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First published in 2024

Text copyright © Nodira Bositkhanova
Design copyright © Nodira Bositkhanova

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.

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 Thanks to all the people who shared,
supported,
and believed

Special thanks to Hamro, for dedicating so much of his effort and time to
this project
Iymona, for trusting in the idea
Our team, friends, and of course my parents

and every single teenager who made this book possible

Reflecting the youth of Uzbekistan as we are

If you tell anyone abroad that you are from Uzbekistan, the most
common reply you will receive is “Pakistan?” or, “Afghanistan?” Some
people might know the word Uzbekistan itself but very likely they will
have no clue what it is. Our culture. Our values. Us.

In order to learn about Uzbek life and immerse in it, one has to read
books either in Uzbek or Russian - which puts restrictions on many. We
have great books in Uzbek (O’tgan Kunlar, Shum Bola) that give a
glimpse into what it is to be an Uzbek. But once again, many people
abroad cannot read those books.

This moves us to the next point. What writing in English does is that it
allows you to reach a wider audience, helping people of other nations and
languages sympathize with you. Language can be a barrier but also a
bridge.

Why do we need “101 Teenagers of Uzbekistan”? It will, I hope, be an

opportunity to show if not the whole population of Uzbekistan, then at
least the young ones, teenagers of our nation. Who we are. What we care
about. What our stories are like. We all have our own stories to tell.

Your Story Counts.

Nodira B.
Over the course of four months, our team of “Tomorrow is Sunny” has
been collecting stories of young people throughout all the regions, starting
from Tashkent to Qashqadaryo and Karakalpakstan. Having received
hundreds of responses from people of any age between 14 and 24, we
have composed this book under the title “101 Teenagers of Uzbekistan”.
This book is our humble attempt to represent the youth of Uzbekistan.
To achieve our goal, we prepared special forms and questions that would
help the young people to most accurately share what defines them and
what holds value to them.
The Google form given to all the storytellers required them to imagine
themselves in a forest with a stranger old man who would be willing to
hear their story. The prompt goes as follows:
“Early July. In the morning, you take your bike and go for a ride in the
forest. You have been doing this every summer morning and know the
road quite well. However, after several hours of riding you realize that you
have turned the wrong way and do not know where you are. You try to
retrieve your path but to no avail. It's getting late and you hear a wolf cry
somewhere in the distance. You need to find a shelter. After an hour of
wandering you come across a log cabin.
You go in.
As you enter, you see an old man in his 80-s sitting on a couch, eyes
closed. You explain the situation and ask him whether you can stay in the
cabin for a night so that you could find your way home tomorrow
morning. He agrees and prepares a room for you after giving you
something to eat. Over supper, you find out that he used to be a logger
but now he lives in the woods in seclusion because he feels like life in the
city does not appeal to him anymore. You can hear all kinds of sounds
coming from outside - a wolf crying, water running, trees trembling, an owl
hooting - and feel comfortable and protected in this warm wooden house.
The old man strikes you as a very calm and sympathetic person who has
seen life and you start respecting him quite quickly.
As your conversation goes deeper, you decide to share a story of your
own life. You have all the time you need and you know he will listen to
you.
Now, reflect and share your own story. It could be your whole life
described as one story or one event or experience you think is important
to you. The story should be yours and should reveal your personality and
your values. The following questions are examples to help you with ideas

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and guide you through the process. What you write about is entirely up to
you.
• Certain experiences divide our lives into 'before' and 'after'. Describe an
experience that had left a significant impression on you or has influenced
you considerably. How has this experience affected you? Do you look at
it differently now than you did at first? Reflect on how it fits a larger image
of your life and whether it has changes your values.
• Describe an important step you took or a difficult decision that you
made. Why was it difficult/important? How have your values and
principles influenced the decision? And did the decision influence your
values and principles?
• Compare your life to an object (a puzzle, a roller coaster, a clock, glass,
coffee or anything you like) and describe how they are connected.
Metaphors are welcome.
• Talk about an interesting and/or unique side of yourself that most
people may not know about but you think is valuable to you. Why do you
think it is valuable?
• Imagine the world and yourself 30 years from now. How have you
changed? Describe how you fit into that new world. Compare your
present self and future self. Do not forget to focus more on yourself and
your growth.
• If you were able to do absolutely anything right now, what would it be?
It could be reaching the highest point on Earth, meeting someone you
admire, or creating some crazy piece of art. Anything. Why do you want
to do that? Do you think you will be able to do that in the future for real?
• If you could solve one problem in the world, what would it be? Why is
it important to you?
• Is there anything you have/haven't done that you regret now? If you
could revert everything, how would you act? Why? Can you do anything
about it now?
• Any other prompt of your own design which would help others to
understand you better

Remember that this story is here to reveal something important about you
or your life. So, please be reflective and take your time.

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A Letter to the Contributor:

What does it feel like to see your story get published? Is it comforting to
know that someone else is going to read and sympathise with your story,
get to know you better through your experiences and thoughts? Perhaps
even, someone will get relief in the knowledge that they are not alone in
what they are going through. Isn’t it exciting that you can connect with
people you never knew thanks to some mere pages of a book?

That is the sweetest thing about writing. When while reading you come
across something, a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things that you'd
thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone
else, a person you've never met. It's as if a hand has come out, and taken
yours.

“101 Teenagers of Uzbekistan” is our bridge for people to connect

through sharing.

And I am very happy that your story is part of the book!

Nodira

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Writing a story calms, sharing it - liberates.

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1.

"Had a lot of Things Left Unsaid, Grandaddy"

Looking back nearly a decade, I was fortunate to share a special bond

with my grandfather, who had dedicated a substantial portion of his life to
serving in government. His love and kindness towards me among his
many grandchildren were evident in his every action, a fondness I came to
appreciate all too late.
Applauding the truthfulness and determination, he had aspirations to see
the same in me, which is why he used to being actively involved in my
upbringing so that I could learn the essence of life’s invaluable lessons
inside out. On one ordinary day, however, when just taking my first steps
to primary school, my life seemed to turn upside down. It is because a day
trip to the countryside for a serene escape into nature with my extended
family resulted in an accident where I slipped and fell into a swiftly flowing
river and hit my head on the stone.
In that way, I opened my eyes under three bright lights and among several
doctors surrounding me like atomic particles. After undergoing a lengthy
operation, followed by long therapy sessions, I managed to stand back
both physically and emotionally. During this trying period, my
grandfather’s unwavering support to giving a spark of hope in me to take a
step forward in life was a clincher, despite changes in our living
arrangements due to filial obligations. My granddad, therefore, frequently
visited our new home a lot to help with my rehabilitation, and his attentive
care in the final weeks leading up to my entry into elementary school on
time.
There is no doubt that when wounds healed and pain relieved, my
grandfather took it upon himself to find an academically competitive
school for me, under the name of Abdurakhman Jomiy. But I began
moaning about the scar on my head and always tried to hide it under my
hair so as not to feel embarrassed in front of my new classmates, worrying
my grandad. So, to that end, in a poignant conversation linked with staying
up half the night talking, he explained to me not to be ashamed of who I
am as imperfections are intrinsic to our existence and not something to be
concealed. To make it clearer, he shared his appalling wound, getting
darker and larger with each passing day, on his left toe. To reassure me
when I felt terrified, he calmly told me that it was just a minor injury and it
would heal in due time.

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Tragically, after a while, my concern turned out to be justified in early
December, when he was diagnosed with diabetes, and he passed away on
the 16th of this month (December 2023) due to the worsening of his
illness. The death of my grandad who wanted me to be the person he
respected but could not see was an emotional blow to me. This is because
although a life-altering accident’s vestige stays at the corner of my forehead
forever, he not only taught me to embrace it as a blessing for my whole
life ahead, but not to be ashamed of the way I am. Over time, I got used
to his absence. With the utmost understanding of his expectations of me,
I realized the scar’s wisdom when I was studying in my secondary school
being not only an academically active student but a leader of so many
clubs in different subject areas, be it algebra or physical education.

Undoubtedly, as we consistently seek a genuine replacement for

ourselves, we strive to mold them into our reflection, like a skilled artisan
shaping their masterpiece, but the true essence lies in embracing life’s
trials as blessings, even when they come with some pain. The legacy of
guidance and strength my grandfather bestowed upon me remains an
enduring beacon in my journey.

Asilbek, Qashqadaryo

2.

We were building an imaginary world with my sister in the garden when

we heard other children coming towards our house. They apparently
haven’t noticed us as we were on our knees on the ground. One of them
picked up a stone and threw it to the apricot tree. They were after our
‘g’ora’ – not yet ripe apricots. They tried it but with not much success, so
they went up the tree and broke one branch to use as a stick. We were
still sitting in our hiding place but when we saw them smashing the trees
and making a mess on the ground, we jumped out and began shouting.
They flew immediately. Content that we had scared them off, we
threatened them not to come here ever again. Great.

Next, we had to create a plan on how to protect our fruits from future
thieves. We decided we would be the guardians so prepared ourselves
accordingly: my sister found a black stripe of cloth that I would be wearing

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as a ninja forehead band. We both drew black lines under our heads and
took a rake and a spade from grandfather’s storeroom.

Over the course of next few days, we didn’t leave the vicinity of the
garden, spying on the passers-by and scaring off any kid we saw as a
potential threat. Once, while we were having lunch, a neighbor woman
was taking some of our go’ras while her children collected the fallen ones.
We didn’t know how to protect our fruits this time as she is an adult, how
could be fight against an adult?
We could only pretend to be removing weeds to make them leave faster
with our presence, although it was very awkward 5 minutes for us.

Later, when father came home from work, we told him about our
adventures.
“Dad, how can they so easily steal somebody’s fruit? They didn’t raise
those trees.”
“Why do you think we have planted them in the outside garden and not
inside?” he asked.
“Well, because we didn’t have any more space inside the house?”
He laughed. “No, because we planted them for everyone. Don’t scare
people anymore with your tools like this anymore, okay? It’s fine for them
to take some fruits as long as they don’t litter or beat the trees. You plant a
tree outside with the intention of sharing with others too. That’s what
neighbors are for, sharing and helping one another.”

It’s been a long time since Dad said this to us. But whenever somebody
asks me what Uzbeks are like, I always remember this incidence. We also
share our food with each other, whenever we cook pilaf, for example.
Uzbek people are friendly and care for one another, and that’s something
we all can be proud of.

Abdulaziz, Khorezm

3.

We know that the main goal and desire of all people in this world is to
live happily. In this way, even if a person doesn't want to, he faces a
number of problems, difficulties, and obstacles, or if he hesitates to
choose, he or she has to make important decisions that will change his

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entire life. If the right decision is made in such important situations, a
person will overcome all difficulties with a strong will and achieve the
happy life he has been waiting for. One such important decision
happened in my life...

I was a 19-year-old boisterous, playful, inquisitive girl who set great goals.
At that time I was working in my beloved pharmacy profession and I was
a 1st year student of my dream university. I was happy that all my wishes
were coming true as I expected. However, suitors constantly coming to
our house caused my family members to change their minds. They came
to the conclusion that I should be married in time. I completely resisted it
crying and quarreled with my family members. However, my parents
politely explained that everything would be fine even after the wedding,
that no parent would do harm to their child, and that they would agree
with me if I agreed to their wishes. I agreed to it, no matter how difficult it
was to let go of my desires.

The wedding took place, and soon we had a sweet daughter. Currently, I
have my favorite profession, while serving my father-in-law and mother-in-
law and raising children. I got a certificate in English with level C1 and was
accepted to the master's degree at the university I dreamed of. I am
currently studying with excellent grades and working on my own academic
work. I have been winning high places in many important competitions,
and today I have set myself the goal of becoming a winner of the
Presidential Scholarship and continuing my doctoral studies abroad...
There are many things I have achieved and what I want to achieve. I am
very happy with my current life and I understood the fact that if a person
sets a goal for himself or herself, works for it wholeheartedly, and can
make the right decisions at the right time, he or she can overcome any
difficulty and achieve the bright life he wants. Here, I want to clearly say
that, every Uzbek woman, who is the mirror of our nation and the
founders of our bright future, is able to overcome any difficulties and lead
a happy life. If family members support them, they will achieve their
goals. Our Uzbek women also take care of their families in addition to
performing important tasks such as raising a child and others. Both the
woman studies and is able to support her family financially by working in
some field.

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By the way, unmatched in elegance and behaviour Uzbek women can
shake not one cradle, but the whole world!!!

Lucky girl, Bukhara

4.

From the age of 19 until just last year, my life felt like a constant race.
Always trying to grab onto everything, do more than was required, and
incessantly comparing my achievements, I was unable to relax. It was a
daily schedule filled with back-to-back events and obligations; two events a
day were the norm. I was caught in a whirlwind of my own making, fueled
by the belief that busyness equaled success.

Then, one day, it all became too much. Exhaustion seeped into my
bones, and I simply surrendered. I made a conscious decision to live
slowly, deliberately, and peacefully. This shift was not easy, as old habits
die hard. The urge to constantly do more, and achieve more, was deeply
ingrained.
However, as time went on, I began to see the results of this slower pace of
life. My relationships with family, friends, and acquaintances improved
markedly. I found myself gaining clarity on what I truly wanted, who I
wanted to be, and how I wanted to live my life. It was a revelation.
I came to understand that life's pace is akin to driving on a road. The
faster you go, the more dangerous it can be. It's like the difference
between a speeding sports car and a sturdy tractor. The sports car might
reach its destination quicker, but it's more prone to crashing at the
slightest bump. On the other hand, the tractor, moving steadily and
deliberately, navigates obstacles with ease and even has time to enjoy the
scenery.

I share this personal journey because I know how today's youth are often
taught to live: fast, at breakneck speed, chasing more achievements, more
money. But behind this facade of success lies a dead-end. It took hitting
that dead-end for me to realize that there is profound value in slowing
down.
Living slowly doesn't mean a lack of ambition or laziness. It's about being
intentional with your time and energy, focusing on what truly matters, and

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savoring each moment. It's about choosing depth over breadth, quality
over quantity.
I've learned that it's okay to not constantly be in motion, to not always
strive for the next big thing. Life is not a race to some imaginary finish
line; it's a journey to be savored and enjoyed.

Abatova Asel, Tashkent

5.

As I sit and think what the most defining moment of my life was, one
memory keeps pushing me as if from behind. Of course, there were many
other good and bad events, joyful and pleasant, achievements and failures.
Just the way it is with everybody else. But it all comes to this past, to this
day which preceded everything else.

I believe it was the beginning of October, the weather not yet too cool. I
was four and my little sister two years younger. We were playing hide and
seek, she running from me and I trying to catch her. she had her cute
yellow T-shirt and shorts which I wore when I was younger.
As it was a weekend, mom prepared everything to wash clothes. We still
used to wash them on our own as we didn’t have a washing machine back
then. She boiled a bucket of water and began chopping vegetables for the
dinner. When the water boiled, she poured the water into a large metallic
bowl she used for rubbing the clothes in. She left to bring something.

We were still playing. The bowl of boiled water stood there in the middle
of the yard when we came running towards it. I saw the bowl and shouted
to my sister to stop right there. She thought I was trying to catch her again
so run even faster. At the last moment, when I was close to her, she did
try to stop but it was late. She didn’t fall on the bowl or hit it hard. She just
sat down on it because she couldn’t keep her balance. She just sat down,
but the water was too hot for her little fragile body. She was burnt, and
burnt very seriously. Mom came rushing and crying and took my sister to
hospital immediately. But the burns were too serious and she didn’t make
it. That’s how I lost my sister.

My mother couldn’t accept it. She cried every hour. “I know you are a
strong girl,” she used to say to me, “so do not blame yourself on it. We

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will go through these times.” But I know she was already broken inside.
Every day, she ate herself from within blaming herself for the death of her
little child. That it was her who left a bowl of hot water in an open place.
That she should have been careful with children in the house. She didn’t
want to accept that her child died because of her. My mom thought it was
her who killed my sister.
I saw her decaying with each day. She wouldn’t eat her breakfast, wouldn’t
talk with us as in the past, although she did hug me a lot crying how she
was going to live now. My dad told to leave her alone for some time as she
was going through grieving period. At times when my mother would cry
into her pillow for hours, dad would do his best to entertain me so I
wouldn’t feel my mom’s absence. She changed a lot, looked sick all the
time and lost a lot of weight. I wished I could help her – I tried to get her
attention with my antics and even tantrums. It didn’t work. It was as if my
mother was somewhere else, certainly not in our home, suffering alone
and not letting us in her pain.

Three months after my sister’s death my mom drowned herself in a river.

She left home without telling anything, not even saying good-bye to me,
and didn’t come back. It was only hours later that I found out from dad
mom wasn’t with us anymore. She left to the place where my sister was.
What followed next was a sequence of blurred snapshots. And it didn’t
matter anyways. Losing two of my closest people made me numb to
everything that happened afterwards.

And here, I always wondered. Mom, when you were in so much pain,
why couldn’t you remember that you still had another child to take care of
and to love? How could you forget about my existence so quickly? We all
grieved over our little girl’s loss, and I know you were hurt the most, but.
Have you ever thought about me? That I too, needed you and your
attention. I still needed my mom in the worst days of my life. After you
left, I didn’t want anyone else’s love. I just wanted you back. I wished you
didn’t leave me. Our family.

Whenever I come home from Tashkent, I take a look at that river. Try to
imagine what had happened on that day. My coming home is like reliving
the past over and over.

But at the end,

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I hope you are at peace now. I hope you are happy. And with my sister.

Dilnavoz, Qashqadaryo

6.

Life is like coffee. Sometimes it’s extremely bitter and sometimes too
sweet. Sometimes we like the sweetness and sometimes we need
bitterness. Sometimes it can be made with love because we want it or
sometimes we are just desperate for it. The interesting thing is that
whenever you make or order a cup of coffee with the same taste and
flavour all the time, it’s not the same. As a coffee-lover I'm so sensitive to
the change of a taste of my favourite taste of coffee if it’s not good made
especially if i had to wait in a long line i get so annoyed for the time i
wasted and for a bad service. Same in life, you never know what cup of
coffee you will get this time.

At the age of 14 I had 4 siblings; 1 brother and 3 little sisters. I don’t know
if I love them but yes I'm so attached to them so most probably I do. It
was a lockdown period which meant I needed to help with their studies as
everything was shifted from reality to virtual one. My parents left the
house out of the blue that day with my little sister, saying that they needed
to prepare documents for her as we were promised to go on vacation right
after the lockdown ended. I couldn’t believe them, I was worried deep
down as I noticed changes in my little sister's health. She was sleepy all the
time for unknown reasons. We ended up staying at home with my
grandmother.

Several weeks passed, my sister was in the hospital with my mom, as she
probably got a virus or most probably covid-19 . I believed it was one of
those usual, good, sunny days where I needed to take care of my siblings
helping my grandma with households. Until I got a call from my dad
crying and repeating the same thing several times (I barely remember the
words but it was something like "you can bear that because I know you’re
strong enough for this”). And it turned out that I was strong enough to
bear that. At that time I already knew that my sister left this world as it was
the only thing on my mind and the biggest fear at that time but didn’t want
to accept this, so I was trying to hold myself as calm as possible trying to
persuade him to tell me what happened and whether my sister is okay. At

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the end what he said was following: “We are gonna meet her in the other
world, qizim ( daughter).” I fell down, thinking what should i do next cry
or tell my siblings who almost got to know about it from my condition as
tears started falling down from my cheeks, my another sister started crying
by seeing my condition as she was right next to me. I started biting and
pinching myself that hard trying to realise if I was dreaming or if I was
literally going through it that bruises appeared several days after. It was a
period when my brother had a big interest in horses, and was wanting one
for his birthday. After getting to know about the news he started crying
and shouting he didn't need anything but his sister back, who
unfortunately already left us.

Seeing my siblings’ reaction I lost my consciousness, realising that we lost

part of us was like a disaster. The only thing I remember after opening my
eyes was that my grandma was forcing me to sip water and many people
whom I didn't know and never met before came to our home. While
typing I can't hold my tears down, and I would prefer the rest of the story
to be the scariest dream ever, as after my parents brought my sister’s body
no she wasn’t scary looking in contrast she was so beautiful but was in a
long and deep sleep that no one ever could wake her up from and we bid
our last farewells.

I wouldn’t imagine that the atmosphere in my family would change so

much after funerals, but the darkest times were ahead. I thought I was the
one who needed to take my family out of that darkest period. I was even
ready to be a clown to make them at least smile and bring their laugh
back. My life after this desperation split into before and after. It pushed
me to growth and both emotional and mental stability. I started doing
physical exercises more often and tried to release all my negative energy
through it and I liked the pain after working on my body. Focusing even
more on myself and self-growth I didn't even notice that my family was
growing with me and making us to be even more close with each other.
The result is that I became more mature with widened points of view and
who isn't afraid of dreaming big, setting ambitious goals, working hard to
achieve them and more importantly sharing love and kindness with
people whatever their condition is. But still keeping notes of my
weaknesses and working on them.

Iman, Fergana

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7.

I think my life is like the four seasons. In each period of time, just like
how nature changes, I tend to change myself as well. To be honest, it is
not intentional. It is something that happens to me when I realize what I
have been doing is wrong, or I just have to improve it a little bit. That is
quite confusing, I know...

At times, I start to reduce socializing, be cold towards everyone around

me, lose the motivation to keep going. I guess that is when the winter
comes, like how nature sleeps during the winter, I just curl up in my shell
too. But after some time, spring comes. My mind fills up with those
beautiful and delusional thoughts, as if I am the brightest twinkling star.
And then I start melting. That means summer has come. All the
motivation and ideas just get melted by laziness as if they are the drops of
water that the sun melted from the icy mountains. And here comes
autumn - regaining strength and all the new ideas and being more
prepared not to lose them to the autumn winds. When I do something
better, the sun shines so brightly, when it is the opposite, rain always
welcomes me...

Even though, after realizing my mistakes, I do not like regretting them at

all. And the reason is - I know that my mistakes are not going to get
corrected or the things that I lacked are going to get better. Instead,
regretting affects my mental health, makes me overthink everything I did,
even it can lead me to lose faith and belief. And the most important thing
is, I believe that "If it is meant to be, it will be". What I meant by that is, no
matter how much you regret your past actions, it is all useless, since they
are all in the past now. It was meant to happen at that specific time and
blaming yourself for all of this is wrong. Blaming yourself is the biggest
mistake. You have been through a lot, and you did your best. Everything
happens for a reason. From every mistake we learn different lessons.
Learning is the key to success. I know that it is not easy to overcome
hardships, it is tough enough to make you lose your hope and give up, but
indeed, there is an ease after every single hardship.

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That is how life goes. It consists of all the high and low peaks which help
us to develop the best version of us. But one thing to note is, no matter
what happens, just keep smiling!

Mirzaraximova Sevinch, Tashkent

8.

The smell of bread

Sometimes people ask me why I am kind to others and try to understand

and feel their pain. I always tell them, in response, that maybe that's
because of the life I lived and am still living. Now that I have a chance to
share it with others, I want to write about my life's bad and good times that
shaped me into my present self.

2009 Jizzakh. When I remember this city, I remember each breath and
all tastes. Careless childhood times, I lived the moment and loved the
moment. I was three years old when our small family of four members
moved there. I didn't know why, but the only thing I knew was that "my
dad works in the military field." I knew it with pride and told it with pride.
I was a capricious child, as I was the youngest.

In my third year, as my mother says, I was suffering from intestinal

worms. My father wanted to treat me with his "traditional" medicine. He
wanted me to eat some smelly garlic. He was drunk, I knew, as I
remember the smell of alcohol as he breathed right into my face. Of
course, I refused to eat that. He forced me by grabbing my neck. He tried
to open my mouth, torturing my cheeks with his hands. When he opened
my mouth and put garlic in it, I bit his fingers. With his left hand, he beat
my face immediately. With his monstrous size, he beat me several times
and threw me to the wall. I was so afraid that my heart stopped for a
moment. My mother brought me to my bed and consoled me when I was
choking in tears.

I fell asleep after my mother's kindness. I had a scary and unusual dream.
The dream was like this: I was lying on the table in a white room with four
people standing and staring at me. My body was open from the belly.
They were taking out my organs and putting them back. Then one of the

18
men leaned forward and whispered these words in my ear: "My boy, you
are dead; we are here to take you away." That man's words scared me and
made me run to my mother's hug immediately after I woke up. My
mother said, "You were white as if you had been colored with white paint."
I remember I told her, "Mommy, am I going to die soon?". I had a high
temperature of 39.5 °C. I threw up three times until an ambulance finally
came. When they saw the marks of five fingers and a palm on my face,
their first question was, "Who beat the child?". They told my mother to fill
in a form against my dad. My mother was afraid that he would lose his
career because of conflicts. She refused to do so. They took me to the
hospital, where doctors diagnosed strong stress and shock—tachycardia.
For seven days continuously, I vomited whatever I ate. Seven days were
like a year of bad days for my mother. I had strange dreams about how I
was going to die for seven days.

In Uzbekistan, such illnesses as tachycardia are called "Yurak tushishi"

(heart failure). Those illnesses were treated by Islamic and religious
people, Mullas, who recited the Holy Quran and covered the chest with
raw eggs.

When my mother told Mulla about my strange dreams, he responded,

"This boy will become a religious man; he will learn Arabic and the
Quran; he is unique." We went there with my dad. As Mulla told him not
to come close, he was restricted from entering. He went back to his work.
On the way back home with my mom, I smelled the new baked bread. I
asked, "Mommy, is that the smell of bread?" She nodded. "Mommy, can I
eat some of it?". "It smells delicious, can I?". My mom was so happy she
was ready to jump from happiness. She bought me some bread. They
were freshly baked but warm so that I could still eat them. I was in my
light blue shorts, bandaged belly on top of that, wearing a green shirt,
open at the front. Bandaged head, satisfied face, playful steps. Eating
bread bite by bite while sharing with mom. I was becoming alive after the
things that happened seven days before. It's been 15 years since I have
lived with such a dad. That thing is just one of them. I completely forgot
that. I had a deep conversation with my mother one day after my dad's
crazy scandals. That was the day when my mom told me all about this.
Even if I had this story, it doesn't mean that I didn’t have good memories
with my dad. I do have them and value them a lot. I do not say my dad is
the worst person I have. I am so grateful to have such a supporter and a

19
source of investment in my studies and all the costs of education. But he
can't be a source of kindness and friendliness. My favorite phrase became
"the roller coaster of emotions" when I was learning English. I think that
this phrase summarizes well what my life and relationship with my dad
have been like so far.

