Reflecting upon some of the most striking situations in my life, l have found the one that deserves to be shared. Before l begin , a quick disclaimer goes that the description will be conveyed in an objective fashion as much as possible, so do not be quick to judge that it is contrived in an exaggerated subjective manner. It was cold that day, and every school boy or girl was in the mood for discovering something new –it did not necessarily have to be academic knowledge. That was a 5-minute recess in which fellow students were engaged in different activities : some ,who are considered to be attached to the blackboard , were getting prepared to the next class; some, who are mostly boisterous gangs , were on the way to concoct another amusing prank ; the rest were outliers , being engrossed in rather unconvential actions. Among those aforementioned types, there was one type whose members were limited to one spoiled girl ,Safiya. She was the luckiest mass upon whom both wealth and beauty were bestowed by God. She had another special quality whereby she employed in manipulating people easily ; her unusual beauty , financial power ,and the canniness made all the mates in class be what she wanted them to be . Coming to the event itself , extensively described character Safiya entered the classroom , with some trivial yet kill-the-time delicacies in hand , and abruptly went into rage with Sara, one whose self-esteem would beg for strength . Safiya threw an invective of profane words at Sara without even giving her a chance to say a mere word. In that instant , the rest of the class were paralyzed doing nothing other than staring at the one-sided quarrel , which led Safiya to slap Sara in the face by availing herself of the meek prey's dormant state.( Well, you may say that 5- minute break can not tolerate such a thing to occur , but with the belated presence of the proceeding lesson's teacher , the conditions were conducive).Contrary to everybody's expectations, Sara did not even blink ; instead, she stood still and said, “l did not say anything about you”.Time gave the abuser to continue no longer when a sound of someone's foot stepping came to ear: perfect timing was it to sense the stepping for Safia to prepare to play a role of an abused martyr. The teacher came and yelled, “ who is so daring to break my rules by loudly betraying offensive words ?” Safiya instantaneously turned into a meek, feeble victim who feigned to have been slapped by Sara. The whole class, authentic witnesses of the case, were stuck and did not tell the truth about what actually happened.The teacher then gave Sara a punishment that was to mop all the floors at school .So humiliating and barbaric it was , no soul dared to say a word since students were equally afraid of Safiya as of the teacher. I was one of the eyewitnesses who could not do anything but waiting for someone else to speak up. Throughout the whole lesson, l could not concentrate because of that morally dismissive situation l happened to witness. For several days after the very day, l scolded myself inside for letting the innocent clean the entire floors of the school.One day, l even begged Sara's pardon for making all these happen to her: she forgave. Still ,l could not forgive myself since Safia is enjoying from her tricks and all-freely-dispensed wealth , even though she put someone else into a mired state. However , since then, l decided to garner confidence , and l started to reveal all the tricks she was playing with the kids .That revealing and standing up for honesty turned me into her enemy , but l genuinely embraced that. So the moral of the story is that becoming an onlooker can mean something , and telling the true record of the situation could even save someone's life ( in my case, it was more of a smaller punishment : mopping floors). From that horrible situation onwards, I have been striving to be honest , outspoken , and most importantly a good eyewitness . In the coming years, I hope not to be a reticent person and try to bolster my capability to be brutally honest towards people and not make any other innocent person be a victim of maliciously cunning masses.

They say livelihood is a cave. it never ends. Now if you solve one problem, another one will appear. As children grow older, worries grow. Now if you bring winter clothes, spring clothes will come. It is not easy to cope with the education of sons and daughters, household worries, relative`s wedding, and work. With such thoughts, Sayyora was waiting for the car to go the market on Sunday. Fortunately, his neighbor Salimjon and his wife were also leaving for work, and they reached the center of the district in an instant. Sayyora said thank you and go out of the car and was happy with her pious neighbors. She took out her phone from her bag and looked at the things that could be bought. While passing by the stall where women`s dresses were sold, she noticed a pile of paper waste that had ben swept to one side but not picked up. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and she fell on the money tied with a string. Looked clother. The money was a little muddy because it had rained the day before. As she was in a hurry, she put it in her wallet thinking it was a small change. Finished a couple of problems and went to eat. While waiting for her food, she remembered the money she had found. He took it out of her wallet and tried to count it. There were 8-10 of these moneys fastened with a string. When she started to count the money, a large amount of money came out from among the money. She blushed like woman caught in the act of stealing. Various thoughts were coming to Sayyora`s mind that this money was like the money of an old man or old woman who barely saved up for months. Before she finished eating, she thought that what should I do with the money, how should I return it to the owner, or if I don`t tell anyone, what should I do She left the restaurant and came to the place where she found the money. At the moment, her phone rang and her daughter asked for money saying that she needed to buy a new dress for her friend`s birthday. Then the text message received on her phone caught her attention. The message warned to pay the loan on time. SHE decided that after I got home, I would talk to my husband and use the money. While she was on the road, she could not see the nature that always fascinated her, she thought about what she should use this money for, whether what she was doing was right or not. She entered her house with these and similar thoughts. First, she explained how she got this money and then told him one by one the problems she had to do with this money. Her husband stared at these moneys for a long time and suddenly laughed and said his wife -These moneys are fake! Hearing these words, a smile appeared on Sayyora`s face. Because she was now freed from the pangs of conscience.

