Entering the village of Hasdate, Romania, you can see a seemingly modern village with new houses, yards well tended to and paved roads. The modern look presents a sharp contrast with the few old and time-worn houses that remain, with old, patchy roofs and dirt floors that linger as the physical manifestation of the memory of a village that existed over 70 years ago. Underneath the new coat of paint, every house in this village carries the memories of the communist era Hasdate village. My grandparents lived in this village during the regime and experienced the highs and lows of lives as simple farmers. The story my grandfather tells me begins in his childhood home, in this house. Sitting in his room, with the old rickety TV buzzing in the background, I feel like a small child listening to big stories made all the more real by my grandfather's vivid recollections. In one of his earliest memories he is only 11. While I remember being 11 and running around with friends, screaming, laughing, kicking a ball and cheering when it passed our made up football field boundaries, his reality was different. “I remember I just finished 4 grades and my parents wanted to send me to 5th grade but I didn't want to go. I never liked school. And since I didn't want to go they said fine, we need a child at home too. We had land, cows, sheep and anything we needed. That's how we lived, me, my parents, my siblings; parents and children in the countryside in general. We lived off of what we sold from our cows and sheep.” he says. Life was difficult but unpleasant. At the beginning of the communist period the village was a place filled with agricultural land and small farms and many families lived off of what they could grow and sell. This lifestyle was soon to change. In the autumn of 1959 they made the CAP or The Collective with the regional headquarters in Hasdate. When the communists came after the war, the land the people in the village owned, their animals and gardens, were all taken from them and made property of the state. They took everything from them, built the stables of the CAP for the animals and only allowed the people working for them to own 15 areas of land for every working CAP member. People called it The Collective because of that. They allowed them to only keep one cow and up to 5 sheep. This is all they had left to make a living from. Many people envision their youth as more than just work, they see fun and new experiences, not ears hurt from the noise of machines and a tired body to take to work the next day while still thinking about the land you must care for to be able to eat, but that was the truth of the regime. I see my grandfather as he is today, tired but fulfilled and I wonder if maybe his heart could offset the toll the struggle took on him. I see his kind eyes, and his will to find the best in everything. Working the land and taking care of a farm came with its own difficulties. Part of what the people could grow and sell had to be given to the CAP. Fighting back was never a choice but the people still tried to before signing the cheese contract so they could protect the product of their hard work and the food their families often relied on. “One time when we were gathering the sheep, someone from the city hall came there, he is still alive today, I think, and he, the chief accountant and the CAP president insisted we had to sign a cheese contract,” he says. The people didn't want to hand over the product of their hard work and tried to fight back but in the end they had no choice. Sign or lose your job. Ilie Buiga protested the most at the time. “ 'Sir,' I said, ‘If it's mandated by law, show us the law and we'll do it and that's it.' They went inside and talked and when they came out the CAP president said ‘Someone here is going to lose their job tomorrow'.” He fought for what he cared for though, as he always does. “The thing with the communists is that they made our country free of debt but they completely neglected their people” he tells me. Despite the struggles of living in the communist regime, my grandfather always says that one of the good things they did was make it so that all children, rich or poor could go to school. He had a big family, six siblings to send to school. Even though he chose to stay home to care for the land and the farm, another six children were not easy to support in their education for his parents. Nowadays we often hear about the communist period in black and white terms. Either a good thing for the people that benefited from it or a horrible thing for those who struggled. Ilie Buigas' perspective shows good and bad parts in a life filled with hard work as well as joy in the midst of struggle. There were years of struggle but also love, first for his family, then for his village and land, and then for his wife, children and grandchildren. This is his story, from the beginning of an era, to the start of another. „That's how 78 years went by.” he says.

