I always believed it was easier to be a villain than a hero. “Everything is simple, you fight only for yourself, not for others like a hero”. But it was not as simple as I thought. When I was in school many years ago, everyone in my class was “villain”, including me. We all studied to get better grades ourselves. We didn't help each other, we didn't even explain if one of us didn't understand, except one girl. There was the most intelligent girl in our class. She was shy, quiet and a bit mysterious. Everyone used her to raise their grades. They pretended to be her friends. However, they were fake friends like birds which flies when winter comes. One day I also decided to use her. Not to raise my grade, but to lower other classmates' grades through the essays we wrote and gave to the teacher for checking. Teacher believed her and gave this essays her for checking instead. I pretened to help her like others did. At that time, I talked with her alone for the first time. To be honest, she was different than I knew. Cheerful, kind and most importantly, sincere. She talked about her interest in drawing and what kind of pictures she drew. At this time, I wanted to distract her and achieve my goal. I hesitated, though. I felt fear and distemper inside. In order to be evil, one should not be a coward, but on the contrary, one should be brave, cold and strong. But at the same time, it took courage and strength not to be evil. These were different things that were similar to each other. And I became stronger, not to be villain. On my opinion, being the villain in someone's life isn't as cool as we watched movies. When someone becomes evil, he or she does evil to himself or herself first.

Hooray! End of the exam week! I was feeling blissfully happy that unwelcomed exams finished. As usual, we started dancing to our favorite songs with the girls as we have just finished 20-day exams. There was an announcement on the radio: we are going home for a holiday! It was such good news for all of us. The holiday was planned to be for a week or so. Nobody even thought that it would take months to come back to school. I grabbed my stuff, including clothes and my favorite book "Aleph" and then went to the amphitheater with my sister for waiting for our taxi to arrive. We spent a week at home and were getting ready to continue our studies. But then, some tragedic news... The virus that started to spread in Wuhan was also recorded in my country and for that reason, Uzbekistan has also declared a quarantine. Everybody was shocked. The government was encouraging people to stay at home, not to shake hands, and to wear masks. Daily products in stocks were being sold rapidly and more and more people who were facing poverty were having tragedic times. My family was frightened even though we had money to survive because that virus was taking the lives of people who had comorbidities. I have a grandpa, who had had two heart surgeries and it was predicted that those kinds of people would not recover from Covid-19. Knowing about that, my brother, who was studying for his Master's Degree in the field of Anesthesiology and Reanimatology in Tashkent, decided to come back home to look after him. He was considered the only one at home who could go out and buy items without being infected. Everything was going smoothly at home, we were having online lessons on Zoom and telegram and all my family members were safe and sound. But my brother, Bunyod, was thinking of working at the Central hospital for infected patients from Covid-19 in Tashkent. When he told his plan at the family gathering, my grandma started crying because she didn't want to send her son where everybody was suffering. She was afraid that her son might also get infected. He started to explain that it was his duty to serve the population when there is a disease, he has taken the Hippocratic Oath and was now feeling guilty because he was at home while hundreds of people were dying. However, my daddy who was in Dubai at that moment encouraged him to do what his heart was willing. Then my brother took the first flight to Tashkent and got an occupation there. He sent us a photo of him. He was in a disposable protective suit, covering all parts of his body, even his face. As soon as he got there, he began working with all his effort, doing his best for protecting human lives. He was in an area where some people were hopelessly waiting for their destiny, where others were crying, craving for their children and family. It was a dramatic scene, an unbearable situation for each of us. Not every doctor could do this, some of them were caring about themselves and their lives while some of them were sacrificing it. My brother was that kind of brave doctor. He didn't lose himself, grabbed his courage, and was ready to face any upcoming challenge. Unfortunately, while he was striving for human lives, my grandpa got infected at home. The virus had already taken the 70% of his lungs. Doctors in Urgench were telling us that he cannot handle this, it is absolutely hopeless to cure him. But my hero brother as a perfect child brought grandpa to his working place. Grandad was lacking air, oxygen, and his blood pressure was extremely low, he could not even speak as a result of the pain! Brother was always monitoring and recording his temperature, saturation, and the food he was eating. He was doing the same for all the patients! Most of the days, he had no sleep, and no balanced nutrition, but still, he was able to work with such potential. My father Pulat, who was in quarantine in Dubai, immediately found a way to come back and help his brother. He is not a doctor but is a responsible and golden child. He was infected by this virus twice in Dubai while working in an airport, helping people to go back to their homes. Even after that, he was still fearless and went to the hospital daily, providing medicine and injections for grandad even if he was not able to get inside the hospital. After so many healings, grandad started to recover, he was so thankful for all the kindness and prayed for them both. Almost a month later grandad recovered and was transferred to another hospital to continue the healing. The professors who told us that it was impossible were amused, I guess they still say it was just luck. Yet, there is the result of hard work, there is a possibility in impossibility, there is always hope and there are people who are courageous to face difficulties, who can sacrifice anything just because people are suffering. There is power in a promise, in a sware. There are real heroes in life. And that hero is my brother. His name is Dr. Bunyod.

