For three years, an empty chair sat at the end of the dinner table. Nobody moved it. Nobody sat in it. Nobody spoke about it. Yet everyone knew why it was there. Each holiday, Leila's father placed a plate beside that chair before remembering she would not come home. Then he quietly removed it. Her mother still folded an extra blanket whenever she did laundry. Her younger brother still saved funny videos on his phone, telling himself he would send them to her someday. Three years had passed since Leila disappeared. The police had stopped searching. Neighbors had stopped asking. Friends had moved on. But families never stop searching for someone they love. Not really. Every night, Leila's mother stood by the window and whispered the same prayer: “Wherever she is, let her be safe.” She no longer prayed for her daughter to return. She only prayed for her daughter to be happy. Leila never knew this. Living in a small coastal village far away, she believed her family hated her. She believed choosing her own path had cost her everything. Three years earlier, Leila had left Morocco to study environmental engineering in the United States. She was the first in her family to study abroad, and her parents were proud of her. Then, during the summer after her third year, she met Noah. He was a graduate student researching marine ecosystems. At first, they were friends. Friendship became long conversations. Long conversations became trust. Trust became love. Noah came from a different culture, a different background, and a different faith. Leila knew her family would struggle to understand. For months, she tried to ignore her heart. She tried to convince herself love could be switched off like a light. It could not. When she finally told her parents, the conversation ended in tears. Nobody wanted to hurt anyone. Her parents feared losing their daughter. Leila feared losing herself. Words were spoken that nobody truly meant. Pride replaced understanding. Fear replaced trust. And one day, overwhelmed by heartbreak, Leila walked away. Not because she stopped loving her family, but because she loved them too much to keep fighting. The first year was the hardest. Every holiday reminded her of home. Every success felt incomplete because she had no one to share it with. Back home, her father carried her childhood photograph in his wallet. Her mother kept Leila's bedroom exactly the same. The books stayed on the shelf. The photographs stayed on the wall. The bed stayed neatly made. Changing the room would have felt like giving up hope. Years passed. The anger faded. The love never did. One autumn afternoon, Noah arrived in the village where Leila lived. He had spent years searching, quietly and faithfully, never letting go of hope. When he saw her working in a garden near the sea, he almost did not recognize her. She looked older, stronger, wiser. But her smile was the same. Leila looked up and froze. The watering can slipped from her hands. For a moment, neither moved. Then Noah whispered her name. And Leila began to cry. “I looked everywhere,” he said. “I never stopped hoping.” “Why?” she asked through tears. Noah smiled softly. “Because some people are worth searching for.” Months later, Noah convinced her to contact her family. Leila was terrified. What if nothing had changed? What if they still rejected her? But love, even wounded love, sometimes asks for courage. When Leila arrived at her childhood home, she stood outside the door unable to move. Then the door opened. Her father stepped outside. For years, he had imagined this moment. He had rehearsed apologies, explanations, and promises. But when he saw his daughter standing there, all the words disappeared. His hair was grayer. His shoulders were slightly bent. Yet his eyes were the same. Neither spoke. Then her father opened his arms. That was all it took. Leila ran to him, and they both began to cry. Her mother rushed outside and held them both. Her younger brother, now taller than she remembered, wiped tears from his face. Nobody cared who had been right. Nobody cared who had been wrong. They only cared that she was home. That evening, for the first time in three years, the family sat down for dinner. And for the first time in three years, someone sat in the empty chair. Years later, when people asked Leila what brought her family back together, she always gave the same answer. It was love. Quiet, stubborn, patient love. The kind that survives misunderstanding. The kind that waits. The kind that never truly leaves. Because no matter how far life carries us, love always leaves a path home. And sometimes, all it takes is the courage to follow it.

Here I am. Another way to express myself and share my writing. Another app my ADHD will quickly allow me to forget and eventually feel horrible about when thrown in my pile of “crap I started wanting to be known OR a successful, writer” and was set on fire by the friction of unopened emails and notifications. I'm wondering if I'll ever catch up with life. I started out as a 14 year old adult. I had my pregnancy at the same time i was being prescribed the addiction. When that got used against me because I wanted to go into treatment and get better… the sky fell. Not all at once. I'll give it to you in chapters. If I remember to do that. I still have to find the money and a ride to get cat litter before I suffocate. My fuel pump went out and I'm procrastinating finishing the repairs since I couldn't afford car insurance therefore lost my license again. I actually had it for 3 months this time! Here's my point… I was sentenced to poverty by a judge. He likely wasn't aware of that finality, but if you ask me that's EXACTLY the problem. Or at least the snake head. Nobody knows what REALLY happens when certain labels or words get added to our lives. Nobody believes they can be untrue or inaccurate. Nobody wants to think we live in a world without civil rights and protections. Well.. I've had my custody taken without knowing I was losing it. I've been thrown on the streets with a minutes notice and no eviction process or time required notices. Twice! I've had employers keep my pay for themselves. I've had cops put me in a pose and use personal cells to take pictures of me in handcuffs to laugh at me. I've been bitten by a dog and refused an ambulance by the same sheriff who never wrote a report up and inevitably prevented my claim. I've been told what I could own and made to rehome pets immediately for a changed policy. But then I got housed after homeless years on the waiting list. Then I got a laptop. And I've decided… I'm telling! If I can get my shit together enough to do it.