“She's sick, surrounded by hypocrites, her life is a tragedy.” “A tragedy? Spare me. Does she even have a heart?” “Right — and only you do...” The women spoke loudly in the crowded bus, oblivious to everyone else. The passengers looked away, each hiding behind their own indifference. I glanced at them, trying to escape my spiralling thoughts. Rain trickled down the window. Grey coats, grey faces. A dreary world soaked in hopelessness. It had been a month since I shut down my company, a draining and disappointing grind that barely paid the bills. I was exhausted from doing work I didn't love. Trapped in a life that felt like a dead end. I felt more ghost than person, each day blurring into the next, numbed by regret and fatigue. “Don't crowd at the front!” called the conductor. “Next stop: Railway Station.” As the bus slowed, a man at the back suddenly shouted, “Open Sesame!” What a charming soul, I thought, and smiled. Open Sesame. The magic phrase that unlocks the cave of treasures. Who knows what's waiting just around the corner? What surprise this gloomy April day might bring? Yes. I would carry with me that phrase. My personal spell. And of course, I would go to Shanghai. To hell with fear. I was going. A flicker of light warmed my chest. The fog inside me began to lift. “Achoo!” sneezed a little boy from the front seat. Thank you, little one, for the blessing. I got off the bus early and walked home through the drizzle. With trembling fingers, I turned on my computer and wrote to Trevor Wilson: “Yes. I'm coming.” Trevor was a New Zealander, a university lecturer teaching English as a second language in China. We had met through an online forum connected to my now-defunct training company. We communicated through Google Translate, as I spoke no English just the remnants of the German I had learned at school. He had offered to pay for my travel and invited me to visit. I wasn't sure... until that moment. Something unseen was pulling me east. In my imagination, Shanghai shimmered with Chinese gondolas, fragrant gardens, and birds singing freedom songs in vibrant colours. The air smelled of mandarins and mangoes. I could almost hear the bamboo flutes. Trevor booked me into the Howard Johnson hotel, an elegant, sunlit place where I felt like a visiting queen. The lobby smelled of citrus and wood. The sheets in my room whispered with freshness. Each evening, we dined somewhere new. Trevor's eyes sparkled with gentle mischief as he introduced me to dishes I couldn't pronounce, patiently repeating their names until I could say them with confidence. He was kind and generous, romantic in ways I hadn't expected. The city stunned me. Skyscrapers and neon nights loomed above unfamiliar streets, yet something tugged at me. It was as if I had lived here before, left, and now, somehow, was finding my way back—to this city, to Trevor, to myself. English was my only obstacle. Trevor helped me through it. His encouragement dissolved my fear. I spoke with clumsy courage, and to my surprise, people listened. I began to feel I belonged. At the hotel, I met a Japanese receptionist Emiko, graceful, and bright. She carried the patient grace of someone who believed that every conversation, no matter how halting, was a small bridge across the world. Warmly, she encouraged me to visit Buddhist temples and shop for silk and spices in the old town. There was something familiar about her — the eyes, the gestures, the quiet way her smile lingered. Then it came to me: Julia Roberts. It amazed me how someone from a different world could resemble the American Cinderella from Pretty Woman. I found excuses to talk to her. Emiko patiently corrected my English and repeated difficult expressions. One day she asked, “What's your native language?” “Russian, like most Soviet people, regardless of ethnicity,” I replied. She smiled, intrigued. The next morning, my hotel phone rang. I picked it up. A bright voice with a strong accent said, in Russian, “Good morning, madam! Are you awake?” It was Emiko, my Julia Roberts. She stretched every syllable like a singer, filling me with joy and sending me into helpless laughter. In that moment, the once-distant world opened its arms. And it spoke my language. Now, more than twenty years have passed. I have become an author, writing historical novels and nonfiction books — in English. Recently, I published my first book on Amazon — a little guide to personal growth, illustrated with my own drawings. And I am writing this story with heartfelt gratitude and tender memory of that Open Sesame moment…for my husband Trevor, although he won't be able to read these lines while he is still alive. His love was the first page of the story I was meant to write. Because the magic of that day lives on—in my words, my journey, and in the love that opened every door. Some treasures, once found, remain forever open.

Have you guys watched that movie? It's really good one, innit? However this is not about made up stuff but based on true story…  On this day, nothing was different: just finished the work and I had an appointment at the salon (Friday night).. It was my first time with this particular master.. Struggle is real.. (Girls understand me well..) so anyways this is completely different story, but this master made me wait like more than half an hour.. and by the time she's done it was all dark and late.. In the subway.. on my way back to home.. Suddenly someone calls me: “Sista..” in uzbek.. I look at back.. Young girl in her 20's… She asks me where P station is.. 🥷🏽: I can show you where it is, I'm going to the same direction.. We started a conservation.. She was slightly taller than me.. young pretty lady with a type jawline any model would desire, long dyed hair (damaged from bleach), light sport outwear (it reminded me of my outfits from 2000's) and some sorta pants? (I don't remember exactly why)..  She would act very confident but something was off about her.. Was she anxious? .. not sure.. She also mentioned that she has 2 kids and just came back from Russia.. and asked if I'm married.. (Of coz 🤓sodda bo'miy o'liy, I told her I'm divorced).. Our train comes.. we hop in.. she sat next to me.. 🤵🏼‍♀️: You know.. I'm going to one place.. (babir chirip ketadi ishlatish kere, which means it's gonna rot anyways you gotta use it).. 🥷🏽: (Whaat?!, at this point I'm doing my best to hide my shocked face..doesn't say a thing to her.. ) 🤵🏼‍♀️: He's very nice guy, he'll give us 400,000 sum (which is roughly $35), we're gonna split.. you get 200,000 for an hour.. He's not gonna torture you…don't worry.. 🥷🏽: (What the actual F*# is happening here… pretending I'm interested in this ‘deal' and letting her talk…) 🤵🏼‍♀️: I need to go back to Russia anyways, you're gonna stay, he has 2 houses, car.. he will provide you anything you want.. 