The guilt, started off low as I made my way to yet another restaurant where my weekly facade would take place. The mere fact of lying to your own child, was as real as any physical pain I'd ever felt. I couldn't escape it though. Not when I was stuck like the hardened gum you'd find under each and every table in a restaurant. When the waiters only smiled and walked by, I knew that my presence could easily be replaced with a mannequin. My phone emerged from my pocket, as I prepared to make a call to my daughter. Just as quickly, the guilt entered my bloodstream like a toxin that was eating me alive. As it rang, my heart throbbed in the center of my chest. “Hey dad” I heard my sweet daughter say on the other end. How I longed to have her in my arms again just once. The one and only person who managed to add the first colours to my black and white life, after everybody I knew and loved started leaving me slowly but surely. Then in the end, she left too, as I passed her on to someone who swore he loved her greatly. At the end of the day, the love he spoke of could never accumulate to mine. “Hey sweetie, how are you” The ache of her absence hit hard, as my throat hurt from the repressed tears. I found such relief in the fact that everything in life was flourishing for her and her husband. She didn't stop talking for a while about her achievements, and the plans she had laid out for her future. “Where are you right now dad? Have you eaten anything?” She spoke lightly, then paused waiting for a response. Her questions never caught me off guard, because I knew well enough to prepare myself in advance. “Out with my mates. To your old favorite.” I spoke casually, as I fixated on the 4 empty chairs around me. It took me a while to change to a video call, but when I did, I turned the camera towards the cheerful and noisy people around me, shunning my own table. “Let me guess. Fries with steak, and a salad on the side?” There was nothing I knew about myself that she didn't know. I nodded in response, knowing full well that not even a plate, that was empty nor full, was facing me at the moment. Before I could say anything more, her husband's voice could be heard in the background, and as quickly as she answered, she had cut the call with a hurried, “See you dad, be happy”. Only I know that after she left, I never found that same happiness again. That's okay though. I never expected to. I sat only drowning in my own thoughts, in the hole that I dug for myself, until an unfamiliar voice broke my train of thoughts. “Winter Watkins” A female that looked right about daughters age, sat opposite me, placing her plate on the table simultaneously. She raised her hand, catching a waiters attention, and glanced back at me.' “What would you like to eat?” She asked as both, she and the waiter turned to look at me for a response. “Nothing at all, thanks. You should go.” Determined to make as little as eye contact as possible, in hopes that she would notice the wall I built around myself with society. My efforts were in vain as instead of leaving, my response was followed by her ordering for me. “Fries with steak, and a salad on the side please” She repeated my favourite meal, like we'd known each other for a while now. Persistent isn't she?. Seeing my confused expression, she smiled lightly and mouthed the word ‘daughter', reminding me of the previous lie I told. After the waiter left, we sat in awkward silence for a while, until she broke it. “So… Why did you lie to your daughter?” I glanced up at her, meeting a face that was filled with curiosity. She quickly added, “You don't need to tell me if you're not comfortable”, but I could see that she really wanted to know. I started from where life was what is known as “Sunshine and rainbows”, to how it became a tragic play that I couldn't escape. From my wife running away the day after our daughter was born, to all my friends abandoning me one by one when all I came to them to do was borrow cash. To top it off with a cherry on top, how the love of my life left for another continent with the love of her life. She was listening attentively, as I brought her a few insights about myself. I quickly diverted the topic off of myself to avoid seeing the pain that washed over her face, but the little conversation quickly turned into a therapy session for each one of us, as oceans fell from our eyes at the end. In the end I found out she too didn't have parents, and was barely holding on to the scraps of survival. When the food finally arrived, I regretted my earlier remark. It tasted like heaven had made its way down my oesophagus, and no matter how many times I thanked her, what I felt inside was way more than what I was letting out. I looked up mid bite of a piece of steak to find Winter already looking at me, grinning from ear to ear. “I genuinely feel like this is going to be the start of a good friendship” “It sure is”.

