Thank you very much for participating in the Biopage Storytelling Writing Contest! The results are now available on the contest webpage: https://www.biopage.com/contest It was a very difficult decision to make! We received many high-quality essays from around the world, it was so difficult to pick the winners. We have “Children of war” from Shobana and “Peace is priceless” from David to reflect the ongoing wars in the world. We have “Where there is will, there is a way” from Shreya, “The warmth of the garden” from Brandon, and “Is it me?” from Emilia to describe their experience with mental disorders. We have “Gifts of December” from Lily about the lighter note of life. And we have “Seed of greatness” from Stephene about hope and growth in poetry! The winners will receive separate emails regarding award certificates and prizes. We are sorry that most of you will be disappointed; but remember you are all winners! Many participants appreciated the contest as an opportunity to stay away from the noisy social media, to really start writing again to express themselves and to tell stories. Please keep in mind that this is a recurrent contest; you are welcome to write another story and submit again! Please continue to stay in the community of Biopage, using the website or more conveniently the iOS app or Android app to continue to write, and to stay in touch with your friends and other writers. If you use the iOS app or Android app, please rate and write a review at the App Store or Google Play. We are giving out an Amazon gift card to each user who wrote a review about Biopage at the App Store. Please email firstname.lastname@example.org with your App Store or Google Play ID name and a screenshot of the review, and the gift card may arrive in 2 weeks. A certificate of participation of the writing contest will be available upon request by email. Thank you and happy writing! The Biopage Writing Contest Committee
When you are the sun, I am the moon. The space is our stage, Our audience is the Earth. Where you are the heroine, And I am the hero. You are the source that illuminates me, Without you, I am nothing more than a normal rock. I may be closer to our audience, But without you, they cannot exist. As we dance around the earth, It gets emotional and cries like a child, creating the oceans. The oceans also have their highs and lows because of us. Sometimes the Earth gets jealous of us, And comes between us, Which makes me angry and makes me turn red. Our audience will see my different phases As I revolve around them and While they revolve around you.
It was the first of October. Some would say its just a new paper to flip through a calendar. Was it? My lips curved before I could stop myself. For the first time, I didn't regret waking up to see another day. *** 5 years ago I picked up a smooth, flat pebble from the edge of the greenish lake and studied its weight in my hand before launching it into the water. The surface broke beneath its impact, sending ripples out in all directions. As I watched, the ripples grew weaker and eventually disappeared. Suddenly, I wanted that pebble back. But I knew even if I got it back, I would still toss my favorite pebble into the lake again, just to see how far it could go compared to the others. As I sighed, I couldn't help but think about how small and insignificant one thing could seem in comparison to everything else in life. "Why are you always so reckless?" my mama would say. I silently laughed over the irony; Mama never used to be independent, but made it look like I was the one who made her lose everything. Did I? I looked down at the distorted blurry reflection of me on the surface of the frozen water. Ah, I wonder what it would feel like to be frozen in time like this lake... I closed my eyes, momentarily reveling in the winter air, yearning for a well-deserved nap. And then, the silence shattered. A distant sobbing reached my ears, cutting through the tranquillity like a blade. Panicked, my eyes snapped open. The source eluded my vision, but the cries continued with —aching bones and…and need for help…. There was blood on my hands. Everywhere. Was it mine? A bird called. Bird sounds? I looked down, there was no blood on my hands. Was I hallucinating again? I am going crazy. The sound of tears falling onto the lake water made me realise this was reality again. The girl was crying at the lake? I hadn't even bothered to check the banks. Then there she was. Her eyes were filled with tears and red and puffy, but oh god. Perhaps she was both the moon, the sun and the stars. Because it seems my eyes were lying to me. A few watery hiccups broke my trance, or disturbing astonishment at her beauty. Should I really approach her..? Will I seem like a prat for ruining her crying session? Will she get angry and throw a rock at me for being nosy? I went behind her quietly and lightly tapped her shoulder. “Hey,” I paused awkwardly. Suddenly I got alarmed as she became still, like a statue that has been caught moving. This is why I should not be in the place