I had to admit something. That my world, somewhere along the line, had lost its color. It wasn't a sudden thing. More like a slow fade, the kind you don't notice until you wake up one day and realize you're living in a black-and-white movie from the 1940s. My apartment, 4B, was the entire set of that movie. The window looked out onto a city that was just… gray. Gray buildings, gray sidewalks, gray cars filled with gray people. The sounds were gray, too. A dull, constant hum that was the background track of my life, which mostly consisted of coding for a company that probably thought I was a bot, and getting everything from groceries to toothpaste delivered to my door. The door was the edge of my world. Then came the knock. It wasn't the usual tap-and-run of a delivery. This was a frantic, messy rhythm. A 'human' knock. My heart did a kickflip against my ribs. I tried to ignore the sound. But It came again, louder this time, punctuated by a shaky voice. "Hello? Please? Anyone's here?" I cracked the door, my body hidden behind it, leaving a gap just wide enough for one of my eyes. It was Mrs. Henderson from 4A, a woman I'd only ever seen as a blur of floral print and white hairs. Now, her face was crumpled with panic, her eyes wide and wet, looking pitiful. "It's Jasper," she said, her voice thin and choked. "My cat. He must have slipped out. I can't find him anywhere." My brain, my very logical and anxious brain, had a simple response: 'Not your problem. Close the door.' But Mrs. Henderson had come even at my almost always closed door for her cat. And now her wrinkled eyes were looking at me. And her panic, it was so… colorful. Yes. A vibrant, terrifying red in my muted gray world. "I'll… keep an eye out," I mumbled, which was a lie ofcourse as my logical brain had won. "Could you just help me check the stairwell?" she pleaded. "My knees aren't what they used to be, dear." The stairwell. The concrete monster in which I hadn't set foot for six months. 'No, I can't do that.' I thought. But the look on her face….was really something. I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was her panic. Or maybe I was just tired of the gray. I nodded. The hallway felt like a mile-long tunnel. Every creak of the floorboards was a cannon blast. But Mrs. Henderson was there, shuffling beside me, her face filled with worry was somehow affecting me. We checked the stairwell. Top to bottom. No Jasper. I felt a genuine pang of disappointment. And something else, too. A weird, shaky sense of pride. I had left my apartment. I had faced my monster. Back in 4B, the gray seemed… less gray. But I still couldn't settle. I kept picturing that little ginger cat, lost and scared. Then I found myself at the window, but I wasn't just staring at the city. I was scanning. Searching for a tiny patch of orange. Mrs. Henderson had mentioned he loved sunning himself by the big green dumpster in the alley. The alley. That meant the lobby. The main entrance. 'Outside'. My hands started to tremble. It was one thing to face the stairwell with a guide. It was another to walk out into the whole world. Alone. But the image of Mrs. Henderson's face wouldn't leave me. So, I put on my shoes. The journey to the front door was an epic saga. My heart hammered out a frantic drum solo. But I did it. I pushed the heavy glass door open. And the sound hit me. It wasn't the gray hum I had expected. It was… everything. A car horn blared, sharp and yellow. A kid shrieked with laughter, a splash of pink. A bus hissed its brakes, a deep, rumbling blue. I'd forgotten the world had so many different noises. And there, behind the dumpster, was a flash of orange. Jasper. He was tangled in some old kite string, looking very sorry for himself. Carrying him back, I felt like a soldier returning after victory. Mrs. Henderson's sob of relief when she saw him was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. She hugged me, a real, solid hug that smelled like cinnamon and tea. It was the first time someone had touched me in almost a year. "You have to come in," she insisted. "I've just made tea." The old me, the gray me, would have made an excuse. But the me standing in the colorful, noisy hallway, with cat hair on his shirt? She said yes. Sitting in her cluttered, cozy apartment, with a purring cat on my lap and a warm mug in my hands, I looked out her window. It was the same view as mine. But from here, the city wasn't gray at all. It was a thousand different colors, all shimmering under the afternoon sun. I knew my apartment was still there, waiting for me. But for the first time in a long while, I truly felt at home.

