The story starts at a public preparatory school in the middle of Sydney. Every student was on pins and needles, waiting for his exam's result and envisioning parental pride and the sweet taste of reward. As the teacher entered carrying the papers, a hush fell over the classroom. The teacher started declaring the results: Ramy Ali, FULL MARK!! Haitham Omar, 97 out of 100!! and so on. A ripple of applause followed every name as the grades were distributed, until he said, “And John Jackson, 15 out of 100! Always the least mark.”. After the school day, while John was walking back home in solitude as usual, he ran into Ramy, the smart and big-headed kid notorious for taunting him after exams. A maelstrom of confusion and fear propelled John faster homeward. John reached home thinking how to tell his parents the bad news: It's not the first time he gets this low mark. Once again, hours of study yielded little fruit. Hardly he could summon the courage to reveal the unwelcome reality, his voice trembling slightly. At that moment, his parents' hopeful gazes turned into depressed eyes, a weight that bore down heavily on his 13-year-old shoulders and hardly saying, “You can do better next time." However, John has never lost hope. He knew he was capable, but his skills are still undiscovered. John entered his room and started writing down everything that happened in his diary, where his thoughts and feelings found form. It was a silent confidant, a sanctuary from the harsh realities of life. But it was not enough to give out all negative feelings. The past failures still came to his mind with memories of his dad's disappointment through other proud parents. John's dream was to achieve success only once to see these proud eyes. Lost in contemplation, John got a phone notification that was a flicker of inspiration, as he thought he found his chance to make the difference. It was about the writing contest that would be held next week. He knew that the contest would be fierce because of the $10,000 cash prize for the first place; however, his belief in his abilities made him more decisive to participate. Unfortunately, the ten-dollar entry fee cast a long shadow over his aspirations since his family's hard economic conditions rendered the cost an obstacle. He didn't know what he would do to get the money, but hopefully slept dreaming of a bright future. The following morning, on his way to school, he noticed a currency fluttering in front of his eyes and going away. With a jolt of adrenaline, he pounced, his heart pounding in his chest as his fingers closed around it. 10 dollars!! What a windfall! Memories of childhood deprivation surfaced—the unattainable toys, the yearned-for sweets that had always been beyond his grasp. However, his desire for his parent's esteem outshone all other yearnings. He resolved to invest his newfound treasure in the writing contest. The ensuing days were a whirlwind of creativity as he spent hours of hard work crafting an opus that was as much a product of his heart as his mind. When the day of the awards ceremony arrived, John's family gathered in the field, interestingly waiting for the winners' announcement. Memories of each failure and the comments following it came to John's mind; eventually, he heard a familiar voice. “John, I didn't expect to see you. Be tuned to clap for me.” Sneered Ramy, the conceited student. John, who was about to cry, was jolted back to reality by his father's fast reply. “You're that kid from John's school, aren't you? Let me enlighten you: success isn't merely a matter of academic prowess. With no morals, you'll always be nothing. So, I'm very proud of my high-moral, passionate, and diligent son, as I've always been.” John felt a kind of warmth he's never felt before. Silence prevailed for a minute, then ”The Champion of this year's writing contest is John Jackson!” the announcer declared in a charged air of esteem and applause. John's dad lifted him in the air, shouting, “It's my son!” John couldn't capture his happiness in words. After all his effort and failures, he did it. His family is finally proud of him. As Roy Bennett once said, “There are five important things for living a successful and fulfilling life: never stop dreaming, never stop believing, never give up, never stop trying, and never stop learning.”. Difficulties and obstacles are found on every step of the way to success. Sometimes we can't get over them, sometimes we think we took the wrong path, and sometimes we get confused. This doesn't mean to give up. Try again; try everything. There're opportunities of progression fluttering in front of your eyes every day. There's a happy life waiting for you to find it. You deserve it. Go for it. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself; my name is John Jackson, the narrator of this tale. I built my ladder to succumb to failures. If I could do it, so can you. Just, believe.