I have one life's gift, which is understanding someone's pain and being
empathetic. I like this gift, but it has cost me lots of good times. There is
one saying that goes like, "A full person can't understand a hungry one."
Emotionally hungry myself, it’s been easy for me to understand people
alike.
Sometimes peace is all I want.

Hamro, Samarkand

9.

Mom says I was literally a “present from God,” hence my name,

Hudoyberdi. Let me tell one story.
I was somewhere between four and five. Middle of summer, or what we
call “Chilla.”

I was playing with the neighborhood kids kicking ball from one street to
another. One of the kids kicked a bit too high so the ball flew over the
roof and everyone had to go rescue it.
I stayed behind and decided to wander around.
what happened next is blank space.

When I woke up, I saw I was inside a car. Next to me sat a boy of around
the same age as me. He too, was half-awake, and with blood trickling from
his head. Our eyes met and we gazed at each when suddenly he got alert
and said, “We must get out of here.”
We looked around and saw many apartment buildings; we were parked
next to one. We peeked out of the door, and having made sure no one
was around, we run. We run as fast as we could without knowing where.
Five minutes. Thirty. I knew I was also knocked out with a hammer as my
comrade in misfortune told, but none of us cared about the pain. We had
to get as far as we could. After running for about forty minutes, I finally
found myself in a familiar place. I recognized it to be the market Chorsu.

20
From here on, we just said good-bye and got into our perspective cars. He
got into a bus, I – Damas. After half an hour I was already at home where
my Mom had been waiting for me with tears. She hugged me immediately
and cried even more when she saw blood on my head. But after the
moment of reunion passed, she beat me for “playing where I shouldn’t
have and scaring her to death.”

They couldn’t find our kidnapper. I clearly remember the car was Jiguli
but the other boy said it was Volga. It was white, he said it was beige. In
short, we confused the investigators and weren’t of much use, honestly.
That kidnapper most probably wanted to either sell us as slaves or sell our
organs, the adults told, so we were very lucky that he was stupid enough to
leave the car like that. No but really, who does that?

Hudoyberdi, Tashkent

10.

It happened about two weeks ago on one of the weekdays, when instead
of being at school, guess what ... I was reading a book at home, sitting
comfortably on the beige couch by the bookshelf. My parents were
already at work and my siblings were at school, and after washing a plenty
of dishes from yesterday and from breakfast, I sat down to read the book
named '1984' by George Orwell. It was a marvelous book of dystopia and
as usual I drowned in the world of socialist London.... I don't know how
much time had passed since I started reading, but at some point I smelled
a pungent odor of something burning (I know this smell very well because
I cook disgustingly)... And slightly lifting my head from the book I saw ...
that the heating on the right corner of my beloved bookshelf was
burning!!! (surprise, surprise). Of course I was astonished, and the way the
flames were getting brighter and more powerful every second beckoned
my eyes and made my heart flutter.... But not even twenty seconds later,
my brain gave me a warning sign; shocked I ran to the backyard (lucky we
don't live in a high-rise building), rushed to the barrel, filled a bucket of
water and... it was too heavy for me to carry it (I thought I should start
working out). But somehow I dragged the water to the fire and poured it
all on the burning fire. But at that time the fire had already gotten to the
bookshelves, and the wooden edge was burning. I was in despair and one
bucket of water was not enough, I ran for the next one, and just in case for

21
yet another one. I thankfully managed to put out this stupid fire, which
burned several of my most irreplaceable books, among which were
manuscripts of one of the smartest historians Barthold, and burned the
back side and several end pages of the book "465 degrees Fahrenheit" (it's
also about burning books, which was very ironic). After being busy putting
out a small fire, I called my dad and as usual, anxiously told him
everything that had happened. But since he was in an important meeting
of some physicians, I had to call our neighbor who somehow sorted out
and turned off all the heating at home. And as the master found out later,
it happened because my dad turned on the boiler right after it was turned
off, without waiting for the heating to come to a normal temperature. It
could have caused a big explosion, but, as it turns out, God loves me and
my books. It was a pure coincidence that proved once again that our lives
and our books are literally held together by a thin thread, and of course
after that I began to think of a different way this story could have ended.
But it was what it was.
I'm sorry for my shelf and books, but they can be restored. And I'm
certainly not going to talk about the cautionary lessons (it's too ridiculous),
and as Uncle Hamigway used to say, "What makes this world a fascinating
place to live is the fact that we don't know what's going to happen next
minute."

Vaziira, Samarkand

11.

You feel as if the old man would like to further inquire about your
background, specifically your life story. "Well, sir, you seem quite curious
about me, but my life is as unremarkable as I am. Thus, I feel that'd I
bore you with such frivolous stories. Perhaps, I am inclined to inform you
as you have already enlightened me of your life story, so here goes
nothing. You comfortably position yourself on the sofa to start. "T'was a
rainy day and a couple suddenly heard a knock on their door. The wife
opened the door to see no one except a small creature wrapped in a
blanket, a child," the old man's eyes widen and you begin to let out a loud
chuckle. "I'm just kidding! Tho, that would been quite a story. I've had a
pretty normal life during my childhood. I still do, like that of a child from
a middle-class family, born in Namangan but raised in Tashkent.

22
Something worth mentioning did happen when I was a toddler, like when
I was around 3. We had this huge, bulky, 2000s TV, more like the 1990s
but anyway TV was placed on a flimsy shelf, and it was as tall as my 3-
year-old body. Can you guess what I did with it one day? Yeah, I pulled it
towards me and it fell on my head. Long story short, I blacked out and got
a concussion. This TBI still annoys me to this day, to say the least. I'm not
complaining or anything, I hope you do not take it as some sob story, but
this injury has greatly affected my life, and only recently have I been
getting treatments for it. Luckily, I have never had any problems with my
academics (so far so good), save for the times the headaches from the
concussion get so unbearable that I have to drop everything and just lay
down with a cup of water and aspirin in my hands. Whenever I do not
have any of the headaches, I'm in my best mood, I have developed a deep
gratitude for my health and try to be very productive with my time. My
gratitude for health has inspired me to want to pursue a career in
medicine, particularly in neurology or cardiology.

I guess that's about it. Well as for my hobbies, I love to do all sorts of
random things. I can never really commit to one hobby at a time, but the
hobby that I've been sticking with the most, at the moment, is indulging in
classical literature. My favorite book of all time is Sherlock Holmes! It's a
detective genre book. I love the characters in the series and how
beautifully crafted the plot is, as well as Mr. Watson's narratives! I find
contemporary mystery/detective books so predictable and foolish,
especially when there are many instances of vulgar language being used
which I find so repulsive. Reading classical English literature was tough at
the start as the vocabulary was sometimes obsolete and completely new to
me, but in the end, I managed to come to understand and appreciate it.

Kamila, Namangan

12.

The whole place is covered with green. The trees are blooming and the
birds’ chirping and singing make people happy. There is a swing on the
branch of a big old mulberry tree in the middle of our garden. But when I
look at this swing, a strange feeling surrounds my heart and reminds me of
my sister. 5 years ago, on a sunny and happy day, my aunt called me and
shocked me. In this call, I was informed that my dear sister is sick with

23
cancer. My sister's name is Bahor, she is 3 years older than me. She
always studied hard and had good grades in school. My sister wanted to
become a doctor and treat patients in the future. On the swing mentioned
above, we would talk to each other and find answers to our questions.
Since my sister was born on the first day of spring, they named her Bahor.
I used to ask her questions on topics that I didn't understand. But as soon
as I found out that my sister had cancer, I went to the hospital where she
was being treated and made sure that it was not a lie. But I still had a
glimmer of hope because I believed that there are people who have been
cured of cancer. From that day on, I went to see my sister every day and
sometimes slept next toher. Unfortunately, the doctor said that my sister
had 1 month left to live. I was depressed and cried every night. All our
family members were sad.

1 month and 1 week passed.

My family and I imagined that we were saying our last words to my sister.
But 1 week, 2 weeks, and 3 months passed, and my sister did not feel the
pain. After that, we continued to live as a happy family again, thinking that
my sister had recovered.

After 8 months

My family and I were having dinner. At that moment, my mother forgot

the spoon in the kitchen. That's why my sister went to the kitchen. But
after a long time, my sister didn't come. Then I worried and went to the
kitchen. When I went into the kitchen I found my sister aon the floor
taking her last breaths. I was shocked and shouted "Daddy". I could not
stop the tears in my eyes when I looked at my sister.

After all, I regretted not being able to save my only sister. My sister Bahor
looked at me with the eyes of salvation and told to reach the goals that I
could not reach and find a cure for cancer. My parents could not hear
these words. This incident remained etched in my memory. I set myself a
big goal. By studying at the best university in the field of doctorate, I will
find a cure for the scourge of cancer. By the 7th grade, chemistry and
biology were taught to us. I studied these subjects until the 8th grade and I
was very sad when I found out that I could not work in this field. I was
tormented by the thought that I would not be able to fulfill the last wish of

24
one of my sisters and I decided to tell my mother what happened. My
mother reassured me that everything is possible. But no matter how much
I studied, I could not get good grades in these subjects. Then I told my
mother that in the future I would become a big businessman, open a big
clinic and attract the best specialists in the world. My mother heard my
words. She was very happy. At that moment, my restless heart seemed to
be calmed down. For now.

Elbek Ilhomov, Bukhara

13.

My parents always called me sunshine. Sounds quite childish, but let it be.
You know, sometimes we get embarrassed over our parents’ behavior, our
old photos, some of our habits that others can perceive as strange. As we
grow up, it’s only natural for us to try to fit in so as not to be left out, of
course. But once you look back years later, wouldn’t you rather be slightly
strange but full of life? Weird but so mesmerizing, enjoying your life to
the fullest?

A few days ago we were having lunch with friends in oshxona when we
heard a loud rumbling of a motorbike. From the back entrance came in to
the yard an old man like those gangs on motorcycles. Dressed in white
clothes from top to foot, he had a yellow band around his forehead with
drawings of pink flowers. He had a real rose tied to the handle of his
steering wheel. Even with large black glasses it was obvious how his eyes
were smiling to the upbeat melody coming from the radio on his back
seat. Everyone, whether eating or not, stared at him as he entered the
stage. He left the yard as unabashedly as he came, to the smiles and
applaud of everyone in the canteen, and the better mood everyone would
have for the rest of the day.

I still smile whenever I remember that old man. Whereas people of his
age try to be more the same to keep their image in the public, this man
just shared the great mood he had and didn’t care in what light others
could see him.

This reminded me of the evening walk we took with my friends a few

weeks earlier. We walked for an hour but when it was time to go back

25
home as it grew darker, it suddenly began raining. All three of my friends
run under the shelter of the nearby shops, but I didn’t want to miss this
opportunity. “Papaoutai” was playing in my headphones so I slowly began
moving to the rhythm. My friends at first began laughing and telling to
stop fooling around and come under the overhang. But I didn’t want. I
kept on dancing like that young boy from the clip trying to get his dad’s
attention. Soon then, my friends joined one by one and we danced under
the rain to the music which sung loud through the street. (the area didn’t
have living houses, thank God)

I am pretty positive you have heard this hundreds of times before. And
you know it well. But then once more – you live once, so please make
sure you don’t sleep through your life and regret at the end.
Whenever I got anxious in the past over possible trouble or problems I
would have to deal with, I would say to myself, “as long as it won’t kill me,
everything is fine.” I guess we all would benefit if we started looking at
death with more familiar attitude, aware that it could happen to us at any
moment. Until then, why don’t we wake ourselves up and feel that we are
alive?

NusShin E, Khiva

14.

My mother is Russian and my Dad – Uzbek. My mom always was called a

true beauty. She used to work as an actress in national theatres. I loved
how elegant and graceful she was, slim and with a bright smile. Even
though we never really had much money. Our house had only three
rooms, the kitchen connected to the living room which we also used as
bedroom laying mats on the floor. My mom’s mirror was hung next to the
window. Whenever she did her make-up, I would press my face against
the window and with the smashed nose stare at mother urging her to be
faster as we had to go to school.

When my mom married my dad, they had to move out of his mother’s
house and live separately because we were “too much of a burden for an
already full house.” They gave us a house, or more correctly, a completely
empty piece of land which we somehow had to turn into a house.

26
I used to come home before my parents as they used to work till late
evenings. Having spare hours, I would sweep the ground and prepare
supper before moving to my school homework. My parents had to build
the house on their own as they couldn’t afford to hire a master. They
prepared the concrete and clay and would lay and pour them after work.
Given her small body, my mom was always quite strong. I admired her.
Hoping they would get some rest after work, I would sometimes pour the
cement myself. That would make them happy.

They say there is no love in a hut. My parents married for love but their
money lasted as long as money did. Once they began struggling
financially, they couldn’t find any outlet except for taking their anger out
on each other. Mom was patient with having not enough clothes for
herself but that patience ended when she couldn’t even feed her children
properly.

Dad used to beat her a lot. Whenever he did that, the first thing my mom
did was tell me and my siblings to go to another room so we wouldn’t see
the beatings. She would cover the bruises under her eyes with powder and
keep on working as if nothing happened. They would fight over money
most of the times, but sometimes it would be about my mom’s beauty and
Dad getting jealous with no reason. Dad was bitter with life, that’s obvious.
So he couldn’t bear to see more and more people loving my mom when
she was so bright and attractive on the stage. He always accused mother of
cheating she never did.

It was then that it became clear to me that nothing spoils a father’s

reputation on children’s eyes as him beating up their mother. And as
much as I love my Dad who always saw me as his favorite, I still can’t be
as close with him as I am with mother.

Once mother got very sick and stayed home lying on bed for a week or
so. It was January, a few days before my birthday. It was snowing heavily.
A month ago, I saw the burial of my uncle’s son. When I asked my
parents why he died, they told he was sick. I guess I was 2nd grade in
primary school back then.
I measured her temperature. 40 Celsius. I asked her whether it is okay.
“Well, it is a bit too high. But it should get better now. I made an
injection.”

27
I looked at her and quietly asked, “Mom, are you going to die now?” She
didn’t reply. “You said that boy died because he was ill. If you die, how
am I going to bury you in such snow?” and I began to cry.
Although it makes me laugh whenever I remember this now, back then
my mother got pretty scared because she believed that her daughter “felt
that something bad was going to happen. Perhaps I am going to die, after
all.”

Some will say that a woman must know their value so they won’t settle for
anything low and won’t tolerate bad treatment. They say that a man values
a woman when she herself knows her worth. And they will be right. But
then, there are women like my mother and many more who get
mistreated exactly because they knew their worth. Because they dared to
require what they deserved and got punished by bitter or insecure
husbands. In such cases, a woman is told to be more patient and forgiving.
At any event, you are gonna be the one at fault. So you may as well stop
listening to other people trying to stamp out your light.

Irina, Tashkent

15.

Laying a table, I overheard a conversation between my aunt and her son.

“How can you even think about such things? Do you know how cruel it is
towards your son?”

“it’s not cruel, mother. It is hard, but it is the best thing for my son, isn’t
it?”

“Sending him to a place where they don’t give him food if he doesn’t
study well, where they beat him and don’t let him go anywhere? Isn’t it
too selfish of you?”

“Mom, it’s not–“

“Sacrificing you son’s childhood to make some kind of Qora out of him?
Is it how I raised you? With such values?”

28
What my aunt and cousin have been talking about is Hujra, the place
where children are sent to learn Arabic from a Mulla and read the Holy
Book. Teachers at hujras more often than not have no official religious
education. Most often they teach at private premises – at their own home
or at private study centers claiming they teach Arabic, not Islam. Such
places have increased in the past few years and more parents are
considering the benefits of their child becoming “Qora” and “putting Toj
(a crown) on their head” as the metaphor goes. However, not all of them
can see the troubling character of such places.

There is a boy of 7 years in our neighborhood. He appears on our streets

very rarely, and even when he does, his presence is hardly ever felt.
His father, a master, sent him to Hujra a year and a half ago. His spends
all his time there and gets to see his parents only on Sundays. From
morning till evening, they learn new surhas and go deeper into religious
knowledge, but what is troubling is that this is the only thing he is busy
studying. When he is not well-prepared for the lesson, his food portion is
cut. When he doesn’t do well, the Mulla beats him with a long stick. And
so on for months.
He lives with other kids in the basement, where they sleep and eat and do
their homework. They don’t get to go outside nor indulge in any other
pleasures except for what their master allows them. They are closed as
seashells, seemingly detached from the outside world, and can’t get on
well with other children when they come home. That boy too, is
extremely introverted and you can see how broken he is from his eyes. I
feel very bad for him.

The apparently increasing number of hujra, clandestine religious

classrooms, in our country indicates a growing need for formal religious
education that is not attainable for many at present. Although many
religious leaders have taken steps to educate people by publishing books
and online lessons and webinars, those do not involve direct interaction
between a tutor and a student. What parents seem to want is someone
taking responsibility for supervising their children’s progress in religious
studies. And so they resort to hujras.
Government restrictions, paradoxically, push religious education further
underground, where the risks of transmitting ignorant or potentially

29
radical interpretations is greater. We must have open conversations on
this topic if we don’t want things to happen underground.

Ziyod, Surkhandaryo

16.

The time passes in the blink of an eye. Now, I am sitting here and flicking
the pages of my 20 years of life. As if every turn of a clock’s arrow on the
table reveals one by one the events of my past childhood and up until
now. As I lived, thenumber of gold mines and kind-hearted people
diminished. Until I went to 1st class of school, I lived like other happy
children and was the apple of my mother’s eye. But soon I was pushed
into a pit full of curses and constant fights. My brother also has changed a
lot. He always shouted and forced us to do his tasks, even forbid us to eat
dinner together with our parents. We were so afraid that couldn’t tell this
to parents. Even if we said that, it would just work against us because Dad
is at work the whole day and mom loves her son more than us just
because he is a boy and the first child. My brother judges my sister for
studying in a college that “doesn’t bring any benefit”. I was not out of his
mind either, I was forbidden to draw pictures, play outside with my
friends, touch my mother’s phone and read storybooks. Once he even
broke all of my colorful pencils. One day I really wanted to eat blackberry
and it was behind of our school. I ate 5 pieces of it and back home. For
being late I was hit a lot although I was just 9 years old. Then I decided to
just study and try not to be distracted by such things. My eyesight was poor
because of constant blows on the head. When the doctor asked whether
anything was disturbing me my father said that he hadn’t noticed anything
of that sort.

Whatever happens, I would choose to go back to my childhood if that was

possible. Because there was my angel, my heaven – my mummy.
By the time I was 18 years old, I already needed to choose a university to
study. But my brother forbade me to study. Even so, I lied to him and
went to the exam. With the help of Allah, I got into the Uzbekistan State
World Languages University on a self-funded basis and left my home. I
have attended a variety of webinars and became an ambassador of the
SPSC organization. It was all nothing for him. When someone praised
me, he criticized me as much. Day by day I also started to raise my voice.

30
After my mother passed away, my dad married a woman who seemingly
cared only about money. That influenced my father’s thinking too, so that
whenever I wanted to talk to him, he believed that I was asking for money
although I only needed a heart-to-heart conversation, It was heartbreaking
to see my father become unrecognizable after my mother’s death – he
married off two of my elder sisters without their consent.
With hindsight, I can say that when family is not the source of love and
happiness, kindness and support, when family becomes a pothole of
dragging problems, the only way out is education. And although I cherish
all the precious moments with my family, I still am thankful for being bold
enough to become independent from them.

Abduqaxxorova Odinaxon, Tashkent

17.

My parents met in high school and married for love. They made a perfect
match. In the Western adaptation, this story would end with them having
children and living happily ever after. But no, they happened to live in
Uzbekistan.

Grandmother never liked the fact that mother came from a poorer
background, although she was absolutely in support of their marriage at
the beginning. “Kelinkas from poor families are more obedient” she
replaced with “you must be grateful that you have the privilege to live in
this house” in a few months. My bright smiling mother soon turned into a
gray mouse in the family where everyone began to treat her like a serf.
She hadn’t tried the meals they had. She didn’t have the jewellery they
had. She didn’t have the ‘refined’ taste in clothes they claimed to have
with their extravagantly garish items. They deemed themselves aristocrats
while eating like pigs and laughing like ones. That was the family my
mother had come into after marriage.

It was summer, somewhere at the beginning of June. I was around 4 years,

my sister a year younger. Aunt Maryam used to live in our house after her
husband abandoned her. She also had a son of my age, Amir, let’s call
him so. As always, we filled our rubber pool with water for a few hours
and waited patiently when we could finally get into water.

31
The water reached the edged of the pool wall and we went to our mother
begging her to let us into the water. Our cousin was sick at that time so
obviously he wouldn’t be able to share our joy. When we were splashing
water at each other with my sister in our newly bought swimming clothes, I
heard raised voices from the living room. It had to be grandmother
arguing with my mother.
“How dare you put your children in the pool first without even asking
me? Maryam’s son is sick, and you dare to entertain your children like
that? A brute!”

Each small argument would lead to all the past half-forgotten offenses my
mother ever sinned, and this was a similar case. They shouted at my
mother for at least half an hour while she stood there silently aware that
each argument against them would make things even worse. Because she
let her children swim. In a rubber pool. For children. Pool.
Once, my sister had to cut a pie into equal pieces for the guests. It was
grandmother’s birthday. I was standing next to my sister and licking the
extra cream on the plates. Soon grandmother came from the living room
to the kitchen to check the progress.
She saw that the pieces weren’t super equal as rulers would allow you to.
They were pretty equal, believe me, but seemingly not for the old woman.
She went all crazy and began to shout at my sister for having such ‘wicked
hands that can’t do one job properly’ and soon called for mother and
directed the anger at her. “You couldn’t even raise your children
normally. They always talk back and grunt whenever I tell them to do
anything. I know you are talking ill of me to them to make them hate me.
I know what a snake you are.”
What followed was her throwing a knife at my sister when the latter was
about to live the room in tears. It cut her hand but thank God the injury
wasn’t much serious.
That’s how we argued. Over pieces of pie.

Although I had my own share of arguments with my relatives, I think I

was luckier in a sense because I am a boy. They would leave me alone for
most of the times. My aunts used to adore me as I am the first child in the
family. But my mother and little sister had it much worse and for no other
reason than them being an easy target for stupid accusations. Where all
this hatred would come from I never understood.

32
I am positively happy that I managed to escape many things the female
members of my family dealt with every day, be that routine work like
washing dishes after each member or cleaning every morning. I would
never have enough patience, honestly.

Still, it leaves me feeling odd at the same time. After all, I was an every-day
witness (I don’t live together with them right now) of the unnecessarily
dramatized arguments and yet I barely did anything to help them. It was
easier to pretend that their life is not mine so is none of my concern
either. It was less of a headache, too.

Although I am not the first person to talk about the grave family situations
in Uzbekistan, I still will say this. Those little domestic problems matter
more than we think. They are the biggest energy suckers you can ever
find. And it keeps our mothers and sisters glued to the domestic life with
no access to the dreamy freedom life most boys have. We can ignore that
pretending it’s none of our business. That’s the easiest way. But is that
what we actually want?

Rashid, Bukhara

18.

Disclaimer: The following program contains material that may be

disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.

My first memory is going to a picnic next to a river with mother.

Mountains. Birds chirping. Dandelion seeds flowing in the breeze. With
grass reaching my chest, I run towards mom in my yellow dress and white-
red hat. She hugs me and I can feel her warmth embracing my whole
body, her gentle perfume reminding of springtime, her soft white skin so
pleasant to touch. She plays hide-and-seek with me, both of us jumping
and hiding behind trees. So carefree. So fresh. So warm. The cool water
splashing while sun beamed in my eyes, my mother’s face on that day gets
blurry with each day. I wish we didn’t play water that much so I could still
see her face clearly.

33
Whenever I miss her, I remember this summer day. I miss her even
more whenever bad days happen with dad. My mother died when I was
six in a car crash leaving me to the man I hate the most.

I was only seven when all that began. That man isn’t my actual father but
the man mom married for the second marriage. From outside, we seemed
a completely normal urban family living in three-room apartment. I don’t
have any siblings. My mother didn’t give birth to any other child after the
remarriage.

I was still young to fully understand the concept of death. I just knew my
mother had left me and that broke me from inside. The warm home
became cold colorless remains of the memories I shared with my mother.
I got reserved and spoke very little. I would only nod whenever anyone
asked me a question or shrug my shoulders. Later I came to know it’s
called selective mutism.

He knew very well that I wouldn’t say anything to anyone. He would

slowly close our gray dark curtains and approach me. Anxiety would take
me over. I would be paralyzed.
First it was only about sitting on his lap on the living room sofa. He later
started to ask me to touch his genitals before moving to more disgusting
things.

He taught me to close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere else if I

were scared. That helped. I would think of going to summer camps,
playing in the garden of my grandparents’ cottage. I avoided thinking of
people, however, as it made me feel ashamed. What would they think of
me if they found out who I was actually? I wouldn’t dare to think of
mother either for the fear of dirtying the memories.

Usually, it would not last long, so I had to be patient enough. But as I

grew older, the tortures grew more pervert too. I kept my eyes tight – if I
were in darkness, let it be complete darkness. Every second of it was too
long to be a second. I hated the way his dry harsh skin would press against
mine – his every feature becoming what I feared and despised the most.
Too afraid to be in the present, while he closed my mouth with his hand,
my mind would wander somewhere far from here.

