I've had many people slip in and out of my life over the years. Some people stay for a few weeks, and some of them last for years. I do think about them sometimes, but there's one person that always stays in the back of my mind no matter where I am, who I'm with, or what I'm doing. Once in a lifetime, you meet a person that truly understands. You meet someone that is a perfect foil of your favorite qualities in a person. Usually, when I drift away from someone, I accept it. Sometimes, it even stings a little to let them go, but I still find ways to cope with the absence of them in my life. However, there's someone that I lost years ago, and no matter how much time passes, I can't get over their loss. They were my other half: the greatest friend I've ever had, and probably ever will have. I met them in 5th grade, specifically when our seats were placed next to each other. We were both infatuated with drawing, even though they were leagues better than me. But more importantly, we both loved to laugh. There was never a moment when we weren't uncontrollably giggling at something, which was almost always an inside joke. We had dozens and dozens of inside jokes, enough to fill entire pages with nonsense. I didn't realize it at the time, but the memories I created with them were some of, if not the most cherished memories I have. I didn't realize that I would never feel companionship like that again, and I regret taking it all for granted. I also regret never expressing to them how much they meant to me. They were never the sentimental type, so I thought it would be out of place to get all sappy about our friendship. They have no idea that I still think about them a lot. They have no idea how much I replay our memories together whenever I need a reminder of how good life can get. They changed me for the better, and there are no words to express how grateful I am for that. By 7th grade, we had completely stopped talking to each other for multiple reasons out of our control. At the time, I didn't even realize that we had stopped talking. It all happened so gradually that I failed to notice. At first, only a few days of silence would go by before we struck up another conversation, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and when I finally realized how much time had passed since we had last talked, it had been almost 2 years. The time of my life when we were friends is still the time of my life that I remember the most fondly, and I'd go as far to say that they were one of the reasons why it sticks out so much in my mind. I was old enough to understand the world and what was important to me, but I was young enough to live without responsibility and feel truly free. It took me another couple of years to realize how much I missed them. I would still have fun with friends, but I was never as carelessly joyful as I was when I was with them. I would still draw, but without my drawing companion, I couldn't find any joy in it. A void had formed in my life, a void that was shaped like them. Of course, after we had stopped talking, I made new friends, some of which I've grown very close with, but nobody has ever compared to the 5th grade artistic prodigy I cracked jokes with at recess. I was never going to find anybody like them, and I accepted that. The past year has been really rough for me. The looming stress of college applications as well as numerous personal incidents has really impacted my mental health, something which has been considerably good my entire life. On one particularly bad night when I desperately needed human contact, I made the bold decision to message them out of the blue. I still had their number after 4 years. To break the ice, I messaged them one of our old inside jokes. I got a response almost instantly, and we had our first conversation in years. Suddenly, all of my yearning for the past and the feeling that it gave me melted away because I had the memory back that I longed for the most: them. The first night we talked was filled with laughter, so much laughter. I don't think I'll ever forget that night. Reconnecting with them has been one of the greatest decisions I've ever made. Ever since that night, I've been in such high spirits. I never thought I'd say it, but I have my friend back. I don't know where I'd be right now if I never made the decision to message them that night. The topic of “past friends” has always been elusive and misunderstood. We often think the worst of them. We believe that they must want nothing to do with us. We think of ourselves too much, and don't realize that people have the capacity to remember us just as much as we have the capacity to remember them. Your old friends aren't lost forever, especially ones that are only a message away. I guarantee that they'll be nothing but happy that you thought of reaching out to them, and who knows? Maybe they won't be an "old" friend anymore, maybe they'll just be a friend.