of comforting a person, no matter how bad I feel for her. The uncertainty faded as determination settled in. If I risked a rock to the face, so be it. "uh…" I gestured toward her tears, avoiding direct eye contact. "Are you crying?" Never mind. I should get thrown in the lake instead of a rock thrown at my face. She didn't say anything but wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, so I gave her a few minutes. Eventually, she cleared her throat and mumbled, “No, I am sorry. You must have been resting here and I...." She hiccuped. "..definitely ruined your time.” I looked at her in disbelief. She was worried about me being annoyed rather than being mad at me for being nosy? "I'm really sorry," her voice broke on the last word. "Why are you sorry?" The words escaped my lips abruptly. She blinked once, bemused. "For ruining your time." Shaking my head, I dismissed her apology. "You didn't, so stop saying sorry." She was so nice, that I was considering every one of my moments on earth, that it was even justified. "That's good then." A vague response, but given the circumstances, it sufficed. "Did something happen, though? Rant to me if you want. Actually you know, you should. You will find a boy like me once in a hundred years just like a comet, who will want to listen to someone's rant beside a lake like this. " I offered a half-smile and a thumbs-up. It had been 60 seconds, and she just stared at me. At this point, I can hear crows cawing in the background and the sound of water dripping awkwardly. I…didn't say anything wrong did I? “uhm, I meant that I am just really busy that's all…” To my astonishment, she burst out laughing. The sight of her laughing made me laugh too. “You're really…” She gasped between her violent laughs, “funny. Yeah, really funny. Please be my friend, a random boy who comes once in a hundred years.” It was the first of October when I met her.
I always believed it was easier to be a villain than a hero. “Everything is simple, you fight only for yourself, not for others like a hero”. But it was not as simple as I thought. When I was in school many years ago, everyone in my class was “villain”, including me. We all studied to get better grades ourselves. We didn't help each other, we didn't even explain if one of us didn't understand, except one girl. There was the most intelligent girl in our class. She was shy, quiet and a bit mysterious. Everyone used her to raise their grades. They pretended to be her friends. However, they were fake friends like birds which flies when winter comes. One day I also decided to use her. Not to raise my grade, but to lower other classmates' grades through the essays we wrote and gave to the teacher for checking. Teacher believed her and gave this essays her for checking instead. I pretened to help her like others did. At that time, I talked with her alone for the first time. To be honest, she was different than I knew. Cheerful, kind and most importantly, sincere. She talked about her interest in drawing and what kind of pictures she drew. At this time, I wanted to distract her and achieve my goal. I hesitated, though. I felt fear and distemper inside. In order to be evil, one should not be a coward, but on the contrary, one should be brave, cold and strong. But at the same time, it took courage and strength not to be evil. These were different things that were similar to each other. And I became stronger, not to be villain. On my opinion, being the villain in someone's life isn't as cool as we watched movies. When someone becomes evil, he or she does evil to himself or herself first.
On Sunday I got on a bus. It was a day off, everyone was crowding and pushing. The fare costs five pesos, and in front of me a woman was fiddling with a ten-peso coin. Either they couldn't give her change, or she herself wanted to find exactly five pesos, God knows. I told her, "Excuse me, let me give you my five-peso coin, and you pay ten for the two of us." She looked at me with wide eyes, " What do you mean I should pay for the two of us?! Pay for yourself!" I said, "Well, I'll give you five pesos." She frowned, "I don't need anything, I'll only pay for myself. You young people have become completely insolent." Those who heard this twirled their fingers at their temples, someone muttered under his breath about “stupid women”, but in the end everyone sat down, and the lady somehow sorted out the fare herself. The bus was on the way, I was looking out the window and listening to music. Suddenly someone touched me on the shoulder. I turned around - the same ten-peso woman was standing in front of me. I expected anything, but not what she said. “Excuse me, miss. I only now realized what you were suggesting. It was a hard week, I didn't rest at the weekend, so I became dull. Sorry. I wish that hadn't happened.” This is how a funny story about a “stupid woman” ended up as a story about a tired woman who does not forget to take responsibility for her behavior. Mistakes don't matter. What matters is that you deal with their consequences.