34
I was at my grandparents’ cottage, playing in their huge garden full of
watermelons and apples. I jumped from one knoll to another as the water
was lava in my imagination. It was getting hotter so I was in a underwaist
and my old pink slippers. I heard a dog barking and before I could turn
my head, I tripped down and fell on the soft mud.
While grandma was washing my face and shoulders, she quietly observed
my body. Unlike her usual self, she smiled at me timidly and asked
whether I wasn’t being abused by father. I wanted to say
no, granny, I am alright, but I just couldn’t hold my tears. It’s been the
first time I cried in six years. I was in my grandma’s hug and wept like a
child. Who I actually was.

My teenage years I spent at my relatives’, slowly adapting to living with

more people and children. That man was arrested but of course
everything was hushed down ‘not to ruin his life.’ After getting into a
university in Turkey I moved away and started living on my own. My
extended family did their best to heal me out of the nightmare I once
lived in, but the memories of the past still haunt me by affecting my
everyday life in the most inconspicuous ways. I always keep my curtains
open, for example. I always lock my bedroom and bathroom although
there is nobody else at home. And I still miss my mother a lot.
I hate that my present is so much intertwined with the past. I hate that
whether I want it or not, my past defines me today.

I wonder what mom would do if she knew what I have gone through. I
wish she would hug me and say everything is alright now, you are safe, you
are with me. I wish she could console me and say I was strong and brave
enough.
Mom, I miss you.

Derya, Tashkent

19.

My parents never saw any point in educating their daughters. They did
make us learn Arabic when we were younger and educated on religious
matters but none in worldly ones. Our shabby school didn’t wasn’t of
much use either.

35
I had 3 brothers and 3 sisters. 2 of my sisters studied at school, none
further than that. My elder brother, aware of my curiosity for knowledge,
used to teach me math secretly from mother. At times, she would find out
and beat me, angry that instead of helping out her I was wasting my time
on “the things that won’t matter in my future anyways.” That wasn’t
enough of a reason to give up yet though.

We had a huge garden in our backyard with apple, peach, apricot,

persimmon trees and grapes. After having learnt the types of tree leaves, I
would walk through the garden and name each leaf type. I would be
immersed in biology books and self-study chemistry after school. When
the time for college application began, I began preparing for the entrance
exams. Secretly.

“Girls your age already cook all the dishes and clean on their own without
leaving any work to their mothers. When will you grow up?” I didn’t
know. I have to admit I was never as obedient and well-behaved as my
elder sisters. My brothers would take me to football with neighborhood
boys and cover me up if I broke a stranger’s window. I loved my mahalla,
my life, our house. I loved my family too, of course. But I still knew that I
needed to get away from this vacuum, where trivial problems grow into
huge family scandals and where a neighbor’s opinion mattered more than
your own.

We didn’t have any medical universities in my city, the only ones being in
Tashkent and Andijan.

At night, while everybody was asleep on mats on the floor, I hurriedly

untied my legs from the piece of cloth my mother used to make sure I
wouldn’t run away. I left a pillow under my blanket, took my suitcase, and
hurried to the train station where my uncle awaited me.
I took the entrance exams the following morning and got into the
university on a scholarship basis. Although my parents tried to get me
back home, they didn’t persist much as I was studying now and living at
my uncle’s.

That’s my story. By the way, I fell in love with my professor and soon we
married. I’m studying for my master’s now.

36
Be persistent with your goals.

Anjan sister, Namangan

20.

Summer 2012. Playing hide and seek with the neighborhood children, I
didn’t even notice a huge beast running after me. I stopped and looked
back. Too late, alas.
The dog was mad, my leg hurt a lot. The bite impaired my nervous
system too. This type of damage is the result of a compression of a nerve,
as opposed to a loss or severing. Most dog bite victims with neurapraxia
fully recover after a few months. After a few months, however, I found
myself unable to stop stuttering.

I have avoided talking on this topic openly for a long time now. The
emotions and feelings related to stuttering range from sadness, anger, and
frustration to helplessness and hopelessness.

“Talk slowly,” “Think about what you are going to say” – these are some
of the common advice I have received over the years, and I wish they
worked, but they don’t.
It’s not as simple as inserting a few extra sounds and syllables to each
sentence. It’s the realization that no matter how hard I try, I cannot get a
particular word out. I am truly stuck on a simple word that a fluent 4-year-
old can say without hesitation.
To date, I cannot say “hello” without blinking twice and taking a big
breath before I begin talking.

Stuttering is honestly tiring. Sometimes, I get tired of anticipating a stutter

long before I actually stutter. At other times, I get tired of circumventing
the words I stutter on. Finding synonyms for every feared word while
conversing with another person or speaking publicly isn’t always easy.
Sometimes, I want to run away. But I know that running away won’t stop
my stutter. There have been days when I have felt blood rushing up to my
face, my ears burning and the eyes of my listeners boring into me.
I do have good days, when words flow more fluently, without as much
effort. However, there’s no telling when that day will arrive.

37
Embarrassment
Stuttering is embarrassing for me. Especially when I go out and I have to
place an order for a coffee or food. I’d rather order my food from
Yandex Eats online on the app rather than explain to the waiter what I
want.
It has forced me to be an introvert. I want to go out, have fun, and make
friends. I want to hang out with the few good friends I have, but the fear of
my stutter stops me from doing so. I feel guilty for letting my friends down
at the same time.

Fear
In school, I tried to remain an average student. So no teacher would
expect me to raise my hand or lead a presentation.
Once I got a call-back from a kindergarten, but I took so long to say
“hello” that the employer hung up on me. Well, although that was quite
embarrassing and it made me feel very insecure about my future, I did
receive an email as well. I explained more about my speech disfluency. I
worked as a speech therapist with little kids in the kindergarten who
experienced similar problems as mine. That was the most rewarding work
so far.

Frustration
When I do go out, I refrain from talking much. I want to speak my mind
but I know I WILL stutter on the hard consonants. So I have to take my
time and replace all the difficult words. After years of stuttering, it simply
seems like too much effort. So I remain quiet and choose to be a listener
instead.

Hope
You think you are different, inferior (don't matter if you excel in drawing
or school or sports or whatever) because you can't speak properly. Then
you go into endless therapies which more or less work, but don't do in
practise. In your twenties, you go into a crisis because everything that can
go wrong is attributed to your stutter. Then you say: (bleep) it, I don't care
anymore!

Then one day I suddenly realise that nobody actually had any problem
with my stutter and felt more compassion because they couldn’t help me.
It was such a liberating and relieving realization. My speech didn’t

38
improve immediately of course, but the confidence I gained helped me to
try out the thing I was scared the most of. I have moved to another city to
volunteer at an American Center. I started shooting videos with myself in
them instead of only nature. I still order food or eat at home instead of
going out, but I know I am slowly progressing.

Having earned my bachelor’s degree, I am planning to continue my

education abroad so I can be a better specialist and serve others. I
promised I would be patient with myself and celebrate each small
progress because every step matters.

Mohlaroy, Samarkand

21.

I am the first daughter among five in the family. I am sixteen, while my

other sisters are eleven, nine, five and the youngest – two years old.
My father has been working in Russia since 2022. For the first seven
months, he couldn’t find a proper job barely meeting his own needs let
one sending anything back to Uzbekistan. As a simple laborer he could
only be either a plumber, a factory worker or a welder for short periods of
time juggles several occupations at the same time. I don’t know whether
he was lonely or miserably there, perhaps he was. Either way, for almost a
year he couldn’t provide any money for us while we lived with our
extended family.

Three sons and their wives lived under one roof. We shared our budget
and our food. Whatever one finds would be others’ too. At least, that’s
what should have happened but didn’t. Because our dad was a “looser
with no money” as grandparents expressed, we were cut out of the family
share. We prepared our own separate table while our cousins enjoyed
more food.

My mother works as a kindergarten nanny from morning till afternoon,

here she goes back home to prepare lunch for grandparents, and from
afternoon till evening.

I don’t ask anything from grandmother knowing she won’t give anyways.
You can’t expect that from children though. While my young cousins get

39
pampered with sweets and fruits that grandmother hides under her sofa,
my sisters only peek sheepishly.

In our region not having a single son is a great misfortune as your family
line will end with your children. My mother’s biggest fault was not
bringing a son to the family, and “giving birth to girls only non-stop like an
animal,” to quote my grandparents’ words. Grandmother even put my
youngest sister Oisha out of the house whenever she started crying. Once,
when everyone was outside and Oisha was left to grandmother’s care we
came home to find out that she hadn’t eaten anything the whole day
because grandmother was just “sick of yet another crying girl.”
Sometimes I want to run away from home. It gets suffocating with all this
pressure from all sides. I wish I could escape somewhere far. It’s a wishful
thinking of course, but I am positive I will manage to get a proper
education in the future and be able to breathe freely. I want to buy a
house for my mom, her own huge house, as she always dreamed of. So,
she never will be dependent on anyone, nor obey anyone. I love my
mother with all my heart but at the same time I hate it when she just gets
silent after all unjustly accusations and gets ashamed of herself after each
“misstep.” If this life is a test, then I will surely do my best to pass it and
grow stronger at the end so that all those who used to hate and belittle us
would be ashamed of their behavior eventually.

For anyone who is going through similar problems, believe me, nothing is
forever. Good times pass as do the bad ones. The misery you feel today
will be a long-forgotten memory one day. The tears you shed last night
will be tears of joy one day. You must believe that, however. You must
believe that you deserve a better life and only then will you be able to
work for it.

With all love,

Dila
Jizzakh

22.

In September 2023, my cousin was getting married (it still scares me that
girls only a few years older than me are already engaged). They live in
Pop, and as Pop is not a big city, the chances that you are going to marry

40
your distant relative, a guy in the neighborhood or your classmate are
pretty high.

My sister (the cousin) was marrying her classmate although they never
really dated. Still, I think it was something close to love. After all, they
don’t have much of a choice in Pop. They began preparing the “set” the
bride would bring in with her while moving to her husband’s house. It
usually includes dishes, clothes, and of course mats (ko’rpacha). There is
even a special day when the relatives of the bride come to the new house
to help her arrange the mats and clothes (and take a look at her new
home, of course).

Yet another tradition was the bridegroom carrying the bride to the house
in his hands after taking her out of the car – he shouldn’t let her touch the
ground until they reach the house threshold. The problem was that my
sister was never a skinny girl. She had shoulders, she had torso, she had
long muscular legs and arms. So, to make sure that on the D day she
wouldn’t be embarrassed, my sister decided to first rehearse it with her
brother.

Getting out of the car, she leaned on her younger brother and he picked
her up. Laughing, they both fell as she was a little bit too big for him.
Another try. Yet another. They figured out the best way the male should
lift her to make sure it’s comfortable both for him and her. The only thing
left was to practice once with the bridegroom too.

When the day of wedding came, the house was full of women rushing
from one room to another, trying to look after the guests and children and
food all at once, all to a loud Karnai music and orders coming from
everywhere. The bride with her friends dressing her in her bedroom with
all her make-up and accessories, she slowly steps out to see her Dad.
The dad starts crying at the sight of her. The man who never cried in his
life before is moved to tears and finally weeps like a child while hugging
his “little girl who grew up so fast.” She too, cries. I believe this day will be
special for both of them. Anyways, there is something unearthly beautiful
about love between father and daughter.

I thought, what kind of memories passed through their minds at that

moment? Did they remember how they used to go to parks together?

41
How they played and maybe even danced together? What a small girl she
used to be? How fast time flies?
I guess all.

I still wonder what was so special about her wedding but. It was. And it
was beautiful too. Because the human feelings were beautiful, when for a
moment everyone forgets about image money and extravagance and just
get together to witness such an important step two young people make.
That’s the thing. Sometimes I get frustrated and wonder why so many
things have to be complicated in Uzbek traditions. And so hard, with so
many preparations and work. But then again, it’s exactly these get-
togethers with other people that we are going to remember and perhaps
even cherish in the future.

Dilnoza, Namangan

23.

Have you ever asked yourself whether you are a strong person? Whether
you are someone who should achieve more than what people around you
can think of or whether you are merely a mediocre destined to live the
fate shared by millions of others? Is there anything special about you?
And I am not talking about everyone being unique on their own – no, I
mean an exact set of people who outstand and are different at the core?

Although I never mused on such topics as a child and only thought about
passing through the day without much trouble – I was more mischievous
than my brothers – so perhaps there was never anything much special
about my life. Typical Uzbek life of a typical little girl who has the
privilege of being the only one among five brothers. Privilege or not, it’s
up to you to judge – cleaning after everybody isn’t much of a fun,
honestly. However, I got the best sweets and clothes and was pampered
more than my elder siblings. Especially by my dad who used to call me his
princess. I would fight for his attention ruthlessly by anyone who seemed
to take it from me. He would come home late at night so while everyone
went to bed I would stay up and wait for him. We used to lock the door
so when he rang, I would immediately run to the yard to open the door
for him. He would certainly bring some snack or sweet for me which we
would share and eat together at night.

42
I thought my dad’s relentless love would save me from any trouble. It did,
but only from what my parents considered an issue. Such as me not being
able to marry well and struggling with some poor guy till the end of my
life. So, they always wanted to make sure I would never face such a fate.
What did they do to prevent such misfortune? They found a man in his
thirties who recently got divorces and was searching for a new wife. He
was a wealthy man, obviously (why would they agree otherwise) and had a
considerably good reputation in the neighborhood. Strangely, though, he
was searching for someone younger and more “placable” than his
previous woman. So, a seventeen-year-old girl who knows no life and can
be easily raised by his principles was a great choice.

My dad was disturbed at first of the idea of marrying off his only girl to
some old guy. However, after some persuasions from my mother that “it’s
only for her best as she will be living in a fortunate household”, he finally
gave in. And yes, this all was decided without my knowledge.

When I heard of the first hints of what was being planned for me, I tried
to dissuade my father, to remind him how much he loves me and would
never do such thing to me. He got angry, told that everything was decided,
and he didn’t want to discuss anything anymore. Then I had to resort to
revolt. I spent hours on the house roof whenever that man’s relatives
came to discuss the matters and conditions. I would intentionally sit there
on the roof right in front of them hoping they would give up on their idea
and decide I was not a good candidate.

They didn’t. Neither my crying nor threatening to do something to myself

helped. The wedding was arranged. Everything went as they planned – the
engagement ceremony passed yet I remained hopeful things would change
at the very end. It seemed as if my parents were intentionally blind to my
pleadings.
And here I thought. Am I really being married off against my will? Wasn’t
I that strong willful relentless girl who always got what she wanted? Did
they forget that I still had to study mathematics at university and get my
master’s? They did they forget about my ambition of becoming a
professor?
Was I going to become an average young Uzbek woman who spends her
days in the kitchen – as my mom did – and serve her husband’s relatives

43
and go outside only with his permission? A young woman whose fate was
already predestined? The problem is not being a mother and wife, it’s
about being only a mother and wife. Someone who will be controlled by
others. And the fact that the bridegroom was wealthy didn’t help at all –
his wealth would have nothing to do with me. It would only mean more
trouble for me as I would now be looked down by his relatives for being
from a poorer family.
So, was I so average after all? So powerless? So dependent on others’
decisions?

On the wedding night I told him I was sick. I cried all night to make sure
he would leave me alone. He fell asleep at around one at night and I
quietly crept out of the bedroom to the bathroom side so he wouldn’t be
suspicious. I had prepared a bag with my clothes for runaway among
many other bags a bride brings with herself. I took that bag and left the
house through the back gate which faces the garden and wasn’t locked. I
jumped over the fence and run with all my force. I knew the house wasn’t
far from my aunt’s house. Earlier, we discussed everything with her.
What happened next? Exactly what you could expect. The bridegroom’s
side got furious of course and broke the engagement. My parents told they
would never forgive me for such shame I brought to our house. I know it
was a shocking thing for many in the neighborhood. But I didn’t care.
When I told them to stop at the beginning, they didn’t. I still love them
but now with the realization that I shouldn’t let them dictate how to live.
To close the story with a happy end, let me add that right now I am
studying in Tashkent. I have got full scholarship but still I am working to
provide myself with everything needed. I am planning to do exchange
studies in the US. In short, many plans. I guess I am gonna do fine.

Marjona, Andijon

24.

An old legend

My little sister was not born yet when we came to the city. My middle
sister and I hesitated to play games in the city. We were very lonely
people who couldn't make friends and talk to people because we are from
the village. To tell the truth, we talked more with my father than with my

44
mother. One day I came home crying. I told my father everything in a
tearful manner:
- The children called me "you are from the village, you are from
Chirakchi", dad!
- Is it bad that you are from Chirakchi, my golden girl?
- No, but the guys are laughing. I cannot speak to them, they are from the
city.
- They laugh, let them. But did you know that the most educated people
came from our village? And if you keep pursuing you goal of being a great
poet, the Chirakchiliks will be proud of you.
-Dad, why do we call our village "Chirakchi"? Is it because the light goes
out a lot?
- No, no, not because the lights go out. It has its own history and legend. I
heard from your grandfather, will you listen if I tell you?
- Yes, I will, with open ears, dad. All you have to do is tell me.
- Yes, listen, then.

***
A gentle wind was blowing towards the caravan in a vast field with no
foothills. From time immemorial, people are helpless in the bosom of
darkness, they do not think of anything except to come out into the light.
The caravan was going straight for the same purpose. The camels were
also tired, they couldn't see each other, and they lost the lamp on the way.
We all know that the caravan spent the night in a shelter, but this caravan
has no right to stop. The reason for this is still unclear... If only people
could enjoy the beauty of the field they walk on! It's impossible, they can't
see this beauty. Everyone has a desire for joy in their body, and the only
choice was light.

Behold, the end of the darkness is not visible at all. It's as if its border has
disappeared into the darkness. This situation caused panic and fear in the
caravan. If only the sky could help them with its star... no, the sky doesn't
help them either. Oh, endless darkness, oh dark life!
… The caravan kept going and going. It is the grace of the Creator that it
was lucky that not to have a very difficult journey. The people in the
caravan are safe. Then someone on the caravan said:
- Hey, hey, there is the light!
He said clearly that he saw the light.

45
 Everyone was trying to see where the person was pointing from the
direction the voice came from. The caravan was moving towards the light
with a completely new, uplifted spirit. The light seemed to grow larger and
larger. When they reached their destination, everyone saw a huge light.
That lamp was in the hand of a luminous old woman the size of a fist. She
looked sweetly at the people with her eyes, then invited them to her hut.
- Ay, my sweeties, stumble. Let's roll around, God bless you. Come on in,
there's room for everyone. There is light even under the darkness, it is
written on your forehead, my dear children. If not, could you find light in
that darkness in the bottomless Chirakchi field?!

... How many centuries, how many years have passed, the legend has not
been affected by the dust of time. This legend calls humanity to a lesson,
it is emphasized that there is a light called to him in every darkness, in
every process of life, in every difficult happiness. The people in the
caravan called the road that reached their light "Lightning". I am sure that
Chirakchi will be an example of light in the darkness for generations to
come!

When I heard the legend, I was so happy that I couldn't describe it. The
children of the "Nolovay- the 1st class" group did not know about the place
of their birth!

I used to brag about the legend. At that time, who knows, the hope that "I
will put everything on paper when I grow up, the legend will live on" may
have settled deep in my heart, and with that desire, I decided to put
everything on paper. I hope that the legend will live long with the reader's
impression. Long live the reader! Long live the Lamp! Long live the light!
Long live my village - Chirakchi!

Maftuna, Qashqadaryo

25.

It was a fine July afternoon when we decided to take a swim with the
neighbor boys. I took my clothes and rushed out of the house to the
Koson so’y only a dozen steps from out home. We played a bit splashing

46
water and running after each other when we heard screaming somewhere
in closer distance.

One of our boys run towards the sound and shouted back at us that
someone was drowning. Half of the boys – we were around six if I am not
mistaken – rushed to save while others, including me, run for help. Our
home was the nearest so panting running I shouted before entering the
gate for Dad to come out as someone was drowning. After a few seconds
dad appeared and we rushed to the scene.

We saw there were two children younger than us – perhaps not even ten
of age – brother and sister, I assumed. The current was too strong for
them to hold on to anything and they began losing their balance,
panicking and shouting for help through the gulps of water.
Before we came another man already jumped in and began swimming
towards the children. He tried to take both children with both hands but
couldn’t. Only the boy was pushed slightly towards the coat and Dad
caught him in water and brought to the coastline. Dad jumped for the
second time. I was shouting all the time “You can do that, Dad!”

They tried to rescue the girl now but at this moment the other man
himself began losing his balance and panicking, sinking in all this chaos.
Dad quickly got the girl out of water and returned for the man.
I saw dad’s strength being slowly wasted away. I saw him now struggling
and began crying with words “Dad, please, come out now! Please” Many
more people surrounded me from the back watching.

Dad pushed the man several times, and it was clearly hard for both. At the
end, dad managed to push the man out but at that moment he himself
dropped and sank.
I didn’t believe what I was seeing. My dad was right there a few moments
ago and now I couldn’t find him.

I began screaming. Crying. Telling people to save him. But no one

ventured into water. They all stood, looking at how my dad was being
carried away. No one helped him.

47
I don’t know what words exactly I shouted because I didn’t see anything
clearly. It all got blurry with my tears and soon it got dark in my eyes. A
crowd surrounded me as I was quivering in tears.

I didn’t believe they didn’t help him. My dad saved three people but
couldn’t make it out himself.

It’s been over seven years since that incident and yet I can’t quite forget
nor forgive what happened there. People used to call me “a poor boy”
and it used to drive me crazy because of how hypocritical it sounded to
me.
I honestly don’t quite know what exactly happened there. Perhaps my dad
was too tired for yet another push. Perhaps he panicked. Perhaps the
water was too strong. I don’t know that. But what I do know is that if there
was yet another man like my dad, my dad would be alive now. As brave.
As strong.

My dad had always been my hero. And you still are, dad.

Bexruz, Namangan

26.

At the age of six, my relatives enrolled me in tennis classes because of

their own passion for the sport. Conveniently, the «Aviasozlar» courts
were right across the road from my house. Initially, I started playing,
because my family wanted me to and to channel my energy somewhere.
However, over time, a new stage began, and I developed a big dream of
becoming the world's top-ranked player and competing against my idols,
Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic.

Things were going quite well. I had come a long way, participated in
numerous tournaments and achieving podium finishes. At the age of 16, I
received an excellent opportunity for a sponsored trip to Tajikistan. It was
a tournament with prize money at a new level for me, which could have
opened up new prospects for my career. All the necessary documents
were ready, and the trip was scheduled to take place in a few days. But
then, I woke up, ready for another training session, only to realize that
something was terribly wrong. I couldn't even get out of bed without pain.

48
It turned out I had acute appendicitis, and I was sidelined for a month
and a half, resulting in the cancellation of the trip.

I was devastated, and my coach was shocked. But there was nothing I
could do except focus on recovering as quickly as possible. After a month,
I resumed training at my usual pace, eager to make a comeback.
However, this led to injuries, particularly in my back, which still troubles
me to this day.

There was a pause in my tournament performances, and I faced

psychological difficulties, not performing at the same high level as before.
Just as I was regaining my momentum the pandemic hit, dividing lives into
«before» and «after». I was no exception, and it was time to contemplate
my future. I made the difficult decision to end my professional tennis
career. It was the most pivotal moment of my life—the passion I had
burned, and my dreams left behind. I couldn't come to terms with it, and
I tried to make a comeback. During this period, I discovered long-
distance running, which laid a solid foundation for my participation in
marathons today.

Additionally, on the agenda was applying to university, which proved to

be a challenging process since without tennis, I couldn't imagine my life. I
was quite adamant about it, seeing myself solely as a player, with no
interest in a coaching career. Thankfully, my family helped me with the
decision-making process, and it turned out to be the right choice.
Overcoming my despair was greatly aided by the support of loved ones
and motivational books, which helped me see life in vibrant colors once
again.

I was in the 11th grade, facing the final stages of the quarantine, I had the
option to study online, which allowed me to intensively prepare for
university admission. Having missed school classes due to my dedication
to professional tennis, I relied on tutors from Monday to Saturday, trying
to catch up on what I had missed. These efforts bore fruit, and I was
fortunate to be accepted into the University of World Economy and
Diplomacy, which brought me immense happiness. At that time, it was a
choice for me, but without it, I wouldn't have found a new goal: to
contribute to the development of humanity.

49
 Embracing my new role, I have started achieving success by participating
in youth projects such as Models of United Nations, OSCE and SCO,
debates, TEDx, and getting involved in grand events of the country, such
as the Presidential Elections in 2023, as well as international events like
the Tashkent International Investment Forums, UNESCO World
Conference, The ACE award, and so on.

Thanks to the invitation from my former coach, I reconsidered my views

and now have been working as a coach for 2.5 years, which allows me to
combine hobby and work. Moreover, due to my sports background, I
now have a strong willpower, discipline and teamwork skills, which serve
me well in reaching new heights. I also have physical endurance, which
allowed me to complete a full marathon distance at a good pace.
I am grateful for what happened because without that turning point, I
wouldn't be the person I am today. To those going through similar
struggles, I want to say that everything happens for a reason, and a
solution will be found. Remember, every end is a new beginning.

Emil Azikaev, Tashkent

27.

I miss you
Today, my parents, is my birthday. But this birthday is not happy at all.
You know, father and mother, I miss you, that innocent girl, 7 years old. I
was very happy at that time. I still remember those days. I have not yet
heard from anyone what I heard from you. No one could support me like
you. I really miss those moments and days with you.

You know, I’m so tired of the day you left me at my grandmother’s house
and went to the girl’s house. Every year when that day comes, I can’t find
a place to put myself. I still remember telling my parents “Don’t go, take
me too.” And you said, “Daughter, we will definitely come tomorrow, we
will bring you lots of chocolates and dolls.” Then I boasted to my
grandmother and said, “Grandma, you see, tomorrow my father will bring
me many toys and chocolates, they will not give them to anyone, they will
bring them only for me.” Then my grandmother smiled and said, “Of
course they will.” I will never forget these words.

