1. Assess Your Coverage Needs Before you dive into policy details, take a moment to figure out how much protection you really need. Ask yourself: • Dependents and Debts: Do you have a mortgage, student loans, or young kids counting on your income? • Future Goals: Will your family need college funds or retirement top-ups if you're not around? Jot down a ballpark figure say, 10× your annual income and then refine it. This simple exercise ensures you don't under- or over-insure. 2. Compare Term Lengths and Premiums Term life insurance usually comes in 10-, 20-, or 30-year durations. Think about: • Loan Durations: Match the term to your mortgage or loan payoff timeline. • Career Trajectory: If you're eyeing a startup stint in five years, a shorter term might suffice. Remember, longer terms often mean higher premiums. But locking in a 30-year rate in your 30s can turn out more affordable in the long run. 3. Request and Analyze Life Insurance Quotes Don't settle for the first number you get. Gather life insurance quotes from at least three sources: • Online Aggregators: Quick estimates, but double-check details. • Direct Insurers: Often more transparent about fees. • Independent Agents: Can highlight lesser-known carriers. Line them up side-by-side use a simple spreadsheet if you like and compare not only the cost but also what's included in each quote. 4. Review Policy Features and Riders A basic policy might cover you, but riders add valuable bells and whistles: • Accelerated Death Benefit: Tap into your policy if you're diagnosed with a terminal illness. • Waiver of Premium: Skip payments if you're disabled. • Child Term Rider: Affordable coverage for your little ones. Be cautious of add-ons disguised as “must-haves.” Only pay for riders that match your unique situation after all, you know better than anyone what your family really needs. 5. Check the Insurer's Reputation You'll want an insurance partner that stands the test of time and turbulent markets. Look into: • AM Best or S&P Ratings: Aim for “A” or better. • Customer Reviews: See how health insurance companies and life insurers handle claims. • Claim Payout Speed: Read real stories if it takes months to pay, it may not be the right choice. I once heard about a friend whose claim was delayed because of a paperwork hiccup. It delayed her family's rebuilding efforts by weeks. Do your homework up front to avoid that stress later. 6. Understand Medical and Health Requirements Most term life insurance policies require a medical exam. Here's how to prepare: 1. Fast (No Caffeine): Coffee and energy drinks can spike your blood pressure. 2. Hydrate Well: It makes blood draws smoother. 3. Bring Medical Records: If you manage a chronic condition, show your latest test results. If an exam feels intrusive, consider policies that waive the medical exam—though they often come with higher rates. And remember, if you already have private medical insurance, an insurer may request proof of healthy lifestyle habits. 7. Evaluate Additional Benefits and Flexibility Not all policies are set in stone. Look for: • Conversion Options: Switch from term to whole life without another exam. • Renewability: Extend your term even if your health changes. These flexibility features can be lifesavers if your circumstances shift—think career breaks, health glitches, or starting a family later in life. 8. Confirm Affordability and Budget Alignment Finally, double-check your monthly budget: • Premium vs. Income: Aim to spend no more than 5–10% of your take-home pay on life insurance. • Payment Frequency: Quarterly or annual payments can be cheaper than monthly. • Bundling Discounts: Some health insurance companies offer lower rates when you hold multiple policies with them. If the numbers still feel tight, lower your coverage slightly or shorten the term. It's better to have some coverage than none at all. Conclusion: Your Roadmap to Peace of Mind Buying term life insurance might seem daunting at first, but breaking it down into these eight steps transforms it into a clear, manageable process. Start by assessing your needs today, and before you know it, you'll be ticking off items on your checklist with confidence. Your future self and your loved ones will thank you. Ready to get those quotes and lock in that coverage? Let's go!