If someone had asked me in 2023 what major I wanted to study at university, I would have answered without hesitation: Economics! I had imagined my future in that field and believed it was the right choice for me. However, life had a different plan. Because of the opinions of people around us, my plans changed. Instead, I chose English Education, the same field my older sisters had studied. It was not a dream I had carefully planned. At that moment, it simply felt like the best decision I could make. Looking back now, I realize that this unexpected choice became one of the greatest blessings of my life. The first weeks at university were far more difficult than I had expected. I have always been an introvert. While everyone around me was introducing themselves, making new friends, and laughing together, I struggled to start even the simplest conversation. Every morning, I quietly walked into the classroom, hoping no one would notice how nervous I felt. Most of the time, I chose a seat where I could simply observe everyone else. My English was another reason for my silence. Many of my classmates spoke confidently, and I constantly compared myself to them. I worried that my English was not good enough and feared making mistakes. Instead of speaking, I stayed quiet. During my first semester, I became friends with a classmate named Saira. She was one of the strongest English speakers in our class, and I admired her confidence. Although English came naturally to her, she sometimes found mathematical and logical questions difficult. Those happened to be subjects I enjoyed, so I was always happy to help her. In return, simply being around her encouraged me to believe that I could improve my English too. At the end of our first year, Saira was accepted to the University of Arizona and continued her studies there. I was genuinely happy for her. But after she left, I felt alone once again. For a while, I wondered if university would always feel this lonely. Then something changed… Instead of waiting for confidence to find me, I decided to build it myself. I began studying harder. I practiced English every day. I challenged myself to speak even when I was afraid of making mistakes. Progress was slow, but every small step gave me a little more confidence than the day before. Around that time, another classmate gradually became one of my closest friends. There was no special moment when our friendship began—it simply grew little by little. She encouraged me without even realizing how much her words and support meant. Whenever I doubted myself, she reminded me that I was improving and that I was capable of achieving more than I believed. Today, I have completed my third year and am preparing to begin my fourth. When I walk into the classroom now, I no longer look for the quietest seat. Instead, I look for my friends. Sometimes I think about the path I wanted to take. What if I had studied Economics? Perhaps my life would have been completely different. But I don't regret the path I didn't choose. If I had studied something else, I might never have met Saira. I might never have met the friend who quietly helped me believe in myself. I might never have experienced this warm and supportive environment or made the friendships that have become one of the greatest gifts of my university life. Most importantly, I might never have discovered a different version of myself. The quiet girl who once avoided conversations is now the one who starts them. People often say that everything happens for a reason. I didn't always believe that. Now I do. Sometimes life quietly closes one door so that it can open another we never expected to walk through. Choosing English Education was never part of my original plan. Yet it gave me something far more valuable than a degree. It gave me confidence. It gave me unforgettable friendships. And it helped me become the person I am today. Sometimes, the life we never planned becomes the life we were always meant to live…

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.

Lauren always believed that friendships are long-lasting, she thought she would never meet new friends or either lose them, just she and her junior friends. How innocent she was, she just believed that friendships are neat with predictable roads, but she came to realize that friendships are far messier than any map. In all her connections, she felt the weirdness through every connection she'd ever made. It's not about how her friendships were good or bad, but it was about the strange, shifting nature of human bonds themselves. It all started when Lauren finished her final exams of grade 9. She celebrated with her friends and took photos but after that it all changed, Lauren moved to a new high boarding school, she left her friends, but She held onto them, sending occasional messages into the emptiness. They seldom started a conversation in return, she felt a hollow ache, a tightening knot, a sudden chill. The insidious chill of fading memories began to seep in. One day, Lauren found herself simply staring at her phone. The message bubbled five days ago. "Remember that time we...?" No 'read' receipt. A strange ache in her chest. She started to believe that they had forgotten about her. How did the ease of shared lunches morph into the uncomfortable quiet of unfamiliar faces, a tacit admission that they have never met. While Lauren was scrolling on her phone, she stared at Kezia's new haircut, the unfamiliar curve of her smile. The girl who was once a mirror, reflecting shared jokes and whispered secrets, now felt like a stranger dressed in a familiar face. One day she met up with her friend Ameli, Lauren sips her coffee, listening to Ameli talk about crypto and NFTs. Lauren nods, tries to look interested, but inside she just feels lost. They used to talk about comic books and new albums of TV girl. In summer holiday Lauren started learning German and after finishing her first A1 level, the academy published that they will hold a competition, when she arrived she was nervous, she didn't know any people there except her friend Jessy which in grade 12 and she recommended this academy to Lauren, the competition started and all participants were divided into teams, Lauren was the only girl in the team there were boys which in her current studying year and some in their twenties, Confusion morphed into friendship. On her team, Elvin, who was about her age, showed unexpected kindness, and their collaboration flowed effortlessly. They laughed and glided, winning a victory. By the end of the day, a happiness she hadn't experienced in a long time surged inside her, a deep intense appreciation for these passing people. However, the excitement faded rapidly, substituted by a profound insight. This strong connection was formed out of a single person's passion, mutual experience, a soft joke, a victorious high-five following their success, that meaningful look exchanged when something significant occurred. She only knew his name, no way to find him beyond this brief intersection. He would remain a vivid ghost, a perfectly crafted moment in time that would never expand, a beautiful 'what if' held in the fragile chamber of her memory. One day, Lauren received news that her friend Maisy, her old school friend, had passed away, Lauren stood, a cold wave washing over her. Maisy. A name, now a void. A surge of faded memories, sharp and painful, compelled her towards a dusty box in her closet, she started to read Maisy's letters, she read one letter that say “please come back and sit next to me don't sit in the first desk! Lauren started crying. She couldn't stop the drops falling from her eyes. Among them, a crudely drawn Barbie birthday invitation: 'Come to my birthday! I'll be glad if you came and stayed with me, don't worry, I will bake the cookies!' The words, childish and innocent, tore at her. Maisy, gone? They were playing together in the yard. She also started to scroll in their old chats. There were silly photos of their video call, some jokes and recipes of natural face mask. With Maisy gone, not only are new memories impossible, but the existing shared memories become strange. She feels the subtle shifts in her other friendships without Maisy as a common link like threads loosening or colors fading in the absence of a central dye. Lauren closed the dusty box, a quiet, desperate whisper escaping her lips " I wish you weren't going, I wish you would stay, stay forever” Friendships are weird. Lauren likes her friends, a few have come and gone. Some of the friendships felt a bit transactional, but a lot of them feel pretty real. She doesn't want to lose any of them, but she thinks at some point she will outgrow them. And they will outgrow her too. I guess when that happens, she will just find new friends, disconnected from the ones she used to have. She just hopes that if/when it does happen, it doesn't hurt too much.