Ever since I was a little brat with pigtails, art has always fascinated me. My mother said I would draw on every surface I could find—from the cupboards to the dressers, to the TV screen. If it could be scribbled on, my tiny baby hands, barely able to hold a crayon, were all over it. When I finally moved on to actual paper, I would get lost in the worlds I created, inventing stories for the characters I drew. By middle school, I was the kid in the back of the class, sketching away to my heart's content. I remember one time, a classmate asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Having no interests besides drawing, I told them I had no idea. They suggested, “What about those people who draw cartoons? You draw a lot, and you're good at it!” That comment stuck with me. When I got home, I went straight to our old Dell computer and looked up "people who draw cartoons," and according to Google, they were called "animators." Maybe it was the satisfaction of someone besides my mom acknowledging my work, or perhaps it was the realization that this could be an actual career, but I became fixated. I imagined myself working at a big animation company, sipping on my drink while doing what I loved most. Little me made it her mission to become an animator one day. I spent countless hours researching and watching tutorials on how to improve my art. My sketch pad was always with me, constantly trying to get better. But there was something missing. Every animation tutorial I watched featured a “drawing tablet.” Seeing this, little me wanted one desperately, but I knew I couldn't ask my mom for it. She was already working two jobs to support me and my three other siblings. I didn't want to burden her any further. So, I found ways to earn the money myself. I offered my drawing services to my classmates in exchange for cash, knocked on neighbors' doors to walk their dogs, and did chores for other people—I did everything I could to raise the money. Every peso I saved felt like a step closer to my dream. I remember the thrill of holding a crisp bill in my hand after walking Mrs. Garcia's dog for a week straight. It felt like victory, and I was convinced that nothing could stop me. My mom noticed my extra energy. She never asked why, but I could see the pride in her eyes every time I showed her the little money I had saved, telling her it was for my future. A couple of weeks went by, and my piggy bank grew heavier. I could barely contain my excitement when I finally had enough to buy the drawing tablet. I remember running to my mom, showing her the money I had saved. Just when I thought I was about to hold the tablet in my hands, life took an unexpected turn. My grandma fell seriously ill, and suddenly, every bit of money we had became crucial. Without hesitation, I offered my savings to help with her medical expenses. My mom was reluctant to accept it, knowing how much I had worked for it, but I insisted. My dream could wait; my grandma's health couldn't. The months that followed were tough. We watched over grandma, praying for her recovery. By some miracle, she got better, and we were all so relieved. Though my dream of owning a drawing tablet seemed further away, my heart was full knowing my Nana was okay and I had helped in a small way. When Christmas rolled around, I didn't expect much. We had spent so much on the hospital bills, I knew there wasn't much left for presents. But on Christmas morning, as we gathered around the tree, my mom handed me a box wrapped in bright red paper. I slowly unwrapped the gift, my hands trembling. I couldn't believe it—inside was the drawing tablet! With tears in my eyes, I looked up at my mom. She smiled and told me she had taken on extra shifts at work to buy it. That moment was pure magic. I hugged my mom tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. She had always been my biggest supporter, and this was the greatest gift she could have given me. I plugged in the tablet immediately; the feel of the stylus in my hand just felt so right. My imagination had found a new playground. I was practically glued to my tablet, practicing my technique every day. As my art improved, so did my confidence. So, I decided to start sharing my work online, making connections with other artists and like-minded people. High school came and went, and I had my sights set on animation school. Although the road wasn't easy, I was determined. Today, as I sit in my college dorm room, going to my dream school, I often think back to those early days. The determination, the hard work, and the belief that I could make it all seemed like a distant dream. But it was real, and it was mine. I dedicate everything I have achieved and will achieve to my mom. My journey from a little brat with pigtails drawing on cupboards to a budding animator has been filled with challenges and triumphs, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

It was 2010, August 25 th, when I moved to my father's house with my mother after 5 -years divorce. I was 5 and could not easily  cope with the atmosphere at the new house as I have grown up by my grandmother until my fifth. Because, my parents got divorced and mother left me with grandmother studying at another region, at the Medical college in order to relieve her stress. Hence I love my grandmother mostly. But I had to leave her and every day crying , I missed her so much as there was a lack of her love for me at my "new " house. It was very difficult for a young girl.I could not even dare to call him dad. I felt as if I was adopted by absolutely strange family. There was a strange distance between my dad and me due to the 5 gap years not feeling his existence.He and his realatives also could not adapt my actions, attitude towards them and treated  me as a stranger , banning  lots of things those I wanted. I could not wear what I wanted, I could not go to my grandmother's home and even I had a little time to play with my peers.My mom could not do anything for me as none considered her as a person at father's home. Before I have never understood why she endured all hardships there . She could work for herself divorcing with dad.( I understood her later) She always wanted me not to be isolated, and not to feel lack of father's love. But, the ambience at my father's house was that toxic, I can not still cope with it . My dad's relatives have many bad habits which I have never seen in my grandmorher's home. They all together drink alcohols which always causes bad consequences in relationships.Such kind of situations always made me demotivated.Especially after the time when I had learned about my father's ex- wife and his daughter,I could not releive depression during a month. This acknowledgement resulted in my first step to write poems.Since that day, worries, difficulties ,unsatisfactions improve my creativity to write stories ,poems .I understood that I need to adapt that atmosphere in that house and seek positive sides . I slowly began to love my father and encouraged myself to study hard. And learned different languages from my grandmother and  courses with the support of her and dad .Although, my chilhood has been replaced with problems instead of fun, I chose not to loose my dreams and goals due to issues those I would consider as minor one day. Also, my father started to support me in terms of Education after the change of my attitude towards him.I attended different language courses which are the keys of my current success . And within 5 years, I became very fluent in English .I really wanted to show my ability . Unfortunately, I lived in a small village and none , even teachers did not pay attention to my ability. But, I began to teach English to  young children for free in order to change their mind in terms of education and also to widen my own horizon collaborating with others.The course which has begun with only two girls became wider day -by- day. Many parents in my village gave up the idea that Education is unnecessary which appeared under the influence of Russian governance over Uzbeks. Today in Uzbekistan,people's insights about higher Education changed into absolutely positive way. Now they are implementing millions of funds for their education. And the reverse was true for the life in 2000s .Of course, in spite of the fact that, I could not change whole negative theory in Uzbekistan, I could release positive influence among people of my village, teaching youth, and contributing their academic succes and well performance at schools. Even some of my students were recently admitted to the one of the prestigious schools in Uzbekistan which are specialised for English. I am so proud of them , I could be a part of positive changes in many people's minds, lives, contributing their educational development.