50
When I woke up the next day, I was very happy that my father and
mother would come. But this feeling of joy left me. My grandmother was
crying, her eyes were full of tears, she was punching the ground and
crying. I went to my grandmother and said, “Don’t cry, why are you
crying? Mom and dad are coming, they will be sad to see you.” My
grandmother couldn’t stop the tears in her eyes and said, “I won’t cry, my
daughter, I won’t cry”. I could not understand why my grandmother was
upset.

On this day, all our relatives came to our house. My aunt, uncle, aunt,
uncle, etc. I was looking for you among them. Then I slowly went to my
grandmother and asked, “Grandma, when will my father and mother
come?” Then my grandmother said, “Tomorrow will come, tomorrow”
and added “Last time” while crying softly. And I could not understand
what was happening. The next morning, many more people started
coming to our house. Women used to come to our house wearing white
veils, and men wore caps on their heads, and I didn’t like this situation. 2
months ago, many people came to the house of our neighbor Saliha
grandmother. The people who came to their house were dressed in the
same way. After that, grandmother Saliha disappeared. I was afraid when I
remembered that. I cried because my father and mother would not come
again, and my grandmother came to me and asked, “Why are you crying?
What happened?” And I kept crying, “I need my parents, find me, I’ll go
with them, where are they?” My grandmother tried to persuade me, but
she could not.

All of a sudden, at that moment, the surroundings became silent. I could

not understand anything as usual. I also became silent. Two big things
were coming out of the door. I was wondering what it was. Now I know
that it is a coffin. That’s where you were there, mom and dad. Then they
took out the coffin, that is, you. After that, I did not see you again. You
disappeared like grandmother Saliha. I used to harass my poor
grandmother by asking for you.

You know, parents, these things will never leave my mind. Maybe when I
told you not to go, if you had not left, such incidents would not have
happened. Maybe we would celebrate my 17th birthday with you, I don’t
know… I wouldn’t spend every day, month, year in loneliness. Now I
wouldn’t miss the words “We love you girl”. I always miss the days spent

51
with you. I love you. You are not with me, but I know that you are always
with me in the heart, my beloved father and mother.

Toshtemirova Dildora Hakim qizi was born in 2008. She is a school

student.

Toshtemirova Dildora, Navoi

28.

The weather from early morning is great, but slightly windy. The wind
wipes a person's face calmly. The horns of the terrace move calmly, as if
they were chatting with the sky. The running water flowing from the
mountain is somewhat exciting, and it seems to be in a hurry to
somewhere. Today the girl woke up very early, maybe she has a lot of
plans for today. The first thing she does when she wakes up is exercising,
the rest will follow. For some reason, she has a little excitement in her
heart, before the competition, she had no such fears at all. Usually, what
happens in the girl's heart and mind is like her life and it happens.
This champion girl does not use the phone, there are two reasons for this:
the first is family financial problems and the second is that the sports
coach does not allow it. The innocent girl whose heart is still like a child’s
is raised by her grandmother. Unfortunately, her parents wanted to place
her in an orphanage because they didn't need a disabled girl, but her
grandmother took her into her care. In order to prove that she is not
inferior to others, she was given an apprenticeship to the best trainer in
the city. I forgot to mention the girl’s sickness – she is almost healthy, only
her legs do not work. Usually such people are considered disabled, but in
reality, those with mental illness are disabled. This is what I think
honestly.

Today is the girl's first essential competition. She plays tennis, her skills
have improved. Today is the first round of the competition, she received
her grandmother's blessing and went to the competition together. Rivals
are fierce, everyone has fire in their hearts, and the little girl is sad for
some reason. Here the girl's opponent was identified, she was invited to
the field, the game continued fiercely, and our hero won. She was given a
new TV as incentives give a person stronger motivation. Days passed like

52
this, and little girl's daily schedule did not change at all, the training
increased day by day, but did not slow down.

Today the weather is a bit strange, it's still late, the poplars are softly
rustling as if they are talking to each other, they seem to be listening to
each other and make sounds in turn, and somewhere the noisy sound of
the stream threatens the human mind, frogs croaked non-stop, bats
circling around and searching for their destination. Suddenly a gentle wind
arose, it caressed the face very gently. It was a country air that gave one
peace and pleasure. The girl was thinking something, dreaming about
something under this open sky. Somewhere, the voice of her grandmother
calling her came, and the girl woke up a little. Tomorrow is her important
competition and she had dreamed of it since the day she first stepped into
the sport.

Another new dawn dawned. That day has come. Young athlete was not
excited much but still had enthusiasm in her heart and eyes, she knew
how important it was for her and her future. The game ended without
controversy, which was the result of hard work and effort. After this
match, the winners were sent to the international competition in Baku,
Azerbaijan. Another dream of this girl was to travel without walking.
Look, look, said Anna Murodova, so we won. It was a real happiness.
The president put the golden medal around the girl's neck and gave her a
handshake and expressed great confidence in her. The girl cried, tears
flowed from her eyes, these were tears of joy. Yes, tears of joy. Now the
whole of Uzbekistan believes in her and supports her. The girl did not
want anyone to feel sorry for her, now no one looks at her with pity, but
with envy or admiration.

A letter came home yesterday. There was a document in it, according to

which this 18-year-old girl will be a member of the Uzbekistan team. It
was happiness. Now the door of opportunities will open for her, she will
live a happy life, achieve success and become the pride of Uzbekistan,
make her name known to the world, rise the flag of Uzbekistan in the
world arenas and sing the national anthem loudly in front of the whole
world. She always hoped, she sincerely wanted and achieved everything.
Incessant prayer and unceasing action changed the girl's life. A person can
achieve anything if she tries, only if she has the desire. There is no such
thing as an impossible task in this world. God always gives more than what

53
one asks for to a person who seeks and works hard. If you ask God for a
single flower, he will give you a bouquet.

Barnokhon Ruziyeva, Bukhara

29.

Science is a real pleasure. Evolution has made it so that we always tend to

learn - because the learned are more likely to survive. As we live in the era
of globalization, it is certainly one of the most important issues to acquire
knowledge and apply it in practice. Science provides stability in life and no
one can ever take it away from you. Having science is more than having
nuclear weapons capable of shaking worlds. An educated person will
never depend on the opinion of others. He will have his personal opinion.
He sees the fulfillment of all his dreams. Education is not only necessary
on a personal level but also on a global scale as it is what keeps our world
safe and makes it a more peaceful place. Education teaches people the
difference between right and wrong and helps people avoid dangerous
situations. Therefore, in order to become a qualified staff, we definitely
need higher education. Therefore, in any case, I will study and search.
Briefly speaking about my achievements, I am a graduate of courses
offered by several internationally ranked universities. For example, I
studied "Engineering" at the University of Birmingham and scored 97% in
the exam. I graduated from the "English language" course at King's College
London with a score of 99%. Also, I’ve completed more than 150 courses
organized by Oxford, Edraak, Yale, Birmingham, Boston, Edinburgh,
King's College London Universities, Asia Development Bank Institute,
United States Institute of Peace, British Council, World Health
Organization, United Nations and UNICEF. I am a participant in the
"Climate Science Olympiad" funded by the UK government. I was a
selected delegate for the US-funded Leadership Summit 2023. "Fergana
Youth Summit 2023" and "Shahrisabz Youth Festival 2023" were
organized under my management. I won $5000 participating in
DataCamp. In addition, I am a participant of several summits,
conferences and forums, for example, "Merger Youth Forum", "World
Young Forum", "International Young Conference", "Future Youth Forum",
"Perfect youth of Uzbekistan", "Cambridge day online" and "Tashkent
MUN", "Opine MUN" and more than 30 such conferences. I currently
lead online competitions and projects involving more than 100 young

54
people, through which young people participate in readings, poetry nights,
Zakovat, quizzes and various questions and answers. There are many
changes compared to 2022. But none of them fell from the sky on their
own.

Until 2023, I have achieved what I did not even dream of in the past.
But as a contribution to my achievements, I lost some things, there were a
lot of falls and pressures. I have no regrets, the best is yet to come, so I
was not given what I wanted. I've been to places I've never been, I've seen
places I've wanted to see, I've done as many tasks as needed. I was able to
rise to the national and international level. I'm trying to be the kind of guy
everyone loves and thanks my parents for. In short, my 21st year was the
age that gave me lessons in all directions, gave me guidance and most
importantly, caused major changes in 2 years. In there my words to
people: "People criticize themselves, sometimes they are angry with
themselves, sometimes they are sad. They focus on what they failed to do
and not on what they did, and forget the most important thing. God
willing, you will stay here for 60-70 years. Nothing more..
It's so easy to constantly chase after "the best," the "perfect," and lose sight
of the beautiful blessings you already have.

People may not notice the difference that what they wanted and dreamed
of a year ago is now in their hands.
They only focus on what they lost, what they did not achieve, what they
could not do. They sink into despair, burying themselves in negative
dreams. They think that the perfect life they seen on social networks is
real. They come to the conclusion that "I don't have that, so I'm not a
normal person. "However, this is a big lie.
The best robot vacuum cleaner, the most expensive shoes, the best car,
the most luxurious house - man is crazy about what he does not possess,
and blind about what he has achieved. You cannot imagine how true this
is. The best has the best. The worst – worse.

Life is so short that it is a big mistake to focus only on the shortcomings

without seeing the "good" in it. You really don't have much time to enjoy
yourself and live life to the fullest. Don't waste this time."

Botirali, Qashqadaryo

55
30.

I had many things harder because I am a girl. You can have it harder if
you are a girl.
It is hard to see a woman cry and beg her husband. It is hard when
children can do nothing for their mother because of financial difficulties
and the pressure from fathers and aunts. It is hard to wake up in the
morning only to see your mother covered in blood with bruises all over
her body. It is hard when you have so much hatred inside but can’t let it
out.
You go to see a doctor to get your mother’s torn lip sewn after a beat or
kick by your father. And you can’t talk about such things to anyone
because that would only complicate the already difficult situation. So
many questions and yet so few answers.

I wish I had the power to provide all women and girls living in remote
areas with more educational opportunities. I wish I could protect them
from violence and harassment. I want to let the world see how strong and
intelligent women can be. If you let them be. You won’t see the diamond
until you get it out of the mine.

This project can give me the opportunity not only for self-development
but also the above-mentioned goals.
Educating women and girls and getting them speak up is the way forward.
I spent my freshman summer holiday teaching the women in my village
English, history, mother tongue and Russian. Sometimes, exhausted after
having hauled bricks and block-sized piles of dung in the middle of
sweltering summer day, we studied all night with some of the girls and
women because the next day would be as busy. Tired, sleepy, yet full of
determination.

Our hard work paid off in the end. By the way, my mother got into the
National University, although could not get the scholarship. However,
another woman from our village got full scholarship for the university.
Isn’t it joyful?

Fanona, Qashqadary

31.

56
My Art Journey

Little me. It was back in 2011 when I realized that I was good at drawing.
Picture this: I was in kindergarten and given a task to draw an apple for
the first time. All of my peers started their drawing using a cup to create
the circle, as my tutor suggested. On the other hand, although it can be
seen as a simple way to do so, for me, it didn't quite match. This led me to
craft a fruit on my own without relying on equipment. Consequently, I
ended up with an incredible piece of work that was as completely
authentic as it may sound. Amazingly, I drew such a realistic apple,
depicting light and shadow. I hadn't learned this skill yet, while I had a
natural aptitude inherited from my grandfather. In fact, he had been one
of the celebrities in the field of art, especially in architecture, such that I
also owned an inborn ability.

From this time onward, I was interested in painting so much so that I was
just scribbling away on whatever paper I could find for fun. However,
once she came as a guest to our home, my aunt accepted my talent and
recommended to my mum that to take me somewhere. As I was in lower
secondary school during that period, I began taking it seriously by
attending art school. This attendance was tough initially, but thankfully
there was a tutor, Adilov Abdug'ani—an artist in a specialized art school—
who further honed my skills. He guided me from pencil sketches to
watercolor paintings. When faced with challenges, I followed the advice of
my teacher: 'Practice makes perfect'.

Honestly, I spent almost 2 years mastering both graphics and painting and
for the rest of the 3 years, I further worked on myself to find my groove.
In the beginning, I made a massive attempt to create my first piece of
work, illustrating the autumn scene, albeit unsuccessfully. I didn't waste
paper for practicing, if anything; I learned from these mistakes.
Notwithstanding the failures, I kept at it, whereby I learned to become
patient. Later, not only did I acquire the ability to draw, but also made a
lot of friends, by participating in many festivals and exhibitions. Some of
them were successful, thus I first received the bronze and then the golden
medal in a row.

57
But you know what's cool about drawing? It's not just about the accolades.
It's about the joy it brings. I am not going to sound baggy, but my skill of
drawing is beneficial since I can come up with a little masterpiece when
I'm stuck on what to give someone as a gift. Similarly, seeing my artwork
hanging in the homes of friends and family is priceless.

Hadn't I learned this skill, I would not be considering art such valuable! It
has taught me a lot. It has been helping me to spend my time
meaningfully since my childhood, and I can't imagine my life without art!

Firdavs, Tashkent

32.

Fair
5:36 am

The first rainy evening of autumn, after dinner, I listened to an audiobook

for 55 minutes, then I went into the room, took the TV remote and
started changing channels, there was no movie. I went out to the balcony,
the air was as strange as the excitement of lovers who have never seen
each other on the day they met, and it was as turbulent as the emotions of
a girl who had become perfect during the days of hijrah and now reached
her partner and threw herself into his arms. soft and cool like their
passions... I went to my room smoothly again. The light in the room
burned out, it's been 1 or 2 weeks since I replaced it with a new one, but it
burned out, maybe it's burning out again because it's open and the wires
are touching each other, who knows?! I turned on the phone light,
stretched a lot, picked up a long book in English that I only read on the
bus or subway, went into the other room with a light and fell into reading,
pages 1, 2, 3, and vice versa. there are no sharp turn-in events. You know,
if the work does not have a sharp turn, it does not interest the person,
especially when the work is small. Because most people lack tension and
excitement in their lives. It is as if people were destroyed by the ignorance
of silence and lack of courage. That's why art books, movies and music
help people to see life in different colours, sometimes they serve to
suppress their inner desires, and sometimes they serve not to forget the
dreams that they have hidden in their minds.

58
At the moment, there were no ideas on the pages that could bring me
back to life or drown me in deep oceans of thought. I closed it. The rain
sated the earth's burning passion and slowly began to drench it.

Loneliness. If you don't have a hot cup of coffee or a book to read on

such occasions, you're fine. From the slumbering corners of your
imagination, where you don't want to go, the bottomless void begins to
pull you into its trap. He begins to weave various tempting situations, and
at this moment, you think that this is the fault of the speed and
boundlessness of the human imagination. A person is needed. If there
was someone there, it would be possible not to be forced to think about
many things while talking to the hero of the work. But I was deprived of
this opportunity. The last resort is to read some scientific work. Yes,
science also takes a person out of the trap of imagination. So I found a
scientific paper that answers some questions that interest me. I started
reading. When the night turned into the morning, I wondered what had
happened. A rustling sound was heard from the door. When I opened
my eyes, I saw a very old Russian woman next door. When Russians get
old, they always live alone, with a puppy or a cat. He didn't even look at
me, he entered the right room and started to fall asleep. I wonder where
he came in from when I opened the door?

He was deeply immersed in the woman's eyes, and the number of

wrinkles on her face was hard to count, and it scared a person a little. His
days are few. Maybe this night he didn't want to please the world in
solitude... My thoughts were disturbed. I got up and went to close the
windows. Even if I met an old woman by chance, I would always be
amazed by her expression. That's why I didn't want to close the balcony
windows and enter the inner room through the door and see that woman's
face again. "I will enter through the window," I said to myself. Without
making a sound, I put one foot on the window, and suddenly a hand like
a huge coal appeared on the ankle of my left leg. I screamed, and my
heart couldn't resist turning back, the hand was hanging from the open
window of the balcony behind the curtain. He would pull me out. In my
convulsions, I stole a glance, the hand like a human was getting blacker
and burning my leg like coal, I could not free my leg from its claws
without trying to pull it out. At that moment, I felt in my heart that the
feeling of helplessness was very terrible. I tried with all my might, I
screamed, but still, the old woman came to help his to drag me to her

59
trap. Terrible, their eyes were full of blood. I threw myself in but they
were still hanging on my legs, now they were completely engulfing me,
now it was as if the earth was swallowing me .. I couldn't help myself. I
couldn't lift my shoulders off the ground, I was just helpless. No one could
hear my screams. I closed my eyes, there was only a scream... pain. Now
I'm exhausted from resisting. Now I just wanted to open my eyes and look
at the wretched nature of these wretched creatures, to find out who
wanted to take me from this existence that I did not yet understand to the
bottomless void. I opened my eyes. The light of the room is on above me,
and the sound of rain is coming from the open window outside.

Nightmare. I got up and went out to the balcony, I poured water from the
tap into a glass and washed myself with the air of the autumn rain. I felt a
sudden pain in my leg as I stretched a little to put the glass back in place. I
looked at my feet in the light of the lamp. I can see with my own eyes that
my left leg is bleeding from the claw marks of the huge fingers trying to
trap me...

Nosirova Malika, Qashqadaryo

33.

From a young age, I have developed a strong passion for music, which led
me to sing and play the guitar in school and with the local band called
"Samo". I started listening to national FM radio, enjoying the music while
practicing singing. That same year, I got interested in the business side of
music, selling musical instruments and earning through performances. I
plan to continue developing my guitar playing and singing skills,
combining them with a business degree in the future.

To pursue my audience and to let everybody know me and enjoy my

music, I opened an Instagram account, and each time before creating
content, I would really think, ‘Is this going to be memorable?’ Then, I
spent sleepless nights shooting and editing videos. As time passed, I
reached my goal of having 1 million followers on Instagram
(@samir_golibjonov), created free tutorials, and started earning from
advertisements. At school, I opened the “Music Club,” where I taught
different playing techniques.

60
During that year, I also performed solos and duets with my local guitar
coach at music festivals such as “New Year's Eve” and the national holiday
"Navruz," as well as at concerts with popular singers, playing the guitar and
gaining invaluable experience. Once, coming back from my guitar classes,
I discovered American Corner Namangan (ACN), which was right on my
way home. I got interested in what happens there and began frequenting
ACN, where I started playing the guitar at events, volunteering, organizing
activities, teaching students, as well as preparing and supporting visitors for
their school exams in math. I enjoyed being part of something greater
than myself, which can have a positive impact on both my and other
people’s lives. Managing other volunteers at ACN helped me grow as a
leader who gets better along with others. Volunteering is what directed me
to develop myself as a person who could stand on the stage in front of 100
people in the Namangan Cultural Center.

As time passed, ACN strengthened my love for business. During the

summer holidays, I got involved in "Business Marathon 4.0," where I
learned business-relevant tools and was surrounded by top businessmen
of the nation, whose stories taught me that living with fear stops us from
taking risks, while risks are only the way to explore and grow. I decided to
implement the theories in life.

My grandpa has a farm where he grows apples and persimmon trees. I

always enjoyed being with my grandpa and dad. I loved discussing the
impact a small farm could have on people and industries around it. I
communicated with the local store owners and offered the harvest, which
helped us make a profit of $1,000, which is a lot of money for my family.
Coming back to the city where I live, I got a job in a local shop. My work
consisted of promoting their portfolio of brands in small downtown bars
and massive grocery stores. Through each of these experiences, I have
expanded my vision for the future. Later on, I became a dialer for
companies like “Alpen Gold", ”Yashkino”, "Pobeda,” and "Nestle."
Through these businesses, I gained communication skills and started
learning from my mistakes.

After completing my studies at university , I want to create a mentorship

position with the goal of nurturing the next generation of entrepreneurs
who will work on their own businesses, as well as inspiring others as my
leaders inspired me. I look forward to being in a new culture and

61
interacting with diverse groups of people, which will broaden both my
personal and musical horizons significantly.
Additionally, I want to be at a higher level of education, which will give me
opportunities to learn and grow as a person where I can support the
academic side of university and the side of university activities. In the
future, I will continue my passion, which is playing guitar and singing.

Samir, Namangan

34.

Once upon a time, in a small village where I lived, I was known for my
incredible sense of humor. I could make anyone laugh with witty jokes
and hilarious antics. One day, I decided to take part in the village's annual
comedy competition, where the funniest person in town would be
crowned as a winner.

As the day of the competition arrived, I was feeling confident. I had spent
weeks preparing the best jokes and practicing comedic timing. When it
was finally my turn to take the stage, I strutted confidently to the
microphone and began the routine.
I started strong, cracking jokes about the village mayor and poking fun at
the local baker. The audience erupted in laughter, and I could feel
himself gaining momentum. But just as I was about to deliver the final
punchline, disaster struck.

A loud noise echoed through the room, causing everyone to turn and
look. My pants had split right down the middle, revealing polka-dotted
boxer shorts to the entire crowd. The audience gasped in shock, unsure
how to react. But ever the comedian, simply shrugged and said, "Well, I
guess you could say I really know how to split a room!"
The room erupted in laughter once again, with some audience members
even falling out of their chairs with mirth. I had managed to turn a
potentially embarrassing situation into the funniest moment of the night.
As the competition came to a close, it was clear that I was the clear
winner. It was my quick wit and ability to laugh at myself that had won
over the hearts of everyone in the village. I was awarded a shiny trophy
and a year's supply of free bread from the local bakery.

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From that day on, I became a local legend in the village. People would
come from far and wide to hear my jokes. And every time someone
mentioned the comedy competition, they would always bring up the time
I split my pants and turned it into the funniest moment of the night.

colostate17, Andijan

35.

Two years aged, I went to my grandparents' house and there was a deep
and dark forest in which my grandfather hunted every week with his
gunshot killing rabbits and some birds.

One day I decided to go hunting with my grandfather to help him with

some of my sports preparation because at that time I had been practicing
taekwondo. Taekwondo includes some good physical preparation such as
quick reaction, endurance and etc. So, I could be of good help to my
grandfather thanks to the skills I acquired with taekwondo. Or so I
thought.

Several times I lost my way and had to shout to find my grandfather, but
because of the darkness and the deep forest, it didn’t work at the end.
Already feeling hopeless, I soon heard gunshots in the distance, realizing
that it was my grandfather searching for me. Unfortunately, though, the
gunshots attracted other predators around in the forest, and after a few
minutes we both with grandfather were running with all our might to get
away from them. We did.

My grandfather told me to be careful not to get confused in the forest

while hunting as it’s either them or you. We then went home at dusk for
grandmother’s dinner for us. Soup was great.

desireee5, Tashkent

36.

"I speak the language of children "

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Hello, my name is Yasin. My father gave me this name, actually my
mother wanted another name, but my father decided to give me this
name. My mother was mistreated, I could feel it, but I could not stop her
tears because I was still in her womb. We children feel everything before
we are born. And although I don’t remember seeing my mother for the
first time after being born, I still remember her warm love and soft breath.
I slowly started to grow up. The world seemed interesting to me. I wanted
to touch everything. Once I stuck my hand in hot soup and it hurt a lot,
but mother put some cream on the wound, and I liked it very much.
That's probably why I wanted to put my hands on food again and again.
Only then my mother would pay attention to me. This is how it was done
in our household: if my mother needed anything she would get it with
cries and fights, and dad would bring eventually against his will. So, I
learned that if you want something, you have to shout, and they will bring
it to you. But if I screamed, my mother would hit me. Adults are so
strange – they don't like it when you repeat after them. Anyways, I slowly
repeated what my father and mother did as they seemed to be perfectly
acceptable examples to follow. My mother used to say, "You are a very
bad boy ", then I thought, I am a bad boy. And I heard this a lot in
kindergarten too, at school, on the streets, even at university. But I didn't
do anything, I just repeated my parents’ actions. And one day my mother
said to me "Why did I give birth to you?" I felt so useless. I was bitter over
my parents.

It’s probably true that no one teaches us how to raise children, as simply
mirror what those before us had done. Kids grow bitter over their parents.
Parents don’t understand their children. We just reflect each other.

Toxirova Madina, Tashkent

37.

There is an old Soviet metro station in Tashkent named Cosmonauts. I

used this station every day to get to school and enjoyed watching its
interior design. The first things that stand out are the gleaming columns
bordering the cloud-like white design on the ceiling. On the walls, circular
medallions of grey are symmetrically spaced out to honor Soviet
astronauts. The materials appear to be from another realm; it’s the kind of
space futurism of the Cold War.

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Sitting on the benches of this station every day, I wondered why my
teachers and parents never said I could go to space if I was good at math.
What they said was, “It gets you into college and a job with a nice
income.” For post-Soviet Uzbekistan, the use of math in space missions
seemed altogether forgotten in the post-apocalyptic landscape. But I
wasn’t upset about that. I didn’t have special connections with space,
except using the Cosmonauts metro station every day. Fifteen-year-old me
innocently believed that the point of life was, indeed, studying as much as
needed in order to get a job with a nice income.

My connection with space remained as it was until I read my first book in

English. In my local library, I saw a book whose cover resembled the
ceiling of the Cosmonauts metro station—a swirling cloud-like galaxy. It
was "Astronomy: Journey for the Cosmic Frontier" by John D. Fix. I
started going to the library merely to read this book and solve its math
problems—enchanted, for the first time, out of curiosity, not necessity. In
addition to cosmology, I read the works of the German philosopher
Immanuel Kant. I loved thinking beyond the observable universe, like
contemplating the nuances of the cause-effect chain, to understand Kant’s
concepts—this way of thinking came in handy in solving math and
cosmology problems, too.

As I neared the end of my senior year, however, my schoolmates said I

should put my esoteric and unrealistic activities behind me and pick a safe
mainstream career. Even though Uzbekistan was at the epicenter of space
exploration, the appreciation for the cosmic spirit and the story behind
the art of Cosmonauts faded away for people around me. I came to
realize that the prevailing legacy from the Soviet Union has shifted, and
the fight for survival has become the enduring inheritance, overshadowing
the once-present curiosity about the cosmos.