Little teacher Station. My all exams finished and I was waiting for bus. At that time sudden, I saw little, so pretty, sympathetic, clean and stylishly dressed a boy. He is about 4 or 5 years old. He used to collect garbage around the sidewalk so take it to special conteniars. I was watching the clever boy during a few time. This Street crowded, in this case lot of people look at the boy and shying for casting own garbage to walkway. They watched the boy a fewer time and blush from own behavior. I also watched the position so thought about doing goodness for enviroment. The goodness absolutely return to our life, even will influence to future. Definitely, being decent isn't depend on to age or format of humans. Those only depend on a person's soul and behavior. I figure out, the boy teach me that lesson, besides stayed at my mind as little teacher.
I wonder when people say that, time is uncontrollable, and they even can not manage the time that they are given, c'mon it's not impossible, i would like to open some secrets of time and try to take you to the world of time! Last year I experienced a lack of time as an student, because i always had a hectic schedule. I worked as a teacher, studied two subjects, did my household chores, and sometimes cooked. When i realised that it's too much for me i decided to take a break. Unfortunately to my utter surprise my break was pointless. It didn't matter how long i took a break: 1 month,2 monthes i always get tired of everything without doing anything. It continuesly lead me to the deepest bottom of depression. No matter what i tried I've always been in the same mood, always tired, and alwas with my so-called friends “eye bags”. I thought that it will end by the time goes, but i didn't even realised how badly i was wrong. Time didn't cure our wounds it didn't find a solution to our problems, you know what it does actually? It just make us to lose our passion for our wounds and problems if we didn't take any action.You can think it's positive, but no it could turn us to the hopeless human. Only dead people have no problems, only them. Remember we are, and you are alive! And you have millions of chances, choices, desires and everything you what. To achieve this you should just clean your mind! So easy right? We should end the war inside us. So this is my story how i managed to control the time. As i said before i was in depression, i don't know how was it, what it was like but i can describe it in one word “hopeless”. Suddenly i relised that nothing is forever! I made up my mind, i indoctrinated that i should move on. My first subject was math. I hated it really. But it helped me to calculate my chance. In one day i had 1440 minutes. I managed it, i controlled it, i manipulated my time. You know, that every single thing depends on our mind. I said that it would take only 1 hour(60 minutes) to do mathematics, and it worked, then allocated 3 hours(180 minutes) for the new theme, it worked! My second subject was English, 2 hours (120 minutes)for homework, and 2 hours(120 minutes) for new theme. I spend 8 hours(480 minutes) to study in a one day. I worked as a second teacher, and it took only 1 hour(60 minutes) of my day. To be precise i woke up at 7 a.m did my 8 hours- longed(480 minutes) study, ended at 3p.m then i had extra 3 hours(180 minutes) for doing other things, from 6p.m till 7 p.m i went to my job, i had 3 hours (180 minutes)to relax, and at 10 p.m i slept. Can you image i did everything! Everything that seemed to be impossible for me, even with this hectic schedule i found extra 6 hours(360 minutes) to do the other non-important things. You can say that you have a busier schedule, but you can control it! Everything has a simple solution. Just made up your mind! Come on you can do it! It's your demons that are telling you to stop! Don't listen them, do the thing that you desire! I used to listen that time is ruthless. No it's not! Time is in your hands, no one can steal it from you, only you are the real owner of it, you can manage it, manipulate it and you can steal it from yourself. So forgive time forgive yourself for no acting, and start doing what you want, just find a single minute for it, to escape a regret! With respect: Dilorom
Writing about trauma isn't complete without the process of healing. The two go hand in hand together.-- That was the first thing my professor told us when we entered class that day. He sat us down with drinks and pizza. Explaining our midterms paper was writing about trauma. He told us to think about what tone we would like to write in, what message we would like to convey and reminded us that writing trauma should be a healing process. Not something that would agitate the wound and drive you into further misery. When I started writing my piece, I didn't know how to start. I started talking about every grievance I had with my teachers in high school that I remembered. The memories started flooding in and before I realized it, I had five instances where I was let down by my previous teachers. But what exactly was I writing about? What message did I want to tell my audience? Why did these memories resurface so easily? So, I kept writing. I kept writing and let the words dance through