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…

Every year, I meet a stranger. She has my name, my memories, and my reflection in the mirror. Yet somehow, she is never quite the same person I was before. One of those strangers was thirteen years old. She believed love had to be earned. Not demanded. Not expected. Earned. She thought good grades would earn it. Obedience would earn it. Being polite, agreeable, and easy to manage would earn it. She believed that if she became everything others wanted her to be, she would finally be enough. So she learned to stay quiet. When she disagreed, she swallowed her words. When she wanted something different, she pushed the thought away. Being liked felt safer than being honest. Being accepted felt more important than being understood. For years, she carried an invisible scale. Every achievement added weight to one side. Every mistake added weight to the other. At the end of each day, she measured herself and wondered whether she had done enough to deserve appreciation. The strange thing about chasing approval is that there is never a finish line. No matter how much she achieved, there was always something more to prove. Then life did what life often does. It asked questions she could not answer with obedience. Questions about who she was, what she believed. Questions about whether a person without achievements was somehow worth less than everyone else. For the first time, she stopped searching for answers in other people and started searching for them within herself. The answers did not arrive all at once. They came slowly, through mistakes, through disappointment, through realizing that being loved by everyone is impossible and being understood by everyone is unnecessary. Most importantly, they came through one simple realization: A person's value is not something they earn. It is something they already possess. Today, when I look back at that thirteen-year-old girl, I do not judge her. I understand her. She was trying to find her place in the world using the only map she had. But I am no longer her. I speak when I have something to say. I allow myself to have opinions. I care less about fitting perfectly into other people's expectations and more about remaining true to my own values. The girl who once wanted her future written by the hands of others now wants to hold the pen herself. And perhaps that is why I love meeting strangers. Because every year, another version of me arrives. She questions things I once accepted. She sees possibilities I once ignored. She teaches me something the previous version could not understand. A year from now, I will meet another stranger. I do not know what she will believe. I do not know what fears she will leave behind. I do not know what lessons she will learn. But I hope she remembers what it took us years to discover: We were never meant to earn our right to matter. We always had it.

It is hard to find a language more criticised, misunderstood, and occasionally mocked by speakers of other languages than English. Yet it is equally hard to imagine another language that has spread across the world and connected so many nations. English gradually became the language of business, families, distant lands, and increasingly, everyday life. People often complain about English. Too simple, too practical, too strange. The spelling makes little sense, the pronunciation seems to ignore logic, and half the world grumbles about it while still trying to learn it. I understand why. I did not begin learning English for love, literature, or travel. I began because I had no choice. At the time, I was running the Tashkent branch of ComputerLand, an American-Swedish computer training company. Every important programme seemed to speak English. Software manuals were in English. Business websites were in English. Computers, it appeared, had made their choice long before I had made mine. I already spoke several languages and assumed English would simply become one more. I was wrong. After Uzbek, the language of my childhood, Russian, rich and emotional, German, where words obediently sounded much as they looked, and French, soft and poetic, English felt oddly rebellious. The words were short, slippery, and impossible to trust. Letters refused to behave properly. Why write one thing and pronounce another? I tried grammar books. I memorised vocabulary. Progress felt painfully slow. Yet somewhere in the background, another teacher entered my life. Humour. At first, British humour made little sense to me. Nobody explained the joke. People smiled politely while I sat wondering whether something important had just happened. Then everything began to change. Humour began helping me learn. I started watching short comedy series in English. The characters misunderstood each other, mispronounced words, made mistakes, embarrassed themselves, and somehow survived. More than survived — they laughed. Slowly, I realised something liberating: saying things incorrectly could sometimes be funny, even charming. One imperfect sentence would not destroy the world. For the first time, I stopped being afraid of making mistakes. Then one day, someone told me a joke about eleven couples from different countries stranded on a desert island. Each nationality behaved exactly as expected. The Russians somehow found vodka. The Japanese began planning a factory. The Welsh broke into song. The Germans discussed the economy. The English, however, did nothing. Why? Because they had not been introduced. I laughed far too late, after everyone else. But something shifted in me. Suddenly, I understood that English was not simply a language. It carried a culture inside