Ironically, my environment never dissuaded me from pursuing

cosmology. Instead, I felt all the more energized to be the one introducing
cosmic enthusiasm in all post-Soviet regions. Based on my plan named
Cosmic Enlightenment, I opened an online Astroculus club where I
taught astrophysics, and my partner, an Aerospace Engineer, taught
calculus. On social media, I posted space content and news that extended
far beyond the wonders that Sputnik 1 showed to our ancestors—our first

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Telegram post received 7k views. With the telescopes provided by Ulugh
Beg Astronomical Institute, I held public stargazing events, allowing
people to break through the cultural glass ceiling by simply feeling the
cosmic vastness.

I lived all my life in the aftermath of the Soviet Union. The small step my
parents took in the direction of my education—learning English—came
from the post-Soviet value—using it for a necessity-driven purpose.
Blinded by their inherent nature, I never realized I would think outside of
my cultural values. Nevertheless, the metamorphosis I experienced
through my exposure to Western thought showed me that the world is as
big or as small as I make it—it’s all relative. Cosmonauts metro station, for
instance, is a utilitarian public transportation hub; but it can also be an
esoteric portal that takes imagination from a limited world to one that is
open-ended. This realization ignited a personal strength within me, one
that I named curiosity. It took me to see the world, reflect on my post-
Soviet society, and, most importantly, find a meaningful passion to live
for.

Steve, Tashkent

38.

Before even touching the camera, I made a list of some of the

photographs I would take: web covered with water, grimace reflected in
the calculator screen, hand holding a tiny round mirror where just my eye
is visible, cat’s striped underbelly as he jumps toward the lens, manhole
covers, hand holding a translucent section of orange, pinkies partaking of
a pinkie swear, midsection with jeans, hair held out sideways at arm’s
length, bottom of foot, soap on face. This, I think is akin to a formation of
self. Perhaps I have had the revelations even if the photos are never taken.
I already know the dual strains the biographers will talk about, strains
twisting through a life. The combination is embodied here: I write joyfully,
in the margin of my lab book, beside a diagram of a beaker, “Isolated it
today, Beautiful wispy strands, spider webs suspended below the surface,
delicate tendrils, cloudy white, lyrical, elegant DNA! This is DNA! So
beautiful!” I should have been a Renaissance man. It kills me to choose a
field (to choose between the sciences and the humanities!). My mind

66
roams, I wide-eyed, into infinite caverns and loops. I should fly! Let me
devour the air, dissolve everything into my bloodstream, learn!
The elements are boundless, but, if asked to isolate them, I can see
tangles around medicine and writing. The trick will be to integrate them
into a whole, and then maybe I can take the photograph. Aahh, is it
already there, no? Can’t you see it? I invoke the Daedalus in me,
everything that has gone into making me, hoping it will be my liberation.

Music is one such element. The experience of playing in an orchestra

from the inside is an investigation into subjectivity. It is reminiscent of
Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle: the more one knows the speed of a
particle, the less one knows its position. Namely the position of the
observer matters and affects the substance of the observation; even science
is embracing embodiment. I see splashes of bright rain in violin arpeggios
fading away in singed circles, a clarinet solo fades blue to black, and a flute
harmony leaves us moving sideways, a pregnant silence, the trumpets
interrupt with the smell of lightning. Perhaps in the audience you would
sense something else.

I think of rowing as meditation. Pshoow, huh, aaah; pshoow, huh, aaah. I

can close my eyes and still hear it. We glide over reflected sky… and lean.
And defy the request for “leadership positions,” laugh at it, because it
misses the entire point, that we are integral, one organism. I hear the oars
cut the water, shunk shunk; there are no leaders.
Once I heard an echo from all quarters. “Do not rush,” said the
conductor, “follow the baton.” “Do not rush,” said the coach, “watch the
body in front of you.” Do not rush.

I write about characters’ words: how they use words, how they manipulate
them, how they create their own realities; words used dangerously,
flippantly, talking at cross purposes, deliberately being vague; the nature of
talking, of words and realities. Perhaps mine has been a flight of fancy too.
But, come on, it’s in the words, a person, a locus, somewhere in the
words. It’s all words. I love the words.
I should be a writer, but I will be a doctor, and out of the philosophical
tension I will create a self.

Недописатель, Andijan

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39.

My whole life I have been called Cotton by my parents probably because

of my skin texture and I feel like this is something I want to keep with me
forever.

I was born in Uzbekistan in 2008. As soon as I turned one, we had to

move to Sankt Petersburg because of my dad’s job. I guess that’s where
my love of rainy weather began. Then, when I turned seven, we moved to
Tashkent, and I was enrolled in a private school. I still remember those
times I had a few close friends with whom I used to hang out often. Then
I changed my school and started studying in a Chinese school from 3rd
grade. I can say this was my favorite school as I made a lot of friends and
had good relationship with teachers. Most importantly I liked this school
because this was the place where I met her, my closest friend.

It’s been six years of our friendship. The most memorable time in this
school would be the time when me and my classmates went to the
playground. Me and my bestie wanted to go on the swings and my
classmate told us that he could swing us, we agreed and sat on the swings.
Firstly, it was fun then he started swinging us quickly and my hand slipped,
and I badly fell on the ground everything would have ended badly but
luckily, I got help. This was one of the most embarrassing moments in my
life, I don’t study anymore there but still keep in touch with my bestie,
and she says that everyone recalls that moment, they even visualize it
which makes it even worse.

Three years ago, I had my most memorable holiday ever. My mom, sister
and I went to Turkey to Antalya where we stayed for about a week. I can’t
describe how beautiful the sea was there as a nature girl I had a blast, I
would spend a whole day swimming and exploring it but unfortunately, I
couldn’t find a seashell I was hoping to keep it with me as a souvenir.
After staying a while in Antalya, we went on tour by bus which traveled
through almost all cities of Turkey by finally reaching our destination,
Cappadocia. I got to experience the most incredible thing there which was
flying in an air balloon. We had to wake up early at about 6 am before
sunrise. We arrived at a place with big rocks that looked like a small
mountain, while waiting for an air balloon to get ready, we got super cold
because the sun wasn’t up yet. As soon as it was ready we got on and

68
finally flew. I can’t describe how astonishing and breathtaking the view
was, people down there looked small and sunrise was slowly rising lighting
everything around it. Also, I found out that I wasn’t afraid of heights. This
moment was really special for me because of my surroundings, I got
extremely happy because I got to experience this with my closest people.

My next biggest step to a new life began two years ago when I, my sister
and mom had to move out of my dad’s house. I feel like I should
mention it there, 70% of my life I spent without my dad as he lived in
another country, and two years ago my parents eventually divorced. This
topic is quite hurtful for me and it was not an easy period for me, but I
was glad that I had a chance to move out and start a new life, from a fresh
start. We moved to a beautiful apartment, and what I like the most about
this apartment is its design. I have always dreamed of having this kind of
design in my apartment also, we have a lot of greenery there which is even
better. I was enrolled in a new school because my old school was far away
from my home. I am currently in 9th grade. I am planning to enter the
dream lyceum. I have a lot of plans for this year and steps which is my
secret because I do not want to jinx them. But my first step is done which
is taking IELTS. Everything may change because nobody knows what the
future holds.

Adventurous Cotton, Tashkent

40.

To whom it may concern,

Hi! It has been just five days since your birth, and I want to introduce
myself with the help of this letter. Unfortunately, the doctors did not allow
me to see you as you have been sleeping for a few days. Hoping this will
motivate you to get up sooner, I have bought a gift for you, my princess. I
will reveal what the gift is at the end of the letter.

I know it is a bit weird to buy a gift for a newborn baby, but I love sharing
gifts. Especially making those gifts by myself is more pleasurable. I even
have a little gift shop where I sell handmade gift cards, individualized
diaries, and many more. If you think this is all I do, you are wrong. Gifts
can also be digital or social. One of the reasons behind my choice of

69
pursuing a minor in a computer-related field is that I think this field can
bring impactful gifts to humanity.

You may wonder why a person loves sharing gifts this much. They are the
eyes, smiles, and hearts, who are standing behind the scene. As I see the
pleasing eyes and smiling faces of the people receiving my gifts, the delight
of being able to add bright lines to their lives embraces me. As a person
who has many black lines in her life, I know the value of colorful lines.
My childhood dream job was to be a painter. I still want to be a painter,
but I want to be part of colorful lives instead of paintings. I feel like I am
erasing the black lines of my life by sharing colorful lines with other
people.

When I walk around here in Uzbekistan, I can hardly run across a person
walking with a true smile. Everyone seems to be depressed. As I drown
myself in questioning why people are unhappy, answers start popping up.
Some got married by parents’ force at 18. Some girls are looked down on
by their families because of their gender. Some wives were forced to
divorce because they bore only daughters. Some youths both work and
study at a young age because their fathers left them or keep being
deadbeats. Some cannot chase their dreams, choose their major
themselves, or study abroad because society or their parents do not allow
them. The worst thing is that people make others struggle with the
problems they struggled with, so the cycle goes on.

Sometimes, a person does not need to spend a penny or make a lot of

effort to make others smile: smiling can be enough. Accordingly, I try to
keep a smile on my face all the time, and it works. Smiles are contagious.
As soon as a person sees you with a smile, they cannot prevent themselves
from smiling. However, it gives temporary positiveness. To lead society to
real happiness, the core of the problems should be solved. Hence, I
tasked my future with leading digital gifts that assist in getting a quality
education, getting rid of biases, broadening their horizons, following their
passions, and enjoying their lives. Surely, you will be among the first users
of those digital technologies.

It is time to disclose the gift I bought for you. It is a paint box. You will
use it to fill your and others’ lives with bright colors. Please, wake up.
Please, fight for your life and come back to life. I know your father wants

70
to divorce your mother because he wants a son instead of you. I know you
are feeling your mother’s anxiety and undergoing it together. However,
you have to live and put an end to such discrimination in society. Your
father will regret not accepting you. He will be proud to have you. Believe
me, Khumayro!

With love,

Your Future Self

Khumayro, Tashkent

41.

I have noticed that the smaller the city, the friendlier the people. Well,
that may seem obvious as in metropolises people are concerned only
about their lives and don’t pay much attention to the ones around and are
more reserved as a result.

I was born and raised in Andijan, the city where even peers address one
another with “siz.” Our street is quite narrow so whether you want or not
the passers-by will be too close to ignore. We all greet, whether we know
each other or not. “Assalamu alaykum” is perhaps one of the first words a
child learns, along with bending slightly while greeting.
In Tashkent, where I am currently studying, looking at a person for longer
than a second will make you seem a weirdo. Let alone speaking to a
stranger.

Taxis are another topic. Back in Andijan, greeting the driver and chatting
on the way was a complete norm. You also thank them after before getting
out. Here in Tashkent, I get to hear “Vaaleykum assalam” only 1 in 10
situations. The best thing to do is sit quietly and not look at the rear
mirror. Maybe I wasn’t lucky yet to meet more friendly drivers but the
norm is such.

I understand the the capital city is full of different people and not
everyone would like to be disturbed by others while they have their own
worries. But at the same time, I believe that what makes our nation and
culture unique is our friendliness, even towards complete strangers. We

71
are a nation of people who call each other ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ and treat
as if we have known one another our whole lives. One doesn’t have to
look at small talks outside as a bother or smth scary. Come on, it’s such a
great way to make a day better. One smile you share with a person can
make them happier till the end of the day. So why not practice something
so positive a bit more often?

Laylo, Andijan

42.

The first memory I have is burning my belly when I spilled a kettle with
hot black tea, and my mom’s first reaction was beating me up. Why?
Perhaps she was scared, but knowing her, it was the burden of treating a
child that pissed her off. I think I was around three years old back then.
Then there was a trip to the mountain a year later, the scar on my
stomach was still present at that time by the way. What I love the most
about childhood memories is that the little quarrels between parents cross
you by and you see only the bright sides of any event. This trip in
particular seemed very joyful to me – we played snowballs, went skiing
and rode snowmobiles. It was only after coming home I realized that my
mother was not happy with the holiday at all – it certainly had to do
something with the other relatives and their treatment. They never got on
well with each other.

My mother was easily irritable. Every argument with dad meant I too had
to behave myself if I didn’t want to get punished harsher than usual. I
used to have a toy box in the form of a bear, its mouth opening so all the
toys would be dumped there, and then close with a zipper. I loved the
bear and I loved the toy, from dozens of little soldiers to a whole set of
wild and domestic animals. I wasn’t the most outgoing child so I would
mostly closed up in one of the rooms and play in my imaginary world. I
also loved laying all the toys in front of me, which mom wasn’t a fan of at
all. I didn’t want to play a toy at a time and she didn’t want to see a mess
in her house. We fought. One evening, having caught me playing with all
of the toys all at once again, she took a rolling pin from the kitchen and
began beating me up with it. She was strangely violent that day, perhaps
the fact that I didn’t eat my supper well earlier made her edgy from the
start. I knew that if father saw the bruises on my back, legs and hands, he

72
certainly would scold my mom. So the following evenings when father
came home I would wear long-sleeved clothes even though it was hot.
Gracious from this side, I still wanted to take my revenge from mom: for
the next few weeks I would dump all the toys on the floor and run away
from home leaving that mess while mom was shouting to come back.

Then, a year later maybe, I remember my grandmother hugging me and

in tears telling what a poor child I was to lose parents at such a young age.
I had to stay at her house while parents were away for a work trip or
something of that sort, I can’t quite remember, although it then became
my home for the next ten years. I do remember the funeral process and
the many people in veils and sorrowful faces, and I even cried several
times in panic when I realized that I couldn’t find my parents now. I did
close up for some time, but then again, I was young yet to understand that
their death was something to cry about. Losing a daughter must have been
hard for grandmother, but she didn’t get discouraged but instead raised
me like her own child.

I used to adore her dishes, and I miss them to this day. Her cutlets had a
unique juiciness about them, and her rice in milk always had that little
piece of butter floating on top of the sweet porridge. She would never say
so when I asked her to prepare pilaf for breakfast. She taught me how to
ride a bike, pushing me from behind and telling I could. I drew hundreds
of her portraits with my crayons and wrote little stories about her and me
saving the world.

She used to work in some governmental job, something to do with women

and family peace (governmental titles are always confusing and too long),
so she could afford to pamper me buying all the unnecessary stuff I
wanted as a child. When I first went to school, the cute white shoes with
black stripes reminding of a zebra earned me a good reputation among
girls from the very start. She would buy the most beautiful clothes,
brightest bags and biggest sets of pens and pencils. All to make sure I
wouldn’t feel less than other kids in my class. Perhaps she pampered me a
bit too much sometimes, but so what? She was the only person I had. She
was also the only sane person among all whom I had to live with.
My grandmother passed away when I was fourteen. Sometimes I wonder
when was that crucial point that I missed so blindly. When did I become
an outcast in my class, being friends only with younger kids as my own

73
peers wouldn’t accept me. When did I start hanging out outside so much,
trying smoking and drinking because that was what other cool kids in the
neighborhood did. When did I start neglecting my studies so I was
literally among the students with worst grades at school. I think it was my
grandmother’s death that was the only bar I could hold on, but which
disappeared so suddenly with a heart failure.

I lived at my elder aunt’s house for the first few months. She was fine, but
her nervous system certainly wasn’t. She would cry in the evenings with a
bottle in her hand, lamenting the loss of her husband. She didn’t beat me,
however, no matter how drunk she was. But she didn’t seem to notice my
presence much either. After a year or so, she left for Russia and I again
had to change my home.

Next was my father’s younger brother. Bahrom aka (that brother) has a
very beautiful and kind wife whom I more or less came to look at as my
mother. No, elder sister seems to suit better. She never scolded me harsh,
though not because she didn’t like me but because she thought it very
wrong to punish another woman’s child. They have three children, two
boys one girl. There wasn’t a time she gave me less food or sweets than
her own kids but still I could feel this polite distance she always tried to
keep between us. Perhaps it was better that way, I was a teenage girl now,
after all.

My uncle, however, was a man both drinking and smoking (both of which,
by the way, I gave up on eventually). He had little patience for anything
that didn’t seem appropriate to him. It was the first time I felt I was being
controlled a bit too much, with strict curfew and rules on how to dress.
Skirts were not allowed as they showed parts of my legs, so I moved to
baggy pants and long dresses. My time outside was limited as even going
to the library was not much approved as “I can study at home too.” If he
was drunk and I was the only one to take his anger out on, he would press
his not yet fully put-out cigarette on my hand and leave the burn marks as
a punishment.

Every of my relatives I lived with so far shaped me in one way or another,

sometimes being an example and sometimes a warning. I wish I had a
home of my own and be able to live like most of my peers, with loving

74
parents and siblings. But as that was never the case, I guess I will just do
my best to move out to live on my own as soon as possible.
I have no idea what my future holds, no one does, really. But that’s okay.
I will just carry on.

Ugiloy, Namangan

43.

Unspoken rules exist everywhere, don’t they? But only recently have I
realized that everyday life of an Uzbek is just filled with those rules that
are accepted widely but rarely ever spoken.

As a child, I was very upset with my parents for getting me an ear piercing
without asking from me. My mom says they had to call a neighbor old
woman who specialized in piercing. I was no older than 2 years. Both
mother and grandmother had to keep both my hands tight while the old
woman cut a hole with a needle to my screaming which I believe the
whole street was able to hear. Even after the woman left, I kept on crying
and being bitter with life until grandmother showed what she had bought
for me – a cute pair of golden earrings. They say I used to love anything
glittery and shiny so had a nickname of a ‘magpie.’ My love for golden
things seems to be so deeply embedded within me that any metal except
for golden – and bijouterie, obviously – causes red marks and itching on
my body. An allergy for any medal except for golden – isn’t it great? Well,
that’s not the point now. Later once I started wearing those golden
earrings, I was bothered by their weight – I didn’t like feeling anything
hanging from my earlobes. What made things worse is the realization that
none of my brothers had to go through these sufferings and had their ears
intact. “Why is that?” soon I kept on asking this from my mother every
day. “Why do girls wear earrings, but boys don’t? I never wanted them.”
When I asked my dad, his answer was that it’s women who make up
unnecessary ways to look more beautiful, so much so that they do them
even to young girls. Whom are they trying to look beautiful, though? It’s
not like women live in vacuum. Although now I understand of course the
context and how come society works that way, my young straightforward-
looking version never liked this difference.

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The same went for topless men and women. I hated that I couldn’t walk
around with no T-shirt in hot weather while my equally breastless brothers
enjoyed the summer to the fullest. I would see many topless men
swimming in channels and think of women doing the same and what
people would say. Although the latter didn’t matter to me.

Then, Damas. One day I was coming home from classes in Damas. A
middle-aged woman in a shawl and a teenage son got in. Damas, as you
might already know, consists of three rows. The unspoken rule is that the
2nd row is for women and the 3rd at the back – for men (the 1st is
obviously for the driver and a man next to him). When the mother and
son got in the car, two men were sitting on the 2nd row while the back was
empty (except for me). The son got annoyed and asked the men to move
back so his mother could sit on the 2nd. The men refused saying that they
got in first and have no desire to change places now. “The rule is that
whenever possible, men should sit at the back and women at the front,”
the guy went on, “so are you saying you are fine sitting on a place where a
woman should be sitting instead?” The men too got pissed off because of
the “little rude bastard.” We were already moving, his mother sitting next
to me at the back, and the son next to the driver. He didn’t back off and
the whole way kept on scolding the men twice older than him for being
“women,” while they listened only with occasional mumblings.

Zulfiya, Samarkand

44.

My teachers used to call me “a math genius” since middle school. I loved

math as a child, I loved physics. My father is an engineer and grandfather
was a doctor, so both were good at STEM. Perhaps the inclination came
from them. But it wasn’t so obvious at the beginning, however.

The first time I took math seriously is when I went to math summer
classes with my cousin. The tutor was a retired old man who taught math
in his house. Interestingly, he was claimed to be a very famous tutor in the
city with “99% acceptance rate among his students,” who got into the best
universities in the country. Of course, we weren’t going there to prepare
for entrance exams as we were only in our 4th and 5th grades. But I have
to admit, within those 3 months we covered topics far ahead our school

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program. Finally I began to understand how math actually functioned and
got to see the internal workings of it - how and why magic happens with
numbers.

I used to massage my grandma in the evenings as she had aching bones

that tortured her with every move. My rubbings helped to “dissolve the
accumulated salt,” as the family used to express. It wasn’t the most favorite
activity for me, however, partly because grandma used to talk ill behind
many people to me while I massaged her. On one of such sessions after
math classes grandmother got angry because I didn’t come to massage her
on time – I was 10 minutes or so late. “It’s all because of your math,” she
told, “you think that now when you have these classes you can neglect
your house chores right?” I always had a quick temper and snapped with
“What chores am I neglecting? I am doing everything as always.” “Don’t
talk back to me! Actually, you are going to those classes only because of
your cousin. He is good at math and he is a boy, so he need to study. You
wouldn’t go there if it weren’t for him. You don’t even need it, you are a
girl. So don’t get too full of yourself thinking that you are studying now.”
I cried that night to my mother telling her what had happened. She
reassured me that it’s not the case and that I will study math whether
others like it or not. It was the first push for me to continue studying
math.

In 6th grade, we had a math competition conducted by our teachers. It

was an online game where one had to be quick and get as many correct
answers possible in a given time. Among all the students of our grade, I
got the 3rd place. The first two places were taken by boys.
The lesson following the competition our math teacher reflected on the
results with us. “Anyways, boys’ brains are wired to be better at STEM. I
am not saying girls can’t learn math. But boys have the ability to block any
distraction in their surrounding and focus on solving the problems at
hand. Girls, I came to notice, are more easily distracted, that’s why they
do poorly in math.”
The teacher was a female, by the way. Looking back I can say she
confused math skills with discipline. Anyone with good discipline is
capable of blocking the outer and inner (thoughts) distractions.

It’s not like after hearing such comments I decided I wanted to do math.
But I think they certainly influenced me as deep inside I did want to

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prove, first of all to myself and not to them, that math doesn’t choose
gender.

I came to realize is that in math the first important thing is a good

foundation. Math is like a chain of topics, with each following being
dependent on the previous. So, you can’t do well unless you ensure your
basic knowledge is strong. You must patch all the holes – that it,
understand the topics you are weak at fully. That way, you can be
confident the new topics will be easier to comprehend as you have a grasp
of how math works.
Soon I started learning physics too. Science might be slightly different
from math but they all are interconnected and very very interesting.
I began participating in local, city and regional Olympiads and managed to
get either first or second places. I had to spend many long hours before
the desk sleepless because I had this thought in mind that if I as a female
wasn’t good naturally then I would be great by hard work. It paid off.

Currently I am junior engineering major at the University of Texas at

Austin, having received governmental scholarship of EYUF (El Yurt
Umidi Foundation).

What is the take-away of my story? Our beliefs shape our abilities. If you
think you aren’t good at math, you won’t be. The same goes to other
subjects. You might not be inclined to that particular sphere but that
doesn’t matter. Muggsy Bogues, famous NBA player, wasn’t the tallest guy
either – only 1.60 m. So why can’t you block all the distractions – other
people’s opinion – and just do your job?

Zika, Tashkent

45.

Remember how when you spun me and my siblings, you always used to
whirl my brothers very hard throwing them to air and catching to their
loud laughter but when it came to me you would hold me tight and slowly
rotate round your axis making sure I wouldn’t be scared. It makes me
laugh whenever I remember.

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In summer 2023, I found out about Ibrat Camp and applied to test my
luck. I got in. It is a free camp which allows one to engage with other
teenagers and prepare robust applications for international universities. I
couldn’t hold my happiness inside and told my mother about the news,
she too was glad to hear although didn’t quite understand what the camp
was about. But when it came to telling you and asking the permission to
go there, you bluntly said no. “Why?” “How can you go alone to
Tashkent? And stay for a week among strangers?” I was angry for several
weeks and it made me burn whenever I saw photos of others having fun
on the camp. But I said, okay, it’s okay if I don’t go to the camp. I have a
bigger thing to focus on, anyways – getting into a university abroad.

The application cycle for class 2028 began in August. Having worked as a
volunteer at ACN Qarshi for a year, I had access to many resources on
how to prepare for a university in the US, including various sessions and
talks with the EducationUSA advisor. I had my IELTS, SAT (although
preferred not to submit – the score was good but not for the universities I
was aiming for) and extracurriculars. I got my essays checked by people
who were in the admissions sphere for years. I applied during both Early
Action and Regular Decision cycles and received several letters of
acceptance: four from state universities and two from private. One
university offered as much as 90% scholarship. I thought I would be able
to cover the rest with the help of EYUF. But as they say in Russian, не
тут то было.

Yes, dad. You didn’t let me go. Perhaps you knew I was secretly crafting
my application so I would be able to present you the ready results and
decided to let me keep on. But in any case, you said studying abroad was
out of question.

I remember that evening talk clearly. How you talked about brainwashing
in the western society. How when you yourself went there you saw many
people changing drastically, from righteous quiet people to ones who
followed western ideas and even changed the way they dressed. You told I
was still young and could be easily influenced by all those movements in
the US, that I must get my values and principles established before
entering the society with completely different set of values. That I must
first mature and create my own persona. I listened and agreed with what

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you said, but then asked whether you don’t trust me enough. You said it’s
not about trust or about me. It’s still early.

I think I cried for over three nights afterwards. I was bitter. I was bitter
that you yourself helped my brothers prepare for abroad (although none
of them got in), even encouraged to apply for FLEX earlier (again, didn’t
get in), but you stopped me half-way when I had already done most of the
work. On my own. I felt betrayed as I thought that we were a family where
education and growth was supported but seemingly not in my case.