🥷🏽:(My sweetheart.. if you only knew… I had better ‘deal' than this.. when I was 20, I had a potential being one of #topGeisha in Ginza lol, totally different story based on true events.. but we will talk about it later.. I actually didn't say this to her, it's only my inner thoughts..) 🤵🏼‍♀️:Yurin… yurin… she would try to convince me to go with her…She takes out a chocolate from her bag and tries to give it to me.. 🥷🏽:No thanks.. (luckily my grandpa taught me not to drink and take anything edible from strangers since I was a kid) You need to take off in this station..now.. 🤵🏼‍♀️:Yurin…yurin (Let's go)… 🥷🏽: Next time.. She walks away..   I was thinking who was she? What was her story? Did she had someone who cared about her? What made her to choose this lifestyle? Why didn't I stop her? What could I have done differently to prevent her going there? $20? Why didn't I give it to her? Of coz, I'm not rich and etc.. but Why didn't I try to change her mind?  And most importantly why these thoughts didn't come to me at that moment when I had a chance to change something? I know maybe I couldn't able to change anything.. at least I could've tried.. But what was omens telling me? Why did I need to meet her that night? According to my classmate, I needed to ‘experience' this in order not to go out after shom.. I can clearly remember her face.. I think she was high.. she didn't had that inner peace.. would talk from ‘bog'dan.. tog'dan..) But the most saddest part is her 2 kids.. I don't wanna judge anyone.. but where are they now? Which kinda individuals they would become without mothers love? I felt bad for not being Sandra Bullock's character from “The Blind side”.. I hope I'll get to that point one day.. ✨ And to that stranger girl, who I've met that night.. I hope you'll find your inner peace soon.. until than.. I'll see you next time…

“Surprise, Mrs. Thomas, the test is positive”. “What test?, the young mom begs for an answer. “You're pregnant.” The inspiring peace in his eyes makes you realize you're supposed to be happy about this moment but then you look at your husband. You are both terrified. “Now it's just not a stomach bug, I'm even more sick to my stomach. It's the gut-wrenching realization that you may not live much longer. We had decided four years ago that we couldn't do this again. We barely made it out alive with the first baby. Between being born too early and momma almost dying, it would be too dangerous and selfish to bring another life into this world, but God has another plan. Four months later, everything is going fine, we have a name picked out, bedroom painted pink and a plan to not leave my first baby without a mom. Then karma kicks in and kicks me straight to the ground, literally. While wearing three inch heels in a church parking lot, I loose balance trying to protect one baby from oncoming traffic that I forget, there is a baby in my belly that needs protection too. While I'm on the ground I rip my heel off of my foot and realize that my ankle is obviously broken, deformed and dangling off my leg. I'm rushed to the hospital and doctors have to look at the dusty medical books to see what medication can be given to a pregnant woman. The baby in my belly is still alive but my leg won't be much longer if it's not fixed quickly. The next week is full of terror as I have to make the choice to have a big surgery to save my leg, my lifestyle, my peace. I know it's not good to take pain medication or have x-rays while pregnant but I don't have an option. Either pins, plates and screws, or amputation. I think I make the right decision until the guilt connects the understanding two years later. The baby and I both make it through delivery, learning to walk, learning to eat, learning to pee in the potty but then our world is turned upside down. On a random night, her dad looks at her and asks “why is your nose swollen?” In the few words that she has found over the past two year, she explains; “it's a jewel.” “Like one of these plastic ones?” he asks holding up a shimmery plastic gem. Antibiotics, scans, biopsies and several months later, I get the call no parent can prepare for. “Hi I'm looking for the parents of Birdie?” “Yes I'm her mother”, I say with fear chocking me, stealing my breathe . “Mrs. Thomas, Birdie has cancer” the doctor has tear rearing up in his eyes that you can hear running down his nose through the phone. My mind went blank as soon as I hear the “c-word”, I know he told me more details but I can't hear them. Momma is already in fight mode. I have to fight to save this baby that God gave me when doctors say I couldn't have anymore. I know there is a grand plan for her, but I have to help get her there. “We need to get you in for an immediate PET scan and biopsies,” the oncology team details the treatment plan. A year of chemotherapy, thirty days of radiation and a surgery to remove the entire tumor. Halfway through chemo, it's time to cut the monster out of her face. We know that Rhabdomyosarcoma has little fingers that invade every part of her little face but the doctors are on the same page as us. “We will need to cut it all out, leave a hole in her face and probably take more of her face off until we get clear margins,' the surgeon tells me. “I'm not here to make her look pretty, I'm here to help save her life.” This surgeon is why we chose to get treatment here instead of the world-renowned hospital next door. I know that this is going to be harsh. My little baby has half her face ripped off by a scalpel, in a desperate attempt to save her life. The beeps, lights and constant heart-pounding fear cripples my mind, destroys my faith and paralyzes my understanding. My baby is on life support, I was not prepared for this. I can't protect her from any of this, I'm the one helping the nurses hold her down while she's poked and prodded. The next six months, is a blur. Doctor appointment, infusion day, radiation day and still working a full-time job, somehow doesn't break me. Two years later, my baby is still alive, her face is deformed but the only thing that matter, she does not have cancer anymore. She may not be able to breathe through her nose, may have random aches and pains, my not be able to have adult teeth or a baby of her own, but she's alive. As I try to explain that we're still fighting the effects of the horrific treatment, all of the other kids that started this journey with us, have pass on. “Momma, I'm just lucky” she says through eyes that have seen more than I ever will. “I know baby, everyone has been praying for us” I say with conviction in my heart. We may never know positively if that broken ankle is what did this to her, but I will fight until my dying breath to help her through it. We're paving the way for those that come behind us.