The life of a working lady is not easy. This is something that I've been trying to prove my whole life. There are people around me who assume that being a working lady is a piece of cake. Those people include almost every other human being I know. My usual day starts with the struggle to get up. “Get up Saira, its 6:00 A.M.” “Ok, I'll get up after 15 minutes”. And I'm off to sleep again. BANG!!! “Oh God! its 7:00 A.M. already, you traitor alarm clock, why do you always go off”. But it didn't actually, I snoozed it myself. It's a routine for me. Every night, I promise myself that I'll get up early, finish my morning chores and will reach office timely and every other morning, it's a complete disaster. “Alright, Ammar, please empty the room, I need to get the kids ready for school”. That's me to my husband every morning, literally pushing him out of the bed so I can get complete bed space to make my kids ready. “Come on, Hania and Sameer, it's time for school.” After making the announcement, now I am ready for my kids tantrums. “Mom, I cannot get up, my legs are hurting real bad”. That's my daughter Hania “achoo… achooo…” that's my son Sameer sneezing continuously to get a day off from school. “Hania, if your legs are hurting real bad then I am sure that you can just keep sitting at your desk and don't even play with your friends to get some rest for yourself.” “And my dear Sameer, it'll take more than a simple sneeze to convince me that you are having bird flu or congo virus”. After rejecting all the non-verbal leave applications; now it's time to move to the next phase of getting them ready for school. “Stop jumping on the bed Sameer”. “Come here Hania, you had enough rotations around the bed, if you had been planet Earth; you would have completed a year by now”. Now moving to the next phase i.e. feeding all the three babies including my husband. “Mom, I will not eat without my candy”. That's Hania asking for her doll to accompany her for breakfast. “I want to see wheels on the bus”. That's Sameer making another demand. “Honey, I cannot find my breakfast”. That's my husband trying to find something that is not even lost. “Hania, you can eat with anyone you want as long as you finish your meal.” “Sameer, I have switched on the television so you can watch anything you want. Now please just eat your breakfast” “Sweetheart, if you would just come out of the kitchen and look at the dining table, you will find your breakfast lying right on it.” Now since everyone has their meal so now we are ready to take off. “It's your turn to drop the kids at school so have a nice trip”. This is my husband leaving for office freely and happily. “Alright kids, Sameer will sit at the front seat and Hania, go the back seat NOW.” After making all the seating arrangements, it is time for school now. “Will you stop fighting over who is going to sit at the front seat after the school goes off? Please also leave some drama for your father when he'll come to pick you up.” After playing a referee for about 15 to 20 minutes among my children, I am successful in dropping them off at the school. And now moving out of the traffic outside the school is another hard nut to crack. “For God's sake, why are you coming on one way in the opposite direction?” “What makes you remember that you have to turn right when you are in the last lane at the left side?” Finally, after crossing a complete Sahara desert of traffic, I am able to reach my office late as usual. “Asalaam-O-Alaikum”. Paying salutations to my boss's personal secretary is essential at this time of hour. “Walaikum-us-Salaam, Ms. Saira, you are late again”. He made me realized something I already knew. “I know sir, it's just that I'm constantly juggling so many household tasks in the morning and it becomes difficult to manage everything timely. At times, it gets tough to balance work and personal life”. “Oh yes I can understand. But you can still try to manage your time. If you would just get up a bit early, you might be able to manage your daily tasks efficiently.” “I'll try sir”. I nodded my head in compliance even when my heart was in denial. As soon as I entered my floor, one of my co-workers remarked: “The life of a working lady is a blessing. You can come anytime you want.” “Indeed it is. Don't you wish you were a woman.” I said “I am happy being a man.” He said firmly. “Are you sure you are happy because that does not appear to be the case.” One of my female colleague remarked. “What makes you think that?” “Well it's obvious you see. If you would have been a woman, you'll have the freedom to come late. But you would have to actually work during the office hours instead of merely pretending to work. How does that seem now.” Finally this comment of my friend made my day as I don't need to prove now what life of a working woman is actually like. “Here's to another roller coaster ride”. I say to myself and get to work.