it. Restraint. Distance. Dry humour. Rules that nobody explained aloud. The joke taught me something grammar books never could. Language was not only vocabulary and verbs. It was personality. Years later, after moving to New Zealand, English continued to surprise me. I learned that “not bad” could actually mean excellent. That invitations were sometimes politeness rather than plans. That silence did not necessarily mean coldness. Little by little, English stopped being merely practical. It became the language in which I slowly rebuilt my life. It became the language that brought me to the people who would change my life and become my family. The language in which I dared to imagine new possibilities for myself. Back in Tashkent, I had a dear friend with a little grandson named Ilyashka. At the time, I was preparing to leave for New Zealand. My friend and I spent hours talking about visas, plans, fears, and this distant country where I was about to begin a completely new life. The boy listened. Then one day, he announced: “I want to go to New Desire too!” The adults burst out laughing. He had simply transformed a country he could not yet understand into something warmer and closer to his own imagination. Not New Zealand. New Desire. The name stayed with me. Because, over the years, that is exactly what New Zealand became. A land of new desires. A place where I began again. A place where I learned to write in English, publish stories, write novels, and slowly discover new parts of myself. Eventually, the child's little mistake became the name of my English-language website: New DesireLand, or Land of New Desires. It is more than a website. It is a small literary world I created in this beautiful language, where my stories, essays, travels, and dreams have found a home. Language gives us more than words. Through jokes, misunderstandings, and small accidents, it changes the direction of our lives.

My first day at the “Registan LC” in Tashkent felt like stepping onto a tight rope. I had agreed to teach a mixed-age math class (6 to 14) armed only with colorful worksheets, a handful of markers. Among curious faces, she sat at the back with an empty notebook and tired eyes. Her name was Nilufar, 12 years old, and according to rumors she once loved math her brother coached her until a family crisis pulled her out of her lovely learnig center where were her friends to my group I was teaching. She was so smart and understood better than my other students, but she lost interest to math because of depression and loneliness and her performance went down. In week 1, I skipped the formulas and handed out a treasure map. Each coordinate solved correctly led students to hidden "gold" stickers taped under desks. The room lit up with laughter, and for the first time, Nilufar looked up with a little interest. Week 2: I gave to every student "Math mystery" (interresting math questions wrapped in papers) like balancing water for a village, who wins races falcons against the wind etc. Nilufar stopped at a quadratic puzzle. I approached her and said: "Imagine your brother cheering." She wrote the answer firstly amoung groupmates and the class erupted in applause. There were days when Nilufar seemed isolated. She sat at the last desk, rarely looked up, and her math notebook remained almost empty. I felt that it wasn't a lack of ability, but something else. Several times I saw her standing at the window and looking sadly outside. One day, when everyone had already left, I approached to her and asked "Gulnara, do you have a minute?" She nodded. We sat down at the desk. I began, - I noticed that you're having a hard time in math class,but it seems to me that you're not just worried about numbers. - I miss my old school, - she said softly. - Everything worked out for me there. And now... everything is different. And math, too. - I understand. Changing schools is always difficult. It's like starting a new game with different rules, right? But math, you know, it's the same everywhere. It's like a universal language. We began to sort out the equations, which, according to her, were explained differently at the old learning center. I didn't just give her answers, I tried to show that the principles remain the same, but the approach can change. Every time she understood a new "version" or found the familiar, a very sincere relief appeared on her face. The midterm test was approaching (it was done my learning center to check the performances of student and top students were granted with a one-month free lessons). On the day of the test, most of the children were talking noisily, some were nervous. Nilufar sat quietly, but there was no previous concern on her face. She wrote intently, sometimes thinking for a second, but then confidently continuing. It seemed like she was just doing her job step by step. When I checked the works, I was surprised. Nilufar got a perfect grade, her progress was amazing. She overcame her confusion and showed that she is capable of learning in new conditions. There was a small note pinned to her work, written by her in russian: "Teacher, thank you for supporting and believing me". That evening, coming back to home, I realized that teaching is not just about academic knowledge. It's about helping children adapt, find their strengths in a changing world, and trust that they can handle any new "rules". By the end of the 2024, Nilufar was promoted to a higher group and had already started helping the new students who came to our group. She did it quietly, with special patience, explaining to them how "everything works here". Everytime when she sees me she hugs me and says "You are the best teacher I have seen!"