Hey everyone! I just wanted to remind you all to embrace every moment because our time here is limited. Life gets so busy, but it's crucial to remember that we're only here for a short while, so let's make the most of it! I'm incredibly grateful for the universe blessing me with a healthy body, a healthy mind, and everything else I need for a fulfilling life. Let's start with my arrival into this world on September 14, 2006. My early years are a bit hazy, but I've been told that I was quite mischievous and loved taking my toys apart. I was ecstatic to start school at around 4 or 5 years old and got involved in nursery school and karate. I've always been passionate about learning, and I'll never forget the pride I felt when I scored 98% on a final exam, ranking first in my entire class. However, that joy faded a bit when my name was omitted from the award ceremony list and my scorecard was tampered with. It was a tough reality check for me. Afterward, I was feeling a bit down, but my parents took me to a Gift/Toy Shop to buy me a gift to cheer me up. I was stubborn and insisted on receiving an award/gift from school on a stage, but they bought me an expensive gift anyway, which I didn't accept at the time. Now, it's one of my most cherished memories, and the toy is proudly displayed on my memory shelf. This experience toughened me up and taught me some invaluable life lessons. Since then, I've grown to achieve a 2nd Dan Black Belt in Karate and I'm currently pursuing higher studies. I'm sharing this story not for your sympathy, but to illustrate that life often gives us a reality check. Maintaining a positive mindset has been crucial for me. It's not about the circumstances or the situation, but what we take from them that truly matters. I've also discovered that physical exercise has been a secret to building mental strength. Just a favor to ask: if you make a decision, keep it to yourself until you've applied it in your life. Also, it's best not to give advice on matters that you haven't personally experienced or don't have expertise in. Ananda, or true happiness, is within each of us. Start your self-discovery journey and embrace it. If you'd like to hear more about my life events, feel free to ask!

3 years ago, there was no sign of my current situation... I was in the 6th grade, and one day my mother told me that "Presidential schools are opening in all regions of Uzbekistan." But I didn't even pay attention to what my mother said, because after hearing her description of the school, I thought that for me it was a dream as far away as the Earth is from the Sun. I was only thinking of having fun with girls. As for my studies, I was good at mathematics because I studied at a specialized school, and I used to participate in Olympiads. But I didn't have a specific goal. I didn't even think a little bit about why I should study and what kind of profession I would get. I lived only for today and did not think about my future at all. Seeing my situation, my mum started to force me to study and taught me English, because she is an English teacher, and she took me to mathematics course. But I still didn't give up having fun, I had no desire to study at all. So I spent another year without studying... For the first time, "Presidential schools" were opened in a total of 4 regions. One day I saw a video on YouTube about the conditions there, and I really wanted to study there. I set a goal for myself and started studying for the first time. I looked around… I saw my peers already making their moves to get in there, and I started studying too, even though it was late. I completed the tasks given in the class on time, in fact, I can't say that I studied very hard. But I knew that my mother believed in me very much and wanted me to study there more than myself. So, 2 years have passed... As the days of the exams approached, my fear increased... All my relatives and friends were also waiting for my results, and I was even more excited when I thought about it. And that day came. My mother took me to the exam herself, and before going in, she said something that I still can't forget: "We believe in you, Durdona, you will definitely do it." Some kind of light came into me and I worked out the first round of exams. More than 1,000 students applied for admission to the school, and only 24 were selected. In the first round, 480 students were passed, and I was among them... I felt that the next exam would be stronger than this one. August 16, 2021. All the students, confident in their knowledge, came to the 2nd stage exams. This time also, my mother gave me motivation before entering the exam. Using all my knowledge, I solved the test, and when I came out, my mother asked "How was the exam?" and I said, "I will get more than 80 points". My mother used to say a lot that an educated people can predict how many points they will get if they take a test (by the way I got 81.1 out of 100). I was eagerly waiting for the announcement of the results. Finally, that day came. It was past 8 o'clock in the evening, and I was watching a video on YouTube, and I saw the message "results are out" on Telegram, and as soon as I saw it, my heart was filled with excitement and I began to tremble. My mother was also in front of me, but I went in without telling her and I saw that my ID was in the 3rd place😍... I didn't even realize how I shouted. At first, my mother was incredulous and asked again and again, "Is that really your ID?" and suddenly I started to cry, not tears of pain, but tears of happiness. I cried because I was happy to hear that I passed the exam that I had spent 2 years preparing for. After 2 months, I started studying at my new school. It was very difficult at first because my school was far from where I lived and I only went home once a week, which was very difficult for a little girl who had never been away from home. For the first time in my life, I spoke with foreign people. When I entered this school, I saw that there are many students who are stronger than me, and I realized that I should study harder. Before passing the exam, a lot of people believed in me, but now it seems to be 10 times more, because this school is different from other schools and there are only 14 of them in the whole Republic. What I learned from this experience in my life is that “nothing is impossible”, even if it is farther from you than the distance from the Earth to the Sun! Just believe that you can do it!

