Every second, I miss my childhood. Those days were the purest and sweetest moments of my life. Especially, the moments spent with my father – they are the most precious treasures engraved in my memory. Every father loves his child, but my father gave me more love than I could ever ask for. Perhaps that is why I have never envied anyone else's parents. I was born in a small, remote place. My family was not wealthy, yet my parents never let me feel the burden of financial struggles. From kindergarten to university, they always invested in my education. They never had the chance to study at a university, but life itself had taught them many valuable lessons. Maybe that's why, despite all the hardships, they provided me with every opportunity to pursue my dreams. I still remember the "Best Girls" contest at my kindergarten. My mother took me to a beauty salon, dressed me in the most beautiful dress she could find, and made sure I had the best breakfast before sending me off. My father, as always, was my biggest supporter. That day, I did not win first place. But my father, not wanting to see me disappointed, asked the organizers to add an extra nomination so that I wouldn't feel left out. That's how I received the title of “The Most Graceful Girl”. At that time, it seemed like a small victory, but now I understand that the real treasure was not the award itself, but the love and support of my parents. My father didn't just give me love; he also taught me life lessons. There was a contest where I had to cook a dish. My father sat with me and patiently taught me how to make the perfect samsa (a traditional pastry). I thought he was preparing me for a competition, but in reality, he was preparing me for life. My mother, on the other hand, introduced me to the world of music. When she took me to my first piano class, she saw the excitement in my eyes. Years later, when my teacher selected me to represent our country in an international music competition, my mother's joy was boundless. As I boarded the plane to Baku for the contest, my parents proudly said, "Our daughter is flying on a plane for the first time! Our daughter is traveling to another country!". When I returned, they welcomed me at the airport with open arms, and at that moment, I realized: home is not a place, it's the warmth of the people who love you. Since childhood, I have been struggling with strabismus. In school, on the streets, even in extracurricular activities, my peers sometimes laughed at me. At first, I ignored it. But as time passed, it started to eat away at me. One day, I came home crying and asked my mother: "Why did you give birth to me?" I saw my mother's heart break in that instant. She had fought for me since the day I was born, staying up countless nights to take care of me, ensuring that I had a chance to live. We visited doctors, searched for treatments, but most of them simply said, "There is no cure." This struggle distanced me from myself. I isolated myself from society, avoided conversations, and started creating imaginary scenarios in my mind. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to understand myself. I wrote letters that would never be sent, poems that would never be read. I was losing myself. One day, after a long night of tears, I poured my heart out to my father. He hugged me tightly and said: "Suffering is a fate written in your veins. No matter how painful it seems, find joy within it. Let your unhealed wounds bloom with flowers. And always remember, we love you in every way, in every condition. No matter what happens, we will always be by your side. Never think otherwise." Something changed within me after hearing those words. Maybe not in a single day, but over time, I started seeing life differently. Now, I understand – the unconditional love of my parents is the greatest wealth one can ever have. They never expected me to win; they loved me simply because I existed. No matter how old I become, they still see the little girl in me and kiss my forehead with the same tenderness. And now, I know: this is true happiness. This is a miracle given only to the lucky ones. Dear girls, dear people with disabilities, dear souls who criticize themselves too much, You are loved. You are precious. There are people in this world who love you simply for being you. The hardships in our lives are not meant to break us, but to reveal our true strength. Never think you do not belong. Because you are amazing, unique, valuable, and deeply loved. With all my love, Just Bonu.

Aboard the ferry were a monk, a teacher, a bandit, two antique smugglers, a mother and her child, a young couple, and the ferryman's wife. The ferryman's wife laid down a wooden plank as the two smugglers struggled to push their motorbike aboard. The tall smuggler cautioned his plaid-shirted companion: "Careful!" He wasn't talking about the bike but the cloth bundle in his friend's arms—inside was an ancient porcelain vase. As they strained, the plaid-shirted smuggler called for help. The teacher hesitated, but the young man from the couple stepped forward, lifting the fallen bike. Inside, a refined mother and her nine-year-old son sat quietly. When the smugglers positioned the bike, it grazed her leg. She frowned. The tall smuggler apologized, reaching to brush off the dirt. She swatted his hand away. Behind them, the monk spoke to the teacher about Bodhidharma: "When Huike cut off his arm to prove devotion, he pleaded, ‘Master, my mind is troubled.' The great sage replied, ‘Show me this troubled mind.' Huike searched but could not find it. The master then said, ‘See? I have already put your mind at ease.' And with that, Huike was enlightened." The plaid-shirted smuggler, clutching the bundle, sat near the monk—the safest place. The teacher scowled: "You, sir! Why squeeze in here?" The smuggler muttered: "Forgive me, elder. If this vase breaks, my life is ruined." The young man sat close to his girlfriend, his fingers grazing her belly beneath the coat. She stiffened slightly but didn't move. The boat drifted away. The sky darkened. A lone bird flapped toward the mountains. Suddenly, a sharp voice called from shore: "Ferry!" The tall smuggler waved dismissively: "Ignore them." But the ferryman's wife hesitated. A rugged man leaped aboard, splashing water over the monk. The monk flinched: "Amitabha Buddha!" The teacher muttered: "Looks like a bandit." He was. Yet he grinned politely, casually took an oar, and lit a cigarette. He winked at the ferryman's wife: "The sky is neither sunny nor rainy, yet the day has slipped into dusk." She responded vaguely: "What storm brings crows from the