guess you didn't remember because you were busy hanging out with your friends, huh? Had good times with them, I believe discussing some boyish or girlish stuff. I am sure you liked it. I am sure you want to experience the same but were you grateful for what you had and are you grateful for what you have now? Do you think that you lived those days correctly? Think before you answer. Everything happens for a reason. One day you woke up and realized that you can't go out: no more boring physics classes with fatty Mr Pinchpockaley who has a torn pocket on his beige suit, no school community workdays for taking care of the school gardens, no school at all. Seems like you shouldn't be sad about this, you didn't have fun there. You loved the late-night parties, drunk kisses with random people. You liked running away from your house, ignoring your parents, ignoring that they could be worried about you, you just didn't care...You cared about friends or better to say “toxic people”, who made you as much toxic as they are. You liked gossiping, laughing at others, especially Dorothy Angelson from your chemistry class. She is a nerd, she is so smart, and it always made you angry. Though you remember your small garden in front of your house, where you and Dorothy were taking care of flowers. -One day, when we grow up, we gonna take care of all flowers all over the world! -Yes! We will take care of all flowers and trees all over the world! (hug) -Dorothy, you are my best friend! -You are my best friend, too, Melly! You want her back. She was always there for you, you want back your dreams. You are lying there in your bad, in your headphones, ignoring the daily news about thousands of people who die every day because of the disease. You don't know what you gonna do for the next 24 hours, you don't know when the quarantine will end, you have no clue how you gonna stay indoors, you are lost. You feel like you are out of your mind, you feel like this is not your life. Suddenly, after 6 hours that you've spent in your room, thinking about those last 2 years, wondering whether you've lived them correctly or not, you hear a knock. -Honey, the dinner is ready. You feel bad because you don't remember when you had dinner with your parents for the last time. Downstairs you heard the smell of freshly roasted chicken with french fries and your favourite salad. In 5 minutes when you began eating your chicken, you realized, how much you have missed, and you just couldn't keep those tears anymore… After long hugs and kisses and apologies, you enjoyed your meal, helped your mom with the dishes. That day you finally found yourself and realized how much you've missed your parents. When you entered your room, you whispered: -I am back… You knew what you must do next -- get Dorothy back. You've spent a great deal of time searching for a good present for her. There was nothing until you went to the garden in front of your house and saw the flowers you and Dorothy took care of… you have never seen them so pretty. -Wow, seems like nature had to have a rest from people… After gathering the flowers, you put on that uncomfortable mask which covered your favourite dark purple lipstick and ran out of your house. In five minutes, you were in front of Dorothy's house door, and it opened. -I miss you Dor… Sorry for what I've done… I miss you so much. You cried a lot and very loud as if you needed it so much. -You know, I believe that this quarantine was just meant to be. I found myself! Dor, I am back! Dorothy was silent for a couple of seconds, then she said. -Wanna me to show you the book I got? It's about the correct way of taking care of flowers and trees. -Yes, Dor, I'd love to… She hugged you so tightly, and you both cried.. Sitting there alone in your room made you think, made you be alone with yourself and realize that you must take actions, you must fix your young teenage mistakes, and you did it… Sometimes staying all alone with themselves, people may start looking at everything from different angles and perspectives. Sometimes a long silence is needed to fully understand who we are.