“I'm looking for the thing that will fill the hole in my soul. I have everything— riches you will never comprehend. Men and women love me, the people want to be me, and I have endless companions. I can afford to adorn them with rare jewels and house them in my massive castle. I have a whole wing filled with wine older than my grandfather. I have a closet larger than town square. I have everything I want. “You have nothing compared to me. Your horse has one leg in the grave and my steed makes it look dead already. Your own home is crumbling and one day, it will crush you. The fireplace is more ash than flame and your carpet has withered. Your clothes are tattered, tarnished with the filth of a poor man's life. You survive, but I live. You will never understand my wondrous life. You clean up shattered pieces and try to save your life's wreckage but you will never be as close to this feeling as I am. But, how could you? You've been dealt a hand full of holes. You've lost. I truly pity you and these creaky floorboards and the crying ceiling and that moth banging on the windowsill.” The man goes to the window. Loving hands scoop the small creature and carry it to the door. He releases it and it flies to the sky. “It won't survive.” “Probably not.” “It wouldn't have lived much longer in here either.” “…“ “Why did you release it?” “Because that's where it wanted to finish life. In the sky, where it is free.” “I want to die embraced with warmth. The moth is a stupid creature, choosing cold over comfort.” “Why do you so strongly hate that which you cannot understand?” “I, well—,” “Do you want to feel complete? Think. Do you really have everything you want?” “What more could there be to gain?!” The man counts on his fingers. “Money, pleasure, friends, jewels— I have it all!” “Do you have love?” “Of course! I love tea.” The kettle is removed from the fireplace by the other man. He pours the boiling water into two cups, swirling crushed tea leaves. “I love my mother and father. I love my kingdom.” “Do you love yourself?” he asks while handing him a glass. “Of course…” The wealthy man pauses. “Well… What constitutes self-love?” “Self-love is not just treating yourself to your desires. It is to be confident, to seek validation from only yourself, to be virtuous, to know what you truly want.” “How will I know?” “First, realize the moth knows its wants better than you.” “Are you comparing your king to a moth?” “Second, realize you are just an animal serving its animalistic desires.” “Hey—“ “You need people to love you in order to love yourself. You lack the esteem to consider yourself lovable. You bring down others so you can rise up. You surround yourself in material value and gorge because you have no sense of reason. Your friends are slimy and they will leave you the second you cannot provide.” The man pauses his speech. He takes in the other man, glass in hand, eyes bent wide, brows furrowed. “You have to want to be good. Do good, spread good, follow your morals, be ethical. If you look deeper and inspect the waves of your mind, you will find completion.” The man drinks his last sip of tea. “I must leave.” He sets the cup down and the discarded tea leaves settle. “What will you do next?” He leans in to look and see the way the leaves have fallen. The man crosses floorboards worn from pacing feet. He takes a final look at shards lovingly collected and a carpet that has nourished. He grabs a copper handle that has worn away to gold, then opens the door. “I'll learn how to love.” He closes the door. In the stable, his horse has its head turned and resting on the back of the other. He gently wakes them. They exchange goodbyes and the man adds his fur coat to the blankets piling the aged horse, covering frost-tipped ears. They make it back to the main road. By now, the crowd has dispersed, and only the sound of wind and thumping gallops follow. The snow glistens from the rising sun, painting the man and his horse in orange and red. Something glows from the light on the horse's mane. He gingerly picks it up, delicate like glass. Its wings look shattered and broken, twitching as he cups it in his palm. “The moth died for what it wanted.” He leaves its body to rest in a bright place under the sun.

