A nineteen year old girl stands perplexed as the room full of cousins burst into laughter. Everyone is laughing, except her. She does not know what they all are laughing at. Excitedly she asks her cousin sister, “What happened? What happened?” The perplexed look on her face only results in them laughing harder. Finally one of them blurts out, “Pijjaa ! Hahahha say it once again! Pijjaa !” Everyone bursts into another round of laughter, high-fiving each other and some even rolling down the floor holding their stomachs. She looks around in confusion. Until one of her cousin's mother enters the room to check on the commotion. “Mummy, she called Pizza ‘Pijjaa' !” She says pointing towards her, seeking approval. There is an inherent sense of superiority in the way she looks at her, expecting her mother to join her. The mother hushes her off, “shhhh, it's bad manners to make fun of anybody.” Unlike her, all her cousins studied in English medium school. She did not know THAT the Difference between Pizza and Pijjaa was not merely of pronunciation, but Much More Than That. That, in a world of Pizza, ‘Pijjaa' was unforgivable, Pijjaa brought shame. The two come from two totally different planets, and their worlds never intersect. That this world applauds Pizza & shuns Pijjaa. That in the World of Pizza, Pijjaa did not Belong. That in this World Pizza had the Power to decide how ‘Pijjaa' would be treated. She earned a new name that day, the official “Behenji” of the group. She hated it from her core, she wanted to feel belonged too. But somehow, her skills, ability, talent and intelligence all got eclipsed behind the cardinal mistake. She had to pay the cost of not knowing the difference between ‘z' and ‘j'. Several years later when she gives birth, she decides her daughter is not going to face the same humiliation that she had faced. That she will send her to an English medium School. That she grows up Belonging. So then, did her daughter really grow up with a sense of Belonging ?
Kochi, thought of as a can of storm clouds, synchronies with Govind's mood. With time the once lively canvasses of his dreams had faded away and all that was left were their shadows in a neglected diary. Surfing through social media at stormy nights, each photo a glorious post card from a life he was not living, Govind felt the heartbreak. Prompted by that overwhelming desire, he messaged Neha, a ray of sunshine in his college days. A reunion was arranged. The city, engulfed in gloom, acted as the setting for their meeting at a tiny café. Govind's heart surfaced, admitting the void that had consumed him. Neha was listening with a tear rolling on her face. "Life's a cruel joke, Govind," she confessed in a faint voice. "We run after dreams that vanish when we draw too close to them. Perhaps, after all, dreams aren't that much important in the larger picture of things." Govind looked outside and the buildings blurred. Her words shattered the fragile hope clinging to him. Was this life the same as a storm, and then the return to normal routine? The café isolated him, the city lights laughing at him. It was hard to tell which day was which as they all ran into each other. Then, there was a resounding knock that broke the monotony. Here is Neha, an old photo album in her hand. It was their college album, an emblem of their dreams realized. They sat; the album a time bridge spanning years. Every old image is like a window to a time when something can be done. An image of festival, happiness glowing in the eyes of youngsters. Another, the arms slung around each other, a sign of the past closeness. Each image is like a shard of a broken mirror – reflecting joy and shattering the illusion of their imagined futures. It couldn't be the future they have been planning for. Silence was all around, only the wind mourning outside. Neha began to speak, her voice quavering. " I went back, Govind" she confessed. "Travelled, ticked things off a list. But..." That was how she saw it in Govind's eyes – the displeasure, the sense that there was no longer any magic in dreams. "It wasn't enough," she whispered. "The chasing never ends." The album fell open to a blank page – it was an abstract representation of their unfulfilled dreams. A bottomless sadness invaded Govind. They weren't only mourning their dreams; they were grieving the life they could have shared together. Neha put her hand on him, the gesture of united grief. They weren't just individuals, but rather the shattered image of what could have been. A rumble of thunder accentuated the silence. Neha stood up her chin raised and her face shining with sorrow and determination. "I am sorry, but I have to go," she said. "But Govind, perhaps life isn't about great gestures. Maybe it's these small, everyday moments, the people we meet and the love we share?" She finished and then she went but her words stayed, a small spark of hope set in the arctic of his warm heart. He gazed at the photo album and the white page before him a frightening sight. On the other hand, he was filled with gloom, but, as he tried to find it, he recalled their joint past – the laughter, the friendship, the tacit understanding that they had between them. Neha was right. Maybe life isn't about achieving the greatness. Perhaps it was about the bonds he had forged, the times he lived to the fullest, and the love he had for the people in his life. Govind was touched , a lone tear rolling down his cheek. He could no longer regain the past, but at least, he could decide to exist in the present. Maybe, yes, maybe indeed it was still possible to see beauty in the ordinary things. The rains came to an end, opening a narrow slit of moonlight. It wasn't a loud glare, but an enlightened glow, a hope for a brighter tomorrow. He approached the window, to his surprise, determination started to replace the despair. He wouldn't be a slave to his dreams but he wouldn't omit them either. He carried them with him like a memento, both a reminder of the past and a guide to the future. Kochi used to be in some sort of darken. Now, it sparkled under the pale moon. It was still alive with activity. He breathed deeply. He didn't know what would happen next, but it was the first time in a while that he felt the smallest glimpse of optimism. He might be at loose ends, but he wouldn't sink anyway. He will continue to search for meaning, for purpose, for connection and, who knows, perhaps he will find his own unique melody in the symphony of life.