my fingertips as I found my way out of the forest of trauma. I didn't vent, but recalled the moments and explored my feelings about the matter. I ask myself, why do I write, and what would I like to say? The more I write, the more I can see patterns of what those memories were trying to say. They all had a common theme of being underestimated and given up by my teachers and that I started feeling the need to prove myself to others. That led to my other conditions such as feelings of constant anxiety, and rumination. It made me realize that I was feeling ashamed of myself because I was conditioned to be ashamed by my former educators. Because of that one simple exam, I started to untangle myself from the negative thoughts that constantly pervaded my mind. My soul cried for my younger self as I typed each word, screaming for justice for the undeserved self-hate I placed on myself. But what was more magical is beyond the trauma I have started to untangle within myself, I was able to understand the perspective of my former educators too. And it gave me the heart to forgive them. I grew up hating and treating myself harshly without knowing the reason why. What more when I have to put my own feet in another person's shoes? How can I understand them when I don't even understand myself? I thank my professor for showing me the healing process of writing. He's a wonderful professor I was blessed to have. Through his activities, I realized that there are many things that we do not understand. Simple things that we know by theory but not by heart. It takes a while to explore our ideas and fully integrate lessons, empathy, and compassion into our perspectives. Writing is a way for me to connect to the parts of myself that I didn't know deep inside. To the tiny voices in my head that are dying to speak of the injustice they felt and the kindness and empathy waiting when you finally acknowledge. It is a beautiful inner art within people that often goes unnoticed.
Screech! The door of the school bus screeched open with hesitation. “Ain't be the time they get rid of this hunk of junk,” the driver muttered under his breath. I wasn't in the mood. With heavy steps, I trudged toward the bright red door of our apartment, which now seemed oh so far, lugging my backpack that now felt like steel. It felt like an eternity before I rested my finger on the doorbell, and I wiggled my feet free from my shoes which are now overly tight and experiencing a huge growth spurt. Ding dong! The footsteps could be heard in the distance, getting louder and louder by the second. “Welcome back, Isabelle! How was school today?” Bad was the only word I could mumble out, and plopped onto my bed lifelessly. “What's wrong sweetie? Want a snack? Noodles perhaps?” I nodded and started sobbing. “Today was horrible. My teacher talked about climate change, a problem happening in our world. It's so sad how animals, plants, and even people are suffering.” I couldn't help it. Tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably and stained the white mattress drop by drop. “I want to free all the animals caught from the ocean, I want to stop hunting, I want to stop people from polluting the sky and the sea and on land.” “That's a great goal to work on,” Mom replied, brushing my bangs aside with one hand. She left the room and came back with my favorite dish, carbonara. I remember slurping the noodles, savoring the scrumptious taste, all while sniffling at the thought of climate change --- a bittersweet moment. Mom must have thought I was a weird child. I mean, she would have wondered where I got the genes of being overly sensitive. Not her. Looking back, I was a funky, but passionate, person. Since I was young, I cared a lot about climate change. I cared about the innocent animals and plants that suffer from our problems, and the health of us humans. You'd think, how is a kid going to save a world crisis? And you're right, how would I? It's true, that maybe I won't succeed in solving climate change, but I can make a difference, and so can you. Just because I'm now a twelve-year-old kid in middle school, doesn't mean I don't have a voice to tell the world what I think. Greta Thumberg is someone who I look up to. As of now, she is a strong, 21-year-old woman who is an environmental activist striving against climate change. However, she, too started taking action at the young age of 11 through a growing passion discovered in elementary school. My message is that anybody and everybody can take part in solving global issues, and that's when impossible missions seem possible. I don't know when things will turn around, but I am sure that if we change our actions, work together, and develop healthy habits, we will have a better Earth. The next generations will live in harmony, and our planet will be clean and healthy. In conclusion, we are all capable of making a difference, no matter how small our actions might seem. In the future humans will grow as a whole, serving their duty to act for a better planet. A clean, safe, and stunning planet. No matter how we look, or how we act, we still must strive for a future for generations to come. You and I, we are friends, mates who will accompany us on this thrilling journey.