Beautiful tapestries woven with gold shimmer in the sunlight. Jewels sparkle with a million intricacies and purple flows along banners, finest of silk. Like rolling fields of golden hay, hills of treasure tumble to the floor. “A fine collection, your majesty.” “That diamond is lovely, your majesty!” “What will you do with it all, your majesty?” Asks the choir of envy. “It will complete me, of course,” the wealthy man replies. Countless women, as beautiful as Venus. They slide over each other, reaching out for the wealthy man. Countless men, as beautiful as Mars. They are adorned with diamonds and put on display. They are here for him, to serve him, “—To complete me, of course,” the wealthy man replies. A banquet table glitters with steaming pots of emerald kettles. Fancy leather chairs comfort his companions. They wear shoes he bought them, jewelry he purchased, even the clothes off their backs are from his wealth. “You all complete me too, of course.” The wealthy man smiles, but like a gap in his teeth, or childless mother, something is missing. Later that night the wealthy man lies alone in bed. “What am I missing?” he asks. “I have everything I want, everything I need— what else could possibly complete me?” He gets out of bed and stands next to the window. The glass is cold and he can see his breath from fog. He wipes the obscure away to overlook his kingdom. Hundreds of people, wandering his streets. Thousands more, tucked inside. They all have far, far less than him. Compared to his riches and wealth, their existence is nothing. They will never as close to completion as he is. Still, he grabs his red and white fur coat and stumbles into his boots. He rushes for the doorknob and glides down the stairs. Maids and butlers give him quizzical looks, but they don't understand. Tonight is the night he answers this question. His royal steed is woken by the weight of a saddle. He rides down snowy trails as knights shout his name and say he's gone mad. The horse trots into town. Turned up dirt is splattered over slush. Townspeople, his people, stare in awe as his coat flutters in the crisp wind. They eye his crown, the piece barely hanging onto his tousled hair. No guards, no armour, no sense of reason, and utterly defenceless. Filled with greed, the crowd inches closer. From the crowd, a man in rags pushes himself forwards. “Would you like to come inside for tea?” The poor man asks. “Will it complete me?” the wealthy man replies. “It will fill you for a moment.” “I've had enough of momentary bliss.” “Your horse is freezing.” “…” “I have a stable. Please, follow me.” The crowd lets them through and the wealthy man follows slow footsteps. He is lead into a dirtier part of the kingdom, where the buildings are squished and held together with chipped bricks and knotted wood. The “stable” is a tiny shack that is hardly big enough for the old, weathered horse already inside. The wealthy man dismounts and together the men shimmy the steed inside. The horses draw close together, sharing a tender embrace. The poor man tosses another blanket over them and the shivering slowly stops. “Let's get you some tea.” Inside he is greeted by a leaky ceiling. Dirt paints a carpet that has been eaten away by moths, leaving it hole-ridden and bleak. Shards of glass from a broken plate have been picked up and stacked on a rag, stained red from soft fingers. “Take a seat, I'll put the kettle on.” The wealthy man sits on a wooden chair and it creaks under his weight. It feels like a threat and another reason he's not supposed to be here. “What is this feeling you've been searching for?” The run-down house warms up as more wood is tossed into the fireplace. A dim orange glow lets him see the features of the poor man. He's smiling. Why is he smiling?

A child, 14, sits in his room. Quarantine has taken a toll, stealing away the ability to socialize with friends and the opportunity to learn at in-person schools. Life has begun to become boring, mundane, borderline useless. Being so young when COVID hits is a challenge. What are you meant to do? There wasn't much freedom to speak of before, and now it's all gone. One of the only things you can do at the moment, such an isolated time, is go online. He makes many online friends during quarantine that help sustain his wellbeing. Posting drawings on social media to show friends and mutuals replaces socializing in real life. The thing that's most different is that now, our hero enjoys learning. Research on Google becomes an outlet for him. He discovers a love for history this way, looking up facts about cowboys and about Victorian princes. He learns many interesting things and, in researching the late 1700s, discovers his new favorite thing; something that nobody in their right mind would enjoy. Tuberculosis. Everything about the pulmonary disease is extremely interesting to him. It begins with a fascination in hemoptysis, coughing up blood, then snowballs. Watching documentaries, reading informational books online, discovering more and more articles on the subject, the ancient disease becomes his lifeblood. He no longer feels so bored with life. He discovers that several fictional books about Tuberculosis exist, both contemporary and vintage, ones which tell stories about interesting characters in and out of sanatoriums. It inspires him to read again for the first time in three years. He has again found something worth spending time on. Learning about Tuberculosis becomes an unlikely source of happiness, one that will last for years to come. He finds a lot of enjoyment in researching the infectious disease, talking about it, watching videos that mention it. He has finally begun to discover himself.

Be kind to yourself. What you may see as a flaw is what others admire as your strength.