In the vast expanse where stories begin, Amidst the chaos and the din, A journey unfolds, both daunting and grand, Of finding your way in this vast, sprawling land. There once was a soul, lost and adrift, In the labyrinth of life, caught in its drift. With eyes that mirrored the starlit sky, Yet within, a storm brewed, ready to defy. He wandered aimlessly, through streets unknown, His heart heavy, his spirit overthrown. In the heart of the city, where dreams take flight, He sought refuge from the endless night. Every step he took echoed a silent plea, To find his place, his sanctuary, to be free. But the city's noise drowned out his cry, As he gazed upon the endless sky. The stars above, distant and cold, Seemed to mock his struggles, untold. Yet amidst the chaos, a whisper faint, Guided him forward, through fear and constraint. Through bustling crowds and empty streets, He walked, his journey bittersweet. For every smile, every tear he shed, Led him closer to the path ahead. In the depths of despair, he found a spark, A glimmer of hope in the endless dark. With each dawn, a promise anew, That his dreams, his desires, would come true. But the road ahead was fraught with strife, Filled with trials that tested his very life. Yet he pressed on, his spirit unbroken, With faith as his guide, his words unspoken. Through storms that raged and winds that howled, He weathered the tempest, his resolve unbowed. For in the heart of adversity's snare, He found the strength to rise and dare. And so he journeyed, through valleys deep, Where shadows danced and secrets keep. He scaled the mountains, he crossed the seas, In search of a truth that would set him free. With every step, he grew stronger still, As he embraced the power of his own will. For in the crucible of pain and strife, He discovered the essence of his own life. Through laughter and tears, he learned to see, The beauty of his own humanity. For in the depths of his darkest night, He found the courage to embrace the light. And as he reached the end of his quest, He realized that he was truly blessed. For in finding his way in the big world, He had discovered the essence of his own unfurled. In the vast expanse where stories cease, He found his home, his lasting peace. For in the journey, he had come to find, That the truest home lies within, forever kind. The world may be vast, the journey long, But within us, we carry a song. A melody of hope, of love, of grace, Guiding us forward, to find our place. So when the night seems dark and cold, And the journey ahead seems bold, Remember the soul who dared to roam, And found his way, to a place called home. © Akhmedova Zakhro
There is not a single day here in the village of Maroź. Night followed by constant night is all the townspeople know. Daytime is a myth, a legend at this point. Not a single soul alive has seen, or felt the sun on their face. Cold dreary days are all that we have to look forward too. Until the prophecy of old is fulfilled that is. The elders in our village have passed down this tale for decades. A young man on his 21st birthday will come into his magic and enter the spirit realm where he will stand the test against time. He is to save the Sun Goddess who has been lost to the spirit realm, a prisoner of the dark spectral world. She has been gone for so long, no one believes in her story anymore. The start of the end of this tale, begins now. The rain was beating so hard upon the ceiling, the wood slats couldn't squeeze tight enough for the moisture to not penetrate. The liquid, making its way down the posts, dropped onto Koulders face. Waking him for the tenth time that night. He just wanted to sleep past midnight and get his birthday over with. Ever since his mother passed away he has not had much motivation to enjoy these days. He decides to sit up and think. It was all he was good at anymore. It didn't get him very far nor did it get his mind off hard subjects. Trauma was his way of life, all he knew. All he would ever be. He would have laid back down and drifted off had it not been for a short rap on his door. Filled with a sense of anxiety at a social visit, Koulder made his way to the door. There stood a hooded figure drenched from the nights torrents. Koulder slammed the door shut and locked it. He didn't know who that was and he wasn't prepared to find out. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Another rap much louder then the first sent him throwing the door open and demanding the visitor state his business. The hood came down. There stood a woman of middle age, with long brown locks tied up in a bun. She stated she was cold wet and hungry and asked if Koulder could help her. Unable to turn the poor creature away he invited her in. Once inside the woman was no longer a mere woman. A sorceress, old and evil and of the spirit realm had just entered his domain, knowing very well who Koulder is and the prophecy he doesn't know, that's about to kick in. She attacks Koulder with his back to her, holding him by his neck against a wall. He doesn't know what to think everything happened so quickly. She is too strong to pry off of him and the