“And...Aster, you're up!" I shakily drew in a breath and bent down to check if my en pointe shoes were tied. Why did the air suddenly seem so cold? Why were chills running up my spine? And why, out of all things, was I scared? It's gonna be alright, I assured myself. My brain believed it, but my heart didn't. It beat fast, as if it was saying, "Oh, I'm not sure..." My friend Wonder's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Pssst. Aster, go on," She nudged me with her elbow. "You can do this!" Wonder's sunny, smiling face encouraged me, but didn't do much to move my fears. "I can't do it." "What?" Wonder's face fell. "I just can't. I'm too scared." "But you can do it!" Wonder protested. "Then how do I do it?" "Just face your fears." * * * The first time my mother told me to try ballet, I was really skeptical. Ballet? Really? With music that goes, dodo-do-do? Nope, not for me. Then, she MADE me try it, which I complained about for a long time. She pushed me into our custom-made Porsche car and said, "You can't think that ballet is terrible before you've even tried it." Sigh. Grown-ups. "I still think ballet is a waste of time and torrible." I declared with a matter-of-fact look on my face, staring at her through the rear view mirror with my brown eyes. "Oh, Aster," murmured Mum. "Using words you've made up." I did make up words if there wasn't a good enough word in Merriam Webster's dictionary. Terrible and horrible both sounded the same and meant the same thing, so I decided to merge them to create, "Torrible". It's a word that's twice as strong than your ordinary negative adjective. Once we got to the ballet studio, I crossed my arms to make myself seem like I meant business and didn't want to be there. "Welcome!" cried a bright-eyed woman. "I'm Madame Natalia!" She had her hazel hair in a tight bun and was wearing a black leotard paired with white tights and ballet shoes. "Please come inside!" I reluctantly entered the studio. It had glossy walls, wooden bars, and a huge mirror at the very front. I had thought that ballet was going to be boring. Boy, was I wrong. Ballet now seemed like it was part of everything in my life now. It was in my schedule, and I tried to do anything to please Madame Natalia. I was having so much fun doing pliés and tendus and pirouettes that I even forgot how I first felt like when I went to the studio! It was as if I couldn't feel that way about ballet anymore. Soon, three years had passed and I was a high-level fifteen year old. Madame Natalia had long gone; I now had a teacher named Madame Trance. Her name suited her. She looked as if she had been taking too many sleeping pills. Her blonde hair always seemed to float and her gray eyes were always dreamy as if she were far, far away from the studio. One day Madame Trance said, “Aster, there's going to be a competition at the Lincoln Center Ballet Stage. Do you want to go for it?” My eyes grew wide. A competition? For real?“YES!” I shouted, jumping up and down. Madame looked at me disapprovingly and shook her head. “What's wrong Madame?” I asked, cocking my head, settling down again. “Oh, dear. The people downstairs will complain again.” I grinned sheepishly, embarrassed. * * * So here I was, at Lincoln Center making a fool out of myself. My brain had already confirmed that I couldn't bring myself to dance on the ballet stage. I had looked down at my feet and moped. Then, Wonder had given me one of the best pieces of advice that I had ever heard in my life: "Face your fears". I looked up. Wonder nodded. I thought about spiders. Poison. War. Stage fright, and another gazillion things that I never knew that I was afraid of. "If you're ever gonna do something in life," soothed Wonder, bring me back into the present, "If you're ever gonna try something new, you have to go face-to-face with whatever you're afraid of." She stared at me so intently that I snickered."Wow!" I laughed. "You sound just like a teacher!" "Thank you."Wonder giggled. "Number 26, are you coming? I repeat, number 26, are you coming?" I inhaled deeply and stepped forward. I put on my best calm face. It didn't matter which place I came in. All that mattered was that I had faced my fears.

*WESTERN NORTH PACIFIC MONSOON TIME SCALE is proposed&designed by me in 1991 to study the Western North Pacific monsoon.So world scientists can make this scale and make further research&develop,promote&propagate it. Find out it by searching it's aforesaid name in all websites or can get by sending your email to my email I'd irlapatigangadhar255@gmail.com. Scientists who make this scale have trouble making this scale, kindly take my assistance in making this scale. Email id is:gangadhar19582058@gmail.com. I will create a model scale and send the same to their study. For this you must send the list of monsoon low pressure systems last 140 years since 1880 formed over the Western North Pacific monsoon region.In addition to this, a certain amount should be sent for expenses.Recognize me as the inventor of Western North Pacific Monsoon Time Scale by making references in your publications. You need to design the computer model later.

Geoscope&National Geoscope Projects for all world regions&countries are invented and designed by me 1987 with many intentions&ambitions just like creation of artificial storms, artificial rains, artificial underground waters etc. Find out them in all websites by searching the name GEOSCOPE BY GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI.Make further research&develop,promote&propagate it.Recognize it by making references in your publications. This is not what Buckminster had made in 1962.Also there are many architectures in the name of Geoscope,Kindly recognize me as the Originator of the Geoscope in lieu of considering the immense efforts I have did for it and my quest to establish&implement it all over the world countries to serve the world people.