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

We beg for our cries to be heard We cry for the unsettling storm inside us We adjure for the storm to leave, unharmed For our beat to not be disrupted The human conflict we call pain To be prevented in all scenarios But then again, it narrates a story People in pain are people who write With the pain subsiding, We lose a bulk of stories Is that a world we sought for? This might be the fifth poem I wrote today. The five poems have no relevance to each other. The first is about the moon, the second is about sunset, the third is a satire based on one of Shakespeare's sonnets, the fourth on vision, and the fifth is about pain. What I find ridiculing is the number of poems I wrote since the pandemic as I gave up on writing. And the cherry on top? I was repulsed by the idea of taking on literature. You ask why? Simple, it just felt too monotonous and gloomy. I found it hard to sympathize with it. Once I read The Picture Of Dorian Gray, I straight up went like, "no way this is real." With the extensive poetry and implied erotica, I barely understood half of it. But the writing style had me captivated. I still opined with the fact that writers need a big hug and be a bit optimistic. Now coming from a fellow pessimist, I get why they aren't on the bright side of life. Being locked in a dark room feels suffocating and frightening. Even if the atmosphere is vast, it still feels like the oxygen supply is cut off and soon you would be left with nothing. That is how the pandemic felt. It was around my transition age and everything felt so frustrating, so dull. At a certain point, I wanted to give up and it felt as if nothing is worth living for. Life became like a spiral abyss with no escape gate. Just like the chapters of a book, the plot keeps getting better and better right? But once the protagonist starts pitying himself, life becomes an endless nightmare where everything comes to a pause. Reflecting on past mistakes and never moving from them made me adopt a façade that is not me. My present life is a like a house of cards- a house that might break with the slightest gush of wind blowing over it. It feels like I'm there even though I'm not. Even the slightest of things hurt me and I'm left numb. Sometimes I pretend to not care and just go with the flow. I once told one of my friends, ‘you know it wouldn't hurt me if any of you leave me.' Was I lying? No. As someone who everyone left, I expect the worse and nothing more. It is better to assume the worse than to have your expectations shattered. Ever since I was young, I struggled with feelings. I never had a potential lover neither did I feel anything. Yet I pretended to blend with them. Little did I know it would affect me so much. Almost everyone gave up on me including my parents, after all, I'm the embodiment of disappointment. An additional point, I keep making a fool out of myself all the time. I feel empty most of the time, a feeling I cannot explain. Yet I keep fighting but for what? Why am I trying so hard when everyone has turned their backs on me? Why am I trying when I have no reason to do so? I cannot quite remember the last time I was happy. That is where writing comes into play. It is not much of a hassle, just take a pen and paper and let your hands move. The art of writing is not understood by many but once you let the pen flow, a stream of words appears and your mind becomes active as ever. It's like an adrenaline rush for me- writing until your fingers are numb, the pain in your fingertips feels like you have accomplished something. Tragedy prevails in everyone's life. No matter how much we hide from the demons, staying in the light of the day, we are bound to face them once the night dawns upon us. When we practically vent out to someone, they listen and nod. But when one writes, the secrets are stored. One may look at it after a while and realize the progress they have made over time being and that it something to be proud of. Reading No Longer Human, I realized that Yozo, the protagonist tells us about his life filled with shame. He tried his best to be a human and did everything to act what we call ‘normal'. But his life was short-lived as he met the same fate as the author of the book- Osamu Dazai. Writing is not only for scribbling or writing stories but also portraying yourself in a subtle manner, something that Oscar did to Dorian, drawing his sinful life that led to his demise like Dorian. For a story to be successful, tragedy should be written in its utmost element. A lot of us have many stories to share. Especially after the pandemic that morphed everyone's life into someone they aren't. Someone they never wanted to be. Writing is not any form of rocket science. It is art, words combined to form emotions, something everyone can try. Exploring one's different side won't kill, will it?