evil dead stare in her eyes was all too much for him Koulder passed out from the anxiety of the situation. Waking up, Koulder is surrounded by a thick white fog. He is not in the dwelling he knows so well. Feeling full of energy all of a sudden, he gets up to investigate. As he stands he here's a woman scream. Wanting to investigate he heads to where he heard her. Flying ghostly apparitions appear left and right, Koulder is realizing he is in the spirit world that his master had warned him about. Go head to head with a Banshee and she could send you to the spirit world where it's hard to remember who and why you are while she she dines on your body in the waking world. Koulder was lucid enough to remember his masters words. His magic hadn't grown in him yet so he was unprotected in a hostile world. Reaching the area he heard the scream he is blinded by a light so bright he can't even comprehend what it is. Behind the light, the silhouette of a very beautiful and naked woman stood trembling. She sees Koulder and begs him to leave before the Tempest returned. An evil old banshee more powerful than the simple monster he has encountered. Seeing her standing there vulnerable broke something inside him. In just a short time Koulder, who has surely turned 21 by now, was rudely awoken by the angry leaking sky, attacked by a banshee and sent to a creepy land to come across a beautiful naked angel and she is terrified. Too much has happened to make him just turn away. Focusing and breathing, he can feel the power surge inside him. Something is awakening. He won't run. He will get his peace and rest. He will save this woman. Knowing the realm has a portal from past stories, Koulder and the mysterious woman set out to find it. Aware the tempest could catch them at any moments notice. Before the left he set a trap for the old banshee so she wouldn't be able to follow them. The bright woman told a story as old as time itself tho it felt like hours to her. She was kidnapped from her home in the sky. Forced to live in darkness so the banshee could have full domination in the dark. She was the Sun Goddess. Recognizing Koulder was the man to fulfil the prophecy, the bright lady touched his forehead. Power shot out of his head and into the sky above him, illuminating the space between them. He was the lamp to her light. Thru the portal she kills the banshee and together they bring the sun back to a world lost to the dark for way too long.
Being voiceless in the grand narrative of our world's events is a profound challenge, as the relentless march of human dominance continues to overshadow the plight of those without the power to speak up. Throughout the annals of history, humanity's footprint on the Earth has been marked more by acts of destruction than preservation. It commenced with the cataclysmic horrors of nuclear warfare and the devastating impact of atomic bombs, tragedies that elicited vocal outcry from our species, but left the voices of countless other creatures unheard. While we, as human beings, have always found our voices to advocate for our kind, the same cannot be said for the myriad of wildlife species that inhabit our planet. The cries of the monkeys, the roars of the lions, the stealthy prowls of the tigers—these voices have been drowned out by our own, relegated to the sidelines of discourse and action. We may consider ourselves the custodians of the ecosystem, but what of the other tenants who share this planet with us? From the microscopic organisms dwelling in our oceans to the majestic creatures roaming the savannas, we have systematically dismantled and disregarded their habitats, pushing them closer to the brink of extinction with each passing day. As the global dialogue surrounding climate change gains momentum, much of the focus remains fixated on reducing carbon emissions and mitigating environmental degradation. Yet, conspicuously absent from this discourse is a concerted effort to safeguard and enhance the natural habitats of wildlife. How can we claim to be making progress towards achieving the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) when we overlook the fundamental importance of preserving biodiversity and restoring balance to fragile ecosystems? Surveying the current state of our planet's ecosystem, it becomes alarmingly clear that many terrestrial species are teetering on the precipice of oblivion. Without a voice to advocate on their behalf, they rely solely upon our collective stewardship to shield them from the perils posed by human activity. It falls upon us, as guardians of this planet, to rise to the challenge and enact meaningful change to ensure their survival for generations to come. In addressing the systemic threats facing wildlife populations, we must first confront the root causes of their decline. Habitat destruction, driven by urbanization, deforestation, and industrial expansion, stands as one of the foremost threats to biodiversity. By prioritizing the conservation and restoration of natural habitats, we can provide sanctuary for imperiled species and mitigate the irreversible loss of biodiversity. Furthermore, we must reckon