mountain?" The bandit laughed: "A wedding. A sixty-year-old groom, a seventeen-year-old bride." The boat fell silent. The little boy, watching the water, suddenly declared: "I see spirit fish!" The plaid-shirted smuggler smirked: "Kid, ask your mom—spirit fish or just carp?" The mother stiffened, pulling her son close. Just then, the boy reached into the smuggler's bundle and slipped his hand into the vase. His mother gasped: "Take your hand out, now!" The boy tried—but his wrist was stuck. Panic spread. The tall smuggler grabbed the vase: "Damn brat! Always causing trouble!" The mother sobbed: "What do we do?!" The ferry reached shore. A cold wind blew. Then—knives flashed. The smugglers pressed their blades against the child. The mother shrieked: "I don't have money!" Desperate, she yanked a ring from her finger. The plaid-shirted smuggler snatched it. The tall one pressed his knife to the boy's throat. A crimson drop formed. The young man clenched his fists. He ripped his own ring from his finger and thrust it at the smugglers: "Take it. Now let the boy go." At that moment, the bandit moved. With a single, fluid motion, he swung his nunchaku—shattering the priceless vase. The mother wept, clutching her son. The smugglers stood in shock. The bandit smirked and leaped onto shore. The teacher murmured: "That man... a hero! A revolutionary!" The ferryman's wife smiled to herself. She knew better. Alone in the dark, he was nothing but danger. The boat emptied. Only the monk remained. The ferryman's wife hesitated: "Master... it's time to disembark." The monk shook his head: "I've changed my mind. Take me back." She sighed: "I don't ferry people back across." The monk chuckled: "That's alright. Once, the great Bodhidharma crossed a river on a single blade of grass." The ferry turned back. Under the rising moon, the river shimmered like glass. A distant temple bell rang. The monk murmured his mantra: "Gate gate, paragate, parasamgate…"

"What?! The lexicon has never sounded so heavy in my listening vessels before this day. It felt both interrogative and exclamatory at the same time - so loud that I still heard the echoes for some seconds after she said that to me. Kadijat, a petite, dark-skinned, 5'7" angel with long hair and four eyes. We had only recently started talking a semester ago, and we were getting along perfectly. So I thought, but I guess I was wrong in the long run. Kadijat didn't occur to me as someone I should cautiously be friends with initially. She seemed accommodating and full of vibes, so I felt free around her as time went on. We would meet at times and have interesting chit-chats about different stuff - school, life, and so on. Although this occurrence was not a regular routine, it still felt beautiful the few times we did have them. One of those beautiful moments was during our Friday cognitive projects. My group had a really tough one that week because, for some reason, the lecturer decided to give us the most tedious topic. I was occupied the entire week trying to fix it alongside Tommy and another girl; I don't recall her name, but she did excellently well on the project. We successfully finished our project before Thursday that week, and I couldn't feel more relieved. I was just going to take a stroll around school before heading home to rest when I saw Kadijat completely immersed in her notebook on the walkway. This was unusual; Kadijat wasn't one to be so serious about schoolwork. “Hello, K! Can you hear me?” I called out again. This time, I guess she heard me, as she turned her head slightly toward my direction. “Hi, dear! What's up?” she said with a weak yet spontaneous voice. She sounded like she was going to collapse at any moment. “I'm good, just taking a stroll,” I responded, still worried about her demeanor. “Are you okay? What's keeping you so busy?” “Oh, it's my project, dear. I'm just so tired right now. My other group members left me to sort it out as the group leader, and I can't help but feel so confused.” “Oh, sorry about that,” I said. “Projects can be so draining when you have the wrong set of people on your team, you know.” I slowly reached for the project topic, which was already written on the paper in her hands. “Is this your topic?” “Hm, you're lucky, you know. I have done a personal project on this before.” “Really?” she asked, her eyes opening wide as if she had just woken up from a nap. “Yeah,” I responded. “Maybe we could sort it out together with my work and then make changes where necessary.” She felt relieved to hear this, as though I had lifted a huge burden off her shoulders. We spent time sorting through the project. It was quite time-consuming, but I didn't notice the time passing as we had both fun and beautiful conversations while working on it. A few hours later, I was seeing her off to her street, from where I would later turn back to reach my own house. I felt tired, but it was worth it. I didn't get to socialize with people every day, so the few times I did were so beautiful to me. Kadijat was absent from school for a while, or let's say she stayed away from school. I noticed that after a friend called my attention to it. So I decided to reach out to her via a phone call. I was eager to know why she was away, and at the same time, excited to share all the school gist I had with her. That was when I heard the word, "What?!" I couldn't respond for a second, still trying to process from where such a cold response emanated. I mean, I had the right person on the line - Kadijat. Yes, she was the one I had, so why this hostility in response? I tried to make excuses for her in my head. Maybe she wasn't in a good mood, I said, but nothing prepared me for the next sentence. "Why are you calling me?" she added. It was at this point I realized she was serious about her tone. I simply told her my reasons for calling, and she felt touched. Me reaching out to check on her was so sweet to hear. But I could barely continue the call; I was lost in thoughts. So I bid her goodbye and ended it. I didn't do that without asking the reason for her tone, though. She based it on the fact that my number wasn't saved initially, so she didn't know it was me, which was even crazier. I had a really busy day at school earlier, but this night was more stressful than the entire day. I had just learnt something invaluable: to stop assuming your place in people's lives. Yeah, you heard me. You never really know what you mean to them until they show you. This was someone I thought of as a friend, it turned out we weren't even acquaintances, lol. Now I have to listen to "Sincerely Benson "so "What?!" do not keep ringing in my head.