I lay on the hospital bed, while the cold wind buffets against the door, and the trees outside the back window shake so violently I can hear the branches crack through the thick pane of glass. But it's not the storm outside that is keeping me awake. It's the storm inside. The thought, the regrets, the memories. Francesco is still lying unconscious on the bed next to mine. And you're dead Zacharia; you, my best friend, are dead, and there's nothing I can do to bring you back. How could it happen? How could they murder you, right in front of my eyes? Why would they? Just because you were black? And, as I listen to the soothing bleeps and clicks of the hospital's machinery, it all comes back; all the memories. Sharp as the moonlit blade, overturning the morphine's dizziness. It started as a normal Saturday evening out with friends. We picked you up right after your long shift at the restaurant ended. You enjoyed working there. “It's my art,” you always said, smiling. “I can prepare a Heaven-worthy meal for the mortals”. And it also helped make ends meet for your family. “Next week it's my mother's birthday!” you said as soon as you got in the car. There was a certain glint in your eyes, the shiny energy of a million stars. “This time I want to impress her. It's her 50th birthday.” Francesco floored the accelerator, and the old Citrus jumped to life, letting out an unimpressive roar. “What do you want to buy her?” He asked. “I still don't know. I've been putting away all my savings for the last eight months. It has to be memorable, you know? We couldn't afford a decent present for the last five years.” “What about a robot vacuum cleaner?” I suggested. Bracing, cold air rushed in from the cracked windows, mussing up my hair, making me feel unstoppable. God, if I only knew. “It could be a nice idea. I'll talk about that to my sister.” And we dropped that conversation there. We were chatting and walking along via Pia to reach our favorite Pub when we heard the tires screech on the road, the loud thump of doors closing violently, some incomprehensible shouts. And then they were there before we could even make a move. “Il Branco” (The pack) as they are known in the city. All four of them, all bigger than us, all trained fighters. “Where are you going, rats?” They wanted to take revenge on Francesco for not paying them the money they had asked. One of them pushed him against a corner and started punching him. That's when you intervened. You threw your skinny body between those punches and your friend to defend him from getting mauled by those animals. And then you became their prey. They were raging with anger; incapable of grasping the strength and nobility of your soul. How dared a black son of immigrants stands in the way of four white, “strong”, Italian men? I could see the fury in their eyes, their deep desire to make other people suffer, and it was so inhumane that I felt completely terrified. The first punch landed on my face, throwing me to the ground. For a moment it felt like I was flying, and then – before I'd ever fallen – I vomited. The pavement was strangely warm to the touch, almost like a blanket, and for a bit, I couldn't think of anything else but the pain radiating from my head -- and then, the numbness spread all over my body as one of them repeatedly kicked me. Later on, the cops will ask me how much time I remained there, laying on the pavement, and I won't be able to answer them. All I know is that I was still on the ground, crouched in the fetal position when I heard it: your last cry. It was terrible. The physical pain was replaced by something far more raw. An agonizing sound that pulled at my insides, scarring my soul with sharp glass shards, making me want to stop existing. I stood up swaying, while the world around me pulsed slowly, like a giant heart. Shouts and screams filled the summer air, increasing the pain in my concussed head. As I staggered and stumbled over the pavement, barely avoiding another punch, I saw you. And I saw blood. You were in a pool of blood, unconscious, the clothes ripped off your tiny frame. I almost blacked out then. All I remember is the expression of pain in your eyes – the faith you had in humanity shattered by a pack of monsters. And I can't tell if I imagined it or not, but there was also a tiny glint of light and hope in those eyes, something unbreakable -- the last remainder of that million stars' energy. Maybe it was the light of someone who knows he lived and died as a hero. Thomas Edison's last words were: “It's very beautiful over there.” I don't know where it is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I'm sure it's beautiful. Note: I changed all the names for privacy concerns. As I finish writing this story, I can't stop crying. My keyboard is full of tears, but writing helped me unburden some of the pain. If you're looking at me, Zacharia, just know that I love you. Rest in peace, Angel. (20/10/1999–06/09/2020).