Morning. I would wake up to the same darkness that had put me to bed. The same routine — studies, chores, work, sleep. My life was made of shadows, repetition, and silence. Until one day, a flicker of light found its way in. Despite my reluctance to continue studying, I couldn't convince my parents to let me drop out. I did, however, manage to register for all online courses that semester. I didn't want to go back to a place where I didn't belong — to sit among people I feared might despise me. When the semester began, I would only look at myself and the professor on my screen. That's how small my world had become — a dark world where I felt lonely, yet safe. Then came a message — a beam of light cutting through that darkness like a tiny, burning star. I had just shared my story of enduring discrimination in class, uncertain whether anyone would care, afraid it might sound “lame.” And then, out of nowhere, a guy I didn't even know messaged me: “I really love listening to you when you speak. You are such a beautiful person. A smile looks very beautiful on you. Please smile more often.” That wasn't the only one. More messages followed — kind, supportive, and encouraging. I could barely read them all before the session ended. For the first time in years, the very people I had shut out — the ones I believed couldn't be trusted — showed me compassion, care, and cheer. I hadn't even noticed their presence, yet they were quietly rooting for me. Then, in another course, a guy entered my life. A bit tanned, with a wide forehead, big ears, and an impressive British accent. He was the first one to speak in class — a total nerd. He came into my world when I had no intention of letting anyone in. But little did I know, he would be the one to bring color back into my world. He probably doesn't even know this — but loving him brought me back to life. He didn't just give my life meaning. He became the meaning at that point. He might even wonder what he did to deserve that place in my story. The funny thing is — he didn't do anything. He simply existed beside me, exactly as he is. I remember the first time I saw him in person at a debate session. I couldn't take my eyes off his. I was stunned — not by his looks, but by what I felt. I had seen many eyes on me before, but I had never enjoyed looking back. Yet with him, I did. When he walked up to speak and we stood face to face, eyes locked — time froze. The world fell away. It was just him. Once, I deliberately went to the library to “terrorize” him, jokingly. But he found me first. When I told him it was my birthday, he gave me gum and drew a bow on the wrapper — making me realize how little is enough to make one happy. That day, I defined happiness as his gum gift. I redefined adoration as the look on his face when I said, “You inspire me.” For the first time in my life, I felt something I thought I could never do — love. Undoubtedly. Unconditionally. Endlessly. Even though I never knew where it could lead. I had lost hope in people, trying my best to isolate myself. However, it was humanity, in its sense of love, trust, care, support, empathy, that brought me back to loving life. It revived my dreams, giving me the warmth of feeling alive again. It taught me that I am capable of loving without fear, trusting in goodness, and reaching for what I desire without hesitation. Now, I have the strength to live in the moment without the limits of the past, worries of future, hesitation, or fear of failure. I started to enjoy my studies and made it to the Dean's List for the first time that semester. I participated in events that I used to call “lame”, made friends, and gathered up enough courage to finally make a career change toward my dream job. Now, I'm not afraid or embarrassed to take small steps toward my desired future — because I know that, one day, I will carry and spread that hope in humanity that I received. It has to keep existing. Because humanity — in its highest and purest form — is what is needed for humans to go on. It is what will save the worlds trapped in darkness, emptiness, and hate. I know it — because you, humanity, saved me.

Create impactful solutions by focusing on the people who use them through human centred design. This approach draws from empathy and iterative learning to co-create systems, products, or services that meet real-world needs. By prioritising usability, accessibility, and relevance, organisations can reduce waste and improve outcomes. Human-centred design integrates seamlessly into innovation and transformation processes. At STA Advisory, we champion a human-centred mindset that drives meaningful engagement and long-lasting value. Visit: https://stadvisory.com.au/human-centered-design-thinking/

Not every battle begins with gunfire or explosions. Some wars unfold quietly, unnoticed by the world, yet erode the spirit day by day, in that fragile space between "I'm fine" and "I'm falling apart." Perhaps the most brutal war of all is the one we fight against ourselves in silence, alone, and utterly exhausted. As we move deeper into the digital era, time that glorifies achievement, beauty, confidence, and power, we learn to adapt like free-spirited artists endlessly painting our lives according to different schools of realism. In this ever-demanding world, we're encouraged to step into the spotlight a space where only the most polished versions of ourselves are allowed to appear. We learn to present an ideal self carefully filtered, meticulously chosen, refined down to the finest detail, always ready to receive applause and praise. As for the parts that aren't bright enough or beautiful enough, we quietly push them aside and hide them behind the backstage of our inner world. Carl Jung once wrote: "Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is". Perhaps the very parts of ourselves we work hardest to deny end up affecting us the most. Yet on the relentless journey toward perfection, we often forget to water our own shadow — the place where unnamed sadness resides, where wounds remain unhealed, and vulnerability is carefully disguised beneath layers of forced strength and a hardened shell. In the race to meet the glittering standards set by society, obsessed with success, status, or whatever the trend demands, we've traded more than we realize. We wear our achievements like medals pinned to our armor and force a polite smile like a mask, even as fear tears us apart from within. Every failure feels like a bomb detonating in the chest. Every comparison is like a sniper's shot aimed at our self-worth. Even when we have shelter, three meals a day, and the freedom to shape our lives, what often breaks us down are the invisible expectations, silent, persistent, yet no less ruthless. It's time to lay down our weapons, to stop the inner war. Release yourself from the chains of perfectionism that leave you depleted and begin a quiet revolution, where rest is no longer mistaken for laziness, where imperfection is welcomed as a true part of being human, and where compassion is no longer seen as weakness, but embraced as a profound form of wisdom. The shadow we've long ignored, in fact quiet testimony that light is still present. It walks beside us, faithful and patient, even when we choose to look away or pretend it doesn't exist. Neglect doesn't make it disappear. It retreats into corners, hardens, withers, and slowly begins to shape the way we see and respond to life. No one is born to shine endlessly. Even the sun must set to rest, and the most radiant flowers need dark soil to bloom. Instead of chasing some perfect version of who we think we should be, we can pause. Return to the inner self. Gently pour love into the corners we once judged or denied. Sometimes, the bravest thing is not to overcome the pain, but to stay, to accept, to listen. Tend to what hurts and let it bloom when it's ready. "Our shadow side is not meant to be destroyed, but integrated" — something that needs to be nurtured until it becomes part of our wholeness.