A sudden crash jolted me awake. Yells of surprise followed, the sound seemed to have come from the kitchen, perhaps someone broke a plate. I could smell something tempting—fish frying. My belly rumbled in response, I couldn't ignore the lure of that delicious aroma. I slipped out of my makeshift house—the old, dusty store near the family's home. My stealthy steps were silent as I navigated past the garden, careful not to alert the dogs. The clattering of plates being set for dinner can be heard from outside. I settled in front of the kitchen door, a sliver of light slipping through the gap beneath it. The sun had set, and darkness covered everything, except for the comforting glow from the kitchen. As the family enjoyed their meal, I waited, hoping for a crumb or two. Though I wasn't adopted by them, I reside in this family's abandoned store. I'm just a stray—one of the many cats wandering the neighborhood in search of food. My days were spent hunting rats and scavenging garbage bins. When hunting failed, I'd sneak into houses and swipe whatever scraps I could find. Humans almost never greeted me warmly. They can be cruel. All I wanted was to fill my belly but they'd chased me away with brooms and slippers. I learned that leftovers from the kitchen sink would get me in less trouble than the more tempting food on the dining table. Yet, occasionally, the allure of the table's offerings was too strong, and I would risk a snatch. Once, a human caught me stealing a chicken leg. It was smaller than most adults but bigger than the little ones who screamed and chased me. Expecting a slipper to fly my way, I darted out of the house. But when I returned later that evening, I was met with an unexpected kindness. Instead of scolding, it offered me food from a bowl. It was the same food they gave to the dogs. It had a meaty aroma with faint traces of chicken. The dogs in this household lived in luxury, with humans going through the trouble of drying mashed chicken and shaping it into small circles for them. The family had finished eating, and I heard them preparing food for the dogs. The clinking of metal bowls and the sound of kibble being poured made me drool a bit. The kitchen door creaked open, a normal-sized human appeared—it was the mother. It wore its outdoor slippers and its gaze fell on me. Our eyes met briefly before it said sharply, “Why are you here, filthy parasite? Go away!” Its words stung. It's true my actions are considered parasitic as I, a stranger, welcomed myself in this household and live off a family who isn't mine. Yet, being likened to the ticks biting my fur made me pity and disgust myself. I scurried away, hiding behind the old outdoor restroom close enough to the kitchen for its light to reach. After the mother fed the dogs, it glared at me and warned me not to eat the dogs' food. I'm not foolish to try—those dogs were eight times my size. They'd rip me apart if I attempted to steal their food. Rain began to fall, the gentle drizzle prompted the mother to return inside. As the doors closed, I was left in the darkness. I slipped inside the restroom for shelter. The rain quickly picked up, and in the silence, I could only hear the dogs' loud munching and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on the stones. If the rain continued, it would be a cold night. I needed to get back to the shack or risk staying in the restroom till it stops. As I was about to leave, the kitchen door swung open again. A bright light spilled out, and I saw a silhouette, smaller than that of the mother—it was the little human. It had a bowl in its hand. “Oh good, you're still here!” it said with a hint of concern. It crouched down and dumped a small pile of fish bones near me. “Luckily, Mother didn't give these to the dogs,” it said, “I left a bit of meat on mine for you.” Some of the bones had bits of meat, not much, but enough. "Better eat that before the rain pours down," it said, then closed the door. The fish bones lacked the aroma of the cooked fish I had smelled earlier, not even close to the faint scent of the dogs' food. They barely had any meat and weren't very appetizing. But food is food; one must eat whatever they can to avoid starving. With the rain pouring down harder, I quickly gathered the fish bones and dashed back to the shack, each step hurried by the increasing intensity of the storm. Once I had transferred all the fish bones to the shack, I called to wake my young ones. They responded with their tiny voices. I checked on them, licking their fur as they nibbled on their meal. Afterward, I cleaned myself, my fur wet from the rain. The storm grew louder, a heavy downpour that seemed endless. After my little ones had finished their meal, I curled up with them, seeking warmth amidst the pile of old fabrics. The rain continued to rage outside, but we were safe for now. We survived another night, with bellies barely full, huddled together in our small refuge.

When I was ten years old, summer began with unexpected news: my parents sent me to stay with my uncle in the village for a month. I was a little nervous because we had rarely met before and were not close. My uncle greeted me with a smile and a firm handshake. We arrived at his place and a cozy house and a spacious yard with a vegetable garden and a barn were waiting for me. From the first day, I began to help my uncle: we worked in the garden, fed the chickens and took care of the cow. But the most interesting thing is that my uncle had a small apiary, and he decided to teach me beekeeping. The first day at the apiary, I was scared. Bees seemed scary and dangerous to me, and I didn't know how to approach them. But my uncle calmly explained to me that bees are hardworking and wise creatures, and they will not cause harm if they are not disturbed. We put on our protective suits and got to work. My uncle showed me how to properly handle hives, collect honey and take care of bees. One day, when my uncle went to work, I was left alone in the apiary. Suddenly I saw that one of the hives was leaning over and was about to fall. Without hesitation, I hurried to rectify the situation. It was scary, the bees got excited and started spinning. But I remembered my uncle's words that the main thing is not to be afraid and to remain calm. I carefully leveled the hive and calmed the bees. When my uncle returned, he praised me for my bravery and responsibility. This situation taught me an important lesson: fear can be overcome by acting confidently and calmly, and also showed the importance of being ready to help in a difficult situation and take responsibility. These summer days not only taught me new skills, but also helped me become bolder and more confident. When I returned home, I began to look at the world in a different way: I realized that problems are just trials that help us grow and become stronger.