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This isn't my whole life story — just a chapter. And as they say, this too shall pass. If you came expecting the story of a successful man, well… success isn't the end. Even at the top, battles continue, reshaping the road ahead. Life breaks us quietly, piece by piece, until we forget who we were. But in the fall's silence, we find a voice we never knew we had. My name is Goutham Siva, and this is how losing everything led me to discover a strength I didn't know I had. On February 21, 2021, I left home with a suitcase full of hope and dreams bigger than my fears. I had just joined ZSMU in Ukraine to study medicine — a goal born from silent perseverance and a promise to myself. I come from a middle-class Indian family. As the only son, I understood the pressure I carried, even if unseen. For the first time, it felt like life was finally giving me a chance. Everything was falling into place — friendships, studies, future plans — until war knocked.I remember the laughter in our hostel halls, the dreams we stitched late at night — study plans, travel ideas, shared meals. These weren't just friends; they were giving colors to my black and white life, endorphins I never knew I had. On March 1, 2021, everything fell apart. The icy wind tore through my jacket as I stood at the border, clutching my passport like a lifeline. My friends and I huddled under one blanket on the cold station floor, like birds in a cage, waiting, unsure of what came next. Then a guard looked at us and said, “You're safe now.” But I wasn't sure what safe even meant anymore. In just a few days, I went from student with dreams to refugee with uncertainty in my hands. I left behind friends, classes, routines. Everything I had built — gone. I held on. For six months, I clung to online classes and fragile hope I could return. We stayed connected — calls, late texts — but reality closed in. The university asked us to transfer. Coming from a family where every rupee counts, it felt like everything my parents worked for was slipping away. Their sweat, savings, and belief — all in water. But fate didn't end my story — it rewrote it. I was given a painful gift: the chance to start again. A new country, a new system, a new language. Uzbekistan was unfamiliar. Bukhara State Medical Institute became my new battleground. This time, I wasn't just chasing a degree. I was honoring every sacrifice my parents had ever made. I was fighting for the version of myself that refused to be defined by loss. And honestly — I wanted to prove my existence. That I mattered. Strangely, that blank slate became my biggest blessing. I threw myself into everything — competitions, video projects, student activities. I entered an essay contest. No expectations, just heart. And I won. That win reminded me I still mattered — that I still had a voice. Then came a video Competition I filmed with nothing but passion. And when I stood with the rector, receiving first prize, I wasn't just smiling for the camera. I was smiling for the version of me that almost gave up. That moment wasn't just about the award — it was a silent, defiant message to everyone who ever doubted me. That video opened doors. I began working with the Youth Union, creating content for the university. I became a bridge between cultures, an international student coordinator. And with that, came my first stipend — a small reward, but a huge symbol of redemption. Then, one afternoon, something surreal happened. I was honored by the Minister of Health of Uzbekistan — handed a certificate, a bouquet, and a laptop. The certificate read: “For his exemplary behavior, dedication, and contribution to our University “ As I stood there, the weight of those words sank in. The boy who once stood at a border, unsure of his future, was now celebrated for shaping one. I realized I hadn't just survived — I'd contributed, grown, risen. You know what I've learned? Starting over isn't failure. It's the universe giving you a new canvas. Sometimes, the second masterpiece is more powerful than the first. Life isn't chess, where you win by taking down others. It's more like a journey — where the real victory comes from the friends you make along the way, the moments that shape you, and the scars that teach you how to fly. So if you're standing at the edge right now — unsure, broken, tired — know this: The hardest chapters often become the most powerful stories. That's where warriors are made. That's where you are made. The world may take everything from you — but it can never take your will to rise. I didn't get here alone. My parents' belief lit the way. My friends brought laughter when I forgot how. And every moment I wanted to quit, their love reminded me why I couldn't. And this — this is not the end. This is the part where I rise.

Being an Asian daughter comes with a heavy responsibility—especially in a country where few invest in their daughters' education. But my parents are my heroes. Despite the discouragement they faced from others, they chose to believe in me. They invested in my future and gave me an opportunity that not every girl receives. Because of that, I carry the pressure of making them proud. I'm 17 now, and it's time for me to apply to universities. My parents dream of seeing me study at a top international institution. Since my early teens, I've dedicated myself to that dream—working day after day to prepare for competitive college admissions. Unfortunately, despite all the effort, I didn't get accepted into my dream schools: Harvard, Stanford, and UPenn. The day I received those rejections, I felt completely worthless—like I had failed as a daughter. My parents had high hopes for me, and I couldn't live up to them. They hoped I would score at least an 8.0 on the IELTS, but I got a 7. They wanted me to achieve a 1500+ on the SAT, but I scored 1430. They wished to see me win Olympiads, but I placed 4th for three consecutive years. It's hard not to feel like I've never been enough. That I've never done enough. Sometimes, the pressure and disappointment feel unbearable for a 17-year-old girl. Still, I'm trying. I'm thriving, despite everything. And to be clear: my parents are not strict—they are deeply supportive. That's what makes it harder. Their belief in me is unwavering, and because of that, I often feel guilty for not meeting their expectations. Now, I'm applying for government funding, since I've been accepted to a top-200 global university without a scholarship. This feels like my last chance. If it doesn't work out, I don't know what's next. I just know I am giving it everything I have. One thing is clear, all I want is achieve my goals, dreams despite any obstacles and fails. WISH ME LUCK!