Benjamin Disraeli, a British politician once said, “There is no education like adversity”. I used to believe that education was something you only studied in a classroom. However, after the COVID-19 pandemic started, my entire perspective on education was significantly altered. There are two different forms of education: knowledgeable education and moral education. Knowledgeable education is primarily acquired from schooling, but moral education is mostly acquired from society around us. After I had already begun my first few months of middle school (Grade Six), it was announced that subject to the pandemic, in-person teaching would end, and students would complete the rest of their coursework online. It was difficult for me to adjust to virtual learning given that I was still fairly young. However, this was not ideal since these first few months of middle school would lay the groundwork for the academic abilities I'd need for the rest of my life. My school's faculty provided me with the emotional and educational assistance I needed to adapt, which was a tremendous help in this area. Although, despite the encouragement and support I was getting from many of my peers, I just didn't want to attend an online school. As a result, I stopped attending online classes and started going for daily walks alternatively, skipping the entirety of my classes. My daily schedule was being completely consumed by my walks. I used to take five-hour long walks. I sincerely don't know how I managed to do that. I was still completing all of my homework, but I was using Google to complete all of my homework, rather than my textbooks, so I wasn't truly understanding the subject. My mental health was undoubtedly getting better, thanks to my daily walks, but my academics weren't doing as well. After completing Grade Six, I kept in the habit of being active, spending the majority of the day on very long walks, and once grade seven began, I was completely absorbed in learning — true learning, rather than just googling everything. Even though I was fully immersed in my education, I was still exercising by taking lengthy walks, but usually after school. Additionally, another similar experience happened. After my two-week winter break, we had a two-week period of online study after spending the first half of the year learning in-person. I detested taking classes online since I was used to going to school in person and seeing all of my friends. But while I was confined to my home and isolated from the outside world, I had a realization that transformed my perspective. I made the decision to do exceptionally well in school, over that two-week period. After we returned to in-person learning, I started working exceptionally hard and started to maintain an open mindset in order to get the grades I really wanted. Obviously, I couldn't get the grades I so desperately desired as my Grade Eight year was halfway through, but I still graduated with honors. Making a solid habit is obviously crucial for success and should be commended. I obviously didn't acquire moral lessons from my virtual education directly, but because of the virtual education, I had to make a change, which ultimately benefited me greatly. Now that I am in my first year of high school, I am excelling with not only fantastic grades, but also a great mindset. But to repeat Benjamin Disraeli's important quote, "there is no education like adversity", I began high school with the same goal of going for very high marks while having a great mindset that I previously expressed, and it has most definitely paid off.

Choose to be whimsical! Treasure the things that make you smile. Your first time painting? Frame it. You don't even have to be good at it. You like collecting things? Be obsessed. Sometimes things can be valuable simply because you find them beautiful. They can be useless and breathtaking at the same time. -Jenifer

Today, a dangerous ghost is roaming around the world. Even when he wanders, with his invisible hand, he is in the act of putting dust on the sweet souls of people. Not only the health of people, but also the global economy is deteriorating. Prosperity and development are full of noise day and night are quietly emptying one after another. These are the world and the unexpected scenes of the COVID-19 pandemic. For the first time in its history, humanity is faced with a serious threat that threatens not only its well-being and normal way of life, but also the lives of billions of people on the planet. This danger shook and confused the whole world. Even the First and Second World Wars didn't reach such a scale and didn't cover so many countries. The coronavirus pandemic... Unfortunately, this disaster is happening in today's era of development of civilization, globalization and transparency of borders, speed of actions. And because of this, it became clear that no country, even if it has strong progress and development, cannot guarantee the prevention of the spread of this infection in its territory. At a time when he whole world is welcoming the new year 2020 with good intentions, it is a matter of concern that no one looked at some of the news coming from China, thinking that it is "far from us". But soon this virus spread to different parts of the world. People were cut off from the world a certain period of time. It was also dangerous to go out of the house in order not to catch the disease. People could not see each other even in the family they had to keep a distance. This disease took people away from the world prematurely... Even in the last moments, they left the without being able to see their loved ones. The disease affected everyone, young and old, big and small. That's when we realized the value of our every breath. I remember, I was watching the 2020 pandemic rapidly entering the countries through social networks and I was worried inside. But I doubted that it would come in because of the good precautions in our country. At that time I was 17 years old. I was preparing to enter a higher education institution as an applicant. In March of that year, when I was returning home from extra classes, I read the news that the COVID-19 pandemic had entered to our country. Immediately, all the Uzbek people panicked after hearing this unpleasant news. From that day on, some "doors were closed" for us: shopping complexes, educational institutions, household service centers... In short, some places necessary for the society were forced to stop their activities. Many residents lost their jobs, and as a result, the source of income for families was also damaged. Hospitals were filled with patients infected with their virus. The threat of the coronavirus has not stopped anyone. It also affected the activities of applicants like me who are preparing for admission. Educational centers stopped working, everyone prepared by staying at home for their health. I also studied independently by myself. I wouldn't be wrong if I say that quarantine has been a period of constant study for me. As I could say, there was a big battle between my feelings and my prospects. I would have a wise, intelligent and experienced literature teacher. She is the reason for my interest in this field. Even during the quarantine, she conducted remote classes and did not stop training me. When the entrance exams were postponed to September, I still remember how I go to her to get advice and prayers before the exams. I passed the exam on September 10. We all eagerly awaited the results. In the meantime, I heard that my teacher was infected with the coronavirus. Her situation was difficult, but she did not lose heart. After 2 weeks, I got the results I expected, "I became a student on the basis of a grant!" At that time, no one was happier than me. I wanted to convey this good news to my teacher. But, unfortunately, my teacher died due to illness. On the one hand, I felt joy, and on the other hand, I felt sadness. I will never forget those days. The coronavirus has taken away our loved ones. It has been 3 years and the poisonous wind of the coronavirus is still blowing. The pandemic period taught us to be patient, take care of ourselves and those around us, and pay attention to health.