In the quiet town of Willowbrook, where winter arrived with a soft blanket of snow, lived a little girl named Lily. Lily was unlike other children her age; she spent most of her days in the hospital, battling a serious illness that had weakened her tiny frame. Her parents, Sarah and Michael, did everything they could to keep her spirits up, but the worry etched deep lines on their faces. As the first snowflakes began to fall one chilly December morning, Lily pressed her small face against the hospital window, her breath fogging the glass. She loved snow—the way it turned the world into a magical wonderland, even if she could only watch it from afar. Sarah sat by Lily's bedside, gently brushing the hair from her daughter's forehead. “Look, Lily,” she whispered, “it's snowing.” Lily's eyes sparkled with delight. “Mommy, can I make a wish on the snow?” Sarah smiled, her heart aching with love and sadness. “Of course, sweetheart. What would you wish for?” Lily thought for a moment, her gaze fixed on the swirling snowflakes outside. “I wish... I wish to go home and play in the snow with you and Daddy.” Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. She hugged Lily tightly, whispering promises of snowball fights and sleigh rides once she was better. But deep down, Sarah feared they might never leave the hospital. That night, as Sarah and Michael sat by Lily's bedside, the snow continued to fall outside, covering Willowbrook in a silent white blanket. Lily drifted off to sleep, her small hand clutching a snowflake-shaped charm Sarah had brought her earlier that day. In the early hours of the morning, something miraculous happened. Lily's fever broke, and her breathing steadied. Sarah woke with a start, noticing the change in her daughter's condition. She called for the nurse, who rushed in, amazed at the sudden improvement. “We need to run some tests, but this looks promising,” the nurse said, her voice filled with cautious hope. Throughout the day, Lily grew stronger. She ate a little more, her laughter ringing through the hospital room like a tiny bell. Sarah and Michael couldn't believe their eyes—their daughter, who had been so frail just hours ago, was now sitting up in bed, playing with her favorite stuffed animal. “It's a miracle,” Michael whispered, his voice choked with emotion. As the days passed, Lily continued to improve. The doctors were baffled but overjoyed. They ran tests and consulted specialists, but no medical explanation could account for Lily's sudden recovery. One evening, as Sarah and Michael sat by Lily's bedside, the doctor came in with a smile on her face. “I don't know how to explain this,” she began, “but Lily's illness seems to have gone into remission. Her body is responding as if... as if it's healing itself.” Sarah and Michael exchanged tearful glances. They knew in their hearts what had happened—the miracle of the first snow had granted Lily's wish. When Lily was finally discharged from the hospital, the town of Willowbrook celebrated her return with a joyous parade. Lily rode in a decorated sleigh, waving to the townspeople who had prayed for her recovery. Snowflakes fell gently from the sky, a reminder of the miracle that had brought their little girl back to them. Years passed, and Lily grew strong and healthy. Every winter, on the anniversary of that miraculous day, Sarah and Michael would take Lily to the hospital to visit the children who still waited for their own miracles. Lily would sit by their bedsides, holding their hands and whispering stories of snowflakes and wishes. And in the heart of Willowbrook, the miracle of the first snow lived on—a story of hope, love, and the power of a child's pure-hearted wish.