As I was driving home from our Young Women's Christmas party last night, tears began streaming down my face. Those tears soon turned to sobs, and I let myself cry freely. My eyes turned Heavenward as I realized that my tears were not those of sadness, but of immense gratitude. I have experienced intense pain and anger this past year, but I have also experienced profound love. The Book of Mormon says there must be opposition in all things; that without pain there is no joy. I know this is true; sometimes it's not a matter of recognizing opposites but cause and effect - there must be pain in order for there to be joy. If I had to put a label on this past year, I would call it the Year of Relationships. Or maybe the Year of Human Connection. I feel like I have rediscovered a lost treasure - something that existed in abundance long ago but has been lost with the passage of time and the advent of technology in our ever-increasingly fast paced world. It is something that I didn't realize I was missing until I experienced it, and then it was so profound and so lovely that I can't believe it's real. It is simply the human relationship. I know that sounds weird but let me explain. This past year, my therapist and church family have shown me that my view of relationships is inaccurate. Because of my life experiences, I have a very hard time accepting favors because I feel like a burden, I'm fearful that those favors will be used against me, and I don't want to be a disappointment or a failure. But it turns out that none of this is true, as long as you're dealing with genuine people. Genuine, kind people will never expect something in return or use those favors to cause you shame and guilt. And they will never cast you aside because of your mistakes. This is the meaning of unconditional love, and I didn't truly understand what that meant until this past year. It turns out that when people are truly genuine - when they are kind, loving, altruistic, and have Christ in their lives - they will love you despite your flaws. They will love you because of your flaws. They will engage in deep, long, heart-felt, engaging, intense, emotional conversations with you. There will be prolonged eye-contact, and laughter, and tears, and they will not be distracted by their phones, or looking for a reason to move on. There will be tough questions and vulnerable answers, and there will be love - so much love. There will be love despite the pain, and sometimes the pain will make the love stronger. The pain is what many people turn away from, which is very unfortunate, because they are missing out on the amazing love that comes afterward. We live in a world of disconnection, depression and anxiety. We live in a world where we place our orders with screens instead of people, where we have our groceries delivered to our doors instead of going to the supermarket, where we get the majority of our news and relationship advice and therapy from influencers on social media. We teach ourselves what we need to know on YouTube rather than asking for help. We even take our college courses online. The cases of depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicide among people under 30 is the highest it's ever been in all of human history. Why? Because we've forgotten how to have relationships with people. Genuine relationships. Relationships that involve love and laughter and vulnerability and trust and dependability. I cried with gratitude last night because of the love and beautiful human connection I experienced at the Christmas party. I witnessed a room full of teenage girls sitting together - talking, laughing, hugging, expressing gratitude, singing - and not a one of them on their phones. I witnessed adults smiling and laughing and helping each other with children and dishes and carrying armloads of items to cars. I also cried because of the therapy session I had been to earlier that day with a close relative, where we had finally surmounted all the pain we'd suffered this past year. This was how it used to be! This is how we as the human species are supposed to be! We are supposed to be out in the world, interacting with each other, rejoicing with each other during the good times and working through the tough times. We are not supposed to be sequestered inside, spending the majority of our waking hours staring at screens. As much as I love my beautiful relationships here and this discovery of what healthy, genuine relationships look and feel like, I know it was preparatory work for moving to Kentucky. I am moving to Appalachia, where life moves a little slower, where there is more emphasis on human connection and less on keeping up with the world. It will be a culture shock, but I know it will be beautiful. My wish for the human race this next year is that we learn to reconnect, to rediscover what it means to be in healthy relationships with one another. It is the only way we're going to survive and thrive.

In December, on some cold and rainy days. I was sitting on dusty shelves at a kind of old store. I see people enter and leave the store every day. Until she came with her mother. She was consulting me. she said, mum! I want this one. And here is my story begins. Hey!! I am Eddie. I am just a teddy bear in the human world. I will not forget that day when I arrived at Charlie's home. It was a home of lovely family. It was a family of four members. Charlie, Rachel, jake and Lydia. I was sitting at Lydia's room. She was taking me whenever she is going. Her room was utterly cozy especially her soft blanket. One day, I was with Lydia in the garden. There was a snow crystal that was falling down on her slowly. Until I heard a voice that saying out loud, Lydia!! Come here the dinner is ready! I observed something when we got into home. There was a beautiful smell of fresh bread coming from the kitchen. I was sitting with Lydia and her family. They were eating and having fun. The vibrations emanating from their chests were unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Their eyes seemed to sparkle with a joyful energy I couldn't quite comprehend. After dinner, everyone went to bed because Lydia and jake have to go to school tomorrow. In Lydia's room there were posters everywhere on walls she was hanging a vision board with her goals and dreams. She wants to be an astronomer. She was spending hours researching astronomy and discussing theories with enthusiasm. She always loved learning things about space and universe. And she always wondered if there is another earth in other galaxies that humans live in or not. In the next day I was sitting on the sofa, and I suddenly I saw a dog running towards me, but he was cute. Charlies' family was having a pet which is a lovely dog. Rachel always loved her dog. She was very kind to him and played with him. After Lydia and jake came from school they ate lunch with the family and after that they headed in their rooms. Lydia had a great skills and hobbies. Lydia's fingers danced across the canvas; her eyes focused intently on the masterpiece taking shape. I love the way she can draw and the way she holds her pencil, her vibrant colors of her drawings and being creative at her drawings. At once she decided to draw me and it was absolutely beautiful! At night the family decided to go out to smell some fresh air and engaging in joyful revelry. And of course, Lydia took me with her. I was surprised when I saw the streets and people. I saw other families, couples, friends and diversity in relationships and all of them were Facinating. They went to a place to drink something hot to keep them warm. Lydia took hot chocolate. I loved the smell of hot coco and how Lydia was holding the cup with her hands to keep herself warmer. On our way back home. It was raining. Everyone was running and holds an umbrella. But I was enjoying the smell of rain when it hits the dusty roads. After years everything changed. I observed Lydia and jake growing. It was magical thing for me to see someone I live with grows in front of my eyes. It was Lydia's the seventeen birthdays. Her family was organizing everything to surprise her, and they invited her friends. Lydia was out and when she came, they surprised her saying. Happy birthday!! She was very happy with the gifts, but I felt that there something wrong with her and I was right. When the birthday ends, and everyone left. She was sitting in her room, and she was sad because her best friend didn't come. It was my first time to see Lydia sad like this way. I figured that the absence of a loved one, even for a seemingly trivial reason, can cause significant emotional distress. But after this sadness her best friend call her, and she explained why she didn't come. And after this call her spirit had raised honestly. And she suddenly hugged me. There was a warmth of this hug. Jake always loved playing guitar. He was playing it since he was 11 years, jake was having a competition of playing guitar. He was very nervous because he trained for this competition very hard, and it meant a lot to him. His family went to the competition with jake to encourage him. When we arrived, he was nervous because he was fearing from failure. But Charlie tried to calm him down saying, “there is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure! After these words jake has encouraged and he played confidently. He was amazing playing this guitar. And he won the first place! He deserved it. From the dusty shelves to the heart of a home. I've witnessed life unfold in its myriad hues. Joy, sorrow, hope, and fear - a tapestry woven with every human thread. In Lydia's laughter and tears, in Jake's triumphs and anxieties, I've glimpsed the depth and complexity of the human soul. Though I am but an inanimate object, I carry within me the echoes of their lives, a testament to the extraordinary nature of being human.