A Story of Greed Unfolding in Every Home.

I had been reviewing concerts and theater for five years before the pandemic and it had become a pattern of my life. The pace was frenetic – with three or four performances to cover each week and turning in reviews as fast as possible, usually the next morning after a very late evening. In late February 2020 there was a concert I had been asked to review. It was modern music and some of the composers were young musicians from my town whose work I had never heard. I started to find out as much about them and their previous work as I could. The concert was disorganized. The organizer had neglected to copy programs and when I finally received one hot off the photocopier, I saw that the program had changed somewhat. It had billed a performance of Pauline Oliveros' Rock Piece as a Philadelphia premiere. That was blatantly incorrect. First of all, I had already heard this piece twice in Philadelphia. Secondly, I think the piece is totally absurd and dreaded having to endure it. It may have been brilliant when Pauline Oliveros had her original idea and wrote the piece in 1979, but the newness fades after you have heard it once. She instructed performers to hand out two rocks to each member of the audience and ask them to choose a rhythmic pattern and stick to it while their neighbors pick other patterns and do the same. When you experience it the first time, it is fun and slightly challenging to resist copying your neighbor's rhythm. The second time, it feels silly. This was my third time, so I was recalcitrant, but determined not to spoil it for anyone who had not experienced it. The organizer wanted us to fade out our rock beating and allow the following piece to fill in the void. We crashed at the end, several people unsure of how to stop: slow down, fade out, or what? Tap, silence, crash…giggle. Finally, the expert musicians playing the subsequent piece entered the void left by our awkward fishtailing. How could I review that shambles? I wrote: If you have never heard Rock Piece, you might enjoy your first opportunity to beat rocks together, but by the time you are handed rocks again for the next performance, you may sigh like a kindergartner asked to repeat an easy task. I did not challenge his claim that his concert was the Philadelphia premiere as I thought that would have been a bit mean. I did say we did not do a good job of setting up the atmosphere for the commissioned piece that followed: “What happened was a bit of a train wreck as the audience refused to stop clicking their rocks when the commissioned premiere began.” The rest of the concert was great and I reviewed it in positive terms and high praise, but the organizer was furious. He commented: “I suspect Ms. (Reviewer) was the kindergartner who can't take direction in this equation.” He went on to berate my lack of knowledge and competence and added that this is the twenty-first century (ignoring the fact that the piece in question was written in the previous one). His irate words really stung me and felt like an attack of my person rather than of my review. He added biting phrases like “one can only lament the halcyon days when a credible, respectable, reviewer would put in even the smallest effort to inform themselves of the music they were about to hear.” The attack felt so threatening and diminished my self-confidence so severely that I simply stopped writing reviews. It mattered little as there were so few performances after Philadelphia and so many other cities went dark on March 16, 2020. I began to explore other options for writing – delving into other areas relating to music, but in light of historical events rather than live performance. Two years later, I was asked to review a concert with a premiere by another composer commissioned by my aggressive detractor. I accepted, thinking I needed to face the monster once and for all. I looked up everything I could to prepare myself – and that is saying a lot as I spend an excessive amount of time on research before I review a concert. Soon after it was published, I received a forwarded email from my editor. The composer whose piece I had reviewed was delighted with my positive review and asked if I would review a compact disc of his compositions. A feeling of calm fell over me. Anyone might object to how I perceive their music, but that does not mean I should hide from them. It would be more productive for me to embrace their remarks and learn from them. I have taken time to reread my detractor's comments several times recently and I now see that if I want to continue reviewing, I should be prepared for reactions – not outwardly, but inwardly. Now that we are having more performances and I have started to review them again, I feel much stronger than before. I am accepting fewer assignments and spending more time trying to polish the reviews I accept.