Childhood is a mosaic of moments—some vivid, some faded—woven together by laughter, dreams, and the boundless wonder of a world unexplored. In the small and quiet town of Bukhara where cobblestone streets met vast fields of wildflowers, my childhood unfolded like a storybook filled with adventures, friendships, and lessons that would shape my life forever. Hot summer days in bukhara were as a golden. My friends and I were wake up at dawn, eager to embark on our daily quests. The neighborhood became our kingdom, and we were knights, explorers, and superheroes all at once. We built forts from old wooden planks, raced down hills on makeshift carts. We jumped on the bed, feeling like a bird flapping its wings. One summer, we discovered an abandoned treehouse at the edge of the forest. It became our secret sanctuary—a place where stories were shared, secrets were whispered, and dreams took flight. With each passing day, the treehouse bore witness to our growing friendships and the silent promise that childhood would never end. The days were filled with laughter, adventure, and the kind of innocence that only youth can bring. I spent my mornings chasing butterflies in my grandmother's garden, where the scent of jasmine, and rose filled around the neighborhood. The afternoons I was dedicated to climbing trees, pretending as an explorer in an uncharted world. My friends and I were race our bicycles through winding alleys, competing to see who was the fastest, our giggles echoing against the walls of old houses.Despite the simple life, every moment felt magical. My parents worked hard to provide for us, yet they always had time for bedtime stories and homemade meals that filled our home with warmth. The Fall rains were our favorite season—we would dance in the downpour, splashing through puddles, never once worrying about getting drenched. One of my fondest memories was the annual kite festival. I was spend my days designing my kite, carefully choosing colours which reflected my dreams. On the big day, the sky were be a canvas of vibrant shapes, and I was watch my kite flitter feeling as if my hopes and aspirations were rising with it. As the years passed, childhood faded into cherished memories, but those golden days shaped the person I became. They taught me resilience, joy in simple things, and the value of love and family. Even now, whenever I see a kite soaring high, I am reminded of the carefree days of my youth, when the world felt boundless and full of wonder. Life wasn't always about adventure; my childhood remained in my memory like the lessons of innocence.My grandmother, with her kind eyes and silver-streaked hair, was my greatest teacher. She taught me the art of patience as we baked cookies together, the importance of honesty through her bedtime stories, and the value of kindness in the way she cared for stray animals. One autumn evening, I found a wounded bird near our house. I cradled it in my hands, unsure of what to do. My grandmother helped me nurse it back to health, and when it finally spread its wings and took flight, I learned that love often meant letting go. Childhood, though beautiful, is not without its shadows. The day my best friend Milly moved away was the first time I truly understood what loss felt like. We had spent our childhood years side by side, sharing everything—from comic books to whispered dreams about the future. when my friend left, part of my childhood left with him, our dreams were disappeared. But loss, as I later realized, was not just about saying goodbye—it was about carrying the memories forward. Milly's absence taught me that friendships might evolve, but the impact they leave remains indelible. As the years passed, the magic of childhood slowly gave way to the responsibilities of growing up. The treehouse stood empty, our bicycles gathered dust, and our games of make-believe were replaced by schoolwork and future aspirations. Yet, the essence of those years remained within me—a guiding light through the complexities of adulthood. Even now, when I walk through the streets of Bukhara, I can hear the echoes of our laughter, the whispers of old dreams carried by the wind. Childhood may be fleeting, but its lessons, its joys, and its heartbreaks remain etched in our hearts forever. childhood wasn't just about growing up—it was about learning how to dream. Because childhood wasn't just a phase—it was the foundation of who we were meant to become.

I should have known I should have known you were hurting but I was blinded by my pride I should have figured something was wrong by the way you held your eyes. I lived in fear and confusion, but this is no excuse. I should have known how much it hurt you, the pain of this verbal abuse. I was so involved in myself and my seemingly “unbearable” feelings. To recognize your obvious grief. When you would flip, I'd say it because you were dramatic. Your brothers and I would laugh about it. We were blinded because of our sarcasm. You hid your fear and depression, with your ecstatic enthusiasm. I should have known it was all a lie. But every time I would just walk on by. I felt you hated me for so long. I never knew it was because of your desperate time. I should have learned to read the room and to use my words with wisdom. You were always smiling, but now I know it was all a mask. Then all your feelings tried to come down, in a crash. That night you tried to end it. I swear I would have been the one. If I had only known about it. But instead, it was the friend, the one who cared enough to know. With a phone call, he ended your decision. When the police came to the door You hid it from everyone, your mother doesn't even know. I found out about 9 months later when I swallowed my pride. We are great now, the hole in our relationship sewn. I just wanted to tell you how much I wish I had known.