It was sunny and hot. Not just hot, it was extremely hot. Sun was literally roasting me and everything and everyone around me. Well, what else could I expect from Africa? My team and I drove by car, taking our time. We were driving through a local village. Everyone stared at us as if we were aliens. Especially children. I took a pictures of old cracked houses, half-naked toddlers and older kids, which smiled and played despite their suffering. It was so hurting and at the same time fabulous… After a few shots, we stopped. I got the things we brought to the citizens of here out of the trunk. The children started sprinting towards us. I laughed, and gave them toys and candies. Not much later their parents came, and we provided them with fresh water, flour, sugar, milk, first aid-kits and other necessary things. They thanked us, they were delighted, and I took pictures again. Someone even began crying. We were sobbing too. Afterwards, the guys from my team played football with the children. I preferred to take a walk and make some shots. I wandered and wandered until I met a boy, sitting lonely and somehow sad, like the only flower on the field. He was about 5 years old. «Hey, little kid» I said. Fortunately, I was one of those in my team who knew their language. He did not answer. Instead, he looked at me with his big intense eyes, full of pain and simultaneously love. «Do you… do you understand me?» I asked. He nodded. «Why are you not playing with other kids? And… Where are your toys or… candies?.. Wait, did you even get some?». «No» he said quietly. His voice was gentle as little cockle bells. «Where can I get them here?». «Me and my friends made a gift for your people. You didn't know? I thought all people who knew said to entire village». «No. I was here. But I saw that auntie Uzuri, our neighbor, ran in that way. Is it why she ran away?». «I guess». «I see» he said, then he looked far away. «Aren't you sad?». «Should I be sad?» he smiled weakly. «If I were you, I would be». «I am not». «That's good» I was glad. «Weren't you curious why that aunt ran? You did not ask?». «No» he answered sadly. He was silent for a while, then whispered: «My sister is very sick. Now she is sleeping, that is why I decided to go outside and breathe some air». «Pity…». How terrible it was! What was worse, we had nothing to gift them with. I should ask some stuff from my team. Later. Then I recalled something. I had lollipops in my pocket! My little niece gave me them before our fly. Thank you, niece. «Here, take it. It is not much but…» I got out two candies. At that moment, his smile was almost ear-to-ear. He took them with his thin little hands, and said «Thank you!..» He took both candies, and opened them. Then he offered me one. «Take it» he said. «What is it for?» I giggled. «For your kindness». These words melted my heart. He continued holding candy, and I took the picture of this ineffable moment. «Keep it» I said then. «Give it to your sister». I cuddled the most softhearted person I ever met and left him with words «I'll be back soon!» Tomorrow other volunteers came. We… well, I called them because of that one boy. I ran up to his house and said to him «Come on, there are medicines for your sis, water and food». He was over the moon and was jumping for joy. After few days, we travelled to another village and continued volunteering. I still ponder about that boy and his action a lot. As a photographer, I saw a million of things which wondered me, however this time it was something more than just «amazing». Indescribable. He lives in situation not suitable for humans, but did not lost his humanity.

“Do you think it will be worth it?” an anxious Chukwuka asked his sister Adaeze. “I don't know; I sure do hope so," she replied. For almost a decade now, Chukwuka and Adaeze have lived in a run-down apartment in Lagos State, Nigeria, near the border between Nigeria and the Benin Republic. They lost their mother, who had been their primary caretaker since the death of their father. His death left a void in their family, forcing their mother to sell their home and move to a tiny apartment. Unfortunately, their mother contracted HIV after being tested with an infected needle at an underfunded government hospital. Adaeze and Chukwuka spent the little wealth they had caring for their mother, but unfortunately, it was not enough to save her. That all happened eight years ago; now, at 28 and 26, Chukwuka and Adaeze live only with the memory of the family they once had. The death of their father forced them both out of school, and now Chukwukwa is a petty trader earning less than twenty thousand naira a month while Adaeze is unemployed. But there is hope. Amid all this tragedy and despair, hope arrived from an unexpected place. “We are pretty much packing our entire lives and moving in with a stranger,” Chukwuka said, seeming more anxious. “I know this is a less-than-ideal arrangement, but we can't keep on living like this,” Adaeze responded. A man claiming to be their father's brother had reached out to them and offered to take them in. Chukwuka is very skeptical and detests the thought of leaving his home, but Adaeze is open to the idea. The next morning, they begin their five-hour journey to Ado-Ekiti in Ekiti State, where the man resides. Adaeze and Chukwuka opted to take a bus from Lagos to Ogun State, then take another bus from Ogun State to Ekiti. They arrived at the bus station early in the morning and boarded the bus, getting the best seat available under a cool air conditioner. Adaeze quickly fell asleep, leaving a perplexed Chukwuka to think of possible scenarios that could happen. His thoughts were gloomy and dark and always ended with either him or Adaeze being killed. The bus arrived at a station in Ogun State, and Adaeze and Chukwuka boarded their next bus. Chukwuka felt a lot more relaxed, and she found it very easy to fall asleep again. Adaeze too fell asleep. As the bus progressed closer to Ekiti, the driver stepped down along with some other passengers, unknown to the two siblings. A man dressed in black took over the driver's seat and began driving the bus to an unknown location. Adaeze opened her eyes, looked around, and saw the bus was empty and parked in what seemed like a forest. Two men rushed into the bus and began shouting at both Adaeze and Chukwuka to come out. The two siblings were shaking and confused. Chukwuka began lamenting and shouting, “Oh Adaeze, see