A few weeks ago, I made the difficult decision to keep a secret. Now, several of my friends won't speak to me. Keeping secrets is something I always thought was a part of good character - something that people would find worthy to respect. While my friends now ignore me, I still feel that I made the right decision. A few of us stopped at a local bar for happy hour. Not long after sitting at a table I noticed a familiar face at the bar. So did my other three friends. “Isn't that Mike?” Linda asked in a horrified tone of voice. “Sure looks likes him,” Margie answered. “What do we do?” Terri queried. “Nothing,” I replied trying to sound blasé. Mike was the fiancé of Rena, another of our friends but he wasn't with Rena. He was sitting at the bar, openly flirting with another woman. Although we tried to enjoy the rest of the hour, seeing Rena's fiancé with another woman dampened our mood and before our pitcher of beer was finished, we began saying our goodbyes for the night. “Remember to call Rena,” Margie urged. “You have to tell her,” Linda persisted. “I'll go with you if you plan to visit her,” Terri offered. I stood determined not to do anything to hurt our friend. “Why me? And why are you all so insistent that we hurt Rena and rip apart the relationship she has with Mike? Before we do anything, we should find out how much she knows.” Margie said that since I knew Rena longer, it was not just my job but my obligation to tell her. “You're right,” I said quietly. “I have known her longer and we are closer. It's for that reason, I won't say anything.” Linda gave me a look of disgust and waved her hand in dismissal. As she walked away, I heard her say in what I deemed contempt, “So much for friendships. Glad to know we can all rely on you to watch our backs.” As I stood there in dismay, Terry and Margie said their quick goodbyes and walked to their cars. Here it is, three weeks later and my so-called friends haven't said a word to me. At least not yet! They will call, however, and I'm sure it will be in the next day or two. You see, I didn't have to say anything to Rena about her fiancé. She suspected him of seeing other women for a long time and without telling anyone, was at the same bar that same night and saw him. She visited me three days later and between coffee, wine and a lot of soothing ice cream, poured her heart out. She didn't want her friends involved since this was between her and Mike. Rena felt the more people that knew, the more embarrassing the situation would be. Being a strong woman, she wanted to handle matters in her own way and appreciated me taking a step back. She said it was only a matter of time, anyway, until Mike slipped up. After all, you can't cheat forever and not get caught. That's why she kept putting off arranging a wedding date. Smart girl! I thought as she hugged me before falling asleep on my couch. As I pulled a coverlet over my friend, I realized that no secret is safe. Eventually, the one who starts it, will break it - whether by word or action. Another thing I realized is that there is no need to go running to your best friend with every small detail that might cause hurt. It's more important to be around to pick up the pieces and lend a strong yet comforting shoulder. I also realized that my integrity was still intact and to me, that's something to be proud of. I smile as I think back. A few weeks ago, I made the difficult decision to keep a secret. Now, several friends ignore me like the plague. They still refuse to speak to me. However, once Rena makes known her own discovery, my so-called friends will call again. It's now up to me to deice if I should answer their calls. Friendships work both ways. You can't be a friend only when it's convenient to you and when it's on your terms. A true friend will be there for you, in thick and thin and stand with you rather than turn against you when times get rough. Rena and I are still close and each week to out to dinner to celebrate her new-found freedom. I celebrate my friend and the fact that I took a stand that didn't hurt anyone. There are times when honesty can be hurtful. We must always think twice before we speak. I am ever grateful that I did.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving 2018, and I took my 7-year-old daughter to a showing of "Ralph Breaks the Internet" right after school. I already knew that the movie theater was this kid's happy place, but this trip ended up being extra special. We were the only two in the theater. Not only did we loudly talk and make jokes throughout the showing, she got up and danced around the empty theater during the credits. I mean, ran up and down the aisles shaking her "groove thing" to "Zero" by Imagine Dragons. And then as we were walking out, she said, "I'm gonna tell them this is the best time I've ever had in this theater." And she did. Bless that teenage concession stand employee that listened to her speech and smiled at me over the top of her head. I think this is the first time I've fiercely hoped my daughter would remember a moment for the rest of her life. But the more I thought about it, I realized that it wasn't my first "memorable moment" at the movies. It's the summer of 1999, and I'm with a