Time is our big asset. Time is our big asset and we should use it properly. I got the idea of the time spent on something great, even though it requires small steps, is better than the time spent for nothing. And the word "nothing" here can indicate different meanings to different people. If you watched a TV for 2 hours and did not get any useful insight then you spent it on nothing. If students spend their days watching youtube videos just for fun rather than studying and exploring more on their fields, their career will go for nothing. People work in different jobs from the cashier in McDonald's to being CEO of one of the big companies in Silicon Valley. Surprisingly most people tend to settle down and stick to one low paid job not trying their best and evolve. The reason is we have a proclivity not to change anything too quickly but be in our safe zones or as they say "Comfort Zones". We have dreams, ideas, and plans inside, that could change the world. But, we have to delay it because we were busy working 24/7. We work every day at the same job from paycheck to paycheck just to keep our lives stable. We always waited for the best condition and time to accomplish what we actually like to do and change. It is the year 2020. The year brought us many surprises along with deep emotional and practical lessons. The COVID-19 caused a pandemic in the whole world. We as a nation started fighting back the virus by taking care of each other and quarantine ourselves. Scientists throughout the world are experimenting to find the best vaccine that could finish the virus once for all. All the doctors of the world are giving their precious time (24/7), and dedicating their lives to save the human from this virus. They could also spend their time around family and friends but they chose to save lives instead. Doctors are the heroes of the world. Quarantine has lasted 4-5 months in different countries. The time in these months we had for ourselves was enormous. We had 5 months to spend with our thoughts and ideas, to learn something new, to self-develop, finally do the thing we always were prolonging for a better time. My daily healthy routine. I wake up early at around 4:30 to 5:00 am. The first thing I do is washing my face and drinking water, water helps our organisms to stay hydrated. Then I go outside to train. I run every day and try to overcome my own achievements in the distance. I think I grow faster when I compare myself with my past. Then, I take the first hot then cold shower, it trains my body to stay healthy and immune. Next is making breakfast for my family. We have breakfast at 7 a.m. After that, I check my phone for news updates for different topics and make a plan for the day. Finally, I will be ready for my studies and work at 8:00 am. A good healthy routine will help a person to get their targets in life faster than the ones which are mixed up. The story below is how I came to the decision of following a healthy routine. When I first came home after studies were overdue to quarantine, I did not have any routine at all. I finally was feeling free of waking up early and preparing for school, I was binge-watching my favorite series of "How I Met Your Mother". At first, I kind of felt good but then my days and time started passing so fast that I did not care about morning and night. At some point, I started realizing that I was just slacking off my time. My studies continued and became online. I became so lazy at that time, that I was not clearly focusing my attention on my studies. I had clutter in my thoughts. Sometimes, the things we want in life are not useful and healthy for us. We just do not realize it until we experience it. So, thinking about the outcomes of our actions at the current moment would make a huge difference to faster accomplish life challenges and targeted achievements. One morning, I just thought about life and what my intentions were towards it. How to make a change and influence the world, make it a better place to live. All that stuff comes from our wants and interests. If we find what we love to do and it is useful for the environment. We should not have the second thoughts but try as hard as we can, to make at least a small influence that could be helpful to the communities, societies, and the world. So, I also set my own goals and promised myself that I would never give up. And set up my routine and trying to keep it every day. Study hard and work on yourself to get the best future you could possibly have. Because this COVID-19 gave millions of people a great opportunity to spend some time for themselves and think about life and their actual wants. It also gave a chance to accomplish those interests we have inside but could not actually do because of our usual jobs and stereotypical everyday issues. Do not lose a chance and be the best version of yourself now. Because later you may not get this "sales ticket" again.

Growing up in the African family of six girls, I always noticed that people looked at my parents differently. They would try to sound as casual and non ridiculous as they possibly could when they asked “oh, no boys?” One time I overheard a man asking my father who will carry the family name. I know, my response was also really dude? People looked at my parents in a way that screamed sympathy and disappointment at times. In their minds they were always thinking, what are they going to do with six girls? My father was always positive, he always said they will all become successful. They will make a difference in the world and they will not depend on men. But people always asked, what if they don't? What if they are not smart enough to make it in this male oriented world? That has always been my father's nightmare, us ending up like that-or him having multiple grand-kids, I suppose. He made a promise to do everything for us to get education and make something for ourselves. In my eyes, he did more than just that. He was showing us that it can be done. He showed us that we can be independent, reach our dreams and not only have a seat at the table, but a place in this world. We have a chance and ability to belong and be great. Girls and women all over the world face discrimination more than men. For an African girl child, the situation is worse. In a typical African society, girls are treated differently. Even with technological development, human rights and globalization. For that reason, people