When I was a child, in Guadeloupe, December 1st marked the beginning of a time of guaranteed pleasures. All I had to do was sit comfortably on the backseat of Mama's car while she was driving through the countryside and my ears would receive a full feast. All over the island—as early as I can remember—people had been organizing Christmas parties (Chanté Nwèl) where they shared seasonal specialties and formed informal choirs to sing the local, traditional carols. Driving with the windows down would allow the wind to share with us the songs it had been carrying on its back, in a succession of fade-ins and fade-outs; building anticipation for the parties we too were to attend during the season. Walking around in any community meant that, as you passed a kitchen window, you would hear the clanking of spoons and ladles on big cast iron pots filled with white yams, stewed pigeon peas or the most flavorful fried pork ragout—with the subtle, rounding touch of a bay rum tree leaf. If you were lucky, you would catch the process of boudin making. If luckier, you would not miss the mixing of spices—women would chop Caribbean chives, parsley, garlic, fresh thyme and chili and fried it all very slowly, until all the aromas were released and danced in the air. I was particularly fond of Christmas decorations, especially the lights. People would hang garlands upon garlands on filaos wherever they could find them. Sometimes, we did wish for snow—It was all over television. Could you really blame us? However, the contrast of winter themed decorations on a lush, green background was always a win. The colorful and vibrant illuminations of December rivaled poetically with the plainly beautiful lights for our Dead, just the month before. It was a time of milder weather, when the aggression of the heat had retreated and allowed the trade winds to hug our skins like fluffy cotton shawls. Sure… all of that was wonderful. But my true source of happiness was to be found on Saturday afternoons when we went deep in the countryside to visit my grandparents. They lived in a small, very traditional, wooden Guadeloupean house surrounded by an entire community of people committed to life in togetherness. “Manman, can we go get them now?” Oh, my mother knew what I was referring to. I had not stopped blabbering about it on the entire trip to Nana and Grandpa. Of course, she said yes. Asking was just a formality anyway; it was merely so she would know where to look if we had to go. I would grab my little sister's hand and we would run down the tuft road to first say hello to our great-aunt, Nana's sister. In her home, the radio was always playing biguine. It was quite dark inside as the house was surrounded by fruit trees, which protected it from the hardest bites of the sun. “Hello, Aunt Lena.” A step or two of the biguine to mimic the old people's ways and make my great-aunt laugh and it was time to go. We would then rush back to Nana's house and say hello to Ma' Nò, on the other side of the road. Year-round, she had fat pomegranates hanging from a slim and short tree and she would always give us one to share. “Thank you, Ma' Nò!” Then we would run along the side of her house, pushing the tall grass, jumping over a tiny little stream to find ourselves on a small country road; and just 50 feet down stood heaven in the form of a jujube tree. The sight of the first leaf indicated the start of the hunt for the perfect fruits. I wanted them as soon as they had turned yellow—not completely—a bit of green was particularly desirable. This was the promise of sweetness, juice and just the right amount of tartness. Imagine sinking your teeth… Careful! Not too fast, not too hard. It is quite easy to hurt oneself. The stone in the middle is hard as a rock. Instead, allow your teeth to pierce the crisp skin and to feel the Granny Smith-like crispiness underneath, together with the first drops of sweet juice. Close your eyes—it only intensifies the experience. Bite off a piece of crunchy flesh and enjoy the transition of the texture, from a crackling sweet and sour battle to a mucilaginous puree with the taste of what happens when an apple tree has fallen in love with the tropical sun and founded a family of fun-size fruits of heaven. An occasional really yellow one was a special treasure—a burst of sweetness, less firmness, more chew; even more perfect when it preceded a barely ripe, mostly green one that would make saliva rush to your mouth with its amazing sharpness. Paradise, I say. Pleasure in abundance! If we were lucky, and not trapped in a hungry trance, we would bring a fistful back to the house so that others could partake in the deliciousness, the precious gift of nature that was sirèt season. -----  traditionally a blood sausage  horsetail she-oak  Mommy  19th century music from Guadeloupe and Martinique  jujube