with the pervasive impacts of pollution and environmental degradation on wildlife populations. From plastic pollution suffocating marine life to toxic chemicals contaminating terrestrial habitats, human-induced pollution poses a grave threat to the health and well-being of countless species. Through concerted efforts to reduce our ecological footprint and implement sustainable practices, we can safeguard the integrity of ecosystems and mitigate the detrimental effects of pollution on wildlife. Equally imperative is the need to address the interconnectedness of ecosystems and the cascading effects of species loss. The extinction of one species can trigger a domino effect, disrupting delicate ecological balance and imperiling entire ecosystems. By recognizing and preserving the intricate web of life that sustains our planet, we can foster resilience in the face of environmental challenges and safeguard biodiversity for future generations. Moreover, we must acknowledge the inherent value of wildlife beyond their instrumental utility to human society. Each species, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, plays a unique and irreplaceable role in the tapestry of life. From pollinating crops to regulating ecosystems, wildlife provides invaluable ecological services that are essential to the health and functioning of our planet. By embracing a holistic ethic of conservation that respects the intrinsic worth of all living beings, we can forge a more sustainable and harmonious relationship with the natural world. In conclusion, the imperative to protect and preserve wildlife extends far beyond mere moral obligation—it is an essential prerequisite for the survival of our planet and future generations. As stewards of this Earth, we possess both the power and the responsibility to safeguard biodiversity and ensure the continued existence of all living creatures. By amplifying the voices of the voiceless and championing the cause of wildlife conservation, we can forge a path toward a more equitable and sustainable future for all.
Warrick propped up the soft pillows behind his granny's head as she lay like a gaunt specter of her previous spirited self in her deathbed. And deathbed it was indeed. At nineteen, Warrick knew death when it looked him in the face. He had become all too familiar with it when his mother had wasted away from cancer of the stomach two years ago. “My boy,” Kathy wheezed, fondly squeezing Warrick's hand with the last of her strength. “I'm so sorry you're burdened with me,” she added, tears flooding her faded eyes. Guilt overwhelmed her frail body, making her curl even further into herself. She was grateful that the agony that wracked every part of her broken body seemed suspended for now. “You're not a burden, Granny!” Warrick said , looking into the old woman's watery eyes. He was afraid to sit on the bed for fear of causing her any discomfort or hurt. “You were there for me when Mom passed away, and you've always looked after me even before that, so this is nothing. I can never repay you, so don't think or say you're burdensome to me. You're my blessing.” His words nearly undid the old woman's hold on her emotions. “I'm going to prepare supper now, all right? I managed to borrow a can of peas from Brian's mom. We've still got carrots and potatoes, so I'll make us a stew. I think there's enough rice left for one pot,” Warrick said, hating the fact that they were truly living on the edge of poverty. “Since this terminal illness struck down my granny,” Warrick said to Brian later that night, “I've had to become caregiver, cook, house cleaner and nurse. You know my dad abandoned us when I was only eight, and my mom slaved all her life as a domestic worker to provide for us,” Warrick added. Brian was his school mate; they were more like brothers than friends. “With your granny becoming ill, looking after her fell on you. You can't even look for a job 'cause your granny needs constant care,” Brian commiserated. “Is there any hope for her recovery?” “None. At our last hospital visit, her doctor told me to ‘make her as comfortable as possible' here at home. How can anyone who's dying so slowly ever be comfortable?” Warrick asked, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders hunched forward. “It's bad, bro. I don't know if I could've handled this, to be honest,” Brian said. He reached out to give Warrick's shoulder a long squeeze before going home. Kathy had heard the conversation between the two boys. By some quirk of the night or fay life, their hushed words had reached her clearly as she lay statue-still, imprisoned by her bed. She felt some remnant of fury trying to bubble up from her breast, anger that she had become this weak when before she had been energetic, industrious and a whirlwind of movement. Being this incapacitated often made her feel wrathful, but she swiftly smothered the emotion. It would only bring on the vicious barbs of pain. Her medication sat on her bedside table, within easy reach. Warrick is truly thoughtful, she thought, then she started to cry softly. He doesn't deserve to have his life placed on hold because of