Dad, I still feel hurt sometimes when I remember these situations. But as
time went on and the wounds healed slightly, I had more time for
reflection.
When you were very careful spinning me when I was a child I didn’t get
as much adrenaline as my brothers did. But did you not spin me hard
because you didn’t want me to have as much fun as my brothers? No. I
think you were just careful with me more. I know I am the youngest and I
am a girl. I know fathers may let their sons do any stupid and even
dangerous thing but will never let anything harm their daughters. Perhaps
you too, dad, were scared. Of uncertainty (I know you hate uncertainty).
Of possible danger. Of the fact that if something were to happen to me
abroad and you wouldn’t be able to come and help me immediately you
would be as much hurt. That I am your only daughter and you would
rather prevent any danger instead of regretting in case something really
did happen. I understand you more now. That it wasn’t just blocking my
way. I know it was you who always helped me with math. It was you who
always supported whenever I wanted to go to some extra classes. It was
you who would always buy me tons of books and challenge me to finish a
book a week. It was you who when everyone deemed my interests as
foolish, always supported me and told to keep on doing. You were the
one who always encouraged to study.

I understand. And I ask you too to listen to one thing. No, I would ask all
parents to listen to this.
Let your children free. It will be scary, I know, but most probably you
don’t want them to feel sorry and regretful in the future with the thought
that it was their own parents who prevented them from reaching a
particular goal. Yes, there might me thousands of ways of achieving that
goal. But it’s you who can see that. You are an adult. Your kids are young,

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so let them try. They may stumble. They may fail. But once they stand up
again, they will learn their lesson which will stay with them forever. You
can’t always protect them. And you need to let them discover things on
their own. At least, because you love them so much and wish them the
best.
Because the walls you put to protect them are also the walls that block
their path.

Maddie, Qarshi

46.

Times have changed me totally. In the past I was more stubborn and
aggressive with anything which led me to face difficulties on the way of
success story. It is really interesting how I can call my story a successful
one. Well, I am someone who wants to have her own voice in this
conservative community. And I am going to share my experiences with
you. Since my childhood my parents have been complaining about my
behavior. As they said my character is like boys’ which makes me stand
out from others around me because when I want one thing, I will do it
definitely without any doubts with strong eagerness.

I live in a remote village with its own traditions, like early marriage for
young girls. This makes it hard for girls to pursue education and personal
growth. My parents recognized this and encouraged me to learn a foreign
language, hoping I could make a positive impact on our community. I was
grateful and proud of their support. I attended a specialized school in
Margilan, where there was a prevailing belief that students should become
salespeople in the local bazaar instead of pursuing higher education.
Despite this mindset, our school had exceptional and knowledgeable
teachers. I was fortunate to learn from them. However, some of my
classmates, influenced by traditions, tried to discourage me from
continuing my studies, assuming I would eventually get married and
abandon my education. They would often share their negative opinions
and perspectives with me, which occasionally made me upset. However, I
now understand that their limited mindset was a result of the absence of
anyone challenging the traditions and introducing new ideas to the
community. They simply followed the life path passed down by their
grandparents and ancestors. I was determined not to let my life become a

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repetitive script for every Uzbek girl in our society. This opened new
chapter in my life…

I got accepted into a local university after a tough application process. I

was excited about the opportunity to pursue higher education. Due to
Covid-19, the university started later than usual. I had many dreams and
goals to achieve and meet like-minded people. Everything was going well
until my parents started pressuring me to get married. I focused on
improving my studies and excelling in life. I noticed many professionals
facing challenges in their field due to a lack of education, which
emphasized the importance of personal growth. Dealing with my parents'
pressure was a significant problem. Despite my best efforts to explain my
perspective, I couldn't find a solution. As a result, I adopted a new
mindset and chose not to pay attention to my parents' expectations.

Despite the negative outcome, it served as a catalyst for me to prioritize

my studies and persevere towards my goals. I developed important
qualities such as patience, respect for others, and honed my soft skills.
The third year of university stands out as the most productive, leading to
personal growth and significant improvements in my professional life,
particularly in my language skills. I am grateful to my mentors for
providing me with valuable knowledge throughout my learning journey.
Despite my fear, I registered for the exam without informing my parents,
planning to surprise them with the results. The exam took place, and
university lessons began. I kept my exam a secret, determined to reveal
my achievement instead of merely telling them about it. I had a close
friend who, unfortunately, viewed me as an enemy. However, I confided
in her about my plans and the exam. She showed great interest and
eagerly awaited my results. With gratitude to Allah, I received my
certificate with a band score of 7. With the help of this, I started applying
for conferences and scholarships, enjoying the memorable experiences of
travelling. Despite facing rejections, I sought solutions and discovered the
importance of having a mentor. Finding a great mentor has been a turning
point for me, helping me improve my performance and learn from my
mistakes.

My mentor played a crucial role in helping me discover my true identity

and passion. Through investigating solutions and identifying obstacles, my
journey took a different direction. To my disbelief, I received acceptance

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to a prestigious conference at Harvard University, opening doors for me
to enhance my networking skills and initiate new projects. This is the story
of a once poor girl who believes in the power of education.

Zakhrokhon, Fergana

47.

My father always used to tell me, "Great things are done by a series of
small things brought together." It took me a long time to understand the
truth in his words. I have always had a dream of becoming fluent in
English. I remember the day when I was in first grade and foreigners
came to our school to speak with the older students. I was captivated by
how well the high school students spoke English. I wondered if I would
ever be able to communicate with English speakers the same way.

While I was working on my English assignments, my father would often

say to me with a smile, "My daughter will study at an American University
in the future! Study hard and always remember that America is waiting for
you!" At that time, I did not know much about American universities,
except that they were located on a different continent. I used to imagine a
grand educational institution filled with diverse students from different
countries, all effortlessly communicating in English and spending
countless hours studying in vast libraries like the one in the cartoon "The
Beauty and the Beast." At the age of seven, I had two dreams: to become
fluent in English and to study at an American University for free.

I began attending extracurricular activities and studying English diligently.

I worked hard to achieve my goals and make my parents proud. I excelled
in my studies at school and eventually became the school president. I
would stay up late working on my school assignments and extracurricular
activities. Sometimes, I would even continue working during school
breaks. I also participated in various competitions and educational events.
However, my classmates were not supportive. They criticized me for not
spending time with them and thought that learning English was pointless.
They believed that studying abroad was not meant for girls and that I was
foolish for believing in such dreams. I began to lose friends because of my
dedication to my goals, but I refused to give up.

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The process seemed never-ending. Even during summer holidays, while
my friends were enjoying various entertaining activities, I continued to
dedicate myself to studying English. One day, I asked my dad if all my
hard work would pay off. He reassured me, saying, "The day will come
when YOU will relax and travel around, thankful that you did not give up,
while your friends will regret not studying on time." His words gave me the
strength to keep going.

Now, as I look back on my journey, I realize that my father was right.

Great things are indeed achieved through a series of small efforts brought
together. After finishing 9th grade, I applied for the Ibrat Language Camp
during summer. It was a fully funded English camp for talented
individuals of Uzbekistan. Despite the large number of applicants, I was
surprised to be selected as a finalist (I was the youngest participant in the
camp). My dad encouraged me, saying that this was just the beginning of
my adventurous journey. As time passed, I expanded my networking and
was recommended for various regional, state and even international events
due to my fluency in English and Russian. I even received job offers from
international corporations despite still being a school student. Then I
realized something special: I have achieved one of my childhood dreams
and became a fluent English speaker as I dreamed of once…

I am proud of what I have achieved till today. I have learned the

importance of surrounding myself with positive influences and supportive
individuals. While some people were unsupportive, others encouraged
and motivated me along the way. I am grateful for the opportunities ahead
and eager to continue pursuing my passions. My father's words continue
to resonate with me, reminding me that every small effort counts, and that
perseverance leads to success. Therefore, I am doing my utmost today to
make my second childhood dream come true: winning a full ride to an
American University. I am sure that very soon I will achieve my dream. I
will be the representative of my dearest country Uzbekistan abroad.
I am feeling that with like-minded Uzbek youth, I will be able to make a
meaningful contribution in the development of my country and lead to
the 3rd Renaissance. Together with them we will raise the flag of
Uzbekistan to heaven!

Nozaninbegim, Fergana

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48.

If you look at the progression of the modern movements of the youth in

Uzbekistan, you can actually notice different waves throughout the years. I
am not stating that any of this is proven or thoroughly researched, but
rather comes from my personal observation of my peers and the
generations that came before me.

1. When our brothers and sisters (those in their mid-twenties) were

preparing for university entrance exams, their main focus was the DTM
(Davlat Test Markazi) – the entrance exam for governmental universities
throughout the country. Between 2010 and 2015, the preparation was
especially intense, with students going to special cram schools that prepare
them for the exams. I remember my own cousins coming from their
classes in heat and instead of cooling down in their bedrooms they would
grab their book and continue studying at home. We could talk with them
only during lunch and supper times when a few months were left till the
exam days.
2. While DTM remained prevalent in the next few years too, more
and more parents began sending their children to additional English
classes. This wave of English learning could have begun much earlier but
its popularity grew starting from 2015 and 2017. Each city would have a
few major learning centers where students would go to after their school
classes. I started learning English later, but I remember my classmates (we
all were born in 2005-2007) carrying around their big English books from
which they would learn long lists of words and cram those into their heads
through a lot of repetition and making hundreds of example sentences.
3. Starting from 2017, IELTS – International English Language
Testing System – grew in popularity. Many more students began preparing
for this English proficiency test and aiming at certain band scores. The
more widely recognized IELTS got in Uzbekistan, the higher the average
score became as more teachers would find better ways of approaching the
test. If in 2017 the band 7.0 was considered very high, now rarely can you
surprise anyone with band 8.0. This caused the establishment of countless
language learning centers which all would promise you “7+ in 3 months.”
I call this period (up until 2024) “IELTS Mania” as it seemed that
everyone around was obsessed with this certificate so much so that the
first question a person could ask when getting to know you would be
“What is your IELTS score?” IELTS preparation became a country-wide

85
business, and while it is great that now more people than ever in
Uzbekistan know English, many began to neglect other subjects at school.
Or school whatsoever. It became a very common practice for students to
get a permission from the school principals and not attend school at all
because “they are preparing for IELTS and school is a distraction.” And it
is so, actually. Schools seemingly lost their core value – teaching children
– and instead became a mundane obligation which students would rather
skip and spend their time more productively at libraries or learning
centers. Most public schools didn’t (and do not still) have enough teachers
so that students would come to school only to sit and talk. It’s a shame,
really. If in any other normal country extra classes are only additional
material to school studies, in Uzbekistan we have the exact opposite –
students don’t get enough or any knowledge in most public schools. (I
have to note here that it’s mostly true for high schools – primary schools
are still doing their job)
4. 2023 was a new bang for the education system. 2022, too, but
especially 2023. It was only starting from these years that students around
the country saw that studying abroad isn’t that much of a mystery. Uzbek
children got into most prestigious universities in the world – Harvard,
Yale, Stanford, Brown, to name a few – and here we have got “abroad
rush.” Even if not every, but still many, teenagers decided that if they want
to get a proper education, they must go abroad. It is especially true for
U.S. universities. Education USA (U.S. department) began providing local
students with free courses (both online and offline in American Spaces)
on how to get into U.S. universities. The government started heavily
investing in this sphere in many ways including EYUF (El-Yurt Umidi
Foundation) – a state grant which covers your tuition fees and/or expenses
abroad. Now, getting into the top 100 university became less of a distant
dream for many. A lot of admission consultants started running their
businesses promising to help students to get into a university abroad, be
that America or South Korea or any other. Now students focused not only
on getting IELTS but also SAT and doing extracurricular activities, as it is
required by those schools.
And it’s amazing. It really is. In 2024, we have got many more students
who got into prestigious schools. And we as a country must be proud that
our youth is finally entering the world arena.

But here is the thing. It really should not be your end goal. I can see
countless teenagers having their confidence plummeting because they

86
couldn’t go abroad or get a scholarship to study abroad. It now seems as if
the only way you can be an accomplished young person is through getting
into a prestigious university.
I understand why. Universities, good ones, give you many opportunities to
develop and build a large network. It is completely different to have such
an experience. But you know what? Most people are obsessed with all this
only because of how fancy it sounds. Because they want to show off.
Because it raises their popularity.
Which is bad. If you are planning to study abroad, ask yourself first
“why?”
5. Here comes the fifth wave, which I believe more of us should
focus on. What is the end goal of education? Of getting into those
universities? To become masters in whatever sphere we are pursuing,
isn’t? To create something bigger than ourselves. To contribute to the
development. To be great, in short, whatever job it is.
Studying abroad certainly increases your chances of reaching that goal.
But it is not the only way. At all. A hardworking and persistent person will
succeed no matter where they studied or graduated. You must look at
university as a tool that helps you get closer to your goals. But it should
never be the end goal.

Work on yourself. Learn. Challenge yourself. The 5th wave of the

modern movement in Uzbekistan is probably going to be that of great
masters of their work. Those who create what the whole world is going to
recognize – be that great doctors, engineers, lawyers or writers. It is a high
time we enter the bigger world stage.

N, Namangan

49.

Disclaimer: The following program contains material that may be

disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.

This night has been my nightmare for the last 5 years now. The memory
is about fear and disgust, anger and embarrassment, all thrown together
into a huge mess.
“Qizim, go and bring some milk from the shop, please. The money is on
the table.”

87
Having tucked my T-shirt into my pants I put on my cap and walked
through the streets under a wide canopy of dark trees. The soundtrack
from Godfather playing in my head, I made my way to the shop and was
coming back the same path when I saw an older man.

Dressed in a nice checked blue shirt and jeans, he looked like those
wealthy foreigners. His hair white under the cold light of the street pole,
he looked at me with a familiar warm smile and said that his car had
broken and he would be extremely grateful if I could help as he couldn’t
find anyone else around but I seem like a smart girl so come on help me
please.
I was either too stupid or too naïve to be suspicious. Sure, I said, what can
I help you with.
He led me to the corner where his white Spark was parked and asked me
to come closer to take a better view. I came and shoved in.
The door got shut.

I still vividly remember every move he made, every sound he uttered

while I was lying half-dozed off in the salon of the car. I can feel the places
he touched and the words he threatened me with. Perhaps I should have
screamed, tried to bite him and run away. But I didn’t do any of those. I
felt completely powerless against his big body. I only thought about how to
stay alive and get home. Home, I wanted back home, bring my mom the
milk she asked so we could have a banana milkshake. Drinking a
milkshake is what a 12-year-old like me should have been doing.
My way back home was blurry.

My legs shaky, I stood under the shower for 3 hours straight, my body
numb and mind blank. I scratched, rubbed my skin with all my might to
get rid of the filth I felt all over myself. I was disgusted with myself. It’s so
strange now that I think of it, that I never even felt hatred towards that
man back then. I was too troubled with my own dirtiness.

I slowly began losing weight and got paler with each day. My parents had
no idea what would change their shiny daughter so dramatically, perhaps
she is being bullied they thought, or had a bad relationship experience.
Soon when I started having nervous ticks, I too, wondered why I would
change so much. Nothing happened, right. My mind didn’t want to even

88
consider that night as the real problem, trying to bury it deeper in my
memory.

I didn’t tell anything to my parents. I didn’t know I should have.

Whether I wanted or not, every time I saw a man the first involuntary
thought I had was what would he do if we were left alone in one room. I
wasn’t consciously scared of men, but I did get anxious whenever one was
around.

Standing in the school corridor, I saw my classmate approaching me from

the crowd waving his hand. He was already saying “Heeyy how are you?”
and raised his hand for a high-five when I just squatted down and covered
my head with hands. The poor boy didn’t know how to react when
everybody looked at us and just kept on saying “eh? wait I just wanted to
greet that’s all.” When people ask what was my most embarrassing
moment this one always comes to mind first.

I know that whatever self-harm I’ve done be that cutting wrists or thighs, it
was never a clear decision. My mind was constantly foggy, and I just knew
that pain brought me back to reality and helped to calm down. I didn’t
think of it as anything serious.

I was 12 years old when that incident happened and 15 when I told
everything to my parents. Honestly, I didn’t realize the gravity of the
situation until I saw their reaction. My dad cried asking God why such a
thing would happen to his little girl. Why his girl. It was the first time I saw
him crying. I guess that was the beginning of my recovery.

Now that I look back on those days, I wish someone could have grabbed
my hand and took me out of that downward spiral sooner. But no one did
as I no one knew. I have read and heard many stories of sexual abuse
later growing up, but I hoped to forget the past and bury it forever. Alas,
our memories don’t work that way. There will be a day when all the
demons of our mind will come to haunt us and we will have to deal with
them eventually. We must educate both girls and boys on this topic.
Uyat we give so much importance to makes it impossible to have open
conversations and breaks down the lives of innocent young girls and not
only. If we keep on turning a blind eye to these issues, they will only
engrave deeper within our societies and poison our lives

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Note: in case of assault, never hesitate to reach out for help or call 102.

Bright, Navoi

50.

Life is very beautiful

Rustamova Gulsanam, Qashqadaryo

51.

I have been putting off this letter for a long time. It is dedicated to the
person who managed to save me and but didn’t make it himself at the
end.

You remember how we first met? I do, crystal clear. It was two years ago,
the end of April. Both of us came to the local library because of a writing
competition none of us signed up for. Restive till the very end of the
event, we had a small conversation afterwards, complaining that it should
have taken only half an hour according to our teachers and laughing as
neither of us did a good job writing any good story about “my favorite
character and what they taught me.” “We should first learn Uzbek
properly, shouldn’t we?” I was a timid girl, you noticed. And it was true. I
didn’t like talking to strangers, especially stranger boys. But there was
something so kind and open about you that I was laughing more than
usual within those 5 minutes than I did ever before.

Since that day I paid attention to when you used to come to the library. I
liked the fact that although outwardly you seemed like a complete
arrogant timewaster, in reality you turned out to be such a hard-working
bookworm. I liked that we had something in common. On days when you
didn’t have extra classes to attend, you spent your whole afternoons in the
library absorbing books. I wonder if you ever noticed but I really did
observe you from distance, as you seemed so different from others
around, with such a warm smile.

Thanks to that competition, whenever I came to the library, you would sit
beside me and suggest to study together. Remember how we used to

90
spend the little money we had on chebureki and hot-dogs? Ice-cream on
top if we were in good mood. Splashing water at one another, running,
and enjoyed the last month we had of the 9th grade.

You taught me so much. I was good at math too but it seemed to come so
easily to you that I grew jealous and even promised myself I would beat
you in math. But more than anything, you taught me that one needs to
open a little bit for others to understand them and be able to support.
Those weren’t the best times for my family with financial problems and
my parents being on the verge of divorce. I used to cry every night and I
am sure I must have looked miserable to my classmates. But for some
reason, around you, I used to feel so carefree and safe. I smiled around
you.

You must agree that the summer we spent together, that summer of 2022,
was sunnier and softer than any other. Remember how you invited me to
the local music school where you practiced piano secretly as your parents
didn’t approve of your interest in music? Before going to library to study,
we would lock up in one of the rooms and me listening to you playing
Waltz of the Flowers, the sun beaming right at your light golden hair, your
body fully submerged in the song. It seemed like a refuge from the whole
world, the place where both of us could escape to from the problems in
our families.

Until that day came.

I still listen to the songs you sent to me. For months after that incident, I
really couldn’t go out of home if it wasn’t for school. I used to fall asleep
with those songs playing in my earphones. Remember your favorites?
Amour secret. Tous les deux. Moody Wind. And of course, We’ll Meet
Again by Karen Elson.

It was the beginning of December. It didn’t rain or snow, but it was very
chilly. Very chilly I couldn’t warm up easily. Here, you know, I still can’t
forgive myself. Remember we argued over the fact that you didn’t pick up
your phone when I called you dozens of times crying after my parents’
fight at home? I wish I didn’t take my anger out on you. You told you
didn’t hear the ring and grew annoyed at the end and hung up. I didn’t
call you afterwards. It was late too.

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I wonder what you felt. Did you feel betrayed that you listened to me
every single time, but I got angry only because of the one time you
couldn’t? With what thoughts did you walk out of your home for the walk
in that cold weather? Weren’t you angry with me? Weren’t you angry at
me in the last seconds of your life? I am so sorry. So sorry.

It was in the early morning that I heard you got hit by a car. That you
“died on the spot.” That people around heard you crying “mom” at the
last moment. I can’t imagine what you must have felt. How scared you
must have been.

It took me a year to finally bring myself back to life. I still feel horrible to
this day. Still tears trickle down my cheeks whenever I remember the
sunny days we spent. All the stupid photos we took. I deleted them all at
first to forget you faster. But I couldn’t, you know. I recovered them. All
of them.
I know if you were here, you would tell me it wasn’t my fault so I
shouldn’t eat up myself so much. That you would tell me to move on. Try
something new. But it’s hard.

I did try something new, however. I started learning how to play piano. So
I could play all the songs you played to me on my own. We will graduate
this year, May 2024. I am planning on playing Pomp and Circumstance by
Edward Elgar on the graduation day.

Looking back, I believe you were the hero I should have written about on
that essay competition. You made me strong. But I wish we could have
more time together. But then, there is that song you loved that comforts
me, “We’ll Meet Again.”

You were a very good person. I am thankful I had you in my life, however
brief our time was.

“Keep smiling through

Just like you always do.
We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when

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 But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.”

N.D, Samarkand

52.

When I was a child, my mother once told me that if I wanted something,

I must wish for it with all my heart. That’s what I’ve been practising for
over 20 years now.

I remember as a 5-year-old I wanted a red polka dot dress I saw in an

advertisement one day. Back then, finding good-quality clothes was harder
than now as most were imported goods. I didn’t whine to my parents, but
I kept this desire deep inside, even imagining myself in that dress. Silk
and bright, how beautiful I would look in that dress. I knew my parents
wouldn’t be able to find it but I kept on wishing anyways. After a few days,
however, on my birthday, I woke up to find that my mother had sewed
that dress herself and was waiting for me to try it on. I wore that dress
everywhere and almost all the time. My parents couldn’t make me take it
off.

When I went to school for the first time, our teacher explained that the
class president would be chosen after the second semester. The class
president would have more responsibilities than others but also have their
own privileges, so it’s no wonder that I immediately hoped to become
one. Once again, the desire was so strong that I kept imagining how the
teacher would call out my name in front of everyone and announce me as
the class president. The problem was, the teacher didn’t seem to like me
much, perhaps because she thought I was showing off by being sometimes
too active. I needed to be humbler so she wouldn’t dislike me but at the
same time, I had to keep my grades and be active if I wanted to become
the student representative. For a 7-year-old brain, that was a huge
dilemma. When the day came, I was sitting at the back desk when I heard
our teacher’s words: “Judging by her hard work and determination, I
believe that the most responsible student for the role of the class president
is Muhayyo.” A smile didn’t leave my face for the rest of the day. I was the
class president till the end of high school, by the way.

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Talking of high school, when I was a senior, I remember watching the
news with my elder sister about a new organization “Kamolot” which was
to support ambitious young leaders. The leaders’ meeting was being
broadcast while I was sitting my eyes fixed on the screen: “I wish I were
there. I wish I were one of those leaders. Why don’t we have such an
organization in Namangan too?” My sister told me to stop being so
unrealistic.

In the morning a few days later the school director called me to her office
and told me to take a seat. “So, my girl, what do you think about being
our school’s representative for the “Kamolot”. I think you would be a
great fit.” I agreed immediately, of course. It was an honor and big
responsibility, full of great moments and events. I think my most
memorable times were spent in that organization full of other extremely
active students who inspired me to work more.

When the time came to apply to a university, my parents got slightly

worried. Although their always-active girl was an exemplary student she
was never really a study type. I hardly understood math concepts. But I
still wanted a first place on the entrance exams as only a few top students
could get the scholarship. Wishing for the best, I nevertheless started
preparing for the exam. I had these strange conversations with God where
I would sit on my bed in the middle of the night and pray in my mind:
“Dear God, please, please, let me take the 1st place on the entrance
exam. I won’t ever ask anything more. Please.” When a few weeks were
left, I was already asking for the 2nd place: “Okay, I shouldn’t be too
cheeky, so let me get the 2nd place, please.” The night before the exam,
at 3 am, I was on the bedroom floor, still talking: “God, listen, I ask only
for the 3rd place, please. Let me take it, and I will be the most
hardworking student ever. Please.”
A few days later, I was running home with the words: “I got accepted! 3rd
place! On the scholarship basis!” my parents at first thought I was joking
as they didn’t even hope for the acceptance let alone any good rank.
That’s how I got into university.

Now, these were only a few examples of what strong desires are capable
of. In learning, 3 elements are considered essential: desire, practice, and
knowledge. At times, desire is even more crucial than knowledge simply

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because it makes a person take a move. It makes a person bold. It makes
everything possible as long as there is a burning desire in your heart.
As long as you wish strong, you are strong.

Muhayyo, Namangan

53.

“You must!” – the phrase rings clear,

For the young bride to hear.
Once you’ve married, from the start,
Entering a stranger’s hearth,
You must never feel dismayed,
Mop the floors and clean each day.
Also, please your husband well,
Never frown nor in sorrow dwell,
Don’t relax and always strive,
And keep your smile alive.

You must bear a child soon,

To keep your marriage in tune.
But make sure it’s a boy you bring,
A girl is not what pleases him.

If you have a baby, they will come

To teach you how to raise and be a mom.
How to feed and raise it right
And how to swaddle the baby tight.
You’re a fool, you know not how,
How to do any of that, let them now.
Only mother-in-law can tell
How to do things truly well.

You can’t rest, you must comply,

Sleep the least, work on the fly,
More than anyone, struggle and hope
For the mercy, and never mope.
Eat the least, don’t dare ask
For the money, that’s a risky task.

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If you lack dresses to wear,
Rush to mom and borrow there.

54.

Discovering My Roots

My name is Rustam, and I grew up in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. As a kid, I

didn’t think much about my culture. My parents were always busy with
work, so I spent most of my time with my grandmother, who we called
Bibi. She was always telling me stories about our history and traditions,
like the great Timur and the ancient Silk Road, but to be honest, I didn’t
care much. I thought those stories were just old tales that didn’t have
anything to do with my life.

When I started school, I learned Russian and got really interested in

things from other countries. The more I learned, the more I wanted to
leave Uzbekistan and see the world. The traditions Bibi tried to teach me
seemed old and boring compared to the exciting things I read about in
books and saw on TV.