It was sunny and hot. Not just hot, it was extremely hot. Sun was literally roasting me and everything and everyone around me. Well, what else could I expect from Africa? My team and I drove by car, taking our time. We were driving through a local village. Everyone stared at us as if we were aliens. Especially children. I took a pictures of old cracked houses, half-naked toddlers and older kids, which smiled and played despite their suffering. It was so hurting and at the same time fabulous… After a few shots, we stopped. I got the things we brought to the citizens of here out of the trunk. The children started sprinting towards us. I laughed, and gave them toys and candies. Not much later their parents came, and we provided them with fresh water, flour, sugar, milk, first aid-kits and other necessary things. They thanked us, they were delighted, and I took pictures again. Someone even began crying. We were sobbing too. Afterwards, the guys from my team played football with the children. I preferred to take a walk and make some shots. I wandered and wandered until I met a boy, sitting lonely and somehow sad, like the only flower on the field. He was about 5 years old. «Hey, little kid» I said. Fortunately, I was one of those in my team who knew their language. He did not answer. Instead, he looked at me with his big intense eyes, full of pain and simultaneously love. «Do you… do you understand me?» I asked. He nodded. «Why are you not playing with other kids? And… Where are your toys or… candies?.. Wait, did you even get some?». «No» he said quietly. His voice was gentle as little cockle bells. «Where can I get them here?». «Me and my friends made a gift for your people. You didn't know? I thought all people who knew said to entire village». «No. I was here. But I saw that auntie Uzuri, our neighbor, ran in that way. Is it why she ran away?». «I guess». «I see» he said, then he looked far away. «Aren't you sad?». «Should I be sad?» he smiled weakly. «If I were you, I would be». «I am not». «That's good» I was glad. «Weren't you curious why that aunt ran? You did not ask?». «No» he answered sadly. He was silent for a while, then whispered: «My sister is very sick. Now she is sleeping, that is why I decided to go outside and breathe some air». «Pity…». How terrible it was! What was worse, we had nothing to gift them with. I should ask some stuff from my team. Later. Then I recalled something. I had lollipops in my pocket! My little niece gave me them before our fly. Thank you, niece. «Here, take it. It is not much but…» I got out two candies. At that moment, his smile was almost ear-to-ear. He took them with his thin little hands, and said «Thank you!..» He took both candies, and opened them. Then he offered me one. «Take it» he said. «What is it for?» I giggled. «For your kindness». These words melted my heart. He continued holding candy, and I took the picture of this ineffable moment. «Keep it» I said then. «Give it to your sister». I cuddled the most softhearted person I ever met and left him with words «I'll be back soon!» Tomorrow other volunteers came. We… well, I called them because of that one boy. I ran up to his house and said to him «Come on, there are medicines for your sis, water and food». He was over the moon and was jumping for joy. After few days, we travelled to another village and continued volunteering. I still ponder about that boy and his action a lot. As a photographer, I saw a million of things which wondered me, however this time it was something more than just «amazing». Indescribable. He lives in situation not suitable for humans, but did not lost his humanity.