Sometimes we just need to cry. We need to cry because life is hard. Because it's filled with heartache, sorrow, grief, anxiety, depression, anger, fear, loneliness, and pain. Because it isn't what you imagined, what you hoped for, what you planned for. We need to cry because society is broken. Because we were promised the world if we went to college and got good jobs...but then when we were ready to enter the workforce, there were no good jobs and our degrees didn't matter. So we were left in our menial jobs, hoping for a brighter economic future, but it never came. We cry because those of us who didn't come from healthy, affluent families are left in the dust to struggle, to keep trying and trying and never getting ahead because we can't keep up with the collapse of society. Sometimes we need to cry for what once was... for a time you knew wouldn't last forever, but you didn't realize how much you would miss it, how it would leave a bittersweet ache in your heart. How you would give almost anything to go back to that moment when everything was okay and the world wasn't terrifying. Sometimes we need to cry because everything you do just isn't good enough. No matter how many hours you work and fake smiles you plaster on your face to appear acceptable to society, it's just never good enough. No one ever knows what you're truly going through, nor do they want to because everyone has their own problems and demons they're struggling with. Everyone says it's okay to have a bad day, but is it really? What about several bad days in a row? And what happens when you can't afford your medications that help you feel better, so you turn to other things that aren't deemed "acceptable" by society? Is it more acceptable to hole up in your house and never come out? To refuse to socialize because you can't summon the strength to be personable? Or to be rude and snappy because you're struggling to regulate your emotions? Which of these options is the most accepted by society? Sometimes you just need a good cry because there's nothing left to do...there's nothing to say that anyone will understand...there's nothing you can write that will make you feel better...you just need to cry, to let the pain physically leave your body...and that's okay. God gave us emotions and tears for a reason. Sometimes emotions are physical, and need to be released. And that's okay. Let yourself cry. Let all the pain out...and know that tomorrow is a new day...and hopefully it won't be as painful.

I am moving to Kentucky (cue Dueling Banjos music). Never in my life had I ever imagined or entertained the idea of living in Kentucky, or really anywhere east of the Mississippi (aside from my home state of Wisconsin). I've always wanted to go west. I have visited Utah three times; I was actively saving to move to Idaho when I met my husband, and we were saving to move to Colorado this coming summer. But then, seemingly out of the blue, my husband suggested we move to Kentucky instead of Colorado. Excuse me? His reasons? First and foremost, Colorado is just too dang expensive. Second, his best friend is there. Third, we would geographically be in the middle of our spread-out family. And fourth, there will still be mountains (not quite the Rockies, but I guess it's better than flat farmland). He had solid points, and after much discussion and praying, I felt spiritual confirmation that it was the right thing to do. That confirmation apparently came not a moment too soon, for within the next two weeks unfolded a series of unfortunate events that led us to making the decision to move to Kentucky NOW. In two weeks. One week before Christmas. Five years ago, I left my ex on Dec. 28. I left behind a beautiful home, big backyard, nice neighborhood, and amazing dog. Because of the emotional and mental abuse I had endured, I had no idea if I would be able to function in the real world. I had absolutely no idea what lay ahead of me. That leap into the unknown was the most terrifying thing I have ever done, and it changed my life in the most profound ways. I found Christ, I found myself, and I discovered what it meant to feel deep, abounding joy. A year and a half ago, my fiancé (now husband) and I were struggling with finances and mental health, and after both of us losing our jobs, we decided to move back to my hometown. This was an abrupt, stressful move, and I was very sad to leave the sanctuary I had made for myself as a strong, reborn, independent woman. I was resistant to being back home and going to a new church. But it was that church that saved my marriage, and saved me in many ways. I have never felt more welcome, more at home, more alive, and more loved. This is where I don't understand God's timing. Why is he taking me away NOW? Why now, when I am so involved in church and have so many wonderful relationships here? But....as before...I have to trust that something better is on the horizon, however far-fetched and ridiculous that may feel at this moment. I have to have faith that there are other amazing people out there for me to meet, other people that I can help, or maybe they can help me. Other experiences for me to enjoy - or endure - that will hopefully make me a better person, or make my marriage stronger. I don't know. I just don't