It was my birthday, a day tinged with a bittersweet anticipation of having everyone I loved gathered together. But amidst the joyous celebration, there was an absence that weighed heavily on my heart—Dad, gone and distant. Aware of the strain on my family, I yearned for nothing more than their happiness. So, I adorned a mask of smiles and laughter, hoping to uplift everyone around me. In school, I sought solace in sharing my struggles with peers, hoping to connect and feel less isolated. Some reacted with surprise, others with empathy. However, there were also those who, not fully grasping the weight of my words, said hurtful things that stung, even if unintended. Amidst the mixed reactions, I often felt awkward and embarrassed around those who knew about Dad, internalizing hurtful labels, even around those who reacted with kindness. When I returned home, still processing the impact of those reactions, Mama gently reminded me of her powerful lesson: "Smash the stigma." She handed me a board and a marker, instructing me to write down all the hurtful names the kids at school had called me: fatherless, deadbeat, too quiet, timid. Each word felt like a punch to my gut as I wrote it down, but Mama stood by, her presence a steady source of support. Once the board was filled with those cruel labels, she gave me a hammer. Together, we smashed the board into pieces, the sound of splintering wood echoing the release of pent-up anger and sadness. As the shards scattered, it felt as if the weight of those words was lifted off my shoulders. Then, she handed me a new board and encouraged me to write positive words about myself—words that reflected my true identity. I wrote friendly, joyful, magnetic, and energetic. As I wrote, I began to see myself in a new light. The act of replacing the negative words with positive affirmations was empowering. It was in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of the shattered board and the fresh slate of affirmations, that I felt an unexpected surge of laughter. It wasn't forced or fake; it was a genuine release of suppressed emotions, a cathartic moment that marked the beginning of my healing journey. As I stood amidst the wreckage of shattered perceptions, something unexpected happened. Laughter bubbled up from deep within me, unexpected and liberating. It wasn't a laughter born of denial or pretense, but one that emerged naturally, cleansing the wounds of my hidden emotions. For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to truly feel—anger, sadness, and eventually, the pure, unadulterated joy of laughter. That laughter became a turning point, a beacon of healing that guided me through the years to come. It wasn't just about masking pain anymore; it was about acknowledging and embracing all emotions, even the uncomfortable ones. Through my journey, I came to understand that while laughter could be a powerful healer, it should never be forced. Each emotion, whether pleasant or painful, held its place in the tapestry of my experiences. Today, as I lead a peer support group, I draw upon those early lessons of smashing stigma and embracing authenticity. I've seen firsthand how sharing our stories and allowing ourselves to feel deeply can transform lives. Laughter, now a symbol of resilience and courage, often emerges in our sessions—not as a mask, but as a genuine expression of shared humanity. It's a reminder that healing isn't linear, and it doesn't always come in quiet moments of reflection but sometimes in the uproarious release of laughter. Through our group, we break down barriers of shame and isolation, encouraging others to confront their traumas with compassion and courage. Just like Mama did for me. Each session is a testament to the power of vulnerability and the healing potential of shared laughter. It's a journey marked by moments of profound connection and understanding, where tears mingle freely with laughter, and every emotion finds its rightful place. In the end, I've come to cherish not just the laughter that springs from joyous moments but also the laughter that emerges from the depths of shared pain and healing. It's a reminder that while not all emotions feel good, they are all necessary. And through it all, I continue to honor Mama's wisdom—to smash the stigma, to embrace authenticity, and to hold space for every emotion, knowing that each contributes to the beautiful complexity of being human.

It is an odd feeling being fifty. Wrinkles are settled in now, and my body feels more flimsy by the day. An elaborate continuum of forgotten memories hangs by a thread. As time passes, my thirst for spontaneity dissipates. My brain is resistant like dusty cogwheels waiting for a spark. Looking around, many strangers I used to know now rest six feet under with an identical bouquet of flowers adorning an $11,000 gravestone. Some of their bodies were taken by the wind, drowned in the deep blue sea, or kept in generational attics. Looking back, I lost many jobs in my late 20s, but thankfully I had a second chance to restart my life. Today is my 50th birthday. A day I never knew would come so soon. Occasionally, I wonder how differently my life would have played out or ponder on old friends. Even at this instant, I can taste the bittersweet memories of nostalgia in my lukewarm cappuccino. Reaching into my pocket, I felt a terrible shock enter my body. Like a pinch too sudden and too painful to even breathe. Slowly I pulled out my hand with purple bruises and a pack of sewing needles. A series of flashbacks entered my mind. My mother had sowed, and her mother sewed, and before her, my great-grandmother sewed, and her mother before that. Funny how bits of my past somehow sneak into my present and future. The pain took me back to when I was a little girl sewing patches of all textures and colors onto my corduroy pants. Clothing was scarce then, and most of my blankets were quilted. Sowing became a part of me and followed me through adolescenthood when I joined the Craft Club at my school. During the second meet-up, I noticed a girl named Lila, with hazelnut eyes and brown hair, in the back of the classroom with a croquet kit on her desk. After introducing myself to her, we became instant friends with the everlasting promise of world domination. Our friendship ended abruptly when she told me she was going to study in Europe. I lost contact with her and thought about her occasionally over the years. Even now, her mystery plagues my mind in times of solitude and reflection. Today is my Birthday. My kids and grandchildren are waiting for me to come home and celebrate a year more. This morning has been my secret escape into the past, but now I must return to the present and finish my cold cappuccino. I reach the table next to me and grab a few napkins to place my needles in. It is an odd feeling being 50, but now I feel comfortable in my flimsy skin. My life has played out the exact way it should have, and now I must keep telling my tale so that my daughter and her daughter, and her daughter will tell it too.