I am an unfortunate Indian scientist subjected to negligence racism,discrimination. Governments and organizations didn't support&provide research opportunities to me.I built a small lab at my house and over a 10000 researches and studies have been conducted on weather problems&natural calamities and more than 1000 research papers are prepared and published.Mainly I have formulated the BASICS OF GLOBAL MONSOON TIME SCALES, IRLAPATISM-A NEW HYPOTHETICAL MODEL OF COSMOLOGY, GEOSCOPE,INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE.I am now making my life's last journey with hopelessness&sickness.Find out my researches in all websites by searching it's aforesaid names or GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI and bring me into light by making references in your publications.

When we first met, some 35 years ago, I was so pregnant with my first baby, I resembled an overstuffed couch. I'd forsaken style when I couldn't reach around my own belly to shave my legs, sporting enough hair to scrape clean a BBQ grill. You, having just sold a million dollar house, crossed our threshold like a runway-model, tall and confident, pivoting on heels resembling knitting needles. You warmly embraced me and I caught the subtle scent of an exotic perfume. The last fragrance I'd worn came from a flap ripped from a waiting-room magazine. “I'm so envious,” you whispered midst a cheek peck. “You look amazing.” I wanted to find fault in you, something ugly. Unfortunately, we had to get along. Our husbands were loyal friends having just returned from months serving on an aircraft carrier. I loved my husband enough to oblige. Besides, you cursed, gossiped, and fiercely loved your man, instantly winning me over. That afternoon, we sat in my kitchen with the government-issued paperwork before us. Form-DD193 was a mandatory document for married officers and signing it meant one of us would be present at notification time should the other's husband get killed-in-action. While the guys watched football in the den, you and I discussed a contract where we'd bear witness to the other's worst nightmare. Before signing, you took my hands in yours. “You need to understand something.” Your eyes were sharp and sincere. “If Ken dies, I'll know. I'll simply get his gun and pull the trigger.” I gasped. Then, you made me promise never to tell a sole. In utter shock, I nodded. After releasing my hands, you flamboyantly scratched your signature on DD193 and grinned as though you'd just sold me a duplex. That afternoon, we passed across bits of ourselves like poker chips. Enamored by your every word, something more than my baby swelled inside me. It was the seedling of our friendship. In time, you confided you couldn't have children. I simply had no words. The more I understood you, the more you both fascinated and troubled me. Killing myself wasn't an option because I was a mom, but what if I wasn't? Did my not wanting to take that eternal journey with Jimmy mean I loved him less than you loved Ken? Or did it mean I loved myself more than I loved Jimmy? At 23 years old, I hadn't a clue. In many waning hours, I imagined what I'd do if I got 'that' call. Would I physically restrain you? I'd have a small advantage over you in your stilettos, but I couldn't hang on to you like a chimp forever. I once asked if you even knew how to shoot a gun. “Don't need to know when the only target is in my own mouth.” While our husbands deployed to foreign lands over the years, you and I ran the gamut of emotions. I came to understand that you missed Ken more than I had room to miss Jimmy. You and I survived Thanksgivings and Christmases together without our husbands.You held my hand when I gave birth the second time and stayed with me until Jimmy returned. You were the catalyst for my return to grad school. After years of friendship, our husbands were being transferred to opposite American coasts. We spent our last Sunday together, laughing and relaxing on deck chairs, avoiding conversation about our impending separation, but it loomed large. The following morning, Jimmy left before dawn for his last two week deployment and I was exhausted but rendered wide awake. I distracted myself with moving preparations, avoiding thoughts of going months, perhaps even years, without seeing you. By mid-afternoon, fatigue hit me like a tranquilizer dart and I laid down with the boys for a delicious nap. The phone woke me and I answered but heard only dial-tone. Sometime later, my fuzzy brain registered the doorbell ringing. I slid from the bed and jogged down the stairs, not wanting the boys to be startled awake. I opened the door to find five or six officers in dress uniforms standing before me. For a second, I was confused until the pieces quickly fell into place. I had to go with them to tell you Ken was gone. “He's dead, isn't he?” I grabbed the door frame. I had prepared for this, certainly thought about it more than the average military wife. I stifled a sob; there would be time to cry later. I took a deep breath. I had to do this for you. “What about my boys? I can't leave them here alone.” “We can help you with your sons, madam.” The tallest of the men looked uneasy in his stiff jacket as he gestured towards an impeccable, uniformed woman I hadn't noticed. “Ms. Louise is a child psychologist. She'll stay as long as you need.” Dazedly reassured, I shifted focus. I would share your plan with these professionals. Hell with betrayal, I knew what was about to unfold and it terrified me. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I prayed I was still dreaming but when I opened my eyes the officers were still there. They slowly parted as if on cue. That was when I saw you.