Weeping I set on the edge of the dock, shocked by the sudden realization, “School is almost over.” I know it might sound pathetic, but all my friends are there. How much change will we be coming back to at the beginning of September? Will we all have the same feelings, or will we all care about someone else? Will I live in the shadows of loneliness, or will I live in the light of friends? Only God knows. I will keep working trying to change, I'm trying to see if I can be myself. I try to say I'm not like the others, the ones who care about what people think, but I'm just kidding myself. I'm the same as everyone else. I think about how I look and how I act. I stew over what I said days before, and I kick myself for being too talkative. For what I said that sounded dumb. I am trying to live my life, going against the flock, but I catch myself going the same way and I try so hard to turn my back. Temptation follows my every move. Selfishness shadows me. Everything I feel I keep bottled up the things I think stay in my head. I don't know how much longer I can last. I hide my stress, nobody knows. I make people draw the wrong conclusion like I'm against everything they do. Nobody knows me because it makes me vulnerable. If all they know about me is lies, then if they try to hurt me none of my real feelings will be divulged. I might slap you or yell when you say something stupid only to manipulate your thoughts about me. I say I don't like physical touch when I want someone to hold me. Almost everyone can't decrypt my feelings and those who do, I hold farthest away. I hope to change all this through the summer so I can show them all I've changed. I want others to realize I'm not who I say. I am scared to death of what I want but I believe it's the right thing to do. So, what do you say? Should I change all the way? To reprogram my thinking, my feelings, my type. To gamble everything in my relationship my world. It's up to you.

Dear Father of mine. The love I have for you is a bittersweet love. In the beginning, a doting single father raised two kids. By all accounts a perfect father. You loved and supported me to be the person I am today. I will never forget how great you were. But somewhere somehow I missed something about you. Something so crucial that'll affect me until my last breath. It was my last 6 months of high school when you cast me out. Just one month after my 17th birthday when you discovered I had snuck before work to see my boyfriend one fateful Saturday morning. Work started at 9 am I left at 8. For 15 minutes I sat in my boyfriend's room talking before we both went in. At some point, my manager asked me if I could go to another store to help. I called you to let you know and you informed me you saw I wasn't at work at 8 am and my heart went through the floor, then I knew what was in store. The screaming match that ensued when I got home at 1:00 am kept me awake until 5:00 am knowing I still had to work at 9. This was my last day at your house. But nothing. Not the lying about where I was. Not the sneaking behind your back. Nothing but the fact that you thought, just thought, that I was with a boy was what made you cast me out. Still, I invited you to my graduation for you are still my father who I still love and respect, but I never saw you. I knew you were there with my sister. But because you saw the boy who had taken me in, you left before I ever saw you. Not a word. Not even a text. Still, I had hope. I keep turning over and over in my head the words you said about my mother. “How could someone ever choose drugs over their kids?” But I believe addiction to be harder to kick than prejudice. To make it worse. She had always, always tried in the 10 years we had no contact with her she always tried to talk. I can count on one hand the number of times we've talked since that Saturday. Once for the graduation. Once for my enlistment. One happy birthday. And once before I left for basic. I remember so vividly that last one. Because it's what gives me hope today three years later. You had told me all you needed was a little time to come around. Let the dust settle from my escape. Let you grasp your feelings. I told you then that the boy wasn't going anywhere. We'd been together a year by that conversation. We spoke about how I'd reconnected with Mom and how she seemed to be much better and I was hopeful for the relationship. You reminded me we'd done this song and dance before. Unfortunately January 1st, 2022 the day before I left for the second part of my training she took her own life. I was too drunk the night before partying with my best friend and boyfriend on New Year's Eve to answer her call. I never got to tell her I got married just 10 days before. Married in the back of a hair salon by the barber who'd only performed 1 wedding before mine. I didn't want you to know and out of fear she'd talk to you about it I didn't tell her the last time I saw her on Christmas Day. I haven't heard from you since. Didn't see you. Didn't call you. I gave up then. A part of my soul died whether I knew it or not. Yet in all this turmoil, my now husband by this time had stood solid. An ever-present wall for me to lean on. My anchor to reality. So I left. Off to Fort Sam Houston, I went. Luckily the army gave me the money and time off to fly home for her funeral. I decided to leave you and everything else during those months. My husband and I moved to San Antonio 1100 miles away. So here I am in Texas working as an EMT. I make enough money to provide for the family I want to build with the love of my life who's never wavered by my side. I'd be lying if I said there weren't hard feelings from him towards you. You never gave him a chance. I got his parent's blessing to marry him and you haven't even met him yet we've been married almost two years. Maybe it's hopeless. Maybe my brain is right. But my heart still beats for the chance you'll be there for the wedding ceremony my husband and I swear we'll have in the home we're set to buy in a few months. I still love you Dad, And somewhere in the bottom of my heart, I know that great father is still there. I'll be waiting at the altar for the day you can accept me for who I am. The photo attached was the last photo taken with my mom on December 15th 2022.