“Thanks. I'll definitely include a tip,” the passenger promised as he stepped out of the car and set off for the shopping mall. Khalid merely smiled, knowing that more than half of his clients usually forgot to keep their promise as soon as they had stepped out of his hired car. He didn't hold it against any of them; he knew what a fast-paced world we lived in. His phone pinged. It was another Uber passenger, this one a mere three minutes away from his current location. He quickly accepted the booking; at this time of the year, competition was brutal. Fortunately, he hadn't been doing too badly this month, but he was still behind with his rent. “Listen, raghead,” his landlord had told him that morning, using the derogatory label he often flung at Khalid, a refugee from Sudan. “If tonight you don't pay the full rent you owe me, expect to find your crap on the street tomorrow morning. I give you till ten tonight, you hear?” Khalid had remained silent, knowing that it would be useless to appeal to the man's sympathy, as he had none for “filthy job-stealing foreigners”. Khalid had resolved to get as many fares as he could today to make the payment. The client was a waif-like lady waiting outside Woolworths; she had a number of shopping bags surrounding her. Khalid hurriedly exited the car to load the bags into the back. “Thank you,” the woman beamed, clearly relieved for the help. “Every year I tell myself I won't leave things to the last minute,” she continued as she got into the passenger seat, “but inevitably, I end up doing exactly that.” “It's normal, isn't it?” Khalid said, instantly liking the woman's friendly nature. Laughing merrily, the woman said, “I doubt it's normal, but I suppose it's usual at this time of the year.” “True,” Khalid agreed. “It never ceases to surprise me how frantic people become at a time when they should have peace in their hearts.” “Absolutely true! We are so caught up in consumerism that we lose total sight of the real significance of this season. You don't celebrate this event, do you?” “No, I'm a Muslim, but we love and respect Jesus. He's a prophet in my religion, too.” “That's wonderful to know that you also love Him.” The woman kept up a light conversation with Khalid until they reached her destination. Before leaving, she added a tip on the phone app. “Thank you very much, ma'am,” Khalid said in genuine gratitude. The woman waved away his thanks. Khalid helped carry her bags to the front door, bid her a good night and got back into his car. He had hardly gone a few meters from her home when he noticed the small brown envelope on the passenger seat. “Oh, no. She's dropped something,” Khalid said before turning his car around to go back to the woman's house. She opened the door after his first knock, as if she had been expecting somebody. When she saw Khalid, she exclaimed, “You've found it then?” Khalid extended the envelope to her. “Yes, I knew it must be yours. I didn't open it,” he hastened to add. “But it's not mine,” the woman said, confusing Khalid. “It's yours.” “No, ma'am. It's definitely not mine,” Khalid stammered. “It is, young man. It's an annual tradition of mine, to gift somebody worthy on this holy night with such a gift. And I have a feeling there's none worthier right now than you. Please, keep it.” Khalid was flummoxed. “But why me? I'm nobody special.” “Oh, but you are. We are all special in our own way, and tonight I'm blessing you with this gift. I'm not taking it back; if you don't want to accept it, pass it on to somebody else.” “But I'm not a Christian, ma'am.” “So what? What kind of Christian would I be if I extended charity only to those of my own faith?” “God bless you,” Khalid managed to say over the lump in his throat. “God has blessed me, and that's exactly why I share this blessing each year at this time with some deserving stranger. Good night,” she said and closed the door of her brightly lit home from which peaceful sounds of a hymn flowed. Khalid walked back to the car like one dazed, expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. He couldn't fathom why he had been chosen for such an unexpected gift, but then he said, “Dear God, thank You for Your favors.” He still had no sure idea what the envelope contained, but he could feel it might be money. Khalid arrived at his flat at nine thirty. He nearly returned to the woman's house once he finally opened the envelope and saw how much cash it contained. It was enough to cover two months' rent. With tear-filled eyes, Khalid looked at the star-studded night sky, wonder bubbling up in his chest like the sweetest spring from which he had ever drunk. “You are a miracle in and of Yourself, and only You can orchestrate the best, most miraculous plans for Your worshippers.” With a far less burdened heart and soul, he went to see the landlord. Bliss spread across his joyous heart in continuous waves of wondrous rapture.

I'm overstimulated, which is a writer's worst nightmare. My thoughts have the zoomies, making them hard to catch or pinpoint. I feel overwhelmed by the vastness of human life. I've met so many new people this week at my new job. And I've seen even more people there that I haven't met. I keep thinking of how my grandma is driving across the country with my aunt and uncle. How people who don't know her will see her and only see an old woman, see her frailty. But that is just her body, that is not who she is. She may be an old woman now, but she was also once a little girl exploring the beaches of Lake Michigan with her best friends and neighbors Rae and Johnny. She was once a girl sitting on her older sister's stack of records in the basement while listening to the record player. She was once my grandpa's high school sweetheart. She was once a girlfriend left behind as my grandpa went to war in Korea. She once, newly married, and never having traveled out of her small town, moved with my grandpa to an Air Force Base in South Dakota where she gave birth to my mother far away from her family and friends. She was once the mother of five young children, raising them mostly on her own. She is a woman who lived through the death of her teenage son. She is a strong woman who lived with and loved an alcoholic man. She was a woman known to be vivacious and full of life, which if you look close enough, you'll see she still is. She is a woman who once filled the halls of her church with art and posters she created and hand-drew on her own. She is a woman who raised strong and fierce children into even stronger and fiercer adults. She is a woman who helped raise her grandchildren, telling them stories, singing them songs, teaching them art, and capturing their imaginations. She may be an old woman now, but she is still all these things. As I've met and seen so many new people at my new job this week, I've been struck again by how each of us has a story, each of us is more than what we seem on the surface. If we urge one another not to judge books by their covers, how much more should we not judge people by theirs? We all love and are loved; we all have people who see us for who we are. We all are more than the sum of our parts. It's shockingly easy to forget this, to merely see people as annoyances, or in our way. We can become so engrossed in our own lives, we forget everyone else is also experiencing life in different, yet very similar, ways. I, for one, am working on remembering.