I cradled the ticket in my hand as I watched the dust motes dance to the silence of the fading sunshine. The tracks shifted gently somewhere far off down the line in the crumbling remnants of what once was a strict European station. Swallowing my heart, I saw the café nearby housed patrons that came as quickly as they went; but hidden in my memories, a family once sat united. Even if remembering meant knowing what I could not have, I still held to it like a petal on a flower. But with the rustle of wind as a train tore onto the platform, the ticket slipped from my fingers as the memory faded beyond reach. Once again, the hole in my chest etched its way out, and hazy eyes followed the dying scream as the train departed. I fixed my shoelace; tying my life together in a flimsy bow. Finally, I sighed and stood unsheathing my sword, ready to face a world full of people. Me? I walked alone. The café held smells that made my nose twitch and being jump in excitement. The dessert display contained a wild array of textures – the shattering, airy crunch of meringue, and the softer ones of glazed jams and gleaming chocolates. Pastries with rolling bubbles and cooling air pockets steamed, causing a tsunami of desire to churn within my mouth. My hand reached for the lightweight (but not brittle) treats before my brain could catch up and shout furious instructions that lead me to a table isolated far off in the back. Not even the sun dared to shine as I sat in personal punishment, waiting for another train to arrive. The pennies clumsily scattered on the table were barely enough for a new ticket. I couldn't afford to eat. It felt as if rough hands had grabbed me and forced me back into a casket. Without a word, the lid slammed silencing my last hope, and my rumbling stomach served as a dying protest. Every shaky breath bought me one more moment, and the longer I fought, the less appealing the chocolate drizzled delicacies appealed. Even then, I held my breath to stifle the temptations caging me in. My lungs strained against the thin air; however, the tight darkness choked me as it seeped into my chest. The only option was to gasp like a dying man. It burned and thumped through my veins in a complete reversal of how breathing is supposed to work. Glassy eyes searched for a lifeboat to cling to, but nobody was coming. The waitress bustled, preparing a coffee for a woman in clothes too smart to be riding a train. A man sat hunched over a paper and pen, resembling a tart engorged with custard. And a boy just like me with dreary features, and a worn-down attitude slouched at a table picking at the ghost of his meal. The minute hand of a clock ticked its way full circle, and even with the continuous reminder of the fluidity of time, the world no longer spun. Like tremors, it began as a twitch in my nose, and soon the horrible monstrosity of nature was upon us. A sneeze so grand the table's napkins swirled into a hurricane, but still, not a soul turned. I blessed myself, but the room swallowed the noise, and I realised then that I hadn't heard my voice since the last blue moon. Instead, the café's radio murmured like T.V static. A blaze of light animated the brick that connected me to an alternate reality, and as if it could tell that cotton clogged my throat, it alerted me of a notification. The phone was a false hope, for no wires trailed from the base that led to the outside world. Once again, my shoulders caved in like a sandcastle overrun by waves. I was an addict for human contact, needing the sweet morphine to quell the craze pinching my brain. It hurt as if nails were trying to claw me apart. Exiting the store in a flicker of a moment, I stood by the tracks and gazed down the line. My pennies were replaced by the purchase of a new ticket, but this one was strangled between fingers, trapping buried memories within the crinkles. In my ears, a million tiny whispers echoed like a heartbeat, but home was an ocean away and as old as stone. I was close –a few beats off– but like muscle memory, I still knew my way back. The incoming train creaked and cringed in a sweltering welcome, and with stilted steps, I clambered aboard. A crooked man resembling a screw stamped my ticket, and my head fell back like a weighted anchor. The damp scent of mildew and rotting fabric swamped the atmosphere in a thick blanket, but just knowing that I was returning to a place that blazed brightly with laughter diluted the stench. I surrendered to the massive hulk of horsepower; to the chains and rigs that ran on the energy of a single piece of coal. No matter how often the cables would break, or the gears ceased, the machine learned to function, just as people learned to move on; learned to get by with every chip and mark. It's not quite right. There are broken pieces, missing pieces, and sharp edges that still draw blood. It's strange, unique, and filled with tragedy; but, it's the belief that the machine still functions despite itself.