July 1, 2011 started just like any other day. Or at least I think it would have, since I don't remember it. I had spent the previous night at my boyfriend's home in anticipation of celebrating Canada Day together. We'd been dating for three months and it was my first serious relationship. We watched a movie, attempted to drink wine and went to bed. From what I've been told, we woke up and left to pick up my boyfriend's brother before continuing to the Canada Day Celebrations in Mission, BC. Except we didn't make it to the Tim Hortons. In fact, we apparently didn't make it more than maybe 10 minutes from his house when his shiny red Camaro hit the tree that would change the direction of both our lives. “A young man and woman have been airlifted to hospital after a car veered off the Lougheed Highway and crashed into a tree Friday morning.” - CTV “Crash closes Lougheed highway east of Mission” - Mission Record/BC Local News “Two people have been sent to hospital after a serious accident in the Deroche area this morning” - News1130 All the facts I have, I've collected from news articles as well as the recollections of family and friends. The shiny red car my boyfriend loved had somehow veered off the road, turned 180 degrees and hit a tree on the driver's side. We ended up in the yard of a retired emergency responder who was responsible for removing me from the passenger's seat. I was admitted to the hospital and my boyfriend was flown to the more specialized trauma hospital. My first memory is one of no particular excitement. I woke up on our living room couch, a “Get Well” balloon attached to the coffee table and a television program playing in the background. Eventually someone fills me in about what happened. I have a Traumatic Brain Injury, a black eye, back and neck pain, bruising on my arms and a wicked headache. The next few weeks are a whirlwind of visits from well wishers, doctor appointments, a meeting with my new lawyer, my first visit to see my boyfriend in the hospital and a lot of time spent on my couch. From the TBI, I developed the attention span of a lemming, no longer able to watch a full length television program or read a complex novel. The rest of the summer continues, each week repeating the other as friends and acquaintances visit, I routinely see my doctor, I make trips to see my boyfriend in the hospital and I lie on the couch. It is soon suggested that I may want to consider delaying my return to school. I was slated to begin the final year of a diploma program. As I continued to have irrational emotional responses, mysterious headaches, a limited attention span, the inability to stand for long periods of time and a horrible memory, my doctor and mother were concerned about the potential of me graduating. I looked at this concern as a challenge; I stubbornly returned to classes in the fall, completed two semesters of practicum placements and graduated on time. Over the past 8 years since the car accident I have seen a variety of treatment specialists: neurologists, neuropsychologists, counselors, vocational specialists, physiologists, physiotherapists, massage therapists, chiropractors and an acupuncturist. While many of my physical injuries have been dealt with or have reached a manageable state, many of the invisible ones continue. From the reports of these specialists, I have a combination of anxiety, minor depression, chronic posttraumatic headaches, long and short term memory deficits and working memory deficits stemming from the “moderate traumatic brain injury”. I have had the same conversation with someone in the span of ten minutes, forgotten cherished childhood memories, hid under a desk at work when an intimidating customer walked by and cried in my car because of traffic. During my most recent visit to a vocational specialist, she reported that while I would likely obtain my Bachelor of Arts in Communication from SFU, with minor struggles and some accommodations, I would have difficulty transitioning into full time work. In her opinion, my chosen field of nonprofit fundraising would present more challenges than I could overcome with my “unresolved physical, cognitive and psychological complaints.” She also writes, “Ms. Tipper's need for accommodations would likely reduce her efficiency and productivity on the job, and render her a less attractive candidate for employment compared to non-injured individuals vying for the same positions in the open labour market.” I'm happy to say that just as before, I've taken her report as a challenge and graduated. I've taken workshops to help manage stress and anxiety (triggers for headaches), own a planner for work, utilize a Google calendar and write almost everything down in a notebook for safekeeping. So far, I haven't had any complaints about my efficiency or productivity; instead, I'm often complimented on it.