Dr Sandesh Lamsal is a well-known social media influencer from Nepal. Recently, he was seen sharing the screen with popular Nepali singers Raju Pariyar, Khuman Adhikari, Arjun Sapkota, Shanti Shree Pariyar, Laxmi Khadka and Apsara Oli in the music video entitled "Batti Panasma" feat. models Bikram Nepali and Reshma Subedi. The video premiered on "Panas Films" Official YouTube Channel has gained about 250K views in 1 month along with lots of positive comments and feedback from the audience. While talking with the production team, we came to know that Dr Sandesh Lamsal was invited by the singer Khuman Adhikari for the guest appearance. Khuman Adhikari further added, "It's a matter of pride that the young and new generation's internet sensations are actively supporting and promoting Nepali folk and traditional songs. Nepali Music Industry will always be grateful for such kind of support from the new generation influencers and internet celebrities." While another popular Nepali singer Raju Pariyar, who has given voice to more than 15,000 Nepali songs commented, "Nepalese Internet celebrities like Dr Sandesh Lamsal are the face of Nepali Music Industry in the very near future. The interest and dedication which he has shown towards Nepali Folk Songs are very appreciable." He further added, "We want to see more talents like Dr Sandesh in Nepali Music Industry." Dr Sandesh Lamsal has a huge fan base on Instagram (@Sandesh.1994). He is the first Nepalese Male to hit 1 Million on Instagram. Similarly, his fan base on Indian Social Media Platforms Like MOJ, JOSH, CHINGARI, CHANGA, etc can't be underestimated. Dr Sandesh Lamsal is frequently seen promoting Nepali culture, tradition and language in India through his verified pages on these platforms.

The Coronavirus outbreak that swept the planet showed me humanity's true colors. I saw the news stories of doctors and nurses living in their garages to protect their families. I watched interviews and live feeds across social media praising teachers for finding ways to continue teaching. I watched communities come together to take care of each other with free mini libraries and food pantries. I saw neighbors put up signs thanking frontline workers, while others put out drinks and snacks for their delivery drivers. And yet, despite all that bravery and love, I became bombarded with what can only be described as my breaking point. Videos of frontline workers being assaulted filled social media feeds. Heartbreaking stories emerged of people attacking hospital staff in parking lots. Customers fighting in shops for “necessities”. Infamous Karen videos became the norm. The world had become a violent terrifying place. Not only were we fighting an invisible virus; we were trying to survive against the losing battle of self-importance and entitlement. My parents instilled in me the belief that every single life matters and thus deserves nothing less than the utmost respect. The janitor mopping the floors deserves to be treated the same as the CEO, as one without the other could not succeed. I always held this belief in my heart, and it crushed me to see that this was not a universal belief. Being a retail worker myself at the time, I was afraid. Every time I left my house my body was preparing for fight or flight. In my head I would come up with ways I could defend myself physically if someone came at me; my go to was a pen in my hand at all times. I had only a mask at the time to keep me safe from a virus coming for me… It would do little against a fist. Taking the TTC; the Toronto public transit system, I had to keep a close eye on those around me. Backing away from those who refused to social distance, and biting my tongue until it bled under my mask when people would take theirs off. Sometimes I would speak up, but I always knew the risk I took doing so. Someday someone would come at me, and I wouldn't be able to physically defend myself. I reached a point where I no longer cared. I was tired of fighting an uphill battle. All I could think of was my family and of families like mine; who were doing everything in their power to make things safe; taking care of each other in such trying times. I would stare at the mask less, proudly smirking because no one could tell them what to do, as they would yell out in victory, “We won't be controlled.” and “I'm not wearing a muzzle!” My hatred for them grew every day; the more bare faces I saw the more frustration built. Why were they more important than my mother? My father? My sister? Why couldn't they get that this wasn't a political issue? No one was trying to silence them. They were free to believe whatever they wanted. Policies were made to prevent the spread. You don't want to wear a mask? Then don't. But then you can't complain online, or scream at employees when you're denied entry. You can't scream that your freedoms and rights are being violated when stores have the right to refuse service, while police remove you from private property. They wanted others to follow the rules so that they could be safe, but then turned around and refused to do the same for others. Time and time again I was baffled by their selfishness. Why is your comfort more important than someone's life? How can anyone be so cruel? Did they have hearts of stone? How could you see the footage of bodies being pulled out of long term care homes and pretend it's normal? How could you watch videos of exhausted nurses barely able to take off their PPE gear while tears rolled down their cheeks, from hours of calling codes? How could it not crush your soul to hear the cries of families mourning their children. We were losing mothers, fathers, sisters, daughters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, best friends, and yet they still didn't care, because it wasn't them. My family should have been safe, protected by you and yours, just as we did for you. But in your eyes, we weren't worth the inconvenience. Our lives didn't matter. The pandemic not only taught me I can't trust others to do the right thing, but it stole a future from me. I lost my faith in humanity, and with it, my dreams of ever becoming a mother. There is no sense to bring another life into this world just to witness this exact scenario in the next pandemic. For them to feel the fear, disgust, hopelessness and rage I felt. That so many of us felt. This isn't a world I want to make another suffer through.. So in a weird way, I have a pandemic to thank for showing me humanity's true colors. It took so much from us; years, resources, loved ones, but, it confirmed that we will always be creatures of habit. And even in the most dire of circumstances, people won't ever change.