A few months after Mabel's 16th birthday, her parents died in a tragic accident and now a blind Mabel was a ward of Aunty Kay. In her absence, Mabel would fall prey to her cousins' incessant bullying and tricks. One day, they had put peanut butter in Mabel's favourite sneakers. A fuming Mabel rushed into Troy's room and delivered a stinging slap with the one sneaker in hand to his face. I told you she was a blind psychopath Troy shouted. Sensing Mabel's distress, the guy introduced himself as Leo but an embarrassed Mabel scurried away. For the next few months, whenever Troy had his friends over, Leo and Mabel would secretly meet in the kitchen. He was 18, fascinated with cars and her first crush. Reality rudely intruded on their secret meeting spot by Troy whose shouts brought his sisters rushing in. An angry Adele, who was liked Leo viciously slapped Mabel d as she let loose angry words and barbs at Mabel's ploys. Mabel, immensely hurt rushed to the safety of her small room. After what seemed like hours, the door creaked open and Leo called out. Mabel flung her pillow at him and told him to go. Leo persisted and pressed a soft kiss to her lips telling her that she was a breath of fresh air in this hell-hole. He continued to caress her neck and shoulders. Kisses turned heated, caresses became more frantic and clothes discarded as Mabel's heart and innocence were offered up and consumed in the lusty atmosphere. In the dawn, after kissing a clinging Mabel, Leo left. Mabel blurted out her love when her cousins barged into her room unannounced. Troy and Adele laughed as they boasted of the bet Leo was a part of or else he would never look at a blind nerd. In the coming weeks, Leo was MIA! One Saturday after dinner, Mabel overheard Aunty Kay on the phone talking about the Johns moving to another state. This hurt Mabel to the quick who vouched to never fall for such a ploy! In the 5 years since that fateful day, Mabel blossomed into an intelligent, caring and capable young woman. Despite her disability, she successfully pursued her passion of cooking with the upcoming release of her first cookbook. That heart wrenching summer with Leo was pivotal for Mabel. Lost in her happy thoughts, she nearly missed her beeping phone signalling that her publicist and best friend, Maria had arrived to give her a lift to the venue but then encountered a slowly deflating tire. Luckily, the service guy Zack, was nearby to pick up the call. With both ladies safely ensconced in the truck, and their vehicle in tow, they made their way to the garage. Mabel smiled as she overheard Maria flirting with Zack. Before long, they arrived at the garage. The door creaked open signalling someone's entrance. After a shuffling of papers, a masculine voice called out Maria's name. Mabel froze in disbelief as her friend went about her business. She could never forget that husky baritone. It was LEO! As Maria concluded her paperwork and payments she hollered to Mabel which grabbed Leo's eagle gaze. The air was tight with tension as Leo stumbled over Mabel's name. As Mabel hurriedly nudged her friend to go ahead, a strong, calloused hand grabbed Mabel's wrist. Mabel was having not of that and delivered a stinging slap to an unshaven but hewn jaw. She was overwhelmed by repressed hurt. Maria tried to calm the situation down with the ladies hurriedly escaping after a few attempts. Zack met a stunned Leo standing in the same position, weary lines on his face. After some consideration, he held up a business card with a naughty smirk. Mabel refused to talk on her way back to the hotel but lying in bed that night, her memories came to the forefront. After a sleepless night she called Maria to confirm her schedule. A barrage of questions of Mabel's well-being were fired by Maria, which Mabel answered quietly. Seven o' clock sharp, the doorbell rang with a sombre trip to the restaurant. When the meals arrived, a frizzle of awareness ran up Mabel's spine. A voice which haunted her dreams announced Leo's presence. Crossing her hands across her chest, Mabel sat back without a word. As soon as Leo broached the topic of the first time they had made love, Mabel lost it and flung her plate of spaghetti at him. He made light of the attack and pleaded that he was threatened by Adele the morning after their sweet night. She had maliciously filmed them entwined asleep and would share a copy with the entire school. He had stayed away to protect Mabel's reputation. Troy had lied to the Coach which got him kicked off the team. His dad had gotten a job transfer out of state which was a clean break. Leo continuously professed his love whilst raining kisses along Mabel's face, hands and wrists. She softly returned her love enveloped in those strong arms that were imprinted in her memory forever and a day.