what you've done. I knew I should have stayed home!” he screamed. Adaeze remained silent, struggling to process what had just happened. The two were escorted to an abandoned building and told that they would be unable to leave. Adaeze, upon hearing this, began to beg the strange men, "Please, sir, let us go; we have nothing; we are poor and can barely feed ourselves." The men looked at her with no empathy and left the room. Chukwuka began shouting at Adaeze, “How could you do this to us?! How could you lead me into following you on this suicidal journey to meet the unknown? We are finished." Adaeze kept silent, deep down, though she knew what he said was true; it was her fault. Two nights had gone by. Adaeze and Chukwuka sat in different corners of the room, silently waiting for their fate. A strange man entered the room. “The boss will be arriving today, then he will decide what to do with you two," he said. That sentence sent chills down Adaeze's spine. “We have to escape,” she said, “There's a hole in the ceiling; if we can jump high enough, we can crawl through the vents and escape”. Adaeze did it first, then Chukwuka reluctantly followed. They crawled for about 10 minutes before they made it out, but they had one problem. They were trapped in a forest. Chukwuka dropped to the floor and lamented, saying, “Where do we go!? We're going to die of starvation; all hope is dead!!”. Adaeze responded, “Get up! We've come too far to give up." Immediately after she said this, a brown Jeep appeared from a hidden path. A white woman named Sophia came down and offered them a ride, saying, “You guys look lost; let me take you to a safer place.” Adaeze knew it would be disastrous to still attempt to find their uncle, so she accepted her offer. Sofia was a 67-year-old adventurer. She was kind enough to take the two siblings in with her. She gave them a home, clothes, food, and water. She also sponsored their education so they could get decent jobs. Despite all the lamenting by Chukwuka, Adaeze was fierce and kept them safe. Chukwuka was wrong; hope was not dead.

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

The darkness began to envelop me. "I flailed around, trying to move my body, but it was heavy as if bound; water filled my lungs gradually, and my breaths disappeared." "Flames clung to my clothes, and my body felt hot, trembling violently with my screams. The fire devoured my limbs and spread through my body as if it possessed it. I was in indescribable pain. I lost consciousness, watching my burning hands while writhing, trying to push the fire away. My life flashed before my eyes, and then the pain vanished." "I was unpacking the last box in our new apartment, and now I could see the entire place. We had officially moved. As I wandered around, I noticed something odd halfway through the room; the sound of my footsteps changed. I continued stomping the floor to confirm the sound, but my thoughts were interrupted by my little brother screaming my name. I turned and saw the fan about to fall. Indeed, it did. My brother cried loudly. Thank God for him, or I would be dead now. The fan shattered the floor. Something caught my eye in the sand beneath the floor. I pulled out a wooden box." "My brother ran out as soon as he heard the door because our mother had arrived. She entered with a look of sorrow. I asked what was wrong, but she didn't answer. I think she concluded the electrician didn't secure the fan properly." "I tried to open the box in my room, but to no avail. I got tired and went to bed. I closed the window and fell into a deep sleep. I woke up feeling cold from the window. I curled up under my blanket, too tired to close it. I went back to sleep but was startled by a loud noise in the room. I tried to get up, but my body felt glued to the bed, unable to move. The noise continued for about two minutes, and I didn't realize when I fell asleep again." "I woke up in a good mood but then remembered the night. The window was wide open. I was sure I had closed it. I always opened it only from one side. I got up and stepped on something. I looked down and saw the box was broken. Fear took over me until I spotted a beautiful necklace inside. It was a red heart-shaped gem on a chain. I also found a book, but it was in poor condition, with burnt edges." "Several peaceful days passed, but I was puzzled by my family's behavior and their neglect, as well as my mother's sadness. It seemed my uncle was sick again." "I was in the bathtub, upset, having overheard my aunt wanting to get rid of me to inherit my father's wealth, especially since my mother had passed away. Minutes later, my aunt opened the bathroom door, grabbed my head, and dunked it in the bathwater, holding it there before letting go. She looked at me triumphantly and left. She also took my necklace." "I sat on the bed with a candle and a book about the Pharaohs. Tutankhamun's tomb had been discovered, so I decided to read a historical book until the discovery was broadcasted. As I read, the candle fell on me, and I started to burn. I screamed in pain until my parents came in and put out the fire. I suffered severe burns, but it wasn't as bad as I thought." "The past few days felt like years. Sleep eluded me, and food no longer reached my mouth. Nightmares haunted me even when awake. I saw a girl burning, another drowning. I realized the necklace and book were connected to what I saw. When I tried to read the book, I dozed off, hearing screams all night. The necklace whispered my name, and the window always opened wide." "I threw the necklace at the mirror, breaking it. The sunlight disappeared, and my room became desolate. A girl entered; she was the one drowning in my dreams. She picked up the book and tossed it at the wall, which swallowed it. Another girl entered; she was the one on fire. She held up my picture with a black ribbon. I realized my fate would be like theirs. Why are we here?" "Death played its role quickly. I was betrayed by those closest to me. This house was our grave and the path to our return or just one of us. The house has a portal to the world of the living, allowing only one to pass. Our struggle will be fiercer than that of humans, as each of us longs to feel her heart beat again. The portal will determine who wins days in the world and who remains lamenting her fate. As much as the suffering has been, so will the struggle to escape. Fate is determined in the blink of an eye."