COVID, lets face it -- It was the most miserable part of everyone's life. The world outside my window seemed to fade into a grayscale existence. Isolation swallowed me. Each day was a struggle, a battle against the sadness and the feeling of loneliness that threatened to consume me. With no one to talk to, even though I was living with my parents, I didn't necessarily had the greatest relationship with them. I was a in my pre-teens and had the same temper and habits as any other pre- teen kid – staying in my room all day, not showering for days, not talking to anyone. Life became so monotonous and repetitive during that time. Now that I look back at it I am damn sure I was depressed, I used to cry for hours and hours. Desperation led me to find solace in stories and music, my only companions during those long, desolate days. I devoured books that transported me to different worlds, where the characters faced challenges and emerged victorious. Music became my refuge, each note a soothing balm to the wounds within. The end of the lockdown marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I started going to school again and made started interacting with people, I may have created an alter ego for myself in order to appear lively so people would like me. I talked to these classmates of mine whom I wouldn't have talked to if they weren't my classmates and as we spent our time together I started getting closer to them building the bonds of friendship which I desperately needed after that depressive phase. During our exam season we would study together on meet and often go to watch movies and plan house parties together. I felt a surge of gratitude for the friendships that had pulled me from the depths of despair. Together, we explored the world outside our confined spaces, breathing in the fresh air and savouring the colours that had returned to my life. The once-silent heart now echoed with laughter and the joyous symphony of friendship. My three companions had become my whole world, and I realized that even in the darkest times, the universe conspired to bring light into our lives. No longer held captive by depression, I embraced the newfound happiness that radiated from within. The stories and music that once provided solace were now interwoven with the tales of my own journey, a testament to the transformative power of connection. As the famous saying goes “tough times don't last but tough people do.” This picture was taken recently in house party for new years

I lie in the foreign bed within the unfamiliar room, staring up at the unknown ceiling. My heart is galloping like a bronco inside my chest, and a piercing ache develops inside my head. My muscles appear to be in pain, although this could be an illusion. In truth, everything around me could be a mirage. The anti-ligature luminaire attached to the ceiling or the highly secured windows, as well as the fragrance bulbs generating a bittersweet scent, can be a deception. The thoughts in my head run in an infinite cycle until the sense of worry awakens inside my chest, prompting me to deeply breathe in and lightly breathe out. This method clears my mind of superfluous notions, leaving only one thought: I do not belong here. These last several weeks felt like an eternity. I'm trapped within this facility, not even permitted to get some fresh air like a "healthy" person would. I am continuously accompanied by an adult who most likely does not understand me. They do nothing except feed me a lot and tell me that gaining weight is necessary for me. They have no sense of humour or sympathy. What they value the most is when their patient follows their instructions. For me, they are living machines who exhibit no empathy for the most vulnerable individuals. And they claim to understand me: lucky enough to be swapping shifts with others in order to return home, while I'm compelled to stay in this building for the entire time! Each guardian is slightly different, but they all share one trait: they care more about my weight than what goes on within my warped mind. Every day, I'm expected to eat six times. This is more irritating than listening to an OCD girl ask her guardian thousands of questions or seeing a depressed female sob in the restroom. And even though the amount of food I have to consume frustrates me, I refuse to give up; every mouthful I make, every sip I take, is for my family. My parents simply deserve a healthy daughter, not one who is locked up in a psychiatric clinic for months when she could be at school working. The wall of my temporary room is adorned with images of a happy family, a family that is mine, and I don't want to destroy something as valuable as a family just because I couldn't beat my eating disorder. This condition isn't worth it. I must continue to fight. For the sake of my family; for my own benefit. And, while I don't understand some of the other patients, I'm confident that they can all do the same thing: keep on fighting for the sake of their loved ones. As difficult as it is to overcome a mental illness, one can be stronger than the voice inside their head; since this voice isn't the real you! The true self is the happy person you once were, yearning to be released from the pressures that a mental illness can bring. And I know we can do this; we just have to. So I keep on eating, keep on fighting, and everytime I'm feeling down about myself, I go to my room, to the wall covered with family photos, to remind myself why I'm doing all of this in the first place. I want to be with the people I love, but I can't since I'm in this facility. The only way out of here is to eat - and I'm doing this right now. Another few weeks pass, and I do my best not to give up. I can't let myself down, especially now that I'm so close to being released. Sharing my room with someone who is working as hard as I am to get back on their feet enhances my confidence. Having a friend like them is extremely beneficial in keeping me on track. Their name is Yara - but I call them Lou. And, finally, the day of my release has arrived. Everyone congratulates me on my accomplishment, my new friends give me tight hugs, and Lou even gives me a present - a painted canvas with my name on it. "We have made this for you so you will remember us" , they tell me. "I will miss you so much." I try to stop the tears streaming down my face. I will miss you too!, I want to exclaim. I will miss you more than you'll miss me! But everything I say is “Thank you for the canvas. I really appreciate it!” With that, I leave them - it's now their turn to leave this place having accomplished something that they can be proud of. Once I step outdoors, I immediately spot them: my mother in her ivory-coloured coat, my father in his characteristic black cap, and in front of them, my precious sister carrying our dog in her arms. They look lovely together, yet their pack is incomplete. So I run towards them, a broad smile on my face. The moment I land in my mother's arms, everything is fine again. I did it! I've returned home. Our tribe is at last complete. And everything that has happened belongs in the past, where I hope it will remain in perpetuity. Two years later, I am sitting in my room in an entirely different country, at my desk, writing the story of my life. When I pull my gaze away from the screen, my attention is drawn to a colourful canvas situated on my windowsill. Guess what? It has my name on it.