First of all i want to explain my language of love and my view on it.\n\nLove? What is love? How we fall in love? And why we desire our feelings to be mutual. Struggling, shattering and suffering? So why we choose these ways while we can just live and breath. Isn't it enough for us?\n\nPeople choose love but i choose war! Why? Because it's more interesting it's more appealing. We choose war instead of living a peaceful life or just be loved by someone who is in love with us. Why most of the girls love \u201cbad guys\u201d? Isn't it dangerous? Why we choose it and choose a war inside us? You know what, girls always want someone who is stronger, caring, and introverted one who has only one or two friends. We want boys to be obsessed. We want to manipulate, we want obsession, we want psychic love. Is it so difficult? This is war, war between eyes between hearts. Jealousy is the most sweetest feeling and the most fatal feeling at the same time. It was the main cause for the most of the couples. In relationship boys must be a dominant, and they must experience a posessive jealous. It makes girls happier and help and them to understand that they are important and an only one for them.\n\nThis is ok, but how can we deal with the words of Pushkin \253\u043c\u044b \u043b\u044e\u0431\u0438\u043c \u0442\u0435\u0445 \u043a\u0442\u043e \u043d\u0430\u0441 \u043d\u0435 \u043b\u044e\u0431\u0438\u0442 \u043c\u044b \u0433\u0443\u0431\u0438\u043c \u0442\u0435\u0445 \u043a\u0442\u043e \u0432 \u043d\u0430\u0441 \u0432\u043b\u044e\u0431\u043b\u0435\u043d\273 which means \u201c we love people who don't love us, we destroy people who are in love with us\u201d . Is this a rule of love? Why always it is the same? Why we can just fall in love who is already in love with us? Why we want an admit of someone who can' t see our beauty our secrets and our demons?
The universe, an enigmatic expanse of cosmic wonders, has captivated human curiosity for centuries. As we gaze into the night sky, we are confronted with a tapestry of stars, galaxies, and celestial phenomena that defy comprehension. Among these cosmic wonders, black holes stand out as some of the most intriguing and mysterious entities in the cosmos. In this exploration, we embark on a journey through the vastness of the universe, delving into the mysteries of black holes and their profound impact on our understanding of space, time, and the nature of reality. The Cosmic Canvas: Universe's Splendid Tapestry The Celestial Ballet of Stars The universe, with its grandeur and complexity, is a canvas painted with the celestial ballet of stars. Billions of galaxies, each composed of billions of stars, adorn the cosmic tapestry. Their brilliance illuminates the cosmic darkness, creating a spectacle that has inspired poets, philosophers, and scientists throughout the ages. The dynamics of these galaxies, governed by the fundamental forces of the cosmos, orchestrate the symphony of the universe. Nebulae: Cosmic Nurseries In the vastness of space, nebulae emerge as cosmic nurseries where stars are born. These colossal clouds of gas and dust serve as the incubators of stellar life, where gravitational forces sculpt and mold the raw materials into luminous spheres that will burn for millions or even billions of years. Nebulae showcase the cosmic creativity at play, shaping the evolution of galaxies and influencing the destiny of the universe itself. Cosmic Expansion: The Unfolding Drama The universe is not static; it is a dynamic entity in a perpetual state of expansion. The concept of cosmic expansion, initially proposed by Edwin Hubble, revolutionized our understanding of the universe's evolution. As galaxies drift apart, the fabric of space-time stretches, revealing a narrative of cosmic proportions. This expansion is not only a testament to the universe's past but also a harbinger of its future, raising questions about the ultimate fate of our cosmic home. Black Holes: The Cosmic Enigmas The Gravitational Abyss Amidst the celestial splendors, black holes lurk as cosmic enigmas, challenging our fundamental understanding of space and time. These gravitational behemoths, born from the cataclysmic deaths of massive stars, possess an irresistible force that defies escape—the event horizon. Once an object crosses this boundary, it succumbs to the relentless pull of gravity, disappearing into the cosmic abyss. Singularity: The Heart of Darkness At the core of a black hole lies the singularity—a point of infinite density where the laws of physics break down. The singularity is shrouded in mystery, representing a realm where our current understanding of the universe reaches its limits. Concepts such as space and time lose their conventional meaning, giving rise to a cosmic conundrum that beckons scientists to unravel the secrets hidden within. Hawking Radiation: Quantum Whispers Stephen Hawking's groundbreaking work introduced the concept of Hawking radiation, challenging the traditional idea that black holes are insatiable devourers of matter and energy. This quantum phenomenon suggests that, contrary to their ominous reputation, black holes can emit radiation and gradually lose mass over time. Hawking radiation adds a layer of complexity to the black hole narrative, blending the classical and quantum realms in a cosmic dance of paradoxes. Bridging the Cosmic Scales Relativity: Einstein's Cosmic Symphony Albert Einstein's theory of relativity laid the foundation for our modern understanding of gravity and space-time. General relativity, in particular, provides a framework to comprehend the gravitational forces shaping the universe. The interplay between matter and space-time curvature elucidates the cosmic choreography, allowing us to decipher the intricate movements of celestial bodies and the subtle bending of light as it traverses the cosmic expanse. In our cosmic odyssey through the universe and the profound mysteries of black holes, we find ourselves at the crossroads of awe and understanding. The celestial tapestry, woven with the brilliance of stars, the grandeur of galaxies, and the enigma of black holes, beckons us to contemplate the intricate dance of cosmic forces that shape the cosmos.