In the early days of the pandemic, I lived in a five hundred square foot apartment. About three hundred of that was taken up by furniture, and the rest was run by my five cats. My momma and I were starved for space, but too scared to go outside for fear of catching covid. We lived in the upper unit of an aged duplex; our downstairs neighbor was never home to keep his apartment cool so the heat rose and baked us in our sardine can. We had a couple decade old window units that tried their best to keep us cool, but more often than not we would eat meals in our car so we could have well-functioning A/C. “All I want is a house,” my mom said while the food wrapper in her hands crinkled. This had been a dream of hers my entire life, I always said if I ever won the lottery the first thing I would do is buy her one. Being in that apartment made that dream bigger, more urgent, something that constantly itched underneath both of our skins. We wanted walls of our own to paint and put holes in, we wanted freedom from overbearing landlords. We wanted to not be scared of eviction with little notice, which is what had landed us in that duplex in the first place. I crossed my legs to make myself more comfortable in the front seat. I stared out at the countryside we had seen so many times in passing, nothing but vast fields with the occasional dots of trees. “I applied for a grant,” I turned to look at my mom and make a questioning sound in my throat, “A grant, some banks will give money to poor folks to help with a down payment. I know we could afford a mortgage and utilities, but I could never save up enough for the down payment,” At the time it seemed like a pipe dream, but the worst thing they could say was no. We would never know if we didn't give it a shot, and at the time all we wanted was that miracle. “Holy shit! Kitty! We got it, we got it!” my mom burst into my room to give me a hug, squeezing me tighter than she ever had before. She nearly dropped her phone her hands were shaking so much. She seemed to be on the verge of tears so I held her a little longer and bonked my head against hers. From that moment on our life consisted of scrolling through Zillow and looking through the newspaper for any home that fit our budget. We didn't have much but fortunately the areas we were looking in weren't the fanciest. We toured place after place, always six feet behind our realtor and shrouded with our masks. “Wow! This place is so spacious and look at those hardwood floors.” She commented as our feet clacked on the floors. The walls were painted a cool blue, it felt like the living room alone was the size of our apartment. It had four whole bedrooms, and a dining room! It was more space than we could have ever dreamed of. At the time we didn't want to get our hopes up, the place was ten thousand dollars over our seemingly meager budget. My mom's door slammed as we climbed into her jeep after the tour. “I mean, it was amazing, but there's no way they'll ever accept our offer,” I looked at her and told her we never thought we would get the grant either. It would hurt more if we never put in an offer in the first place than it would to be told no. It would haunt us to let this opportunity sleep by. A place that wasn't ancient, not too far from family, and had enough room for all of us. She held my hand and nodded, texting our realtor to put in the offer. The day we learned that we got the house, it felt like someone out there was watching out for us. It felt like a blur, between putting in the offer, signing for it, and moving in. For a while it felt like I was dreaming. It didn't hit me until we were standing there in our new living room, with our second hand couch and great value tv stand, that the house was ours. I remember holding my mom real tight, crying for the first time in what felt like years. We spent the night laughing and celebrating, finally able to eat a meal not in our car.

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Sophie was a young woman who lived in a small town surrounded by rolling hills and sprawling fields. She was passionate about traveling and exploring new cultures, but her plans were put on hold due to the outbreak of COVID-19. The lockdowns and travel restrictions left Sophie feeling frustrated and restless, as she watched her once-bustling hometown turn into a ghost town. One day, Sophie was walking down the street when she saw an elderly woman struggling with her groceries. Sophie offered to help, and the woman gratefully accepted. As they walked back to the woman's house, they struck up a conversation and Sophie learned that the woman was living alone, with no family or friends to help her. Mrs. Jackson was a widowed senior who had lived in the town for many years. She had outlived her children and her friends, and the COVID-19 pandemic had made it even more difficult for her to connect with others. Sophie was deeply moved by Mrs. Jackson's story, and she related to her own feelings of isolation and loneliness. Sophie had always felt like an outsider in her hometown, as she dreamed of traveling and exploring the world. She saw in Mrs. Jackson a reflection of her own struggles, and she was determined to make a difference in her life. Sophie began to visit Mrs. Jackson every week, bringing her groceries and spending time with her. They talked about their lives, their hopes and fears, and they formed a deep and meaningful bond. Mrs. Jackson became a source of inspiration and comfort for Sophie. She showed Sophie that even in the face of adversity and isolation, it is possible to find joy and fulfillment in the small moments of life. Mrs. Jackson was grateful for Sophie's company, and she encouraged her to continue to explore her creativity and find new ways to bring happiness into the world. As Sophie continued to visit Mrs. Jackson, she learned more about her background and her life experiences. Mrs. Jackson had been married to a soldier who died in combat, and she had raised her children on her own. Despite her hardships, she had always remained hopeful and resilient, and she had found joy in simple pleasures like gardening, reading, and spending time with friends. Sophie was inspired by Mrs. Jackson's strength and resilience, and she realized that she too had the power to overcome her own struggles. Mrs. Jackson's story showed her that life is a journey, filled with twists and turns, and that it is up to each of us to make the most of the journey, no matter what challenges we may face. In the end, Sophie realized that her relationship with Mrs. Jackson was one of the most meaningful experiences of her life. She was grateful for the chance to make a difference in the life of another person, and she was inspired by Mrs. Jackson's resilience and hope in the face of adversity. And although she still dreams of traveling the world, Sophie knows that there is beauty and wonder to be found in her own hometown, and she is grateful for the chance to live a life filled with love, laughter, and hope.