me, the bitter thought flitted through her mind, superseding the twisting, torturous pangs running amok throughout her body. As the last rays of the setting sun peeped through a chink in her bedroom curtains, Kathy slowly, painfully, sat up in bed. She reached for the morphine pills. With immense determination, she poured all the pills into her cupped hand. Closing her eyes, she prayed one final time. Forgive me, God. I know I'm damning my soul forever, but I would rather do that than have Warrick sacrifice another day of his young life. With a trembling hand, Kathy gripped the glass of water. She looked lovingly at her bedroom, at the knickknacks on her dresser, the antique wooden wardrobe her husband had made himself ages ago, her rocking chair next to the small, round reading table on which a novel waited for her to finish reading it for probably the twentieth time. She smiled wanly as she recalled the joy she had experienced upon first reading the book; that happiness had only increased with all the other subsequent readings. 'Gone with the Wind', by Margaret Mitchell. I have no regrets, except one. I'll be leaving Warrick sole alone in this cruel world. May he forgive me. Closing her eyes again, tears seeping from under her closed eyelids, Kathy brought the pills to her mouth. A warm, soft touch arrested her cupped hand. Kathy's eyes flew open in surprise, only to see Warrick standing in front of her. His cheeks were moist with his trailing tears. The forlorn look on his face broke her heart anew. “Granny, this isn't the way. God will ease our suffering. We only need to hold on to our faith and believe in His mercy,” Warrick whispered before carefully enfolding the tiny, fragile frame of the old woman in his strong, youthful arms. “My sweet, sweet angel,” Kathy breathed softly.
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 admin@biopage.com 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 sit on the soft grass, the Oak tree behind me providing shelter from the raging sun. My fingers trace the bark behind me, my toes burying into the dirt. I can't help but wonder, Oak trees live for hundreds of years. This one has probably seen just as many humans sit under its boughs. This is when I wrote my first letter. Dear Ms.Forgotton, It's the 1840's. You've got curls pinned to the back of your head that keep getting caught in the bark. Chesnut hair, tired eyes, and a threadbare dress. You look like something out of a Christmas Carol. But more than that, you look human. I want to know what your favourite perfumes are. I want to see the hairstyles you dream of wearing, but were too lazy to pin up. Did your hands get sore from setting hair rollers, like mine do? Even though we're years apart, how different can we be? I'd give anything to speak to you, girl to girl. In another life, maybe we could have been friends. I feel a certain twang in my chest as I watch tears come to your eyes. They're fiery, defiant. The look of someone who has something to prove, but nobody gives you the chance, right? For what it's worth, I'm sorry. It's hard to be a woman, no matter what time you're in. I hope you were happy in the end though. I burn it that night. I don't know why, but I feel like it might find it's way back to her. In some way. The next letter I write on a secluded beach. Dear Sir Forgotton, It's the middle of the night, 1775. I'm watching you pace the sands, running your hands through your haggard hair. Little do you know, I'd be here one day, sitting against the very rocks that you now plop onto. You're stressed right now about your store and taxes. There is a book in your satchel, Thomas Paine. I bet you'd be surprised to know it's in a museum now. Our historians obsessed over your signature on the inside cover. I think you and I would have gotten along well. I own a small business too, just like yours. And let me tell you Sir, it doesn't get any easier in the future. You seem like a friendly man. I want to offer you some tea and chocolate, sit on the sand and lament about life with you. We may be decades apart, but how different can we be? We're both human, after all. After writing to him, I burnt his letter too. I couldn't stop thinking about whether he'd went home and heated coffee, or milk. Whether he'd stayed awake all night, or slept fitfully. I wondered what he did for his birthday, since mine was later that week. Then, I wrote my most recent letter. Dear Mrs.Forgotton, I'm your great-great-granddaughter. I don't know much about who you are. Only that you came from India. And you never went home. I think of you as I pull on my deep blue sari. It's my favourite one. As I wait for my mother to finish getting ready for your other great-great-grandaughter's wedding, I pick up a book to read. Then I remember you couldn't do that. I remember you couldn't read or write. That you spoke a different language entirely. My name is still Indian, Grandma. But our family only speaks English now. I wonder what you'd make of it. The world was wicked to you. I can't dream up your happy ending. I don't know where you died, or what your name was. I don't even know where you're