Throughout the past few years of my life, I have grown mentally and spiritually. I have gone through many stages and experiences in order to get to who I am now. As a teenage student, I feel successful and proud of how much I've grown and improved as a person. With the help of my many friends and families, I'm proud to have the confidence to say, there has been a spark that lit this faith I now have for my future and I. It all started in middle school where I was a 7th grader, I really wanted to be like the “cool” kids: failing classes, wearing the newest Jordans, having the best style, and skipping class. I envied them. I failed on purpose in order to be like them. I even asked others if I should fail this specific class on purpose, and of course, they encouraged me to. I had C's, D's, and mostly F's. As an immature 7th grader, I didn't know what others had thought of me, like my family and “friends”. I never really talked to anyone throughout my 7th grade year because I was too busy trying to fit in with the crowd. In my 8th grade year, I was pulled into a program called Coca Cola Valued Youth Program. It's a program where kids with bad grades go to improve, you tutor little children from elementary school to see how improvement and achievements looks like to encourage yourself to thrive for the better. The purpose of this program was to help you grow academically, but as for me, I didn't. I was still the same person from a year ago, but my grades did improve only because I feared not passing 8th grade. My slovenly effort was decent but the quality of my work was far below basic. Came along my freshmen year, I still thought I was a “cool” kid. I kept trying to fit in with the others. I failed my classes again because I didn't try until the last semester where I had a D in my Advanced English class, which was not a passing grade in order to get into state universities. I joined NJROTC and had many “friends”. I stayed for a year then quit, and when I did, all my “friends” vanished from my social life. I was a lonely person with only two friends who had always left me for their significant other, which caused mental breakdowns leaving me to always ponder why it was always me who had to feel this way. Loneliness had the best of me, which made me feel as if I did not have anyone to lean on, although they said they were “always” going to be there for me. In my sophomore year, I tried a little harder. In the beginning of the school year, I was still a little lonely but I started to get out of my personal bubble. I made a few more friends but they were just not as close. I still thought I was cool. As the lazy person that I was, I came to 1st period late all school year. I did try in my classes, I had A's and B's but the quality of the work was slovenly. I could say I grew a little more mentally, but my life seemed to be on a repetitive pattern, all I did was go to school, then dance practice, and go home to binge watch my Korean dramas. Around March 2018, I became best friends with someone, a simple guy I had met on Black Friday. As we started to get to know each other, I learned something new about Christianity as the days went by. I learned many things from just knowing God: I learned to be patient, I learned to love others even when I was mad, I learned more about God, I also learned how to calm myself, and be open-minded. I was grateful to learn these things and to pass what I have learned to someone else. This was when I started to actually want to see how my future would look like. I grew spiritually, mentally, and physically, I got out of my comfort zone and started to explore, like communicating and listening to other songs in different genres like Christian Worship music. I now have a place in my heart for worship songs because it has led me to new hobbies. My hobbies of dressing up, doing makeup, and collecting Jordans, shifted to learning musical instruments, helping out with housework and volunteering for community service. Today as a junior in high school, I am glad I have met new friends who always encourage me to thrive for the better, and I appreciate my family who is so loving and supportive. I have improved on my attendance of tardy first periods and absent Mondays. I have also been trying my best to keep up my grades. I am satisfied with who I am now, because of the sacrifices I have made. During finals week, I was a little stressed out because of the presentations and tests. I was also in a dance crew called Monsterz Inc but because of how much stress I was under, I had to push something I loved to the side so I can focus on my school work. Now I know I don't want to be who I was in the past because I know that's not me. I want to be better than who I was then, knowing I have potential to improve myself. In my future, I'd want this story to be a motivation that I can tell to those who were in my position because I know I'm not the only one. And that is why I know I will be okay.