Today I had a vision in my head of sitting at my favorite coffee shop and unleashing my thoughts that have been writhing inside of my mind, calling out to me to be expressed on paper. Life has been a little busy lately and I haven't gotten to sit and express deeply in so long, my heart was excited for the time that I had planned. I was going to one of my favorite places, which held beautiful views and great coffee. It started out magical. As I entered, the smell of freshly brewed coffee welcomed me. Though the morning was brisk, the sun was pouring over the views of the city as I watched from inside. Breathing in the beauty, I took a sip of the hot coffee that I held in my hands, letting the moment soothe my soul. Opening my laptop to a blank page, I was ready. A few moments passed as I began to write, my heart racing at the feeling of freeing my mind. Soon after, the business started to pick up. A kind man approached and asked me how my day was going. His smile was sincere and his eyes were inviting. I smiled back, recognizing a familiar face from the past. The first thing he asked me was about stocks, leading into the covid vaccine, and politics. I sat quietly and let him talk, never letting my smile fall, I listened intently. His colleagues arrived and it was clear that they were having a morning meeting. I ended our conversation, "Nice seeing you," and I turned back to my writing. Only it was short lived, as the shop began to fill with conversation of politics, the noise of the disagreements and opinions starting to overpower my peace. I should have brought headphones or something to block out the noise, right? Wrong. I have never been one to wear things that block out the "noise" of the world. I have always been intrigued with what's going on around me. I CHOOSE not to participate in the noise or chaos, but I can listen with an open heart, learning and growing as I take it in. Sometimes the "noise" of the world is beautiful, even if it's not what we want to hear. We are all human beings, whether we believe the same or not. Letting something destroy our peace is our choice. It took me a moment, but I jumped right back into my thoughts, and this was the result. I gained inspiration from the brief disturbance of my thoughts. My peace is my own, my thoughts are my own, my actions are my own, and what I choose everyday is up to me. I choose peace.

After the first COVID-19 case in Indonesia was confirmed in March 2020, most people were panic. Mask and hand sanitizer became rare. Some people seemed egoistic. They were panic buying; so that left others with nothing. It is so tragic knowing that health facility in my country still needs improvement. So many doctors and nurses were died because of the minimal protection. In contrast, some people were captured of wearing Medical Personal Protective Equipment for shopping. Moreover, there are still Covidiots outside there that snatch the dead bodies of corona suspects from the medical staffs. That is heartbreaking! Due to this pandemic, almost all aspects in our life must change. We all are forced to adapt as soon as possible; so that we can survive. We must massively transform our ways of socialization. It is still weird, until today, whenever I meet other people but I cannot shake their hand or hug them. It is not something new that we can communicate via video call or chatting due to the rise of internet and technology; however, it is still weird for me whenever I should attend online meeting although my colleagues and I are in the same town. Beside some modifications in the way of our communication, this COVID-19 pandemic also wake our awareness of healthy life up. So many people, including me, become more hygienic and healtier than before. I must wear mask and/or face shield whenever I go outside home, wash my hands more than ten times in a day, spray all stuffs I bring, take a shower every time I go home, wash my clothes although I wear it for once, limit the frequency of buying cooked food, and add the frequency of sunbathing and doing exercise. For the first time in the world, we are suggested to learn, work and pray from home, almost all of the tourism destinations in the world are closed, so many international flights are banned, more and more people are jobless, and we face serious issue about tackling hoaxes. I, personally, was stressed due to the great impact of pandemic. As a Muslim, it is heartbreaking for me to cancel iftar together with friends in Ramadhan and celebrate Idul Fitri without the whole member of my big family and friends. We have no choice, but long distance relationship and use the art-of-the-state technology to support our communication. Besides, I also cancel to join two youth competitions that mean so much for me due to this condition. Day by day, I try hard to find my inner peace and to let go of the thing I cannot catch due to the condition I cannot choose. I keep my self busy by joining so many webinars and online courses and reading some books; so that I can control my stress during self quarantine. Although COVID-19 pandemic is not something I ever wish, this brings the most important thing in my life, a will to re-evaluate my life. As no one knows when their lives end, most people are forget to find the most important things in their life. Most people keep busy all day long, but still feel worthless in the end of the day. "Let it flow" is like an unconscious motto for some. Lucky me that finally I can start my freelance work as executor of mayor election; so that I have a reason to go outside. I feel like a caveman after staying at home for more than a full month. Though I must work by using COVID-19 protocol, such as wearing mask and face shield, bringing hand sanitizer everywhere I go, and stay away at least one meter from others; I am happy of having conversations with random people due to my job. I never guess that in this difficult time, most people I meet can still show their kindness to me. For example, when I looked like confused to find out some addresses, some people initiated to ask what I was looking for and accompanied me to meet the people I mentioned. I also meet other actions of kindness that is initiated by some youths in my hometown who collect donation and give it to the needy. This is not only going on around my environment, but also in online platform. So many people raise donation to help medical staff and the one who need help in creative ways, ranging from holding online charity concert to designing for charity. Since I do not want to be left behind in doing something useful for my life and other's, in this difficult time, I start the dream I postponed for long period, starting culinary business. It is more than profit that I want to reach, but happiness for struggling dreams and sharing happiness by serving my cooking. Besides, I also actively sharing the knowledge I got from webinars and online courses freely in my social media and chat group. To sum up, for me, COVID-19 is humanity test for human. I do believe that there are so many things we can learn from this natural selection. I do believe that the population of good people still dominate the world. Just because I cannot touch your hand, does not mean we cannot keep in touch. Just because I cannot touch your hand, does not mean we cannot hand in hand. Solidarity will prevail.