buried. I wonder if you had pin straight hair like my father. Or wavy locks like my sister. Did you pin it up in braids like me? Was your favourite fruit mango? What songs did you hum under your breath while you worked? Did you like stories? It's strange to think that the same moon you looked up at, I did too. I don't think we're that different, though the centuries divide us so. I can't explain what it is to be human. That's something I'll leave to the scientists. But in my opinion, to be human is to want to be remembered. From the beginning of time, humans have dug their fingernails into everything since stone scribbles. Dresses in museums were tried on by girls who wanted to look pretty in it. Books were read and marked to say ‘This was mine. When you read it, remember the hands that held it before you.' We have walls with scratches, engraved jewelry boxes, embroidered jackets. All from humans who made their mark on something. Even if it was small, it was something. We idolise these things, put them in glass cases. Because we know that we want that, too. The sand and the grass may not remember us, but we remember eachother. Immortalization in the form of history. And even those, like my grandmother, who didn't leave anything tangible, gave us something anyway.
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
Life is a canvas waiting for a unique brushstroke, a journey filled with twists, turns, and moments that define your resilience. Life is interesting. The person who was jumping in front of you and playing with you yesterday may not be around tomorrow. I didn't think about such things before, because I didn't want to, but life forces us to realize these concepts. On the ceaseless snowy day of December 18. 2023 our bustling preparation for my mother's birthday added an extra layer of anticipation to the atmosphere. We were all happy and having fun celebrating my mother's birthday with my family. Only my brother had not yet come and we were all eagerly waiting for my brother. Suddenly, the distressing news we received on that fateful day plunged us into a collective state of shock, transforming what was meant to be a joyous celebration into an unexpected period of mourning. I got a call from my brother's phone saying that my brother was brought to the hospital in a serious condition and there was a strong possibility of death. For me, that day was a massive blow and no comfort could ease it. Once a week before, this incident happened, my brother and I had a big fight. And even without knowing it, I looked at him and said:" It would be better if you were not in our lives, you were created only to harm us. I wish you would die sooner." Each utterance I directed towards him in a tone of reproach reverberated so loudly within the confines of my mind that I found myself grappling with the challenge of justifying and consoling my troubled conscience. Around 2 a.m. in the morning, my brother was taken to a major surgery. My parents and I begged God at night not to take my brother's life and return him to us. At that time, my mother's struggles weighed heavily on my heart. . All my mother's prayers to God were very touching, even my heart was broken. At that time, I truly came to believe in the profound difficulty of being a mother. Around 5a.m my brother left this world. Darkness enveloped my vision, leaving me uncertain about what steps to take or what the future holds. My mother's cry resounded so painfully throughout the hospital that no one didn't cry. My parents, even I couldn't say a word that day. I couldn't wish such intense pain, such profound loss, even upon my enemy. In the following days, I realized that simple tasks became arduous, and the weight of loss pressed heavily on my shoulders. Amid these dark times, I sought solace in memories of happy times spent with my brother. One day, I stumbled upon a box filled with mementos from our happiest days. Photographs are frozen in time, capturing smiles, silliness, and the essence of our unbreakable bond. Each picture told a story, a testament to the love and joy we shared. In solitude, I began to discover myself through these memories. I found strength in the love we had for each other and gradually the pain started to subside. While the ache of loss never completely faded, I learned to navigate the world without my brother physically by my side. I carried his spirit with me, finding comfort in the knowledge that the happy times we shared would forever be a part of me. After this incident, I made a conscious effort to treat everyone in my life with equal kindness, learning from my mistake with my brother. Recognizing the fragility of life, I began to invest more time in my family and express my love and appreciation more frequently. Discussing this matter and recalling the circumstances from that time is a challenging task for me. However, such is life. It presents us with numerous highs and lows and we should brace ourselves for each. In sharing this story, my sincere intention is for you to value your dear ones and express your love to them regularly, because, in the end, they might not be with you tomorrow.