One summer, my parents decided to send me to our family’s village in the

Fergana Valley. I wasn’t happy about it. The idea of spending weeks in a
place without the comforts of the city sounded awful. But once I got there,
things started to change. My relatives in the village were really welcoming,
and even though life there was different, it wasn’t as bad as I thought.

In the village, I helped with the farming, watched the women make
beautiful suzani (embroidered cloths), and joined in making traditional
dishes like plov. I began to see that these traditions weren’t just old habits;
they were a way of life that brought people together. Slowly, I started to
appreciate the things Bibi had been trying to teach me.

The turning point came during the Navruz festival. I found myself in the
middle of the village, surrounded by people dancing and playing music
under the stars. The music from the dutar, a traditional instrument, filled
the air, and I felt something I’d never felt before—a connection to my

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roots. I realized then that the stories and traditions weren’t just boring old
things. They were a part of who I was.

When I got back to Tashkent, I started asking Bibi more about our
culture. I even started learning how to play the dutar, just like the
musicians in the village. I began to take pride in speaking Uzbek and
wearing traditional clothes during holidays. I also started to enjoy the
cultural events that I used to think were boring.

As I got older, I still liked learning about the world outside of Uzbekistan,
but I no longer wanted to leave my culture behind. Instead, I wanted to
understand how my heritage fit into the bigger picture. I realized that my
culture wasn’t something holding me back, but something that made me
who I am.

Now, I see my culture as a gift, something passed down from my ancestors

that I can carry forward. It’s not just about the past, but about living and
honoring who I am today. My journey from not caring to appreciating my
culture taught me that our traditions are worth holding on to, not just as
memories, but as a part of our everyday lives.

Rustam, Fergana

55.

Hard work always pays off

Hello, my name is Abrorbek Hujamov, known as HUJAMOVJR. I am a
17-year-old boy from Andijon. My story begins like this:

Since my childhood, I always used to be a football player. The dream

holds onto its true memories for me and my friends. In my childhood,
like everyone, I didn't know how to play it. I got interested in football
because of the passion towards it. I became fond of it. Always, at dinner,
we would talk about football and watch football matches. Being part of
this kind of family made me a big football lover. Then this crush for
football started to glow up, grew, and grew. It never ended. My football
idol was Cristiano Ronaldo. He always had been my idol. He always
motivated me with his dedication to the sport. He always was a role
model. His words about hard work influenced so many youngsters like

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me. I started to play football with my friends in our neighborhood. I
started playing at a normal pace with normal skills. However, after
watching many football matches, I acquired the skills and experiences of
better football players. I used them in real life. By this logic, I started to
play better and better day by day. That was going smoothly. Then as we
grew older, we started to play against other neighborhoods. We were
winning. Our team used to practice wherever possible. Several times our
parents had to restrict us from playing as they thought we were working
too much but, in the end, they had to give up seeing that we would still
practice in secret.

At school, there was a football competition among the classes. We

participated in the first year; we won 2 games. But after it, we lost to
another team in the semi-finals, quarter-finals. It kept going on like this.
We kept losing 3 years in a row in football competitions. It was
emotionally and morally damaging for all of us, even for our parents. We
knew we had to make some radical changes.
We started by training individually dividing up the team members. We
kept on these daily trainings for three months. We didn’t want to just wait
for the tournament and practice just before that, as we knew that talent
without hard work is nothing. Childhood friends from the beginning, our
team grew close like a family. We trained in the mornings and at night.
We wanted that trophy deadly.

The tournament day came, and we played our first game. We won 5:0. I
scored a double. I was the forward striker. We won the next game and the
next games. And in the semi-final, we came across the biggest previous
champions of the tournament. Back then, we were in 8th grade; our
opponents were in 11th grade. They were older than us in terms of age
and profile. So, even though they were skilled and experienced, we were
better than them in terms of hard work and teamwork. We understood
each other well. And we won the match in penalty shootouts. We went to
the final for the first time in our life.

Of course, our parents and teachers certainly wished we would be

champions. We celebrated the semi-final victory with my friends, enjoying
it a lot. Those were unforgettable days, filled with memories. I was so
happy that all our hard work was paying off. And the day finally came.
Most fans predicted that we would lose in the finals. But we proved them

98
wrong once again. The rival team seemed perfect - taller than us, with a
goalkeeper tall enough to make saves. We were young boys at that time.
We scored a goal, leaving everybody shocked. They fell silent because it
was nearly impossible for young boys to score against a skilled older team.
We celebrated like maniacs, with crazy fans surrounding us with frantic
joy. What a moment. Then we scored another goal, winning the game 2-0.
The dream finally came true. We achieved this cup with all the duas from
our parents and the efforts we put into our work. Practice truly makes
perfect. Everyone was happy. It was the most unforgettable day of my life
at school. I always cherish these moments, showing that to achieve
something, you need to be ready for challenges. It may take a long time to
achieve it.

HUJAMOVJR, Andijan

56.

August 13, 2023. Waking up on another hot summer morning, I began to

do what had become my daily routine. Recently, I found that engaging in
volunteer activities was a meaningful way to give back to the world, even in
small ways. Despite feeling like my efforts were in vain, I came across an
announcement on the telegram channel of the Association of Volunteers
of Uzbekistan. The ad sought eco-volunteers for the inaugural EduCo
Youth Festival on August 18, 2023, at Tashkent Central Park, highlighting
the benefits of volunteering. Interestingly, the deadline to apply for this
volunteer position was August 13 at 12:00 p.m., a source of both joy and
disappointment. I tried to use all my energy and enthusiasm to fill out this
questionnaire in the four hours I had. In the application process,
everything was going well until the last stage, for which a 2-minute video
was requested. After facing significant challenges, I managed to complete
the video, looked at the clock and saw 11:48. "I made it!" I was happy.
However, my happiness was short-lived as I encountered difficulties
uploading the recorded video. Refusing to succumb to failure when the
video failed to load, I devised an alternative solution. I left them a small
message saying that the video was not uploaded in the profile and that I
was leaving it on the Telegram channel, I think that this undefeatedness
made me stand out from the crowd and helped me a lot to win.

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But this could not be the last obstacle for an Uzbek girl, of course. It was
not easy for me to convince my parents to go there, just like every parent
cares about their child and therefore restricts them from certain things.
Fortunately, my father knew how to support me and said that he would
visit the festival with me this time as well. We left Namangan for Tashkent
early in the morning.

When we arrived at the destination of the festival, I looked for my

teammates, and we started working. The festival aimed to creatively
educate society on preserving nature's fundamentals. The goal of our
volunteers was to help make the festival as perfect as possible. I can say
that the EduCo festival, held under the motto Edu+Eco=Grow, was held
at an excellent level. The Eco Zakovat intellectual game was held there,
and the winning team received gifts from the Ministry of Ecology. Young
eco-activists had the opportunity to promote their projects, and important
presentations on nature conservation by foreign experts were shown.

This newfound knowledge spurred a 17-year-old girl to contemplate about

nature and humanity’s future with greater depth. It was this festival that
strengthened the feeling of never being indifferent to nature in my heart.
Since that day, I have discovered a new world for myself. I now actively
care for the Earth and nature, spreading awareness to friends and engaging
in ecological initiatives. This is my story. I am Iqbola Zoidova, calling
upon all Uzbek people to join me in saving Uzbekistan for the Earth by
sharing my inspirational story.

Zoidova Iqbola, Namangan

57.

I, Asadbek, would like to share my thoughts on strengthening family

bonds, specifically between a sister and a brother, based on my personal
experiences.

Nowadays, I meet many people who complain about their family

members. Unfortunately, I was once also one of such people.
I have a sister who is 4 years older than me. She is about to have a child
soon, which means I will become an uncle for the first time. But here I
want to relate to you, dear reader, about our early adolescence years,

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when we were still very young and often stayed at home alone because our
parents used to return from work late in the evening. At that time, both of
us studied at school, did homework together, and cooked dinner every
day. So, at 8 o'clock in the evening, our family gathered around the table
for dinner and chatted. That's how the days of our wonderful childhood
passed.

Suddenly, a virus called COVID-19 began to spread. We had to stay

indoors and study remotely, as we were not allowed to go outside. As time
went on, I started to notice how my sister and I began to argue frequently.
Our arguments seemed endless, as if there was an invisible wall that
separated us. That's when I thought we needed a break from each other.
But everything changed after we started to study Islam.

When my sister told me about her interest in Islam, I initially approached

it with skepticism. However, she insisted that I try to understand our
religion more deeply, so I agreed.

We started to learn more about Islam, perform our daily prayers, and to
discuss the teachings and principles of our beautiful religion. With each
new ayah I read, I got to understand more in depth the wisdom, mercy,
and compassion in the Islamic teachings. And gradually, I began to
change. I became more tolerant, respectful towards others, and more
conscious in controlling my emotions. Our sibling bond also changed.
We stopped arguing over trivial things because our faith taught us to value
moments of peace and harmony. We learned to listen to each other,
support and respect each other. Instead of quarreling, we started to
discuss our disagreements calmly and rationally. Studying Islam brought
tranquility and mutual understanding into our lives.

We both realized that it was important not only to express our own point
of view, but also to be able to listen to others. My sister became a close
friend to me, with whom I could share thoughts on many topics and solve
any problems together.
And now, when I look back at our past disagreements, it seems to me that
the reasons for them were quite trivial. What matters now though, is that,
thanks to following Islam, we found wisdom, which helped us to become
closer to each other.

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 Asad, Namangan

58.

It was the summer of my junior year in high school when my family

decided to take a trip to a rural village in a developing country to
volunteer at a local school. This experience marked a significant turning
point in my life, dividing it into a clear 'before' and 'after.'
Before this trip, I had lived a comfortable life in a suburban town,
shielded from the harsh realities of poverty and inequality. Stepping into
that village, surrounded by makeshift homes and children eager to learn
despite limited resources, opened my eyes to a world vastly different from
my own. The contrast between the opportunities I had been given and the
struggles faced by those children struck me deeply.
During our time at the school, I worked closely with the students, helping
them with their studies and engaging in activities to foster their creativity.
Despite the language barrier, we connected on a human level, sharing
laughter and joy that transcended words. Witnessing their resilience and
determination in the face of adversity left an indelible mark on my heart.
This experience challenged me to confront my privilege and reevaluate
my values. I realized the importance of empathy, compassion, and service
to others. It made me question the meaning of success and happiness,
prompting me to seek a more purposeful existence beyond material
pursuits.

Looking back now, I see this experience as an eye-opener and the push
for self-development. It instilled in me a sense of responsibility towards
the global community and ignited a passion for social justice and equality.
It taught me the value of humility and gratitude, reminding me to
appreciate the blessings in my life and use them to uplift others.
This journey has reshaped my perspective on the world and my place in
it. It has inspired me to pursue a career dedicated to making a positive
impact and advocating for those in need. I carry the lessons learned from
that village with me every day, striving to live with purpose and integrity.

In essence, this experience has not only influenced my values but has
become an integral part of my identity. It serves as a constant reminder of
the power of human connection and the transformative impact of stepping
outside one's comfort zone. It has taught me that true fulfilment comes

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from serving others and making a difference in the lives of those less
fortunate.

As I continue my journey, I am grateful for the profound impact this

experience has had on me and am committed to living a life guided by
empathy, compassion, and a deep-seated desire to create positive change
in the world.

Sam, Qashqadaryo

59.

As I sit here in the comforting warmth of the log cabin, surrounded by the
gentle sounds of nature, I find myself drawn to a particular experience
that has left an indelible mark on my life. It was a few years ago, during a
backpacking trip through a remote mountain range. I had set out alone,
seeking solitude and adventure in equal measure. Little did I know, this
journey would profoundly shape my perspective on life and my place in
the world.
I remember the crisp mountain air, the rugged terrain stretching endlessly
before me, and the sense of freedom that filled my soul with each step.
I had reached a particularly treacherous section of the trail, a narrow ridge
overlooking a deep ravine. As I cautiously navigated the precarious path, a
sudden gust of wind swept me off balance, sending me tumbling over the
edge. In that heart-stopping moment, time seemed to slow to a crawl as I
plummeted towards the rocky abyss below.

Miraculously, I managed to grab hold of a protruding rock, my fingers

clinging desperately to the rough surface as adrenaline surged through my
veins. For what felt like an eternity, I dangled precariously above the void,
my mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

In that moment of profound vulnerability, I confronted the fragility of life

and the impermanence of my existence. Stripped of all pretense and
bravado, I was forced to reckon with the fundamental truths of my
humanity. And in that raw, unfiltered clarity, I found a new appreciation
for the simple beauty of being alive.

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When rescue finally arrived, I was physically unscathed but transformed
within. The experience had stripped away the layers of superficiality that
had clouded my vision, revealing the raw essence of my soul beneath.
From that day forward, I approached life with a renewed sense of purpose
and gratitude, cherishing each moment as a precious gift to be savored
and embraced.

Looking back now, I realize that this experience served as a catalyst for
profound personal growth and introspection. It forced me to confront my
own mortality and reevaluate my priorities, guiding me towards a deeper
understanding of what truly matters in life.

Although seemingly insignificant, this experience stands for me as a

defining chapter, a crucible of transformation that has shaped the person I
am today.. And though the path forward may be fraught with uncertainty,
I walk it with courage and conviction, secure in the knowledge that each
step brings me closer to the truth of my own humanity.

Obscure, Fergana

60.

mister, there are so many untold stories behind peoples’ eyes and inside
their hearts that I feel something like desperation every time I remember
it. And the fact that nowadays it is impossible to find a pair of ears that
would listen to them without expecting anything back makes it even worse.
But as I sit in front of you, I will take my chance.

You know, by the 16 years of living I have come to the realization that
experience and wisdom cannot be measured by age. Why? Well,
sometimes a minute feels like an hour, a decade or a life and one may
actually live his whole life within the exact minute. And you never know
who exactly have witnessed this strange, but not rare phenomenon.
That is what happened to 9-year-old me, when I heard my parents
arguing. It is not that they were doing it for the first time, I mean, they
have been doing it for as long as I can remember myself, but in that it
lasted strangely long. And then, it happened.

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A female body collapsed to the floor and was followed by the sounds of
blows. I do not remember the spectrum of emotions I had gone through,
but I assume it was a tragedy for me. What I do remember though is our
2-week “vacation” at my grandmother’s house.

It was quite good news for me, as now I could play with my cousins at
their house which was located next to grandma’s. and surprise (maybe
not), but it also turned out to a big humiliation, because I accidentally
heard their parents having an argument about us being there.
I did not really have time for self-reflection back then, but here is one
dilemma that I am struggling with – Is handling all of this disrespect and
keeping being in a marriage even after the violence a strength or a
weakness?

How can I trust men, when a person who was supposed to be the first and
the main man of my life turned out to be completely unreliable?
I know that a dad slapping a mom is not the worst thing that could have
happened as I know a lot of people who live in this environment and act
like everything is okay, but what I have heard a lot is:” It is totally fine, that
is what happens in a marriage”. No! arguments happen. Opinions not
matching happens. But when a grown-up woman lives with a risk of being
beaten up in her own house — that does not happen.

I just cannot imagine how many children are traumatised by this. Well,
what about me though?
I am still in the process of healing. It has started by a quote that says:
“Your parents are also living this life for the first time.”
What if my dad was once as traumatised as me? What if it is just a system
of parenting that damaged him, and he is a victim as well?
And since it does not seem like I will ever find out the truth about this, I
think the chain of dramas and traumas should be ripped by me.
And maybe, the single way to leave the system is to completely quit it?

h.h., Khorezm

61.

The day changed my entire life. One golden day, my mom and I went to
an English school where the English language was taught. In my first class,

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there was a lovely teacher. Her name was Miss Umida. My class friends
were really wonderful people, and I loved learning with them. I did love
talking with them, sharing ideas, and playing board games together, but
the most enjoyable thing was studying with them, helping, and growing
together. I can still remember the times we made extra study sessions, and
that way, we prepared for our upcoming exams. We loved it, and what
was most important for us was the learning process, not the exams. I knew
education was the real power. We all passed those exams with high
scores. I believed it was hard work. When I was in elementary school, my
teacher was promoted to a higher-level position. Due to that, Umida had
to change her position and become a head teacher. We were happy about
that, but on the other hand, we had to accept a new teacher. Two days
later, one woman came to our lesson. Everyone was shocked because the
teacher was not from Uzbekistan. She was from Russia, and on the first
day, no one accepted her as a teacher because she did not know the
Uzbek language, and sometimes our classmates made jokes in Uzbek that
were really bad. But she was all alone. She came to Uzbekistan alone, and
at my learning centre, the students did not want to talk with her. But one
day I tried to talk with her in a positive mood, and we really could find
our way. She turned out to be a wonderful person and teacher, positive as
sunshine. She was such a kind and hard-working person that sometimes I
could not find any expression to say how amazing she was. Her lessons
were always full of positive inspiration, words, and new, interesting things.
During the year, I only went to lessons to see her, listen to her jokes, and
get her any useful information. I always tried to make her happier, and for
this reason I worked hard to pass my exams with high scores to see her
smile. And honestly, I used to even stay up all nights trying to make a
good impression on her. I passed all my exams. I did not want to fail. I
did not have the right to do that because if I failed, I would have had to
leave the group after this one year had passed. She was a real influence on
me to achieve and believe in my dreams. She travelled to 31 countries and
had many experiences and different views on life. Every time I took extra
lessons after my lesson from Miss Asya, I also assisted my classmates in
explaining the lessons. One day, unfortunately, one heartbreaking thing
happened: our whole group was not able to pass the exam. Only two
people passed the exam: me and one girl. I felt so blue, and I was so sad.
Then our group was closed. I had to transform my group into another
group. It was a real pain for me, but the day one of my teacher's groups
had only one empty place, as soon as I knew this, I transferred my group.

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I was happy because I would have new friends, new experiences, and new
challenges. I continued my lessons in this group, and I became a real
leader in this group. I can say I was the third support teacher. The day
when everything changed was simple: my study day. I went to my lesson as
usual, but in the lesson, another teacher was at the desk. I entered the
classroom, and I asked where Miss Asya was. They told she left the center
and actually would not come back to Uzbekistan. For some reason, I
couldn’t hold back my tears. After the lesson, I got my teacher's phone
number from my support teacher. At night, after my lesson, I texted my
teacher. She replied to my message. She said, "Dear Aida, Sorry,
sometimes we don't choose our circumstances. You are a wonderful
person, and everything will be alright. The first year of emigration was
hard for me, but you were the light that supported me so much." The
message made me cry, but I knew I had to continue my studies. After
that, I continued my courses with different teachers and gained new
experience. I knew I could achieve my goals, and I passed all my exams
with high scores. I am proud of myself, and I hope Ms Asya would be too.
We won't always choose or know what we might face in our lifetime, but
we have to accept it and pass it on happily.

Wind, Tashkent

62.

The yelping of puppies in the distance, the steady blowing of the wind,
and the gradual rustling of the vine leaves, the silence of the night, all
make me think back to the innocent times of my childhood.
I have a strange feeling. That's when I remember what happiness is, the
happy moments I lived in pure bliss.

Unfortunately, I did not know that I was experiencing the most pleasant
moments of happiness at that time, either because I had a very small heart
or because I couldn't imagine life in such a way.

In the morning, before the sun came up, my whole family was going to the
garden. There, under the vine, we would protect the grapes from the
sparrows, stroke and caress our puppies, and sometimes, when we were
bored, I would lie in the doghouse that I made for myself. I didn't know
that I would take a bunch of grapes and play with my sister to see who

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could throw them the highest, and when I went home, I would hear from
my mother after I left my shoes in the ditch, and I didn't know that
everything would change.

On summer nights, I would look at the sky from the porch, cover myself
with a thin blanket or sheet, and imagine the shapes of the stars.
During those times, I didn't know that I was buried in happiness. I am still
lying there. But the past joys are gone. My mind is full of useless thoughts.
My whole life is full of problems. Even in my sleep, I am plagued by those
problems that never leave me alone. Only in a dream can I momentarily
shed them, that's the only difference.
Maybe even now I don't realize that I am living in happiness. Maybe I am
happy now. Maybe after some time, I will yearn for this state of mine in
my dreams?

Axatqulova, Tashkent

63.

I was sitting in the cell-like room of my dormitory while everyone was

celebrating the end of the induction week at my university. Since the event
was happening just outside the yard of the dorm, I could hear the voices
of happy and energetic students who had participated passionately in all
the activities during that week. I was blaming and questioning my mind
and soul for not going outside, getting involved, and enjoying student life
instead of reading boring Computer Science books. I asked myself why I
could not become the person who exposes herself to people, is
extroverted, and enjoys the life she is experiencing. Yes, I was the person
who buried herself in her own world, only studying, desiring good grades,
and aiming to become a professional. But seeing the outside world and
my coursemates being very communicative, managing both study and
extracurriculars, made me wonder if I was not using my full potential.

Deep down, I knew that the solution was going outside, meeting my new
coursemates, and forming friendships by exchanging ideas on how to start
our academic journey. The difference between them and me was my
frustration at that very moment. A stream of questions ran through my
mind, and with some courage, I barely pushed myself after that incident. I
began visiting small events and participating in national holidays held at

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different places, but I was still afraid to approach and be sociable in front
of people.

After the first midterms, I witnessed many students struggling to get good
grades and master some subjects. Since I am good at math, I decided to
mentor my peers. That is when my A+ Club came to life. I started talking
with my peers who were good at other subjects and invited them to share
their knowledge with those struggling. I organized the days to teach each
class, made announcement posts, reserved rooms after classes, and
created sample question papers, managing my personal life
simultaneously. Almost all students visited A+ Club's mock exams, as my
prepared questions closely resembled those of the professors. Most failing
students in midterms succeeded in finals due to their hard work and the
unconditional help from peers through A+ Club's learning space.

I have developed adaptability, problem-solving, and courage, realizing my

full potential and correctly using it for the community around me. This
realization led me to be a leader in two student clubs and an ambassador
in three social organizations. That is because I tried to embody effective
altruism. I am always ready to serve my community, helping each
individual thrive by being a role model and a leader. Leadership and
impact do not require a specific position or company; they start with
beliefs and actions. When I see a societal problem, I do not just observe –
I search for viable solutions, utilize my collective experience, learn new
things, and put them into practice.

Muffaridda, Samarkand

64.

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own
way."
- Leo Tolstoy

Tired. Disappointed. Angry. No, these words fall short in explaining

what's going on with me. How do you perceive the feeling of being afraid?
For some, it is mainly about tangible things that give us creeps. For me, it's
more than fearing things. As one author said: We tend to see the world
not as it is, but as we are conditioned to see. In my case, it is the same.

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 As the eldest child who have witnessed all the ''disasters'' within my
home, it is hard to recall them all and talk about them to you. But I'll try
to be honest with everything I say. I was born and have grown up in a
feuding family. It has never been easy for any of us. For me, for my
siblings, mostly for my mom. We almost didn't have childhood. We were
made to keep quite when we wanted to play, laugh or cry. All we saw were
the conflicts between my dad and mum. I clearly remember the times
when I stood behind the door, trembling in fear, bursting out of tears,
asking God to protect my mom. As time flowed, I noticed a change within
myself, a drift towards darker thoughts. At school, I couldn't find
willpower to stand up for my opinion maybe because of criticism or doubt
about its worthiness. When classmates rushed to their home, I viewed my
home as a place of daily struggle which in reality should have been a
source of comfort. With no friends to share my burdens, these pains were
amassing and weaving a tapestry of suffering within it.

Eventually my health started to take a toll. I came down with a stress-

related illness. I had a splitting headache all the time. But the fact that I
was being treated like a princess was a relief. No fight, only peace. No
joke, I liked being ill. Mind you, feeling like my next breath could be the
last one made me imagine how short life could be. Late one night of those
days, I had a nightmare. I was walking inside a somber building and
coming across with my close ones who were all sharing sadness over
someone's passing. Suddenly, I came face to face with the vision of
myself—my funeral...That night, I couldn't sleep. I pondered the chapters
of the past hoping to find moments that could deeply resonate with. At
that moment of reflection, I felt that I wasn't ready to face the end. It hit
me that life is a precious gift, and not living it fully is like betraying
yourself. That night was a wake-up call for me that brought clarity to my
vision. Afterwards, I started to get over. Reveling in the newfound strength
of my recovered self, I was embracing the inside calm unaware of the
looming conflict at home. Trivial matter ignited a spark. As the evening
wore on, emotions reached a boiling point, with voices raised and
accusations flying. When danger loomed over Mom, my brother grew
dizzy, struggling for breath. Panic gripped us all, leading to a call for an
urgent aid. It turned out his state was the result of overwhelming stress.
When we were still under pressure and worried, dad again started to lay
blame upon mom for my brother's distress. I could bear no more. The

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girl who had never even looked directly at someone's eyes dared to spoke
up. But my voice was still trembling:

— Dad, have you ever felt yourself at fault?

— We wouldn't have fought if your mother had been on time.
— So, you haven't. Please, understand that none of these matters
are worthy of ruining day or losing health. Why don't you see that you are
missing on greater things while taking everything seriously? It's high time
you got a larger picture. Aren't we all you have?
— ...

That day, I brought out the feelings I'd kept inside for so long.
You can't imagine how badly I want everyone to find solace and feel
embraced in families. Without loving parents, what happens to a young
mind and heart, highly vulnerable, highly dependent upon their support?
It is the unity in which both struggles and joys are shared. I’d want them to
realize that they aren't in competition with each other. Because if all aren't
winning, all are losing.

My greatest mistake was not facing with inner self. Because I was scared
to find myself doing less than I was capable of. But I dismissed that
avoiding problems doesn't resolve them. I am fortunate to have embraced
reality that some parts of our story are already written, like our family.
Oftentimes, restricted mindset of my family cast shadow over my dreams.
I admit I am still struggling. But importantly, I chose not be the victim of
my fate. Maybe, I wouldn't have got to get stronger if everything had been
fine with my life.