Anxious days It was one of the day of the week but it was not ordinary as it seems. It was the day which decides my whole life. I was nervous as hell but my parents and my grandmother were more anxious compared to me. They treated me as I was going to battlefield and checked me out to see If I am alright and ready to fight. As you might be wondering what I am talking about, so let me tell you that It was the university entrance exam which I prepared my whole to get accepted. Therefore, My mom cooked me the most delicious foods ever and made sure that I am full. My father drove me to a place where the exam held and my granny accompanied us. At that time I literally wanted to cry seeing their support all the time towards me. They always gave me a hand when I need in whatever situation without resisting. So, with the thought of being lucky in the world and knowing that they are here to aid me, I proudly headed to exam place to take tests. When I was going into test room, I was stopped by security guards to check If have any illegal things or cheating papers which did not bothered me since I know I will never do such kind of things. After all of that investigating things, finally I was in my seat waiting for the test begin. The test hall was huge and full with amount of people whom are strangers to me also every corner of the hall has security cameras and doing live so that parents or relatives of the test taker can see what they are doing. But I was not sure that my parents and my granny could find me from this big place apart from that my seat was situated in corner which is hard for cameras to capture me. As I was looking around the room, suddenly the announcer announced the start of the test. I was feeling nervous, anxious, worried, scared, a little bit confident too, It was the moment that I can not describe with word. I was ambivalent about my feelings but still tried to stay calm and focus on test only. Exam takers distributed the test papers, there was only 90 test questions which I should answer. I opened the test paper and started to answer them one by one, I left the most difficult ones at the end and solved the easy ones at first. There was a questions that I had no idea what it was but still attempted to tackle. It took me one hour and thirty minutes to finish the test then I rechecked my answers and handed it over to exam taker. I was feeling nervous as always while heading outside, there were so many going in my mind. I was outside without knowing and started to look for my parents and granny. After a few minutes I found them sitting in a bench, after sawing me they hugged me and told me “how was it”, I could not say no more words than “Not bad”. They told me that they were watching me from from the beginning in live and I was shocked to know. Then, my father told me “why did you came out early, they were still thirty minutes left” and so on, I was questioned by everyone even strangers that was the most tiring day ever…. We came home, only thing left was looking for the results to be out, these days looked forever to finish. Not only me but everyone was being impatient, my father even told me If you can not enter there, do not worry, I will solve it by giving money. One day when I was crying in living room where few people come, thinking what If I can not enter, my mom found me and told me “do not cry, everything will be okay”, I was so touched at that time and cried more. My granny told me “I believe in you and your knowledge and I am pretty sure you will achieve your dream so be happy”…. It was the day which results will come out, I waited until late at night and lost the hope when I did not get answers so I slept while crying again. In the morning when I woke up I saw everyone smiling and I was so confused what was going on. Everyone came and congratulated me that was when my granny told me that I got accepted to university. I said “How” and they told me there were a problem with system so we did not get the results on time instead it came out very late, the reason they did not told me that I was sleeping. After hearing it, I was over the moon and can not believe in my eyes, I literally shouted “YESSSSSSSSSSSSS”. After that we held a party and I enjoyed the company of my dear family. That was the time when I realized that there is nothing better than a family support and your hard work, in the end they will all pay. So I have never and ever regretted my sleepless nights and hard work. It was one of the best day of my life which I will never forget. This is true story of me, I hope it is enough to motivate you to accomplish your dreams and never stop working on yourself. Do not forget without sacrificing one thing you can not achieve other one.

I adore white marble, Love frescoes and moss on trees, Go wild for avant-garde. Cherish seaside moments, Towers and tombs, Ladybugs. Compact cities, bus rides, Watching people, Red headphones. Filming videos, moon, stars, Waves, mountain wind, Serene tea evenings. Hugging mom, Loving my body, Blinking lashes. Freedom to eat, Grateful for my parents, Happy to write these words. I am 21 years old. My story is both interesting and mundane. It flows calmly, like a peaceful river, morphing and bending under natural circumstances. I divide my life into three parts. Part One: Beginnings The start is quite dramatic and sad, but don't worry; it was quite a while ago. My biological mom died soon after I was born. My dad, already with my 11-year-old sister, couldn't nurture us both. Thankfully, he had two brothers and two sisters. My aunts and uncles took proper care of me. I was always between the village and the city, traveling regularly. But I especially loved the village: the chirping of birds, insects, the variety of animals, rainy days, and small children like me running outside, stargazing, and looking at the clouds without a care in the world. I loved creating DIY things and gifting them to my relatives. I strived to be as creative and fair as possible. If someone got a knitted scarf, another would get something of equal value—a super cute and detailed drawing, a notepad, and a scrunchie. I remember walking around with only one earring for a while, afraid of piercing my ears. Now, I have eight piercings: two on my helix, four on my ears, one septum, and one lip piercing. It's funny how life can turn around. I was exceptional in my village class and agreed with my mom's (aunt's) opinion (my Russian language, literature, and homeroom teacher) about applying to prestigious schools in the city. There was one particular school I dreamed of attending. It required extensive knowledge. After thorough preparation, I finally entered the examination room. But my heart sank after the first math test; I wasn't keeping up and solved only half the problems. Disappointed, I burst into tears when I saw my mom waiting outside. We almost returned to the village without trying the second round, but something told me to try anyway. While studying biology, my mom received a phone call. After the call, she came to me with a happy smile and said, "YOU GOT IN!" I knew what she meant immediately, and a waterfall of kisses followed. She always seems more anxious, happy, or nervous for me than I am myself. That's what it's like when you're a Capricorn and your mom is a Virgo. This is how the first part of my life ended—characterized by peacefulness, total protection, and love, despite some hurdles and struggles. Part Two: Teenage Years The teenage years are my second life stage. Studying from 6 am until 1 am, striving to perfect my grades, participating in olympiads, projects, competitions, and extracurriculars like dance club, volunteering, and Chinese, was an inseparable part of my life. I saw the highest number of clever and intellectual people and wanted to be just like them. This was the hardest and most curious part of my life, where I formed my worldview. I fell in love with a girl for the first time and dated a boy. I was deeply into science. I achieved great victories, won honorable places and mentions, expanded my worldview, and learned to be productive and disciplined. I don't like talking about this part of my life much since it was quite boring, filled with endless studying. Part Three: Introduction to Real-Life The next part of my life began when I moved to Hungary to study Business Management and Administration at Debrecen University. Initially, I imagined participating in tons of extracurriculars, opening my own business, and just chilling. The reality turned out differently. I started tutoring in the first semester, earning my own money without asking my parents for anything. I have already visited 11 countries, although I never prioritized travel before. I went to concerts, volunteered at an Ed Sheeran concert and several festivals, showed Turkey to my mom, found my place in Berlin, and, most importantly, got an opportunity to escape the rat race. I am still learning about new opportunities and seem to understand what I am supposed to do. I am incredibly grateful for the life given to me, and this is far from the last part of my journey!