What sport can someone do when they can't kick a ball, run, or even properly wheel a wheelchair? You would think that my perpetual ability to fall over while standing still would discourage me from playing any kind of sport, but that would make too much logical sense for my tastes. My whole family is very athletic; my Mom gloats about beating the boys' long jump team in high school, my brother has played soccer since three and my sister plays anything that catches her attention. But what to do with me? Apparently the answer was quite simple for my Mother: horseback riding. Horseback riding is one of the best things that has happened to me. During eleven years of riding, I have had ups and downs, had plenty of things to be proud of, improved my self-confidence and gained new skills. The program was called Pegasus, it is a physical therapy program for disabled riders. It entails riding for an hour and you gain basic knowledge of horses. I fell in love with it right away. For once I had the ability to move fast. Really fast. That alone gave me a whole new sense of freedom. Where I could barely walk at an average pace let alone run, the sudden ability to move at any speed while on the horse was exhilarating. Also, I was finally able to look people in the eye. From the wheelchair I was always shorter than everybody, and always looking up. Now from the horse, I was the one looking down on them. Five years in, I hurt my ankle. Since the stirrups irritated it I had to ride without them. Riding this way involves a lot of balance and skill. I was set back a few years because of the increased limitations. For a little while I felt like giving up. When one day someone pointed out something: I was the only one in my class without stirrups who didn't fall off. I realized they were right. With this new insight, I continued. It was in my 7th year in horseback riding when someone wanted to do an interview piece on Pegasus. It was summer break; I was vacationing in Nova Scotia; when my Mom asked a question out of the blue: “would I like to go on T.V. to represent the whole Pegasus program?”. Apparently she had gotten an email. About three weeks later and a whole lot of running around, I was in front of the camera, again I was being asked a question: Why do you like horseback riding? My answer was simple: the freedom of movement. But my success did not stop there. With my ankle healed up and a new horse named Soleil, my coach put me in a show. However, I wouldn't be riding against my other class mates. This time I'll be against able-bodied riders. Since it was my first large show, I didn't get my hopes up of bringing any ribbons home. I was just excited to be in the show. After the hour long show consisting of equitation which is a test of the amount of time it takes you to get your horse to respond to you. All the riders go into the ring at once and someone calls out instructions and you do it at a seconds notice. The second show was Dressage which is a pre-practiced pattern done by all riders. After both shows I was exhausted and still wasn't expecting much. Much to everyone's surprise that day I came in first, beating out the people had less physical limitations than me. I looked back at my parents, realizing the whole ring was applauding me. I sure did a lot of gloating when I got home. Flash forward a few years, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. At the young age of 18, I underwent a double hip reconstruction surgery which included work on my knee. The surgery itself lasted 6 hours and I was a Holland Bloorveiw Children's Rehabilitation Hospital for 5 months. The stay itself was isolating away from friends who were moving on, moving out and going to University. Worst of all, I was unable to horseback ride as horseback riding comes from the hips. Most people think you control your horse using your reins, but the horse listens to the riders' change of positioning and shifting of your weight around. It took me a full year later to literally get back on the horse. It was one of the happiest moment of my life. By that point, I was still having problems with my hips and not recovering well and I was beginning to give up hope on riding again. Getting back on diminished the fears and although I was unable to stay on for long, I did it. It took another full year to be able to stay on for the full lesson and I still have bad days. But riding overall greatly improved the speed of my healing process both on a physical and emotional level, as it gave me an intense workout and gave me new hope not to mention the emotional bond I have with my horse. Over the 10 years I have been riding I have learned many lessons, and gained confidence and pride. Before I started horseback riding I thought of myself as the girl that was in a wheelchair but could not wheel it, and the girl that loved to run but could barely stand. Now I am the woman that stands tall just on someone else's feet.