When I was in the tenth grade, I decided to take five extra classes on top of my school classes, totaling to a whopping nine classes in one semester, as opposed to the usual four. I was drowning. I was caught in a torrent of assignments and essays and tests and quizzes, and I was drowning. Nobody seemed to notice my slow descent into exhaustion. I kept going, and going, and going, because there was nothing else I could do. When I was in the tenth grade, I decided to join the fall play. Most of my friends were in theatre. My best friend was in theatre. I probably wouldn't like it, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. I was right. I didn't like it. I loved it. I stepped on that stage, and suddenly I could breathe. I had broken out of the water, there was a glorious burn of oxygen in my lungs, and I could breathe. I wasn't me. I wasn't an overburdened, exhausted, burn-out of a kid. I was just another character. It was freeing. I loved it. I had such a small role, but nothing could ever compare to the exhilarating feeling of being on stage. Of being up there, being someone other than myself, someone who could just discard their problems like a heavy jacket. I was no longer drowning. I was treading water. Someone had given me their hand and pulled me out of that frigid riptide. I was no longer drowning. I took comfort in the fact that it wasn't me, on that stage. It was a butcher, or a driver, or a dancer, or whatever I needed to be in that moment. And I took comfort in the fact that no matter how the audience hated me, it wasn't me that they hated. It was hard work, and for all intents and purposes I should have been even more tired. But every time I stepped on that stage, I was invigorated. It was like a shelter in a downpour. In all honesty, theatre saved me. I found it easier to complete the rest of my assignments. I didn't find day-to-day life to be such a chore. I was freer, and happier, than I had been in a long, long time. The minute I stepped on that stage, and the water cleared out of my lungs, I knew this was what I was going to be doing for the rest of my life.
June of 2022. So far, I got an IELTS to get privielege from English subject and focused on studying the newly added subject of law for the entrance exams to the Tashkent State University of Law. I clearly remember the times that I read a law book for eight hours from morning till night without even going to school. This went on until January, and by January I had almost finished the books like 20 times. At that times I got very deep know to win against the law students of our whole region. I've won all the money from block tests, all the prizes, and some education centres even rejected me, just because I've been taking all the money. It was a wonderful times. And then June came. It was very difficult to study in the heat, it was very difficult to not sleep in the afternoon, but I did not stop, because there was very little time left until August. The exam was supposed to be on August 15th. On the night of July 28th, I remember very precisely, I was walking into the next room after my native language class and I heard a girl saying: "Exam dates have been announced, August 1st!!!!" And I was shocked when I heard that. I came home quickly. When I got home, I started planning for the next four days. I'll give you an idea of how hard I studied in those four days -- four days of reviewing the 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th grade law textbooks, the Constitution, the 6th, 7th, 8th, 10th grade history of Uzbekistan, and 10 block tests. So imagine that I did a 15-day plan in just four days. And finally, the long-awaited day that I never thought would be so tragic for me finally arrived. I was so excited about the test building that I felt 100% confident that I had the maximum knowledge to pass the test. As I walked into the building, I felt more confident and took a big step. The tests were distributed, and I had two hours. I opened the textbook, and I did my first law exam. And I was so happy to open it, because it was so easy to do the law test, and I could do it in just eight minutes. And the joy of doing compulsory subjects has stayed with me. But as soon as I opened the math compulsory block, all of a sudden the excitement was gone. I struggled to answer those three questions, and I was about to give up, but then I remembered the difficulties I had faced during my matriculation, and I felt that those three questions were nothing. Again, with the fire in my eyes, I was thinking logically, drawing, and working on the questions that I couldn't get out of math. I was so excited, I thought it was going to be at least 187.9, score, so I started copying the