Living a somewhat predictable family life, while leading a nomadic life of unpredictability at the same time, forces one to live life in the moment. Moments often escape the mind as you move from one to the next, leaving others behind with the expectation of our brain to store them as memories, and the anticipation of our brain's ability to recall these moments when referenced. The ultimate trust we must all radically accept. Being recently disabled, it has been a struggle adjusting to life slowing down. Taking care of myself was always a last priority. Being diagnosed with PTSD, major depression, and an anxiety disorder became too much for me to be able to endure after the addition of a pandemic, mysterious illnesses, toxic relationships, and irresponsible decision making landed me in a week-long mental health hospitalization. Depression won't allow one to receive love and embrace it. It doesn't care how fortunate of a life the person has that it infects, nor does it care about the impact of one's life on others. My family is full of love, I have been able to rely on a handful of amazing friends throughout my life, I had an important job helping others, yet I still couldn't escape my depression. I remember the uber ride home to my one bedroom apartment in my clothes I arrived in a week prior, someone broken and incomplete, someone I am not anymore. I recall walking into my apartment, stale despair lingering in week-long stagnant air, dancing with the smoky notes of whiskey left dripping on the bathroom floor. All my things in disarray. 'What a shithole' I remember thinking to myself, looking through the eyes of this person I used to be, numb enough to gather everything in sweeping motions into trash bags. I was scared. I was disappointed in myself for how I left my home for anyone to have to see if I had been gone. I was sad, I was lonely. This was the hardest day of that whole experience. I'm a human being, I wanted a companionship. I needed that presence of another life in mine. With such trauma tied to so many relationships in my past, how in hell was I going to move forward in my life having companionship? I had been burned so many times with exes in such a variety of ways I'd sooner offer lucifer fellatio at their place than entertain a date of any kind. I was in outpatient therapy, quarantined at home, alone. Naturally, I was a codependent person historically. Shaken by anxiety every day, having crying spells, speaking to my therapist and mother led me to decide I was going to get a dog. For the first time in years, I felt the warmth of overwhelming love lift the weight off my heart for this new companion that I didn't even know! I was able to feel real excitement for something I wanted more than anything in that moment in time. My parents, siblings, friends all supported me; aiding in the search of my dog. I found the most handsomest little schmoop I've ever loved with my whole heart, Arthur. The second I picked him up, he melted into me for safety, and I never felt more safe and joyful. I have had dogs I have loved in the past, but with animals it's as if there are no rules, you can love them all the most and that's okay. I had met and held others, but he was the one that I needed to take home with me. From that day forward it was he and I against the world. He gave me a reason to wake up every day, because he would slobber all over me and tell me all about how excited he was for a day with me until I got up to take him outside. I was unable to sink into my deep, dark days of depression because this fluffy, happy little floof depends on me. He loves me and he wants to spend time with me. If he's awake, he expects me to be awake too. Not my favorite dynamic at first when it came to kennel training. Which is why I failed and let him sleep with me on the third night where we both slept the most peaceful sleep either of us had ever had. Arthur has shown me what it is like to be loved unconditionally. There is nothing he would rather do besides be with me. I had the opportunity to give him a great deal of exposure to others by getting my ESA letter from my psychiatrist. He was in the car with me everywhere I went from that day forward. He came to the office with me every day and sat faithfully by my side, comforting me. He lays with me when I am sick, sad, or anxious. He plays with me, even if I am not in the mood, he gets me up and moving my body around playing fetch and chasing each other around the house until my asthmatic ass turns into a kazoo. I'd like to say he doesn't judge me, but he does get awfully mouthy sometimes when I am hesitant to comply with his demands to push myself. He is everything that I need to be a better person. He is my best friend, my angel who saved me. He's my Boo Boo, he's a good boy. He's my dog, Arthur Lew, and he'll always be my favorite floof.