It was the first day of school in a new place for me. My dad had been transferred, and I had to start from scratch, yet again. As I entered the classroom, barely aware of the kids staring at me, I picked the first seat that seemed empty. "This seat belongs to my friend!" I stopped right in my track. This was new territory for me. Usually, when I moved to a new school, I was used to being ignored by kids. But I had never been questioned or argued with on the first day of school. "I'm sorry," I mumbled and looked for another seat that might be empty. As my desperate eyes found another seat, a girl pushed me aside and sat on it. She didn't even bother to say anything, and just decided to give me a defiant glance. I shrugged and moved on to the only other available seat on the last bench of the room. No one bothered to claim that seat and I sank into it, thanking God that I didn't have to sit on the floor, on the first day of my new school. I was not aware of it that day, but life was in the process of teaching me a lesson, the value, and power of one. We spend the majority of our lives trying to fit in with some group. As a child, we want to hang out with friends. As grown-ups, it may be colleagues, family or friends. Our size changes, but the need to fit in stays the same till we stop existing. To top it all, we then begin to watch our children, an extension of us, go through the same struggles. We scrutinize their every movement. Do they have enough friends? Is their social circle too huge to manage? Whether our children are surrounded by friends or are loners, it takes an emotional toll on them and on us. When they wander alone, we feel sad that they have no friends to share their joy and pain. When they are surrounded by kids, they might feel that they have no privacy and feel the constant pressure to keep up with their social engagements. The truth is that whether the child is a social butterfly or struggles to make or keep friends, they all eventually find their tribe. This group can be a big one or it can be just two best friends hanging out together throughout their lives. Such friends can be made in childhood or you can find them much later in life, as I did in college. But the point is when you find them, it's like coming home to your bed after a long vacation. You do not have to make any effort to maintain this tribe. You can be yourself and let them be themselves. You just click and fall in place. However, the hardest thing to do is to wait for that tribe. Because, while you're doing the waiting, you walk from group to group and one bully after another. You lose faith in the concept of ever meeting your one true friend, let alone a tribe of a friend. And that's when you really begin to wonder if being alone is better than this constant heart-break. That is when you truly explore other possibilities. When I was a kid, my family became my savior. The true constant in my ever-changing life were my parents and my little sister. We fought, we played and we bonded. As a result, whenever I found my children facing heart-breaks in their friendships, I stood up for them. I reminded them that they were a valuable asset and that if no one played with them, their mom and dad would always be willing to play. When children realize that they have options, they feel brave enough to take a chance. They feel free to soar. My son clearly told me one day, "Let me find a friend first. I want to play with a friend." That was the day I felt confident that he was on his way to become independent. But what if we find ourselves alone in life? It can happen to the best of us. I went through lots of those times during my childhood which lead me to earn the title bookworm. Books became my best buddies and I spent a lot of my childhood catching up on the lives of my favorite characters. I spent a lot of that time figuring out myself. It's not until we are comfortable in our skins that we truly value others around us. I learned the power of one very early in my life. I made my own rules on who I liked and who I didn't like. I learnt that I loved books and I loved to sing. My daughter learnt that she loved to express her feelings through art and music. My son learnt that he loves to play math games and music. None of these discoveries could have been made if we surrounded ourselves with noise and chaos all the time. If I could talk with myself back then, I would say ... It is all going to work out, even though it may not seem like it. These strange faces are going to turn familiar soon. You will learn soon who you should bond with and who you should stay away from. That girl who rudely sat in your spot will one day save you from a teacher's wrath. That boy who saved space for his friend ...well, he will turn out to be that guy you will learn to avoid. It will all work out you see. Life will teach you to move on even as it pulls you from behind. Life will teach you to move through groups even as you learn to be alone.