thought our parents were “burdened” with six girls. It may sound unbelievable that people still have this attitude, but they do. We live in a world that is fixated on censors and limitation. People are obsessed with the past rather than the future. We dwell on limitations than expansions. We are so used to the ordinary and the routines that something different scare us. It doesn't, and it shouldn't really matter if you have daughters or sons. You should want them to be kind, brave, and smart because these traits matter. My father believed in our ability to be great women and human beings. People looked at our parents differently because they thought girls were less than boys. They said they had to make sure they control us, so that we wouldn't bring shame as daughters do. Having just one daughter was a headache, now they had six! Having daughters meant marriage. It meant us having “proper upbringing” which will make it easy for us to get married and our parents getting dowry. That is not how we were raised. Marriage and kids were some cool ideas of the future but they were definitely not the ultimate definition of success nor the main goal in our lives. I was raised to know that it's okay to be smart and take care of a family.To have a career, and be a care taker.To be a woman doesn't have to be one thing or the other, it's the mixture of different things and it's not necessarily a uniform thing that can be put in a box to be only that. It varies from one person to another. I firsthand witness this in my family. We live with limitations and discrimination every day. They occur in our everyday lives, from the big things that affect our lives to the tiniest things that we think don't matter that much. Sometimes they are part of the traditions we have all been imposed to. Sometimes we do not even know that there are limitations. Sometimes they may be applied unintentionally in our everyday lives. If all these go unchecked for too long, they will affect at least one person. That is one person too many. My parents and my sisters have always inspired me to live my truth. The love that my parents have for me has made me a better person, understanding and believe in goodness and sincerity of people. They have always showed me that we all find our people in the end. In relationships, friendships and even work. They make me believe that just because one person messed up, it doesn't mean everybody will. They inspire me to keep looking because I will find my people in the end. My first sister (an accountant) inspires me to know that I can have it all. She is a great mother, an amazing wife and a smart boss. Above all that, she teaches me to offer the same understanding to people that I expect them to give me. My second sister (an auditor) inspires me to be a go getter, to be driven and to stand up and out, especially if it's a place that thinks women cannot excel. She shows me that being a beautiful woman who hustles her way to the top is a thing. My third sister (a lawyer) teaches me not to let anyone control me. My fourth sister (business manager) teaches me to live life in my own terms, always. My fifth sister (a lawyer) teaches me not to let people project their problems and insecurities on me. Families are the most powerful unit in the societies we live in when we want to bring changes. May we all do better starting with ourselves and our families.

In The James Bond Dossier, Kingsley Amis spends a chapter discussing the appeal of the secret agent. He ends the chapter with the proposition that this is due in part to the very nature of the secret agent's work: “Not only have the [secret agents] no need to be outwardly different from other men; they must not be different. So our fantasist can say to himself whenever he feels it and without any special preparation: Under this fiendishly clever bank-clerk (etc.) disguise lurks intrepid ruthless 00999.” I think that perhaps Mr. Amis also stumbled upon the appeal of superheroes. The wish fulfillment aspect of the attraction of superheroes for teen boys has been discussed ad nauseum -- the “power fantasy”. But upon reading Mr. Amis' excellent book, I realized that the masks also play a part. Couldn't war, private detective, and secret agent comics fulfill these same fantasies? But they don't. Superheroes hold a special place in comic books, even today. Here is where the two overlap, I think: Every teen boy – and I don't necessarily exclude girls here, but superheroes have been the domain of boys for decades -- feels like an outsider, feels that he has things to hide (whether or not this is actually true) – just like superheroes who hide their identities (for a noble purpose, no less), and are sometimes considered outcasts by society (admittedly a late development in the genre). Now, both Amis and I may be wrong about our conjectures, but I was immediately struck by his thesis when I first read it many years ago. Amis continues: “Any fantasy in which the subject is saying, in effect, I am not as other men are, is obviously very powerful. Its power will be increased in proportion as exterior forces say, You are as other men are.” I think this is where masks and costumes apply: Superheroes are so different from other men and the need to disguise this fact is so great that they must wear masks to conceal their true identity from the public. They even keep this secret from loved ones. And yet, they also wear gaudy costumes that draw attention to themselves, which highlights – reinforces -- their differences from the general public. This is a paradigm in psychology, which asks, “What does one gain by being different from others?” Amis ends the discussion with this corollary: “Alternatively, the secret-agent fantasist is really saying to himself, You are all looking for 00999 but you won't be able to shake my cover as a humble bank clerk, or more simply, You cannot identify me.” What a powerful notion to a misunderstood teen. It explains the feelings of differentness, such that the teen is not worse for these differences, but better: He is, secretly, better than anyone else, but can't let anyone know. He has to appear to be an ordinary person, misunderstood by others, all the while secretly their superior. What boy could resist this idea, even if he's too young and immature to recognize its subconscious appeal?

OC and MC of my story. Didn't like the legs. So not done those yet and the feet yet.