Wayne started beating me five months into our marriage. Initially, it was simply an unexpected slap or a punch to the kidney. It was so unpredictable and out of character that I deemed it my fault. I reasoned that I must have brought it on myself, and that I deserved it. That naïve perspective changed when the abuse became far more regular and intense. After two further months of humiliating, soul-wrecking beatings, I finally walked out. I left with only the clothes on my back and firm resolve burning in my heart. I moved in with a friend, but I knew I needed help. “Speak to Mr. Eden,” Sinead advised me. “You know he's always been kind-hearted to us and helps everybody without hesitation,” she added persuasively. And that's how I ended up outside his office the next morning, clutching my college bag and courage firmly to my breast. Mr. Eden was the College Counselor, and one of the most unselfish men I had ever met. Not a single student had ever been turned away by this gentle, unassuming man. And I was about to ask him to not just go the extra mile, but to also go out on a limb for me. How classically clichéd. “Marina, come inside,” Mr. Eden invited me the minute he saw me. “Have a seat. How's life been treating you?” he asked innocently, but his tone and the innocuous question triggered a flood of sobs. I was embarrassed; I chastised myself for making such a spectacle of myself. Mr. Eden instantly took charge, soothing me with encouraging words and a soft tone. He offered me a bottle of water, which I gratefully accepted. I confided completely in him. I was surprised by the first words he said, but I shouldn't have been. “We need to get you into a women's shelter today. I know a place near the college. I will take you there after I've called them to give them a heads up, all right?” As if that wasn't enough, this amazing man then spread the word – with my permission – on the college WhatsApp group that a student needed donations of clothes, toiletries, food; the works. The response was overwhelming! Mr. Eden took me to the Saartje Baartman Women's Shelter, and they agreed to house me as well as try to resolve the problems Wayne and I were having by giving us marriage counselling. All absolutely free of charge! I received so many donations of barely-worn clothes, brand new underwear, toiletries and even money that I could give some of the things to Sinead to thank her for having granted me a safe haven when I had needed it. And the best thing of all? Wayne is a changed man. The couples therapy had opened his eyes, even bringing him to the point where he apologized tearfully to me for ever having lifted a hand to me. “You are a treasure, Marina,” Wayne said to me on the first night I returned home. He was holding me gently in his arms while he spoke in a voice shaking with emotion. “I nearly lost the most precious gift I had ever received, but I will never again be this careless.” “If not for Mr. Eden, both of us would have lost each other,” I said and smiled, feeling the heavy burdens lift off my shoulders like fog burned off by the warmth of a rising sun.

Ding-Dong! “Stand clear of the closing doors, please” blasted the announcer's voice across the station. Jonah had heard this everyday since he could remember. “3 stops till Kingston” he thought, carrying a backpack full of books that he dreaded carrying for hours on the commute to and back from school. Jonah kicked his feet back and forth, his feet grazing the ground just slightly. He stared at the creases on his shoes who's brand he couldn't recall. They were some off brands anyways, no reason to remember which ones. The subway screeched to a halt, the faces outside the car that were once blurred stare back at Jonah. People start to push and shove the minute the doors open. Running up the stairs to leave the station, a mirage of conversations, mumblings and people talking flood Jonah's senses. He can't really make out what they're saying, he doesn't really try. “Jonah! How was school?” Jonah's finally made it to his destination. A small deli run by an older Korean man and his daughter. The sign outside reads “Ray's Delicatessen” but most people here call it “Ray's”, “Mr. Park's”, “the Park/Park” or “the Deli”. For Jonah, he calls it “home”. “Fine Mr. Park! Same as always!” replied Jonah Mr. Park shook his head and chuckled as he continued to tend to other customers, “As long as you're not getting into trouble” It's become a routine, Mr. Park asks how he is and Jonah replies with fine no matter what. Jonah tries to not stress him out, he always hears Hannah, Mr. Park's daughter, complain about her forehead wrinkles, crows feet and smile lines. Jonah doesn't see a problem but still tries to avoid making them worse Jonah slips behind the checkout counter, he sits on the blue crate right under the cash register and starts his homework on his knees like usual. History, English, then Science and Math, hardest to easiest. Jonah loves closing up shop and definitely not just because he gets to eat some of the unsold bagels and sausages. “Ai *tsk* Jonah, you know you mustn't sit here” exclames Mr. Park. Jonah doesn't move, Mr. Park doesn't really care. Time passes, business has been slow these days but it only means more time for Mr. Park and Jonah to talk. The deli was not just a place to get a quick eat for Jonah after school, it was his place of refuge, one of love and community. He had somewhere to be and all Mr. Park asked for in return were English lessons and to use some of Jonah's beginner-level novels to practice his reading skills. Jonah knew Mr. Park stopped needing those lessons a long time ago and for those textbooks, Mr. Park still reads them. Even though he completed all of them, cover to cover, hundreds of times, it still gives those literary works a second life. And Jonah would never mind when Mr. Park read them outloud to him either, even when he pretended to hate it. Bed-time stories were for ‘babies' and not 8 and a half year-olds. Still, “Maybe these books aren't so bad” thought Jonah. For without them, their friendship would be lost in translation.

I used to have a friend who was from another country. I had never seen him in person but, I think, we used to be good friends. I learnt many from him and he always gave me good advice. Because of my marriage I had to delete my facebook account and we are not friends anymore. Now my only friend and adviser is my husband. Alloh never leaves us alone! Allah knows better what is good or bad for us! Don't care and take everything easy! Live your best life!