Messerschmitt BF-109K Flight 233, a British Airways Boeing 757 from Glasgow to Paris was flying over the North Sea. It was a regional flight at 41,000 feet. The pilots were First Officer Ted Clark and Co-Pilot Mike Tompson. They had flown together for the last three years and were a good team. On this flight something would happen that would change their views of what was ‘normal'. For off their left wing was another aircraft. It was flying in formation. Because of its size it was very small. The pilot spotted it first. “Hey, Mike, we have company. Another aircraft off our left wing. Look...” Pilot Ted pointed. Mike peered over to look out of the left cockpit windows. He had to lean fully forwards to see the other aircraft. “I see him. What the hell? That can't be right...” “I know. A 109. He should have radioed us.” “Must be that restored one on the way to an airshow in Europe.” The pilot tried the radio on three different frequencies; there was no reply. “Nothing. Like he's a ghost.” “Maybe he has radio problems?” the co-pilot added. Suddenly the Messerschmitt changed position and flew right over the cockpit. He was so close they could see the oil stains and rivets and patched bullet holes. A green shoe was painted on the cockpit side and dozens of kill markings on the rudder. The plane's propeller was a whirling almost invisible fan. “What the hell? I'm radioing Paris,” the pilot said and did so. The reply was immediate. “We hear you Flight 233. Our radar only shows you. He has no transponder signal and is too small to pick up. Descend from FL41 to FL 39. Keep us informed. Over.” Pilot Ted acknowledged and descended to 39,000 feet. The 109 remained at 41,000. He stayed there, above them and at the same airspeed, 550 miles per hour. “The tail wind must be adding to his speed. There's no way that a Messerschmitt 109 can keep up with us. And we are too high for him.” The co-pilot peered upwards at the small dot of the German fighter. “We can find out who the pilot is when we land and ask him. Our speed is 550 miles per hour. If he had a speed of 410 and a 140 tail wind he would keep up with us. Not sure on the height though. I don't know much about vintage warbirds.” The pilot went back to flying. All was fine for a few minutes. The German pilot joined them! He appeared in the passenger cabin and passengers and cabin crew started screaming. Co-pilot Mike left his seat. He looked through the spy hole on the armoured door. And rubbed his eyes. “It can't be. It simply cannot be...” he muttered. “He's here. Inside the plane with us.” “What? The German pilot? That's impossible. His 109 is still there above us. Look...” The blue painted 109 still cruised two thousand feet higher. It was impossible for a pilot to leave one aircraft for another while in mid flight. “Open the door Mike. Be ready...” Pilot Ted ordered. Co-pilot Mike unlocked the cabin door and was confronted with a chaotic scene. Passengers and several air hostesses cowered in fright from the German pilot. He was standing in the aisle facing forwards. He was wearing a black leather jacket, pilot's helmet and flight suit. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing on my flight?” the co-pilot demanded. “Who am I? Why I am Hauptman Gunther von Snitzel at your service.” The brave and confident looking German pilot offered his hand and the co-pilot automatically took it. It was ice cold! He took a step back and then noticed the cabin air was freezing. “Who and what are you?” Mike was now scared but wanted answers. “I told you, I am Gunther the pilot. In the Luftwaffe.” “Yes I know that you're a German pilot. But what are you? How can you be here when your plane is two thousand feet above us? How the hell did you get in here?” The co-pilot asked what everybody wanted to know. “Oh... that. I'm a ghost. I was shot down by a late mark Spitfire in the last week of the war. Now I forever fly the skies. It can be quite lonely. So please forgive me...” Gunther looked sad and lost. His earlier confidence left him. “A ghost? You were shot down by a Spitfire in 1945? Oh my God,” from Mike. “I came for a vodka.” Gunther said, perking up and managing a smile. “Give Gunther a vodka!” Mike instructed a shaking air hostess, Emma, to do so. She opened a bottle of vodka and poured some into a glass with ice. The German took it and the open bottle. Gunther drank the ice cold vodka and smiled. “It's been a long time. Thank you. Now I must go.” Then in a puff smoke and flash of lighting he was gone. Passengers shook their heads, some prayed or cried. One or two had taken videos on their phones. Mike ran back to the cockpit in time to see the small blue Messerschmitt bank steeply away from view. Ted was shaking his head. He radioed Paris to say the 109 had gone. He didn't mention the visitation. Nobody would believe this for it was impossible. Video footage was already uploaded online and it was changing the world...