answers from textbook to the actual title.There was very little time left to copy, I had to copy two questions per minute. I got it right on time. I was so excited about the fact that I could now compare my transcript to my transcript and shout it out loud when I got out, that I took my transcript and compared it to my transcript. And I looked question 41, which was a B in my test book and an A in the title. I couldn't believe my eyes and I checked it three times. It was as if ice water had been poured on the fire in my eyes.I quickly handed the title to the controller, and a minute ago, the boy who was thinking about shouting loudly could not even make a little sound. I've gotten to the point where I don't want to step out of the binomial that I've stepped into. I felt like a celebrity when I walked out, because there were so many people who knew me and wanted to know if I had scored 189 score or not. Unfortunately, I had misplaced the question, which was worth 3.1 points, in the exact title, and I couldn't fix it, and no one would listen to me. Imagine, from January to August, I never scored less than 186 to 189 on any of the block tests, but I may have mistaken the easy test two or three times over the block test. I don't regret making mistakes because of my lack of knowledge, but I'm hurt that I made mistakes when I had access to the grant with my knowledge. So I was recommended to TDYU as a contract student. My family felt sorry for my work, but they encouraged me, believing that there was some wisdom in it ... .
In the heart of Sunflower Valley, a picturesque town surrounded by rolling meadows and sun-kissed hills, lived a woman named Grace. She was known for her radiant spirit and unwavering kindness that bloomed like the vibrant flowers in her garden.Grace's life took an unexpected turn when she faced a daunting health diagnosis. Undeterred, she decided to transform her adversity into a garden of benevolent seeds. Inspired by her love for gardening and a desire to spread positivity, Grace embarked on a mission to cultivate a field of sunflowers that would symbolize hope and resilience.The townspeople, captivated by Grace's vision, joined hands to support her endeavor. Together, they cleared a piece of land and planted sunflower seeds with the same care and tenderness that Grace had shown them throughout the years. As the sunflowers began to grow, so did a sense of community and shared purpose.Sunflower Valley became a haven of compassion and encouragement. Neighbors checked in on one another, shared meals, and offered words of comfort. The once mundane act of tending to the sunflowers became a communal ritual, a reminder that beauty could arise even in the face of life's storms.Word of Sunflower Valley's transformation spread far and wide. One day, a renowned artist named Isabella visited the town, drawn by the stories of the radiant sunflower fields. Inspired by the resilience she witnessed, Isabella proposed a collaboration to create an art installation that would capture the essence of Sunflower Valley.Together, Grace and Isabella worked tirelessly to bring their vision to life. The art installation, named "Blossoms of Resilience," featured a breathtaking display of sunflowers arranged in a mesmerizing pattern that mirrored the interconnectedness of the community. The installation became a symbol of hope, not only for Sunflower Valley but for anyone facing adversity.As news of "Blossoms of Resilience" spread, it garnered attention from art enthusiasts, and the installation went on tour, visiting cities across the country. Grace's story and the transformative power of the sunflower fields resonated with people from all walks of life, inspiring them to plant their seeds of benevolence and cultivate resilience in their own communities.In the midst of the tour, something remarkable happened. Sunflower Valley became a pilgrimage site for those seeking solace and inspiration. Visitors from around the world flocked to the town, not only to admire the art installation but to experience the warmth and unity that permeated every corner of Sunflower Valley.Grace's health journey took an unexpected turn as well. Surrounded by the love and support of her community, she found a renewed strength within herself. The sunflowers, once planted as symbols of hope, now stood tall as witnesses to the transformative power of collective kindness.As the years unfolded, Sunflower Valley continued to blossom. The sunflower fields became a permanent fixture, and the town thrived as a beacon of resilience and community spirit. Grace's garden of benevolent seeds had not only healed her but had also sown the seeds of kindness and hope that flourished for generations to come.