King Legx King Legx is a Ghanaian dancehall,afrobeat,Afro dancehall and reggae artist. He was born on the 27th July 2000 at Afufe in the Volta region and his real name is LAWSON BRIGHT AMEN. He attended St Francis Xavier Roman Catholic school at Accra Kotobabi and completed in the year 2017-2018. He continue his education at Accra senior High school from 2018-2021 and his current city is Alajo (A.J City) Accra. He started his music career way back in 2016 but wasn't serious to it, he started writing his own songs in 2018 whiles he is in S.H.S one (1) KING LEGX love anything which is pleasant to his ear. Aside singing, he also plays drums and piano.

I can't apologize for any walls I've built, or for those little parts of myself that some may not understand. I only made it this far accepting my past and honoring all my broken pieces. But my promise is that you will never witness me being anything but true to myself or putting on a fake front. I have more than earned all my "quirks" . However, life has not jaded me either and you will never find a more loyal person to have in your life that will always prove that what I say is what I mean and how I care will always be stronger than you have ever seen...that is my "pinky" promise

A World Without Color got a great recognition—the Gold Medal in the Fiction–Animals category in 2020 Readers' Favorite International Book Award Contest! Readers' Favorite recognizes A World Without Color by Bernard Jan in its annual international book award contest, currently available at Amazon. The Readers' Favorite International Book Award Contest featured thousands of contestants from over a dozen countries, ranging from new independent authors to NYT best-sellers and celebrities. Readers' Favorite is one of the largest book review and award contest sites on the Internet. They have earned the respect of renowned publishers like Random House, Simon & Schuster, and Harper Collins, and have received the “Best Websites for Authors” and “Honoring Excellence” awards from the Association of Independent Authors. They are also fully accredited by the BBB (A+ rating), which is a rarity among Book Review and Book Award Contest companies. Readers' Favorite receives thousands of entries from all over the world. Because of these large submission numbers, they are able to break down their contest into 140+ genres, and each genre is judged separately, ensuring that books only compete against books of their same genre for a fairer and more accurate competition. They receive submissions from independent authors, small publishers, and publishing giants such as Random House, HarperCollins and Simon & Schuster, with contestants that range from the first-time, self-published author to New York Times bestsellers like J.A. Jance, James Rollins, and #1 best-selling author Daniel Silva, as well as celebrity authors like Jim Carrey (Bruce Almighty), Henry Winkler (Happy Days), and Eriq La Salle (E.R., Coming to America). “When the right books are picked as winners we pay attention. We will be spreading the word about Readers' Favorite.”—Karen A., Editor for Penguin Random House Readers' Favorite is proud to announce that A World Without Color by Bernard Jan won the Gold Medal in the Fiction–Animals category. You can learn more about Bernard Jan and A World Without Color at Readers' Favorite where you can read reviews and the author's biography, as well as connect with the author directly or through his website and social media pages. “It is a wonderful story for fans of animals, especially cat lovers. Reading about the desolation and the loneliness of the narrator, the reader understands the place that Marcel occupied in his life as a companion . . . It is a story that explores themes of loss and grief and that celebrates a connection with a cat, a connection that brought meaning to the life of the narrator.” - Christian Sia for Readers' Favorite Please check out A World Without Color at BookAwards.Com. Thank you. BJ Original post at https://www.bernardjan.com/post/readers-favorite-gold-for-a-world-without-color.