know. And all I can do right now is accept that I don't know, and be okay with it. Because the truth is, we have very little control over everything in our lives. We like to think we do, but we don't. You can make good, informed choices. You can be a hard worker. You can be a good friend, a good spouse. You can save money and pay off your bills and read self-help books and eat healthy and try to be the best person possible. Don't get me wrong - you should always strive to be a good person and make good choices - but sometimes those things don't make you immune from having your world completely up-ended. I'm starting to think God gets a kick out of upending my life. Does that mean He thinks I can handle it? I don't know. Maybe us humans were never meant to be stationary and stagnant. Maybe we thrive when we are faced with uncertainty, when we are on the move, when we are forced to endure uncomfortable situations and be experience new things. Buddhism teaches that nothing in the universe is essential - that everything that comes also goes, everything that lives must die, and everything that is created will crumble. It teaches that if you can accept this, you will be at peace. I am still working on this, but I can attest that my closest moments with my Savior have been in uncomfortable situations. So maybe that's the whole purpose of this abrupt move - because God saw that we were stagnant. We may not feel that way, but we can't begin to wrap our minds around the plans that God has in store for us. All we can do is trust that He knows the best way for us. I am going to miss my home. It was my husband and I's first place together. I am going to miss sitting on the patio in the summer. I am going to miss the garden we had plans for. I am going to miss the tall pine trees surrounding the big back yard, and all the critters. I'm just going to miss all of it. But I must welcome the adventure. Yes, it will be uncomfortable at times, and I'm sure there will be many more tears. But growth only happens in uncomfortable situations, and that I welcome. It may hurt for a moment, but I know it will be beautiful in the end.

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It was 2:34 in the night and the very hour that my mind and pen seemed to try to win a championship against what forces, I myself did not know, in the year of 2022. It was the time which always made me contemplative. However, the food for thought that day was nothing but the school magazine. Years after that period of bliss, it was common to think how little the troubles of that self of mine was. I blamed it on my growth of consciousness. But suddenly I saw a picture which reminded me of how the entirety or rather just a bit of it was bliss for me. Vivid pictures of that boy making the entirety of me a joke whenever he got the opportunity rose before my eyes. At that time, he was simply my enemy. But then, maybe because of the unavoidable growth of my sensitivity, I thought of him as the one who destroyed my teenage years. I remembered him. He was a simple boy without any complications, with a cheerful attitude, ready to make almost any person smile he saw was grumpy around him and a student who excelled at science and was only concerned about digits and the alphabet associated with it, sometimes. And I pictured myself as a silent student of focus - silent to the extent that some people saw it as pride; who felt uncomfortable among others, who was ready to listen but unable to answer to complex emotions but who had been known as a ‘poet', within school. I got hot flashes as I thought about him making a joke of me before everyone, every single opportunity he used to get. Being the popular person, they were also inclined to laugh, even if they didn't want to. Some of them; or at least one of them, perhaps, didn't. Yes, she became the person I became close with, later. And I thought of how the cheerful girl whose laughter I loved, grew silent with the heaviness, perhaps, of my love. He was a cheerful guy but also having a temper. Whereas being a student equal to him, I was usually silent and made up a very unapproachable countenance. It was natural to me at that time. Gradually I got left out. But then that I thought about it, it was I who moved away from where he was present. I smiled as the picture of two students in severe tension in the examination hall, rose before my eyes. He was struggling with the literature and I with the math. We both helped each other (though being at considerable risk and though never having done something like that before) and left the hall without even looking at each other again. For the last time before our careers drew every one of us away. But as people came into my life after that and left perhaps because of my own fault, I learnt one thing and it was never too late. I learnt to return smiles despite knowing that few truly deserve what you are willing to give, that they might simply come - to leave a lesson. But though I could no longer call him a foe, I remained undecided whether to embrace him in my mind as a friend. How does it feel to find out that some adversary from your past has always held the key to what made you think of him so? And that he holds the key to the problems you felt till this day?