​I find it annoying that most people when they say 'I love fish' feel no need to specify 'dead' and 'fried'. Some people throw in the word 'to' in the middle but that is hardly the point I am trying to make. That one kind of conveys both meanings at the same time. It kills two birds with one arrow. Or two fish with a bait, to be hilarious. Anyway, the conversation Finn and Gill were having wasn't any better than this. "The weather is fine but it cod be better." Gill hummed in a shrill voice, banging her beer can hard on the table. "Oh dolphinately." added Finn as he cackled, slapping his hands on his lap. "Holy Carp! You are krilling me" Gill said from the other side. Her voice had hit the roof of her pitch. She could as well be in an Acapella. "Oh Cod! It cannot get Betta than that!" Finn replied gulping down his can in one go, spitting out half of it in middle of giggles. "Finn, that one was eel-y eel-y good! Oh my god, could this night get any punnier?" Gill replied as she choked herself laughing. The next minute she jumped of the stool, her stomach paining from all the manic energy. She needed to stop. "You need to clam down, buddy" Finn shouted at her as she walked around trying to stop laughing. Her entrails hurt from the vibrating. She was getting a little dizzy. Less from the beer, more from the puns. "I got one more, Gill! It is an FIN-teresting one" Finn lost it too at this one. He was rocking in quivers of laughs, spit falling out, jaws hurting, beer raining around. And Gill joined in, chuckling even harder than she was at the start. "Ok stop now. I can't laugh... Haaaaaaaa..... No really... You are such a pain in the ass!" she said hoola-hooping into another cackle. "Do you mean, pain in the BASS?! HEEEEEEE! GET IT? PAIN IN THE... BASS." More laughter. More spit. More eyes looking at them, two drunkards laughing there bass off. "Ok we need to stop. Otherwise we'll have to get tr-OUT!" Gill said as she slipped and banged her head on the barstool, then got up and continued to laugh in an even stronger fit. "Yeah, yeah, they will probably call the oooo-fish-ials on us." More laughter. "You don't want the cops as your anemonenies" It was finally time that they settled down back into their seats rubbing their bellies. The people around were probably glaring at them. But they were too late to care at this point. "I can't Fink of anemone" Finn said. Gill smiled. The joke was done. It didn't feel that funny anymore. The fading laughter brought back the ichthyologist. "So, this is it. I am leaving tomorrow" she said rubbing her head and throwing her hair back. "Yeah... Tomorrow... You better solve the Freshwater Fish Paradox." She smiled and chuckled a little. "You are making it sound like it's a big deal. It's just a research. To study the patterns in freshwater fishes and extrapolate data to account for their evolution." "Yeah, I don't know, that sure sounds like it's a big deal." "You were saying something earlier? Before the puns?" she said. "Oh, I guess I was. I... I don't really remember now." Silence. "I will tell you if I remember." "Yeah." The waiter walked in, his face knotted in disgust. The puddles of beer around the floor were enough to trigger his mood from bad to foul. But as he reached the table, he managed to pull the most artificial fake smile. "Here's your prawns, sir! Anything else?" "No that would be all!" The sight of prawns brought a smile back on their faces. "You know, when you first told me that you love fish?" Another giggle. "Yeah I do." "Right. I had thought you liked... Eating fish." Yet another giggle. The blushing kind. "I know." "Okay, you know what. I... I like you." The blood in his face was hot. Looking in her eyes, he could see the same. The smiling lips flattened into surprise. It felt like an infinity. In-fin-ity. Stop it. It's not the time for puns. She halted there, completely still for a moment. And then slowly, the smile grew back. And it grew larger. "So... You want me to be your Gill-friend?"