In the quiet town of Willowbrook, where winter arrived with a soft blanket of snow, lived a little girl named Lily. Lily was unlike other children her age; she spent most of her days in the hospital, battling a serious illness that had weakened her tiny frame. Her parents, Sarah and Michael, did everything they could to keep her spirits up, but the worry etched deep lines on their faces. As the first snowflakes began to fall one chilly December morning, Lily pressed her small face against the hospital window, her breath fogging the glass. She loved snow—the way it turned the world into a magical wonderland, even if she could only watch it from afar. Sarah sat by Lily's bedside, gently brushing the hair from her daughter's forehead. “Look, Lily,” she whispered, “it's snowing.” Lily's eyes sparkled with delight. “Mommy, can I make a wish on the snow?” Sarah smiled, her heart aching with love and sadness. “Of course, sweetheart. What would you wish for?” Lily thought for a moment, her gaze fixed on the swirling snowflakes outside. “I wish... I wish to go home and play in the snow with you and Daddy.” Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. She hugged Lily tightly, whispering promises of snowball fights and sleigh rides once she was better. But deep down, Sarah feared they might never leave the hospital. That night, as Sarah and Michael sat by Lily's bedside, the snow continued to fall outside, covering Willowbrook in a silent white blanket. Lily drifted off to sleep, her small hand clutching a snowflake-shaped charm Sarah had brought her earlier that day. In the early hours of the morning, something miraculous happened. Lily's fever broke, and her breathing steadied. Sarah woke with a start, noticing the change in her daughter's condition. She called for the nurse, who rushed in, amazed at the sudden improvement. “We need to run some tests, but this looks promising,” the nurse said, her voice filled with cautious hope. Throughout the day, Lily grew stronger. She ate a little more, her laughter ringing through the hospital room like a tiny bell. Sarah and Michael couldn't believe their eyes—their daughter, who had been so frail just hours ago, was now sitting up in bed, playing with her favorite stuffed animal. “It's a miracle,” Michael whispered, his voice choked with emotion. As the days passed, Lily continued to improve. The doctors were baffled but overjoyed. They ran tests and consulted specialists, but no medical explanation could account for Lily's sudden recovery. One evening, as Sarah and Michael sat by Lily's bedside, the doctor came in with a smile on her face. “I don't know how to explain this,” she began, “but Lily's illness seems to have gone into remission. Her body is responding as if... as if it's healing itself.” Sarah and Michael exchanged tearful glances. They knew in their hearts what had happened—the miracle of the first snow had granted Lily's wish. When Lily was finally discharged from the hospital, the town of Willowbrook celebrated her return with a joyous parade. Lily rode in a decorated sleigh, waving to the townspeople who had prayed for her recovery. Snowflakes fell gently from the sky, a reminder of the miracle that had brought their little girl back to them. Years passed, and Lily grew strong and healthy. Every winter, on the anniversary of that miraculous day, Sarah and Michael would take Lily to the hospital to visit the children who still waited for their own miracles. Lily would sit by their bedsides, holding their hands and whispering stories of snowflakes and wishes. And in the heart of Willowbrook, the miracle of the first snow lived on—a story of hope, love, and the power of a child's pure-hearted wish.

If I remember my childhood, I was mostly a very belligerent and cheerful child. Almost every day I came home with a bleeding nose and a torn shirt. Every time I used to gossip behind the backs of my schoolmates who fought, I thought my decision was right. One day, a boy and I got into an argument about picking fruit from an ordinary tree. That boy insulted me in front of my friends, and I got angry. I couldn't control myself, and when he turned around, I threw a stone at him. The stone hit the boy on the head, and blood started to flow from his face. My friends around us ran away in fear. I was in a hurry and wanted to run away. But I decided to help him. The boy did not say anything, took out a handkerchief from his bag, and held his head. Fortunately, the wound was not serious, and the bleeding stopped after a while. As I washed my hands in the ditch near the tree, my anger had subsided, and I was thinking about why I had thrown the stone at him, because at that moment I realized that I had almost lost my mind. The boy dusted his clothes and started to leave without saying a word, picking up his bag. I was shouting after him to stop. He did not look back and walked slowly along the side of the road. The boy's curly hair glistened, either from the trail of blood or from the rays of the setting sun. I didn't know what to say to the boy as I walked by him. Both of us were walking together in silence. The boy and I were returning home together when he entered a restaurant at the beginning of the road and took out two samsas. He gave me one of the samsas. I was very surprised because I hadn't even apologized to him yet. Later, I found out that his mother worked as a simple dishwasher in that restaurant, and the boy gave me the samsa that he got from his mother for no reason. I went home and thought for a long time. I couldn't say sorry to the boy's face. I wrote all my words on a piece of paper and gave it to him during the break. He forgave me. Later, we became very close friends with him. Sometimes I think that he could take revenge on me, but he never did. Even though he was poor, he was always kind to me. But I know for sure that even if he were rich, he would not take revenge on me. But he is now dead, and I miss my friend very much. It was the greatest experience of my life. Currently, I have successfully resolved many conflicts; I have turned enemies into friends; I try not to make a decision when angry in any conflict, not to be jealous of someone, and to do good to my enemies. This experience was given to me by a friend.