Life seems like a pause in a system that moves at speeds beyond the speed of light, but it is not. In fact, in the continuous and tenuous movement of our atoms we can observe the vibrations that originate with the passage of time, the product of our own energy rising beyond our bodies. We are the most opportune moment for the universe, we are beams of light for the cosmos, we are the particle that occupies space and the wave that contracts and expands in a movement that seems like a dance, sometimes chaotic, sometimes too classical. As harmonious as a Beethoven symphony, the waves travel millions of light years in search of a refractory that decompresses the millions of beams that it has in its composition, different energies, different frequencies, so diverse is the cosmos as nature itself. Where is color born if not in the pupil of the observer? Where is the beauty of art if not in the perception of its creator? There, in the middle of our darkest ignorance, within the smallest of our cells, lies a small universe that vibrates to its own voice, faint, almost imperceptible, but there it is, evidence that our existence is much more than a work of art, more than a perfectly achieved design, it is a conspiracy of billions of beams of light housing an infinity of cells that satisfy the same desire "to exist." Life sprouts at every little opportunity, when you least expect it, a small seed that makes its way through the middle of an asphalted floor, It could well become a Sycamore whose roots make their way through the avenues, shouting its right to grow, to be part of this work we call life. Where do we come from if not from the breath? We are the painting that portrays freedom, not of judgment or of the heart, but the freedom of creation itself. We are not separated by anything but our bodies, but at the opportune moment that we were created, at that moment we already carried the expansion contained in the flesh, in the bones. Inside and out we are exactly the same, we are creation, we are Light, we are shadows, we are particle and wave, we are a small infinity of atoms, we are one of billions of threads that make up this universal canvas. In the middle of my chaotic and limited perception lies the calm sensation that I am a Whole, that we are an extension that has never stopped growing and certainly never will.

I was born barefoot on a jagged rock in a black land with black men. I was born in Nigeria. That's my country. Like the production of a film, each scene is influenced by the actors and ah yes, setting as well. My movie is not any different, or unique in any way. Except that to see the face of each actor, you would have to go behind the scenes, where we were unfurled and free, basking in the consciousness of life and existence. I am no baby or child or boy or man. I'm just a little voice crying in the wilderness, telling of what we have seen, shouting our experience. I am only human. When I and the boys were born, mother bought us no diapers or wipes like the other kids from tomorrow. We were settled with loincloths that would be removed when soiled, to be washed and worn again. We never slept in the rocking cot or stood in the walking trainers. So we had to crawl on fours till our feet were strong enough to walk us. And yes we would fall. Big, heavy falls and yes we would stand up with tears, and we would walk again. When I and the boys were younger. We were bought no toys or action figures like the kids from yesterday. We had to settle for sticks and fingers and stones and rocks. Coming home each day with a bruise or two. Wailing out loud to mother who would bathe and clean our wounds and send us out to bring in some more again. We had no tasty food or snacks or sweets so we would go to Mr. Bello's store, and buy some with our snatch and speed. And his belt would smile at us. And the welts on our backs would tell us that we did the right thing. When the mobile phone came around, I mean within our reach. I and the boys would go to the home of the only boy who had one, and we would sit around him, our eyes fixated upon the wonder in his palm. He would press some buttons and we would see a little man in green fighting against another in blue. He would press some more buttons and we would witness the lady with the white skin take off her clothes, and walk around in her birthday suit and a man would come around, dressed in the same attire. And they would do things together that would spread warm smiles on our faces. When I and the boys were older, we loved em female girls. The ones who would let us take off their dresses, and do things when mother wasn't home. We each had a girl, special to each of us. And things were rough. Yesterday I cried over Maria, as she called at night and told me she was no longer my girl and how she let one of the other boys from tomorrow take off her dress. He gave her money she said. What have I ever given her? I bit on my lip as the tears flowed. Yes, I cried. And tomorrow, I will cry again over Marianne or Sophia. Yesterday, Maestro died. He was felled with bullets by some of the other boys from yesterday. The streets are not too safe, especially for me and the boys. His mother cried so much, deep tears of anguish and resentment. We didn't cry for Maestro, but we may cry for Aluta or Robin or me when we fall tomorrow. I and the boys met social media about a year ago. He introduced himself to us and he was all warm and smiling. But now he seems to bite us in the back with sharp teeth, the earlier friendliness seems all forgotten. He's very scheming. Knows how to cause much havoc, especially amongst me and the boys. I enjoy him sometimes. Most times I would say. He even killed a girl last summer, when he showed everyone her pictures of her hidden regions. I never saw her after that. We all never did. I and the boys take some drinks. It keeps us happy, makes us feel better, makes us forget, all the worries and pains. Fredrick would say with some smoke in his lungs "I like to get high, cos I love the view from up here." And we would all laugh and drink some more. Grades at school don't matter to me and the boys. But it matters much to our parents, so we try to get some good ones, or at least okay ones. Fashion matters a lot, the latest Sneakers, coolest jeans and shirts. The girls love the guys who look good. So we try to keep up with the trend. That's what happened in that scene of my movie and more which you would learn of from others like me. That's what happened when I had hopped aboard older ship. Do you like my movie yet? Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Just stick around and watch some more. Maybe you will see some Experience. When I and the boys are dead, we would pass just like the rest. We made no impact, struck no blow on this generation. That's what some time behind some bars taught me, that's what he told me through the silence and solitude. So now I change. The boys are gone now. It's just me. Now I teach, the little tots. Guide them right, lecture them of good. Let's see what their generation creates. Mine is already fading fast away, as dust in the wind.