I had sat for 20 minutes without noticing any change. The sun was harsh, and it made most of the others I sat with stone faced. A lot were minding their business while a few were already getting into lively conversations and it seemed like I was the only one still in a certain confusion. How is this process organized? I grew up an inquisitive child. You tend to pick up a mind that's always keen on knowing how things worked; when you are born into a strict home where going to play with others is considered a felony and a conversation with a stranger is a crime, but you also somehow owed everyone older than you a greeting. I always welcomed opportunities to learn and I became more introverted and rebellious with the increasing amount of time I had to spend in my head. As I got older, I got super shy, being able to ask a stranger a question was Christmas, and to keep the conversation was Santa's gifts wrapped and tied with red ribbons, so I was mostly left with one person to always talk to, me. I however mastered the art of soliloquy, which never really seemed to work with the ladies. The things that conversations with myself taught me were patience, optimism and how to tear my toys apart to know what made the car move, and to understand the mechanism behind the water gun. I always felt there was no one I could really ask about what bothered me, the adults didn't exactly think. They never seemed to have any answers to my unending questions. Once, my uncle and I were given a bowl of rice with a single piece of fish and meat. When we were done eating, he took the meat and at my protest, he had to convince me. “Fish is better than meat and has more nutrients” he had said, but after a pause my 4 year old self replied, “If that is the case, then why are you eating the meat and not the fish?”. I had once reasoned that if everyone else brought their requests to God in the morning and night, then it would be smarter to come at a time when many people will be busy. A time when he would be quite lonely and in need of company. I could totally relate with God, he was one person I felt wasn't also allowed to go out and play with others, and they never really cared about his opinion too. So just like me he learnt to soliloquize, like he does so well with the contrasting mixture of mute lightening and deafening thunder. Little wonder why storms never scared me. Like when I lost my dad to the cold bullets encouraged by an assassins' ability to use his index finger. Who for some reasons felt I didn't deserve to have any parent at 19. He must have had the same take on the issue as some relatives, “you are now a man” they said. Or when I lost my mum who succumbed to illness leaving behind a 6 year old. On both occasions though, I didn't shed a single tear. Not because I was a man, but because in my head we had talked and agreed that crying will not help make the situation any better. Living most of your childhood in your head and most of your adult life struggling alone, certain things no longer faze you. So when I got a call from my Network provider that my SIM card which I had registered some 10 years ago was no longer registered in my name, I was not shocked. I mean, you will think that being a faithful customer for that long would at least count for something. “We have reshuffled registration”, whatever that meant in English, and I was told that if I didn't go to their office to repair a damage that they had caused, in 4 days, I would be barred from using any of their services. I had woken up that morning reluctantly but patiently bullying myself through the whole preparations that humans have deemed necessary for mixing with a crowd; Bathe, brush, dress up (I wonder who made these rules) optimistic that by the end of the day, I will own my SIM once again. I had tried to work out the meaning of reshuffling registration in my head for 3 days now with no success. So I put on my face mask, and set out not knowing that life had planned another lesson to teach. As I sat watching people go in and out of their office, trying to connect the dots on what has been happening to no avail; I turned to the lady beside me. She had eyes that reminded me of Angelina Jolie. A constellation that drowns you with a wave of its reflection. Like a sea and with just as much surface tension. Yes, I have a thing for eyes. So since I was confused and she had those galaxies on her face, I tried to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone. I will get direction on what to do, and start a conversation. I asked her how the process was organized, to which she chuckled, pointed to a paper and said “put down your name”, after which she turned back to her phone. Being very teachable, I learnt from that moment, that there were simple things of life that even the smartest person can only grasp by gleaning from the experiences of others. So for me today Christmas came but without Santa's gifts.

Although friends are not our relatives or don't live with us in our homes, don't share material things with us but they do play a major role in our lives. Friendship is a companionship where two people, mostly going through similar conditions in life or having something in common share a bond of closeness, warmth and support. It is an undeniable fact that the influence of friends is huge on our thoughts, point of views and personality overall. Hence we are always asked to stay cautious while making friends or getting close to people as at times we might seem to have a very unique click with a person and the person might be having similar views or common situations in life but other factors should be kept in mind while being emotionally attached to someone. People would judge me when I'll write here that friends should always be made according to financial status and social background. People might criticise me on the viewpoint that elite class should be friends with elites, middles class with similar ones and lower class with lower ones. I am not against equal treatment and am totally against any sort of discrimination in keeping friendly ties and terms with people or in any other field or aspect, but when it comes to spending time and sharing views, interests and liberties, two people (if they belong to the status of sharp differences) they would have judgments about others which might not necessarily be true, their interests would be different and when a person from elite class would discuss his/her international family trips and tours, the favourite continental cuisine, favourite brands of dresses and apparels, the other person might indulge in an inferiority complex and may start getting envious for not having all those things in life. This complex would make the other person thankless for the blessings he/she has got in life and would automatically start comparing his/her life with their elite friends...ending up complaining about things unavailable for them and going in mental restlessness and depression. On the other hand, the friend from the elite class might have to filter out some views or experiences just so that the other person does not feel low or underprivileged. This would, in turn, make them feel restricted in sharing views and experiences which eventually becomes the reason behind barriers in communication. Thus, I am of a strong opinion that friends should be made in a similar social or status circle so that both people can understand each other without feeling low or lesser than the other person. On the other hand, I won't deny the fact that social exposure helps a person in knowing the social culture and human psyche deeply and closely. The age gap is also the factor that creates misunderstandings as having very elder friends or very junior ones as friends might make things vague and complicated as both people have different mental level and knowledge.