Growing up, Sarah always dreamed of making a difference in the world. She was the kind of person who was always looking for ways to help others, whether it was volunteering at the local food bank or organizing a fundraiser for a deserving cause. Despite facing numerous challenges and setbacks throughout her life, Sarah never let anything stand in the way of her dreams. She worked hard, studying late into the night and taking on multiple jobs to pay her way through college. After earning her degree, Sarah dedicated herself to a career in public service. She spent years working on the front lines of social justice, fighting to make the world a better place for all people. Through her tireless efforts, Sarah was able to bring about real change in her community. She helped to establish programs that provided meals to the hungry, housing for the homeless, and education for underserved children. But Sarah's greatest accomplishment came when she was chosen to lead a team of international aid workers on a mission to bring medical care and supplies to a remote village in Africa. It was there that she saw firsthand the transformative power of compassion and generosity, and she returned home with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Today, Sarah is an inspiration to all who know her. She continues to work tirelessly to make the world a better place, and her efforts have touched the lives of countless people around the globe. Despite all that she has achieved, Sarah remains humble and grateful, always remembering that it is by working together that we can create a brighter future for all. Sarah's work did not go unnoticed, and she soon found herself in high demand as a speaker and advocate for social justice issues. She traveled the world, sharing her story and inspiring others to take action and make a difference in their own communities. As she spoke to groups large and small, Sarah's message was always the same: that each and every one of us has the power to create positive change in the world. She encouraged her listeners to follow their passions and pursue their dreams, no matter how big or small they may seem. Sarah's own dream was to establish a nonprofit organization that would provide ongoing support and resources to those in need. And with the help of a dedicated team of volunteers and supporters, she was able to do just that. The organization, called "Heart of Gold," quickly became known for its innovative programs and its commitment to making a lasting impact on the lives of those it served. Whether it was providing disaster relief to communities in need or offering job training and mentorship to young people, Heart of Gold was making a difference in countless lives. And through it all, Sarah remained at the heart of the organization, always leading with compassion, kindness, and a fierce determination to make the world a better place. As she looks back on all that she has accomplished, Sarah knows that her journey has just begun. There is still so much work to be done, and she is more committed than ever to making a difference in the world. But no matter what the future may hold, Sarah knows that she has already made a lasting impact, and for that, she is truly grateful. As the years went by, Sarah's work continued to grow and expand, touching the lives of even more people around the world. She was constantly amazed by the generosity and compassion of those who supported Heart of Gold, and she knew that it was because of their efforts that the organization was able to achieve so much. But Sarah also knew that there was still so much more to be done, and she was determined to keep pushing forward. She worked tirelessly, never taking a day off and always striving to find new and innovative ways to make a difference. And her hard work paid off. Heart of Gold continued to grow and thrive, and Sarah was able to see the positive impact of her efforts in the lives of the people she served. She knew that she was making a real difference in the world, and that was all the motivation she needed to keep going. As Sarah approached her 50th birthday, she knew that she had accomplished so much, but she also knew that there was still so much more work to be done. She had no plans to slow down, and she was as passionate and dedicated as ever to the cause of helping others. Looking back on her journey, Sarah knew that she had been blessed with many gifts and opportunities. But she also knew that it was her own hard work and determination that had brought her to where she was today. And she was grateful for every challenge and every setback, knowing that they had only made her stronger and more resilient. Sarah's story is one of hope and inspiration, and it is a reminder to us all that with hard work and determination, anything is possible. No matter what challenges we may face, we have the power to make a difference in the world, and to create a brighter and more compassionate future for all.

Jake and Fiona had been inseparable as kids. They were the best of friends and spent every moment they could together. They lived on the same street and went to the same school, and even ended up in the same class for most of their elementary and middle school years. When they were little, they loved to play dress up and have tea parties in the park, climb trees, and run through the sprinklers on hot summer days. As they got older, they started to explore their interests and passions more, and while they still had a lot in common, they also started to drift apart a bit. Fiona became really interested in art and spent most of her time drawing and painting, while Jake developed a love for sports and spent hours practicing and playing with his friends. They still saw each other often and would hang out when they could, but it wasn't quite the same as it used to be. When high school came around, they ended up in different schools and saw each other even less. They stayed in touch, but their friendship wasn't as strong as it had been. After high school, Jake and Fiona both decided to go to the same college, but they ended up in different dorms and had very different schedules. They ran into each other from time to time, but it was usually just a quick hello in passing. One day, they ended up in the same study group for a difficult class they were both taking. At first, it was a little awkward since they hadn't spent much time together in years, but as they started working together, they realized how much they still had in common. They started to hang out more outside of class and their friendship picked up right where it had left off. As they spent more time together, they started to realize just how much they had missed each other's company. They laughed and talked about everything, just like they used to when they were kids. They even started to do some of the same things they used to do when they were younger, like having picnics in the park and going on adventures. Before they knew it, Jake and Fiona were the best of friends again, just like they had been all those years ago. They were each other's support system and were always there for each other, through the good times and the tough ones. As they graduated college and started their adult lives, they knew that they would always be there for each other. They had come full circle, from being the best of friends as kids to drifting apart and finding their way back to each other as adults. They were grateful for the time they had spent apart, as it had helped them grow and discover who they were as individuals, but they were even more grateful to have each other in their lives again. They were a team, and they knew that they would always have each other's backs, no matter what life threw their way.