The evening sky stretched above us; a vast canvas of ink-black darkness speckled with the brilliance of a thousand stars. The town lights in the distance shimmered softly, mirroring the celestial river of stars that flowed from horizon to horizon. Amidst this cosmic symphony, my grandmother's humble "kitchen" glowed with the warmth of a small, crackling fire. It was the heart of our evenings, a place where stories came alive in the dance of flames fueled by the acacia thorn tree. Gathering wood for the fire was a ritual in itself, a laborious task that demanded respect for the unforgiving nature of the acacia thorn tree. Its branches, adorned with sharp thorns, challenged even the most seasoned hands. Yet, for us, each prick was a reminder of the resilience ingrained in our daily lives. The fire itself seemed alive, its flames flickering and curling with a voracious appetite, consuming the dry, twisted branches with a crackling intensity that mirrored the stories we gathered to hear. Around the fire, we sat in a circle, a mix of young and old, drawn together by the magnetic pull of my grandmother's storytelling. She was a repository of wisdom, her voice a melody that wove through the fabric of our evenings. Her eyes, though weathered by time, gleamed with a youthful vigor whenever she began to speak. "Esiku limwe opwali puna," she began each story the same way, “Once upon a time, there was” Her stories were windows into a world of African folklore, tales passed down through generations, each one a testament to the resilience, courage, and wisdom of our ancestors. We listened with rapt attention, as if hearing them for the first time, our imaginations ignited by her words. In those moments, the boundaries between reality and myth blurred, and we found ourselves transported into a realm where animals spoke, spirits roamed the earth, and ordinary people achieved extraordinary feats. As the fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on the faces around me, I could feel a sense of belonging that transcended words. Each story carried with it a lesson, a moral woven seamlessly into the fabric of the narrative. Through tales of bravery, kindness, and perseverance, my grandmother imparted values that shaped not just our understanding of the world, but our very souls. My grandmother's voice painted vivid pictures in my mind, each detail etched into memory like the intricate patterns on her worn storytelling cloth. But it wasn't just the stories themselves that left an indelible mark on us. It was the way my grandmother told them—with passion, with humour, with a deep reverence for the traditions that had shaped our family for generations. Her stories were a bridge between past and present, a reminder of our roots in a rapidly changing world. Around the fire, laughter mingled with the crackling of burning wood, creating a symphony of sound that echoed across the quiet night. We shared not only stories but also ourselves, our hopes, our fears, our dreams. In those moments, the divisions of age, of experience, melted away, leaving only the warmth of shared humanity. Sometimes, during breaks in the storytelling, my grandmother would sing softly, her voice carrying ancient melodies that seemed to resonate with the very heartbeat of our ancestors. Her songs were like lullabies for the soul, soothing and comforting, weaving a tapestry of connection that spanned generations. As the night deepened and the fire burned low, I often found myself lost in contemplation, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars overhead. Each one seemed to hold a story of its own, a testament to the enduring power of storytelling to transcend time and space. And in those quiet moments, I understood that the fire we tended each evening was more than just a source of warmth—it was a beacon of light, illuminating the path that had brought us here and guiding us toward the future. In the embrace of my grandmother's stories, I discovered not only the richness of my heritage but also the resilience of the human spirit. They taught me that no matter how daunting the journey, there is always a story waiting to be told, a lesson waiting to be learned, and a community waiting to be embraced. As the last embers of the fire faded into the night, leaving only the memory of warmth on my skin, I knew that I carried within me not just the stories of my grandmother, but the essence of who we were as a family, as a people. And in that knowledge, I found a sense of belonging that anchored me amidst the uncertainties of life. For in the glow of that moonless, starlit sky, around a fire, I learned that the truest stories are those that illuminate the soul and unite us. And as long as there are fires burning and hearts willing to listen, the legacy of storytelling will endure, weaving its magic across time and generations to come.