An oasis in the desert… A drop of water in the hot, silver-white sands in the Arabian desserts. That is what you were to me when we crossed our paths in the Sultanate, thousands of miles away from our homes. You were 13 years my junior when we met. I was married, and you were not. We took solace and comfort in each other's company since we felt alone and unhappy in the environment that we had to work to earn petro-dollars for our respective families at home. It was pure agape (Platonic love). We could have been otherwise, but weren't. We both knew and felt that what we had was as good as it could get, and would be ruined by anything “too intimate” or "more and further”. Love is something inexplicably, indescribably wonderful, bound intricately with life. There may be nothing strictly ordinary as such. At the same time, there never may be something unique as such in this whole world. It should be the strong desire to feel being loved and to experience love that is the last thing a person may find impossible to forego when all else has been lost or abandoned with ease. No matter what social status we enjoy, what station of life we are in, we need love. People tend to do many things for the sake of love which they would have never done under normal circumstances. We do not need lofty things in love. Sometimes things like strolling aimlessly hand in hand on a deserted street, whispering sweet nothings in a quiet beach on a moonlit night, a shoulder to lean on to at least for a moment without fear or suspicion in times of distress, to share ideas about life in a very matured chat, etc. are some of the things that we desire in love. I remember some verses in a song that goes something like this … I have not built sand castles about you, Nor do I entertain any misgivings about you. I will never lay claim to your life, And will not feel angry when and if you belong to someone else. This comes as a very advanced take on the type of love I speak of. The lyricist goes on to say that “don't you ever shed a single drop of tear because of me. Let us agree that we will be lovers that would never unite in life.” Love does not mean to imprison someone within limits and boundaries marked by the other, or anyone else for that matter, but something that transcends beyond that and something that has free reins. Another lyricist, comparing his lover to a star in the distant sky, says, “You be where you are and I will be where I am.” He means to say that you are a star in the distant sky and I am a person living on earth. But you stay where you are, as you are, and I will stay where I am, as I am. The common thing that is binding us together is the empty space between us. You cannot come down to earth from the sky. If that happens, may be I will lose you, and we will lose this moment. Hence you better stay where you are whereas I will stay where I am, watching you. All you have to do is stay put where you are. You don't have to keep saying that you love me. No need to keep reminding about it as if we will forget it. Sometimes, love exists where the words “I love you” are not uttered at all. The problem arises when we try to frame that love and come to terms with accepted social standards. In any bond, there is a point beyond which the bonding loses the tenacity. Hence, in a far-off country, in an unknown city and amongst unknown people, two ‘different' like-minded persons bereft of any kind of ‘love' would have many things to share, wouldn't they? Is it strange and wrong, then, for them to become so close but so far in love and find comfort in each other's warmth? If not for this bonding, the two-year work contract period would have been a hell on earth for both of us. I don't think that you will doubt for a moment that the story of a remarkably beautiful and much younger unmarried woman's brief and circumstantial friendship with a very middle aged and married man is far-fetched. It really happened to me, some 25 years ago. I still remember vividly the day I left her for home. That day, I realized how powerful the platonic love was. The rivulets of tears she shed on my shoulders soaked my shirt so hard that even the almost three-hour flight time back home wasn't enough to dry it completely. It was the day I realized how much tears a person can shed in one go. And that cemented my opinion on how powerful true love, though platonic, could be. I was a middle-aged man who recognized and did what was proper to my station in life with regard to a much younger, very attractive woman fate had put in my path. I never doubt that she would ever forget me too, and I always believe that she loved me as much as it would have been possible for her to do so. Although we have not seen each other after we parted ways, I still cherish that memory and still love her platonically.

The wind roared around the house like an enraged beast, rattling shutters and breaking tree branches as it did. Claws of icy air fought their way inside through the damaged panes and worn-out frame of my old farmhouse window. I curled into a tight ball under my blankets; piled as they were, it still wasn't enough to keep out the cold. I shivered as a particularly strong gust made the entire house groan. Sleep eventually claimed me, despite the bone-deep chill. I dreamt of arctic blizzards. Outside, the night's tempest howled on.