Wealth provided by the mineral rich soil of the land doesn't cross Jimmy's mind as he works in his mother's garden. It was her health that furrowed his brow. She had fallen ill months ago, becoming bed ridden shortly thereafter. She was a very closed off person, an introvert one might say; Jimmy had only known her to be stern and reclusive, even in his own upbringing. Jimmy had not seen his mother past his 18th birthday, shortly after his father's passing. Jimmy went on to become an entrepreneur, trying his hand at one business venture after another. He failed at every avenue, stocks yielding low and Covid laying him lower. However, he lived his life his way, without the yoke laid upon him by the hands of others. Life was hard, but he was still breathing. He had not heard from his mother since reaching adulthood, and his immediate exodus from her domicile; although he had not sought her out either. It came as a surprise to him when a man claiming to be her physician called him and said Jimmy's mother had fallen ill, that she wanted him to come tend to her garden until she got better. Jimmy's mother was very protective of "HER" garden. It was the one thing she truly cared for… "more than me even," he mused. She did not deserve respect, but Jimmy's father instilled a very strong ethical will within Jimmy. He did as he was asked. Jimmy went to his mother's home every day to tend to her garden. He would garden for over an hour then leave. He never went into her home. She never called on him or asked to see him, nor did he to her. This carried on for months, Jimmy a man of his word and a good son… for his "father's sake" Jimmy would tell himself. One afternoon, Jimmy pulled into the driveway of his mother's home to see an ambulance outside along the street. It was beginning to pull away… no flashing lights… no sirens. An old man in a black suit with greying black hair approached Jimmy with a solemn expression. "Jimmy, I take it?" The voice of his mother's physician. "I regret to inform you, but your mother has passed away." Jimmy stared at the man for a moment then turned coldly to walk to the garden. As he went to where he usually begins his tending, he noticed a mound of freshly turned soil. Jimmy kneeled down and shifted the soil to find a metal box. He looked at the physician who smiled and walked away. Jimmy opened the box to find an envelope inside. Within the envelope were two sheets of paper. Lettering upon the first read: "I'm sorry, I love you." A Deed to the home was signed over to Jimmy. Pictures were in there too, pictures of Jimmy throughout his life…past to present. His mother was always there, loving him the only way she knew how… from afar. (Image courtesy of Chris Yang unsplash.com)

Home. A meaningful, strong word. ‘Home' is where your heart belongs to, not where you have to live. Your ‘home' is what makes you you. Everybody can describe ‘home' in many different ways. Friends, family, a spesific place or just… home. Sometimes, your ‘home' becomes less home-like and you even might have to lose ‘it'. Not everybody can handle losing their ‘home' but you have to do it, if you are the only right one here. Sometimes, our ‘homes' can't stay ours forever. Sometimes, we need to move out. Sometimes, we just have to start over. Well, that is the hard part isn't it? But your ‘home' may have a good past. Moving in. The first impession of your ‘home' would always be facinating, even if ‘it' is not that good in real life. Because you want to see ‘it' this way. You want ‘it' to be perfect because you know that you deserve the best. You love your ‘home', you attach to ‘it' and you would think that you will stay in ‘there' forever. But here is the worst part, realizing that your ‘home' is not as good as you think. Getting sick. When you realize that your ‘home' is not good, you would get sick of everything your ‘home' has. Especially, the existince of your ‘home' would make you sick. You realize that you don't want to live in ‘there', in this way. So you start to look for some solutions. Nobody can accept that their ‘home' is not good for them, so they would immediately blame themselves or the others for making their ‘home' less good in their eyes. They would never think that ‘it' is not their real ‘home', they would think that they are not the real ‘owner'. Blaming yourself, or the others is the modest side of the duration. But not opening your eyes to the truth is the foolish side. Once you realize that the problem is in your ‘home', just one thought will be in your brain. Moving out. You can't be sticked to your ‘home'. At least in a physical way. There are always so many chances or ways to move out. You just have to find the perfect one. Which is, for me, doing it in the most straightest way. So you can be honest to yourself and to your ‘home' too. If moving out is the best thing for you, just do it. Don't care about the others opinions, sometimes, people just talk for the sake of speaking. Of course it's a hard process and, as I said, not everyone can handle it but otherwise you will live in somewhere you don't know, in other words in the middle of nowhere. But this is not the only ending. This journey has two possible endings. First ending: Middle of nowhere. If you decided to stay in ‘there' -not the ‘home' anymore- it would feel like nothing. It's just you and the emptyness. This is the worst way that a human can treat to themselves. Do you think ,after all this, the reason or reasons that make you want to stay ‘there' can make your heart to beat with passion too? I don't really think so. In this times you just need to listen to your heart. Sometimes, your heart has to be your brain. Second ending: In the heaven. If you finally get rid of your old ‘home', we can say it's over. All the bad things that you went thru, all the sadness that you have to handle, all the weight in your back… They all gone. Now, you can take a deep, relax breath. You made it all by yourself and you have to be aware of the power that your holding. If you don't give up on it, you can even overthrow the ‘old one'. And one last thing to say. I told you about the two possible endings but did you know endings have endings too? In this journey the endings' endings are converging at the same point. Listening to your heart. If you listen to your heart carefully, you will hear the one thing that you have been looking for. The way to your real ‘home'.