large group of friends heading to the movies. We've driven 20 miles to see the new releases playing at the Capri V Theatre in downtown Ottumwa, Iowa. More specifically, we're here to see "The Blair Witch Project." Now I can't remember all of the people in our group, but I do remember that I was the last person in line to buy a ticket and Jessica was right in front of me. Jess and I were both 16 at the time. There were two people selling tickets, and when Jess got up to the counter, one of the employees asked her how old she was. Let me reiterate that. They didn't ask to see her ID, they just asked her how old she was. And as I heard her say 16, my heart sank. "Blair Witch" was rated R, and now they weren't going to sell her a ticket. All of our friends ahead of us in line (some only 16, some older) already had their tickets, and to be perfectly honest, I was pissed off. She told the cashier that she'd like a ticket to see "Bowfinger" instead. I gritted my teeth and bought my own ticket to "Bowfinger" so Jess wouldn't have to go to the movies alone. In case you don't remember that film, it's a PG-13 comedy starring Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. I'd like to tell you more of the plot, but I honestly don't remember. I was way too angry to actually pay attention. I do remember how Jess kept forcing herself to laugh too hard at the jokes and looking over at me in the dark as if she was trying to "will" me to enjoy myself. It wasn't going to happen. I was way too angry at her for "ruining" my evening. I was angry for her automatic honesty. Which, nearly 20 years later, seems crazy. I was mad at my best friend for telling the truth. I recently read a book by Gretchen Rubin were she writes that "what you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while." And while it's hard to believe that Jessica Eakins was completely truthful every single day, I do know that she was truthful MORE than once in a while. If there is an underlying theme in all my memories of Jess, it's that she was an honest friend that never set out to hurt anyone's feelings... but often told people what they needed to hear. The Capri V Theatre closed a year after Jess died. And I can't remember the last movie I saw at that location, and I honestly can't remember the last movie I saw with Jess. I often wonder if this moment - this "life lesson" at the movies - would even be burned in my memory at all if Jess hadn't died less than five years later. But it is. So strive to be honest... more than once in a while. Even if you end up forcing someone else to watch "Bowfinger."

People. It always comes back to the people. Until this year, I never realized how important people are to me. How I care so much that sometimes it feels like too much, how I love to do little things to show I care and listen to their stories. Before she passed away when I was five years old, my grandma Betty wrote me a letter that I was to read when I'd grown up some and reached my late teens. That letter sat in boxes, on shelves and in hidden safe places for years, until I turned 16 and my mother passed the letter on to me. Grandma Betty was such a strong, caring and patient woman. She knew how to stay calm – that woman had a zero tolerance policy for nonsense. She did raise four boys out in the country after all. I'm sure my dad and his brothers were quite the hand full. I have one very vivid memory of staying with Grandma up at our family's cabin for a week in the summer when I was three. It was just the two of us. I don't remember everything we did during that week, but I do remember how grounding it was to spend that time with her. One day, when we were coming back from the market, we drove into the little gravel driveway in front of our humble cabin, and Grandma's face went still. She stayed perfectly calm, telling me how we were, “just going to stay in the car for a little while.” A huge, brown mama bear came lumbering down the road with her fuzzy cub not far behind. I remember watching curiously as the bears moseyed on up the road, minding their own business. Grandma explained to me, the bears weren't looking to cause any trouble, but if mama bear felt anyone was endangering the safety of her cub, she wouldn't hesitate to attack. I think the same can be said for most humans – if I see someone mess with a person I care about, mama bear will come out and I will stand up for what I believe in. Many of the things that define who we are at the core of our being are formed before our fifth birthday. Grandma Betty didn't know me very long, but in her letter she nailed so many aspects of who I am that are true to this day. I share my grandma's belief that people matter – they are important and their opinions count. The first time I read some of the things she hoped I would do and become, I remember being overwhelmed by the sensation of being so well understood. Grandma did love to people watch. “I know you will grow up to be a thoughtful and caring young woman who values her own strengths. I know how hard it is going to be for you to be a young woman who cares for others but still recognizes the importance of yourself.” This is a tightrope I have always struggled to walk. Being in close