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…

I am a writer .I can write essays and article .The title of my essay is Good and bad and unforgettable experiences of life.The good experiences always stay with you forever and bad experiences that you forget easily.

Silence… A woman sleeps soundly in her dream house. She loves her life: she lives happily with her beloved husband and raises wonderful children. Suddenly, the tranquility shattered. A phone call. Half asleep, the woman stood up. For a second her heart skipped a beat, as if it sensed something was wrong. But she brushed aside her doubts. Silence… The surprisingly calm and peaceful atmosphere is broken by a loud cry. Her husband and son run up to her in bewilderment. Silence. Again. But this silence is different: there is no peace in it. Soon there will be crying again, and it will remain in this house for many years. Who would have thought that this end is actually a new beginning, that this crying is the first step towards stopping other people's mourning? Silence… The world has lost another young beautiful girl, and the parents have lost their only daughter that day. 128 mothers felt the same pain as that woman that day. Another 128 families were stabbed in the back by their loved ones. Time has stopped. Happy moments with her daughter kept flying in front of mother's eyes. She felt deep sadness, rage towards her son-in-law, and guilt for letting her daughter die; emotions were eating her up. Soon, everyone fell asleep from powerlessness. But even sleep did not bring peace. Now, the woman was thinking about her future. However, this time, she looked at it with an empty, hopeless gaze. Funeral… A cry was heard in the dead silence. Everyone immediately understood what kind of crying it was. The mother was in disbelief. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she repeated. It is the daughter who should bury her parents, and not the other way around. It wasn't supposed to happen. Gathering her emotions, she went to honor her mercilessly killed daughter. Silence… Court. Sadness still filled the mother's heart. The family waited for this trial for more than 4 months. The trial was already a victory. The trial was a ray of hope that justice would prevail and the killer would be punished as he deserved. An influential rich man could not hush up the matter with bribes. “It is indeed a victory,” she thought. Thanks to the wide publicity of the case, the mother felt not only the support of the public, but also an obligation to remain strong for the sake of her daughter and other women subjected to domestic violence. The judge asked the court to stand up. Silence… Court. It has already lasted 20 days. Looking at the imperturbable face of her daughter's husband and her killer, the woman felt a surge of rage. She wanted to bring him the same pain that he brought to her daughter and the whole family. The rage turned into despondency. It seemed that all the jurors and the judge had already received their bribes, so the killer sat smugly. But looking into the eyes of one of the jurors, the woman realized that the efforts made to conduct this trial were not in vain. On the same day, the president signed the law, popularly named after her daughter. It is designed to protect women and children from domestic violence. For a second the woman thought about the absurdity of the situation. A person had to die painfully for a law to be passed to criminalize beatings, for support centers against domestic violence to operate, for inducement to suicide to be criminally punished, and even for the introduction of criminal liability for sexual harassment of children. The woman felt anger towards the tyrants and sympathy for the victims. But these feelings quickly gave way to mental pain. Only one question was in her head: “Why my daughter?” The woman became pensive and there was silence… Silence was only in her head. A wave of hope swept across the country. The only thing that bothered people was that the trial was not over. Silence… Court… Jury… Judge… Killer… Media… Everything seemed too surreal. It seemed to the woman that she was not in that room. She wished this was a dream. For 2 months now, the whole country has been discussing the life of her daughter. Some even blamed her daughter for what happened. Tears welled up in her eyes. A couple of minutes later, the judge announced a 24-year sentence for the killer (there were cases when wife killers were given only 1.5 years). The country rejoiced. But a storm raged in the woman's heart. All emotions were mixed. This is a victory and a defeat at the same time. This is joy, but at the same time, sadness. Silence… There are different emotions hanging in the air. But most importantly, justice to some extent triumphed. A new era of the country's development has begun. The killers realized that they would be punished for what they had done, and the victims would stop keeping silent about it. People felt safe. However, the grief of the family of the deceased girl cannot be expressed in words. This time, the silence was interrupted by the carefree laughter of children and the silent smile of a woman, satisfied with her life without a tyrant.