My Paradise: Now i am going to share my own life story which i underwent when i was 9 or 10 yers old. Let me give you first background general information : when i was 9 our family used to be one of the poorest one in our countryside my dad and mom had nothing to do and no job like other parents, once or twice in a month only my dad used to visit another countryside and he used to came back with a less amount of money. that would be enough for our living expanses, that said , ironically my father was addicted to alcohol , he was alcoholic and used drink even though we had no money for bread. So he spent half of his money for purchasing alcohol drinks. There was always conflict between my mom and dad . Whatever as i was young, immature boy i did not care of anything. I could not get on well both with my mom and dad , instead I had the best family member of us and the best friend of mine his name was alpha and actually he was my dog and both best friend. Today my story is wholly devoted to him, to his memory . i remember whenever i had fight with my father mostly due to his unconciousness i used to go away from home mostly to the hill of the nearest mountain to our home with alpha and rarely i used to cry, weep over everything I do remember once I was going to my frends home for some schoolworks almost by sunset and of course my friend Alpha was going together with me . As usual situation I faced some bullies maybe 3 or 4 , they were just hiding their facewith masks and startood to approach me , I was so proud that i had my brave friend with me . he just sprang up and went to the bullies with barking like the Lucifer , he tried to bite them, that said they ran away and did not come back again . Due to such events i was loving him more and more, day by day as buddy. we used to get, understand each other fully , whenever i came back from school firstly i used to hear the " Welcome home" bark from Alpha. several months maybe a year passed, as usual i came back home from school. hmm but I did not find Alpha he was not home so i went inside of the house there were my parents and brother all together sitting . my dad showed his kind and said " Come on son today your mother cooked soup for you, today is happy day becouse we are going to eat enough meat" . I was happy also I had not have breakfast that day i was starving. i went and sat down I ate couple of bowls of soup and probably 300gramms of meat. I was stuffed. I had never eaten such and I was feeling like a king becouse of lush food . i was a lad who always cares of his friend , I callected all bones which we had cleaned the meat of it and wanted to give them to Alpha. S o I went out and called " Alpha,Alpha come on where are you i have surprize for you". After my dad said " come back son he can not hear you now". I went to him, set down and said " did he go somewhere". Dad said " Yes now he is with you, sitting with you together ( I thought he was on good mood and joking around ) " i said " I am asking seriously, i thibk Alpha is hungr too so let me give these bones to him". Dad laughed a bit and said " No dog eats it's own bones son you now just ate your dog. Whatever I needed to do this becouse we all were hungry also we will not catch cold . do not get upset you will get used to live without him , he was just a dog". I could not say a word only , i was shocked . i felt burst of anger , i raised my noice ,c ryed and sprang up and striked my father several times. Of course my punches were not powerfull so my father asked to stop it and slapped me on face. the flood of tears were on my face i ran to the restroom, put my finger into my throat and vomited voluntary. i was almost unconcious... that is how our friendship ended up. Years passed my father went to Kazakhistan to earn money and fund us. every week i try to find a daily work for some money to pay for my Ielts courses. sometimes as this month I struggle to find 30 bucks and be needed to miss my courses for a month. I hope one day to be a rich person and provide all poor people to be the knowladgable . that is why i am trying to read and learn more everyday . THE END

Old man James sat in front of his porch as the sun caressed his harsh features. His face was relaxed- a rarity indeed, considering he always has a frown etched on his dark face. On Sunday afternoons like this, when all the folks were in church, he sat outside exuding a moment of serenity, like now. I almost gave in to the urge to take a picture commemorating oldman James's first smile in decades. Almost. Consequently, the chattering of people permeated the solemn atmosphere, effectively putting to death old man James' peaceful aura. Kickstarting his feet to life, he stood, grunted a good afternoon to me (much to my surprise since he'd effectively ignored me for the two and half hours I'd been staring at him- or maybe four hours, anyways-), he adjusted His brownish-whatever-coloured cap on his thinned hair and entered his salon before anyone could shout "Old man James". He doesn't look as old as his name implies, however, his never-smile-till-I-die demeanor added a decade to his 50ish self. On the flip side, not many could mess with old man James. I mean, his cold demeanor could give anyone a brain freeze. That, however, doesn't stop the people of Achimota from giving him names. A little payback for all the times he'd declined their festive dinner invitations, or their housewarming parties- which is everytime. So, behind closed doors, he's known as 'memuna' (always frowning), kakai (beast), James Debond (don't ask) among many other derogatory names- by kids and adults alike. I also didn't like him at first. Don't get me wrong but he is rude and scary. The last time, for instance, he'd sacked his client for crying too much and snotting in his shop. The client was two years old and it was raining heavily outside. Both mother and child would have been drenched if my mom hadn't let them in her shop. So yeah, Old man James has a terrible rep. However, hearing his life story from the town's Wikipedia, which is my mother, and writing it down, put things in perspective. Apparently, there was a time Old man James smiled. Believe it or not, he even laughed. Yep. Teeth and all. That was eleven years ago, before he lost his wife in a car accident. According to my mom, it broke him so bad he moved out of their town house in the estate-y