relationships of any kind is one of the most challenging things in the world, because you can't control what other people do or say. It also one of the most rewarding. When I care for others, I love with my whole being. I dive in and entrust them with pieces of my heart, pieces of who I am. The minute I want to really get to know a person, I walk into those relationships with my palms facing the sky, open and honest because I don't know how to be anything else - that's just who I am. The willingness to be vulnerable can be seen as a weakness, or it can be seen as a great strength. But know that it does not make anyone fearless. Vulnerability is terrifying. It is living with your beating, bleeding heart on your sleeve. It is trusting that others will not take advantage of your willingness to do and be and care with every fibre of your being. And that trust can be oh, so hard. Sometimes vulnerability hurts. I have cuts, minor burns, and a few jagged scars criss-crossing the surface of my heart. We all do. You can choose to let that pain make you bitter, cynical and closed off from the world. Or you can choose to accept it, to let it make you stronger and let those be lessons learned, to let yourself be healed by the love of those around you. Because vulnerability can be painful, but it can also be so deeply fulfilling to let others into your corner of the world. I walk into the world with open palms because for me, there is no other way. The alternative is far more painful than anything I've known and oh, so lonely. In order to be honest with others, I've first had to learn to be honest with myself. In order to truly love others in the way they deserve to be loved, I must first learn to love myself for who I am. I have to define who I am and what I believe, because you attract what you are, not what you want. People in life are a mirror, and the ones closest to you are a reflection of what's going on inside. For a long time, I've been frustrated – I feel like I never quite fit in anywhere, that I never had one person or one clique or one group that was my own. I've always felt loved by many but I was never the first person they'd call. Maybe one day I'll find that. Maybe not. Maybe it's easy to see all the spaces I don't fit because instead, I'm meant to spill into all the cracks that others can't fill. And maybe that's okay.

The bare bones of writing comes down to expressing a thought, idea, or feeling. We use it to communicate with others, as a way to convey a message we find important or personal. The bare bones doesn't care about brilliance, complexity, mistakes, or your chosen medium (pen and paper, anyone?). It's significant in only having written your word or words of choice, and the rest—be it a masterpiece, or just a grocery list—is up to you. When I was a teenager, the act of writing was a way to release, and to entertain myself. I wrote stories with characters that accurately, if not dramatically, conveyed the emotions that I had a hard time expressing in my adolescence. The themes crossed paths with things I experienced, and things that I anticipated to experience. It was my world, glittering and bright, even through the dark themes and circumstances that were written. While I didn't know it at the time, it was an important self-reflection through elaborate plot lines and quirky characters. It didn't matter that it wasn't what I had deemed publish-worthy. All that mattered was that I conveyed my feelings, and sometimes shared them with others—and with that, catharsis. I stopped writing like that years ago. These days, writing has become something of a chore. The pressures I put upon myself to just write something good, or even better than good, made my joy burn out like a candle wick. I put writing on hold while my life unraveled into the milestone of young adulthood. Through it all, I'm certain that my life would have a clearer direction, and my soul a happier glow, had I written... anything. No matter what though, I couldn't bring myself to do it, even if it were simply “Today sucked.” The desire to create was burning in my veins, but my self doubt riddled me with a hate plague I couldn't shake. Taking a look back, I knew I yearned simply for life experience. I wanted to experience without reflection, even if that took me through a lot of impulsive choices that I regret now. It also took work to sit down, focus, and write. Now, with the desire to be heard, to be seen as articulate, and with something to offer, I still struggle. The fear of a page written with utter garbage is a greater fear than of an empty one. And I want to change that—even if the page is merely filled with one word, I'll know I've put forth an effort to say something. In today's world, where everyone puts out their best image, their best work, and the edited, filtered versions of themselves—I vow to allow myself to be raw, messy, mediocre, and riddled with mistakes. To speak what's on my mind, to dare to create, to do. It's now my time for honesty, even if it masquerades as a poem, a crime drama screenplay, an essay, or an account of my day. The bare bones are all that matter, and even if to no avail, it all ends up in a graveyard—then, at least for a moment, they lived.