side of Achimota, into his barber salon. It finally explains how he manages to keep up with his rent even though few people frequent his shop. Apparently, he's loaded. Anyways, sitting here side by side with Old man James' as he narrates his tragedy, in a voice with more than just coldness in it, will forever be one of my dearest moments in life. It's a shame you think I'd tell the most vulnerable parts of a person's life without said person's clarification. However, It's more shameful that no words can accurately describe the pain, longing, misery and regret running across his features. Apparently, 20th July, was his wife's eleventh year anniversary and he needed someone to talk to. Guess who played incompetent therapist to the melancholic old man James, this girl! For accuracy sake, let's ignore the "he needed someone to talk to" part. This is how the session began Me (suspiciously cheerful): Good morning Mr James Old man James (eyes narrowed in suspicion): *grunts* Me: How are you doing today Old man James: *less enthusiastic grunts* Me( still with a huge smile): Is it me or you sound...sad? As our elders say, happiness is the uhm... antidote for the uhm.. .heart but sadness...sadness is veeery bad, like terrible, you- Old man James (with a heavy sigh and wistful voice): I see your mother told you.. Me (with a heavily dumbfounded face because that's the longest sentence Old man James has ever said to me): Uhh

A sudden global pandemic spirals out of control and then leads to lockdowns across major cities. What does that leave someone with? Nothing but a trail of disruption. For me the situation was a cocktail of activities and opportunities I had never dreamed about either doing or not doing. So here I was, this Nigerian lady of twenty-three trying to figure out my ‘new' life. Starting a relationship was never, ever part of my considerations. So how then did it eventually happen? Educational institutions had gone on break, most businesses and establishments asked to closed down or restrict opening hours and everyone ordered to stay indoors as much as possible to contain the spreading viral disease called COVID-19. But alone at home with little of my life the same as it was before the crisis, my world had transformed into something strange. I was at home doing nothing much except reading my books, catching up with old friends in town through social media and helping around with a little renovation with my siblings. Finding a traditional job that I could engage myself with around my neighborhood and beyond proved futile. It simply was a disaster. No one was hiring anyone new for a job. However, four months into my university break, I found something to do at home that I should say was fascinating: online freelance work. How I got into such a job sometimes makes me wonder but it all started with a friend of mine back from secondary school called Felix. He had sent me a Facebook message asking if I could help him out with some writing gigs. After my initial negative reply which was based on my little experience with creative writing, I agreed to help him. Back in secondary school, Felix was the most captivating of all the boys in my class and I considered him the most brilliant. Once in a while he would top the class but his periodic genius mind wasn't what started our friendship back then. Rather, it was his love for writing and drawing that got my attention. Some probing and demanding on my part made him finally take me as his apprentice. Weeks later, just as I was making some progress with these creative skills, I decided to quit. My love interest in art had gone and in its stead a close friendship had formed between me and Felix. I didn't feel I had it in me to be an artist of any sort or so I thought. Still I occasionally practiced when I needed a break from some stressful things. My first client was a lady, Felix's friend. She requested for a drawing of her boyfriend ahead of his birthday coming up in two weeks. A simple but unique piece of art was my first product in this new world of commerce and it was highly appreciated by many. I did many more interesting gigs after that but the most heartwarming was a love letter I wrote for a girl whose father had survived COVID-19. She cried after reading it stating it was the most love filled message she had read in a long time. Felix had told me about it in the happiest voice and for once in a long while I was moved by that knowledge. Many times I had to refer to the internet for tips on how to go about some projects. And like a mentor that he was, Felix was there to guide me through it all. He shared tips, experience, techniques with me that would help bring better results than the last projects. A year later since I started this new journey I found myself not so enthusiastic about it. It's like I had lost my love and interest for this phase and experience of my life that I felt so withdrawn. True, it was very demanding especially on my creative abilities but I sadly realized I was not in my most unique and comfortable zone. And so like years before, I decided to quit. I sent Felix a message in June, 2021, thanking him for everything: the teaching, support, advice and of course friendship. I told him in the nicest way that I wasn't ready to continue down this road of entrepreneurship, As a second-year nursing student my future career still obsessed me and I did not want to let that go. I did make a request to him that I wanted to be his official business partner in the art industry in future. More of a inactive one I reasoned. Sadly, he did not give a reply when I expected. I was hurt. I imagined he also had the same feeling of disappointment despite the confidence and encouragement he had given me and I still let him down. Some weeks later he responded. “I would gladly have you as my official business partner. Would you please accept my proposal to be my girlfriend?” he wrote back to me. Shock and surprise hit me as I digested the meaning of the message. I had a number of male friends but I had never dated or had a boyfriend before. This really was a first for me. I sent him an affirmative reply teasingly asking if he has had a girlfriend before. He said yes: me, in those days when we were in secondary school. And so that's how my love journey began with a guy called Felix. And till now, we are still going on strong in our relationship.