Fear that once made me insecure is now pushing me towards a

meaningful life. At the end, I want to look back and be grateful for
whatever happened to me. For that, I embrace life's colors and let
experiences shape my story.

If you are going through the same things, know that you aren't alone. Try
to be strong and make the world a better place. My story is here to remind
you that even in the darkest chapters of our lives, we have the power to
rewrite the narrative, turning pain into strength, fear into courage, and
silence into a powerful voice.

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 Madina, Navoi

65.

Hello. So, buddy, now I will tell you a little story of a teenage girl.
Well, actually, at the very beginning everything was perfectly perfect. Life
was easy, people were kind, things were simple, I was happy, but every
day was the same and I was convinced to just exist. I didn't use to think
about anything, literally. About myself, my life, my future or my career. I
used to study in a boarding school since I was in 5th grade. And this life
was totally different from the simple ones, with no parents in control of
every decision, trying for only yourself, homesickness... I got used to this
way of living but I was in a situation where I had no idea of what I was
doing, as I mentioned above I was simply existing.

In primary school, I used to be that decent exemplary student with good

grades and behavior. However, moving to the boarding school with
students much more advanced than me showed that I was far from the
best. Competing with geniuses seemed a pointless task so in the end my
enthusiasm quickly diminished. Laziness and negligence prevailed and I
began to even copy the answers to the problems that I could solve myself.
This pattern continued with no having no idea what I was doing until one
day an idea appeared that I should get the highest score in the exam…
No, no, joking. There was no idea in my mind except for the anxiety that
I should find a clever friend who would help me in the upcoming exam.
But one day was special in changing the way I lived. In the last months of
the 8th grade, I began to take extra Mother tongue classes with my friend
which lasted till the end of the 10th grade.

In the 9th grade, there was a school subject competition and I was to
participate in the mother tongue Olympiad. I wasn’t even sure whether I
could take the 3rd place but I participated anyway. I took the exam and
waited for 6 hours for the results. When the results were out, I saw my
name listed as the 1st-place winner with the highest score.

For someone else, it can seem like a very simply thing but for me,
honestly, it was a huge breakout. It gave me back the self-esteem and
confidence in my knowledge that I had lost a long time ago. It made me
realize that the other geniuses around me were kids like me with the same

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brains and teachers but who instead of excusing themselves all the time
like me used their time efficiently and weren’t afraid of trying. Other
achievements followed one after another. I got my desired scores on
standardized tests, started working as a teacher and managed to even
become a role model for somebody else. Thinking of the future became
less anxious as I wasn’t afraid of pursuing bigger goals.

What I want to say by sharing my little story is that most of the time the
only limitations on our way are we ourselves. We may believe that we
aren’t as good as others and that we aren’t talented. That might be true as
long as you don’t try yourself. I believe that with a little bit of effort and
desire, we could create much better versions of ourselves as we all are
inherently gifted but most don’t realize that.
So, break a leg!

Gulsanam Abdujalolova, Namangan

66.

As I sit down to reflect on my life, I am overwhelmed with emotions and

memories. It's hard to condense my entire life into one story, but there is
one event that stands out as the most important to me.

It was a warm summer day, and I was just seven years old. My family and
I were on a road trip to visit my grandparents who lived in a small town in
the countryside. I remember the excitement I felt as we drove through the
winding roads, passing by fields of sunflowers and vast green pastures.

As we arrived at my grandparents' house, I immediately ran out of the car

and into their arms. I was greeted with hugs and kisses, and my
grandmother's warm smile always made me feel at home. But this visit was
different. My grandfather, whom I adored, was not his usual cheerful self.
He had been diagnosed with cancer, and the doctors had given him only a
few months to live.

At such a young age, I didn't fully understand the gravity of the situation,
but I could sense the sadness and worry in my family's eyes. My
grandfather, however, remained positive and taught me the beauty of
cherishing every moment.

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I spent every waking moment with my grandfather during that summer.
We would go on walks in the countryside, and he would tell me stories of
his youth. He taught me how to ride a bike, and we would spend hours in
the garden, planting flowers and vegetables.

But the most important lesson my grandfather taught me was to never give
up. Despite his illness, he continued to live life to the fullest. He never
complained or let his illness define him. He showed me the true meaning
of strength and resilience.

As the summer came to an end, my grandfather's health deteriorated, and

he passed away peacefully surrounded by his loved ones. I was devastated,
but I was also grateful for the time I had spent with him. His passing
taught me the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every
moment.
That summer with my grandfather shaped who I am today. It taught me to
always see the beauty in life, even in the most difficult of times. It also
showed me the importance of family and the power of love. I carry my
grandfather's lessons with me every day, and I am forever grateful for the
impact he had on my life.

Reflecting on this event in my life, I realize that it was not just a summer
trip, but a life-changing experience. It taught me the value of time and the
importance of making every moment count. My grandfather's legacy will
live on through the lessons he passed down to me, and I will forever be
grateful for the time I had with him.

Winner, Jizzakh

67.

"My grandfather is a doctor. My two uncles are doctors. Two of my

cousins study at Tashkent Medical Academy. Thus, by my parents and
folks, I had been urged to become a physician and continue the legacy. I
was told that I would become a great doctor if I studied medicine, for I
have an innate talent for this. I, to be honest, once believed in this.
Whenever at school the teacher asked, “Who will you become in the
future,” my fixed answer was “A doctor.”

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However, it was not so long ago when I realized that I didn’t want to be a
doctor just to complete my folks’ yearnings. I knew that studying medicine
was not necessarily my final choice, since there are a plethora of options
when it comes to choosing a life path.

Having participated in many events, met people from various fields of

interest, and read books, I discovered for myself that there is a world
beyond the mainstream dogma, that is, attending a learning center for 2-3
years and getting into a local university. Ever since my dad gave me a book
– a huge encyclopedia – as a gift for my birthday, reading has become an
interesting habit for me. From that day on, I got immersed in the
encyclopedia. Whenever I got home from school, I would make haste to
get the book and start reading it. Surprised by my actions, my parents
would call me to lunch or dinner, and they would get a reply saying, “I’ll
be there in a minute.” Even in conversations after dinner, with pure glee
in my eyes, I would utter random facts which I have learned from the
encyclopedia. My parents would listen to me closely thanks to their
unparalleled patience. Up to now, many books have piqued my curiosity.
Their genres range from science fiction to philosophy. As for my favorite
book, it is very hard to pick one, I would say. I have read novels written by
many great authors such as Jules Verne and Dostoevsky with sheer joy
and engagement yet was equally immersed when reading Meditations by
Marcus Aurelius or Seneca’s essays.

Both learning English and participating in the Yosh Kitobxon competition

- an official national contest conducted traditionally every year by The
Ministry of Youth - changed the way I look at the world, for I gained
access to the bottomless treasure of knowledge in English and had
conversations with the most prominent authors, philologists, and poets in
Uzbekistan, such as Botir Ergashev, Javlon Jovliyev, Usmon Azim,
Xudoyberdi To’xtaboyev, and so on. It was not a mere epiphany as it took
some time for me to understand that I was living my life with no
knowledge of what was going on in the world. I was a kid who would
spend the whole day looking after his cattle and playing football with his
random buddies in the street. I was utterly ignorant. I am still ignorant. As
Abdulla Oripov puts it in one of his poems, I was a little fish living in a
pond thinking that this pond is the world, not realizing that there are
oceans to be explored.

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 Nurbek, Fergana

68.

The weather from early morning is great, but slightly windy. The wind
wipes a person’s face calmly. The horns of the terrace move calmly, as if
they were chatting with the sky. The running water flowing from the
mountain is somewhat exciting, and it seems to be in a hurry to
somewhere. Today the girl woke up very early, maybe she has a lot of
plans for today. The first thing she does when she wakes up is exercising,
the rest will follow. For some reason, she has a little excitement in her
heart, before the competition, she had no such fears at all. Usually, what
happens in the girl’s heart and mind is like her life and it happens.
This champion girl does not use the phone, there are two reasons for this:
the first is family financial problems and the second is that the sports
coach does not allow it. The innocent girl whose heart is still like a child’s
is raised by her grandmother. Unfortunately, her parents wanted to place
her in an orphanage because they didn’t need a disabled girl, but her
grandmother took her into her care. In order to prove that she is not
inferior to others, she was given an apprenticeship to the best trainer in
the city. I forgot to mention the girl’s sickness – she is almost healthy, only
her legs do not work. Usually such people are considered disabled, but in
reality, those with mental illness are disabled. This is what I think
honestly.

Today is the girl’s first essential competition. She plays tennis, her skills
have improved. Today is the first round of the competition, she received
her grandmother’s blessing and went to the competition together. Rivals
are fierce, everyone has fire in their hearts, and the little girl is sad for
some reason. Here the girl’s opponent was identified, she was invited to
the field, the game contin’ed fiercely, and our hero won. She was given a
new TV as incentives give a person stronger motivation. Days passed like
this, and little girl’s daily schedule did not change at all, the training
increased day by day, but did not slow down.

Today the weather is a bit strange, it’s still late, the poplars are softly
rustling as if they are talking to each other, they seem to be listening to
each other and make sounds in turn, and somewhere the noisy sound of
the stream threatens the human mind, frogs croaked non-stop, bats

116
circling around and searching for their destination. Suddenly a gentle wind
arose, it caressed the face very gently. It was a country air that gave one
peace and pleasure. The girl was thinking something, dreaming about
something under this open sky. Somewhere, the voice of her grandmother
calling her came, and the girl woke up a little. Tomorrow is her important
competition and she had dreamed of it since the day she first stepped into
the sport.

Another new dawn dawned. That day has come. Young athlete was not
excited much but still had enthusiasm in her heart and eyes, she knew
how important it was for her and her future. The game ended without
controversy, which was the result of hard work and effort. After this
match, the winners were sent to the international competition in Baku,
Azerbaijan. Another dream of this girl was to travel without walking.
Look, look, said Anna Murodova, so we won. It was a real happiness.
The president put the golden medal around the girl's neck and gave her a
handshake and expressed great confidence in her. The girl cried, tears
flowed from her eyes, these were tears of joy. Yes, tears of joy. Now the
whole of Uzbekistan believes in her and supports her. The girl did not
want anyone to feel sorry for her, now no one looks at her with pity, but
with envy or admiration.

A letter came home yesterday. There was a document in it, according to

which this 18-year-old girl will be a member of the Uzbekistan team. It
was happiness. Now the door of opportunities will open for her, she will
live a happy life, achieve success and become the pride of Uzbekistan,
make her name known to the world, rise the flag of Uzbekistan in the
world arenas and sing the national anthem loudly in front of the whole
world. She always hoped, she sincerely wanted and achieved everything.
Incessant prayer and unceasing action changed the girl's life. A person can
achieve anything if she tries, only if she has the desire. There is no such
thing as an impossible task in this world. God always gives more than what
one asks for to a person who seeks and works hard. If you ask God for a
single flower, he will give you a bouquet.

Barnokhon Ruziyeva, Bukhara

69.

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Family

Late autumn. Darkness began to fall around. As I walked down

the street, I noticed various people on foot. Someone is in a hurry to go
home, someone is busy reading a newspaper on the bench despite the
cold. As I was quietly walking away, I suddenly saw a group of puppies. I
looked closer. He went to his mother who was lying in bed and moaned
very sadly. As I guessed, his mother is sick. I took my bag and saw that
there was a piece of bread left over from my lunch. I took it and threw it
to the puppies. Although he was hungry, he pushed the bread to his
mother. His mother ate the bread. I was surprised. Do these animals have
love too?!

At one point, a big dog appeared, biting a bone. He also gave the bone to
the sick dog. He raised his head and started kneading the bone and felt
much refreshed. At one point, they all fell asleep in each other's bed. As I
continued on the road, I remembered our neighbor aunt Iroda. Are
animals kinder than people?!
Aunt Iroda was abandoned by her children when she was ill. All
neighbors were aware of that. Seems the puppies are kinder than Aunt
Iroda's children.
I don't know how I got home with my thoughts.
Every day when I come home, hot food is ready, house is clean. My
mother came out of the kitchen holding her waist.

- Why, my daughter, are you upset?

- No, Mom, I'm just... Does your back hurt?
- Well, you know, my old backache...

Did I ignore my mother's illness?

Dad is used to it as usual...
I looked at my mother. Wrinkles fell on her faces. Involuntarily, puppies
came to my mind.
Even though he was hungry, he gave his bread to his mother. And hung
around her like a propeller because of her illness. Do I not have this
animal intelligence? I have such a family given by God. I hope I have
never disappointed my parents and grandmother. My brother, brother
and sister are busy with their work. Mom, forgive me. I was crying inside.
Everyone gathered for dinner. Again, my mother sat down later than

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everyone else. After eating, they left one after another. My mother began
to eat alone and put away the dishes.
I ran and took the dishes from her hands.

- Give it to me, I'll wash it myself.

My mother blinked in surprise.
- Now it will be different in the family, mother. Everyone in this family
loves you. This is our family, I said quietly.
- I learned to show love to the family, the sanctity of the family from
dogs, mother.
- Don't you have a fever, girl?
My mother was surprised.
- You take some rest, mother.

My mother slowly went to the window, wiped her moist eyes, and hugged
me tightly.
I have a kind mother, kind family. Along with these thoughts, the lights
burning in the distance passed before my eyes like a clock.

Nigora Tursunboyeva, Namangan

70.

I was walking on the street when I saw grapes falling to the group... I felt as
if 2 people were arguing inside of me... One would say "Hey, take those
and give back", while the other one was like "It's none of our business,
keep going"... I was devastated... But as I was getting closer, I
spontaneously grabbed them and put them back. As I was turning to keep
on my way, an old salesman stopped me by saying "Take the grapes
child"... His voice sounded so warm, kind and oddly sad... I didn’t fully
understand what was happening, so I just blabbed that I was just returning
those grapes. He smiled at me warmly and told to take those grapes again
as a way to thank me... I was confused back then, I felt like I hadn't done
anything... I took some grapes, quickly thanked and as I was going back
home, I thought about it A LOT. I thought it wasn't a big deal but
remembered him saying "I thought people like you have already
disappeared...", and I just couldn't shake off these words... That was
partially true I think... I mean, I remember back in my childhood

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everyone was thoroughly concerned about each other (certainly, there are
still such people out there, but it declined at some point...)
It also made me remember some of the kind people in my life... For
instance, I remember my mom carrying me and my little brother in a
pram in the middle of nowhere, while it was raining, and out of nowhere
guy, who was selling bread, gave his tape to cover us (me and my brother)
from the rain. I was about 5 back then but remembered his kindness
because even if he needed that to cover his bread, he gave it away
anyways...
I have become slightly sensitive since then. I mean, it may not mean
anything to others, but it DOES mean a lot to me, and it is just some
examples of the sense of little kindness, which reminded me of the power
of little things...

Afruza, Qashqadaryo

71.

Who am I?

When I was walking at the park under the rain calmly several years ago, a
strange thought popped up in my mind: ”Actually, who am I?”. And I
began talking to myself instantly. ”What type of meaning does this
question want to indicate to me? Why, exactly, now I’m thinking about
it?” Believe me or not, millions of questions like these started coming to
my mind. I did not even realize how I had already reached my home and
was standing at the doorstep for around ten minutes until my mother
asked whether something had happened. At that point, I returned to
Earth from my own world.

Now, recalling that day, I can easily say that it was a real milestone to
change myself into a completely different girl. What I mean by that is ever
since that day, I am not a little girl who was a daydreamer, I am an
ambitious person who always sticks to her goals and stops not when she is
tired but when she is done.

As I did not know clearly about my character traits, even describing myself
with only three words was a real issue to me let alone writing a whole
paragraph. I was just an average, trusting and modest girl. Until I was in

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the ninth grade, I remember crystal clearly that my entire day included
only going to school, completing my homework and watching TV not to
feel bored. Now I deeply regret being so unresponsible for my own life.
Then, after that important question which I started my story with, my
actions got changed gradually. In a year, my personality was a lot
reshaped. Throughout 2022,I did anything ranging from reading books to
taking parts in various webinars and marathons for personal development.
I made up my mind to analyse my typical day. Interestingly, I had already
become a girl who took responsibility for her life. After school, I was able
to do so many things that I myself would be shocked sometimes. ”Oh my
God, is it me?” I used to ask unconsciously. Because there was little left of
my past version. A big bookshelf appeared in my room full of books that I
had already finished. It was almost a year when I last watched something
on TV. I could use two foreign world languages such as Russian and
English fluently so that I also had an opportunity to make money by
teaching these languages to little children. I have not told the main change
yet. Finally, I have learned about my nature on a much deeper level. Even
though I have a large number of qualities, now, the three attributes that
describe myself the best are caring, optimistic, and mature.
My dearest and nearest people always say I am a caring person. I
passionately care about my friends and family. I hear them out when they
need someone to talk to and I try to give a helping hand. To have a good
character and to care for others is part of what it means to flourish. We
are social beings, and as such, our own well-being is intimately tied to that
of those around us. The flourishing of others is, in a sense, part of our
flourishing.

Personally, I consider myself an optimist. Many people question how I

can be so calm and positive in any tough situation. When it comes to my
answer, it remains the same “Why look at the dark side when there is a
bright side of everything?”. Positivity gives people reasons to look forward
to the future with a sense of hope. As I can encourage people to see the
glass half full, I am usually the person most of my friends can turn to for
advice. In addition, when things are not going the way you wanted,
optimism will not allow the negative thoughts get into your mind.
At the end of the day, I became a more mature individual. Now I am
independent so I am not afraid to take risks and am willing to learn from
my mistakes. If I do not take the chance, I will never know what could
have been.

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Now, I want you ask an important question my friend:
"Who are you?"

Shoiraxon, Andijan

72.

I peer for some time and shade my eyes. It’s 6:47 pm. As always is, always
will be. And everybody knows that on Monday the world is a loud, frantic
place and on Tuesday it wasn’t.

Tuesday? Really? The world should’ve ended on Saturday. Saturdays are

fun. Used to be anyway.

But no. We get eternal Tuesday afternoons where nothing changes.

There is no change in my routine.

So recently I've realized I've lived in a house basically my entire life which
means more than 80 percent of my life has been spent in the exact same
spot. When I really put things into perspective it feels kind of limiting to
spend my entire life in the same place when there is so much more to go
see and do outside the borders of my hometown. Basically, I want to
travel. It's been my dream for years now to be able to attain a life of
adventure. I always knew in the back of my mind that I would try to do
something like this from the age of 13 or something. I'd always create little
mental lists of all the dream destinations or the travel locations. I wanted
to go to like constantly immersing myself in travel and adventure. Social
media has been super inspiring but it's definitely gonna be interesting to
figure out if it's actually as attainable. I'm 17 now. I'm still a minor and that
means I can't travel alone right now, but I believe that one day my
intentions will definitely come true. That's my little story about one of my
dreams.

Borderless, Tashkent

73.

-My mind and peace aren't for sale.

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 Sometimes, I miss my older self more than anything else. I want to go
back to the times when I was a baby. Why do you think happiness is so
easily available when you are around babies? You make funny faces and
noises just to see them content. This is because babies allow you to feel
complete without any judgment about your appearance or reputation. The
painful thing is we all once were babies and used to spread love just with
our smiles.

I still remember my first success: the highest score on an exam. After that
more people reached out to me to be friends. That felt great for someone
like me who had not been exposed to such a big community. Whenever I
saw that I was falling behind, I used to feel like a failure and useless even
when I had many things to be grateful for. My grades were my confidence
marker. Why? Because I had already determined the extent of my
happiness. My small world was revolving around one particular marker as
it was one of the only few ways I could gain respect. But I dismissed the
point that they were close with me for not who I was but for what I had. I
hate the way people needed me only when I was at the top of the class. I
compromised the little girl who used to create and see happiness all
around for the sake of approval and recognition. Unfortunately, we all lost
our capacity to be happy for no reason. We have been manipulated into
believing that worth is defined by money, decent work or a prestigious
university. We are rarely pleased with our lives because we attach our
happiness to goals. We are used to saving up happiness for successful
moments. Also, this world isn't driven by greed but by envy. If only you
wished to be happy, this could be easily achieved. But we wish to be
happier than others which is difficult for we believe others to have more
than we do. It is so much easier now to look around and say: I may have
more than I used to. But, relative to that person, I don't feel like I'm doing
that great. On your way to superiority and perfection, you start to treat
your boss differently, to friend and parents. In all of this, the real you is
lost. You might get to the point that nothing seems to bring joy. So,
remind yourself that everyone has different stories and circumstances. A
person who has more achievements than you may have started earlier. Or
the person who won the lottery can cry in bed at night for feeling
depressed. See, no one is perfect out there. But here you want to be like
everyone who has something glittery and shiny. This is like nurturing false
hope in your heart just to see them crushing every piece of you every day.

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Instead, your heart should be the compass that guides you on what you
need and want. And your mind is capable of figuring out how. Don't
forget yourself in the noise of this world.

If you spend your life chasing butterflies, they'll fly away. But if you create
a beautiful garden, butterflies will come themselves. Happiness is the
capacity to which we allow ourselves to feel good. Happiness is in the
things you can choose to feel, like love. You should either feel it at the
moment or you miss it like a butterfly. We should accept and even
embrace the pains of life. The hardship you are go through while
studying, difficulty in waking up early for school or your first heartbreak.
You might experience them again, but they won't give you those first
exceptional feelings. You will never know the value of a moment until it
becomes a memory.

I know the self-discovery journey is lifelong. And I'm still at the very
beginning. It has been a while since I started to do everything with self-
awareness, curiosity and compassion. For me, happiness can be as small
as the smell of my morning tea, the rays of sunshine kissing my cheeks or
the random flower I see on the street. So, here is a kind reminder:
Happiness is undefinable and you are beyond the titles of this world.

Madina, Navoi

74.

Several years ago, I found myself at a crossroad, unsure of which path to

take. I had been following a career that society deemed prestigious and
lucrative, but deep down, I knew it wasn't fulfilling me. I was chasing
success in all the wrong ways, sacrificing my happiness and well-being
along the journey.

It was during a solo backpacking trip through the mountains that

everything changed. Far away from the noise and distractions of everyday
life, I had the chance to truly connect with myself and nature. As I hiked
through rugged trails and slept under the stars, I felt a sense of peace and
clarity wash over me.

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One evening, as I sat by a campfire, I watched the sunset painting the sky
in hues of orange and pink. In that moment of stillness, I made a decision
– to let go of the expectations others had placed on me and to listen to the
whispers of my own heart.
Returning home, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery. I quit my
soul-crushing job, even though it meant uncertainty and financial
instability. I delved into passions I had long neglected, such as writing and
photography. I sought out meaningful connections with like-minded
individuals who shared my values and aspirations.

This experience taught me the importance of authenticity and living in

alignment with my true self. It showed me that happiness isn't found in
external achievements or material possessions, but in the simple joys of
being present and following my passions.
This experience has deeply influenced my values and principles,
reinforcing the importance of authenticity, passion, and personal growth.
It has taught me to prioritize inner fulfillment over external validation and
to embrace uncertainty as a necessary part of the journey towards self-
discovery.
Sitting here in the warmth of the cabin, surrounded by the sounds of
nature and the wisdom of the old man, I feel grateful for the journey that
led me to this moment. As I share my story with him, I'm reminded of the
power of listening to our inner voice and having the courage to live our
truth, no matter where the path may lead.

Princesse, Namangan

75.

Assalomu alaykum. I start my story with these words. The reason is to see
the past and the future of my life between the glimpses of happiness. In
fact, for a simple girl growing up in the village, the arrival of spring and the
sound of snow in winter was always a wonderful feeling. I used to spend
my youth as such a girl. Neither my world nor the world around me ever
thought about science or enlightenment. But the voice inside me used to
say that one day something would change, and that this little girl would
become a completely different person, and her dreams and actions would
also change. Due to the demands of life, the classes in the
underdeveloped schools of the village are still not good, and the children

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are used to coming to school only to play and laugh. I was a 9-year-old girl
who could not even read, coming to class just to play and goof around.

And then what I have been wishing for finally came true. Our family
moved to a town. For about a year, I just looked after my parents helping
with housework as a young child. Look, I really was a young child. And
now I started going to school. My peers at school were far ahead of me.
They were very advanced compared to me, whereas I couldn't even read.
That's why I felt very weak and powerless. But I knew it didn’t have to be
like that. I needed to change. Then I started taking extra classes. Now
being able to read and write shifted my goals and I was better than my old
self. I was trying to change things, at least.

Years have passed, but my opinion that science and development can
change the world, that we can make our everyday life better only through
self-confidence and effort, has not changed. As a confirmation of this
opinion, I graduated from school and college with excellent grades and
was accepted to the university on the state scholarship basis. I see myself
moving with bigger dreams no matter what the starting point of my life
was. Confidence is an important pillar. Always take a step forward.

M/SD, Surkhandaryo

76.

As a 15-year-old student boy, I often thought about the future and what
kind of world I wanted to create. Growing up in a world filled with
violence and conflict, I knew that I wanted to do my part to create a more
peaceful and just society. But the question was, how?
It wasn't until a trip to the city's downtown area that I had an experience
that changed my perspective on what it meant to create a peaceful future.
Walking through the bustling streets, I noticed that the younger
generation, including myself, viewed the elderly - those who had created
the future for us - as "trash" who no longer fit into the modern world.
On one side of the street a man was sitting on the pavement with a
cardboard sign that read "Homeless and Hungry." People walked past him
without a second glance, ignoring his plight. On the other side I saw an
elderly woman struggling to carry her grocery bags. She looked exhausted

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and in pain. No one paid attention, revealing the current state of society
and how we were living. But I couldn't just walk by.

I approached the man and asked if he would like some food. He looked
up at me with grateful eyes and nodded. I went to a nearby cafe and got
him a sandwich and a bottle of water. As I handed him the food, I noticed
tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He thanked me and told me that no
one had ever shown him such kindness before. Then, I approached the
woman and offered to help carry the bags for her. She looked up and gave
me a smile, which made my heart melt. As we walked, she thanked me for
my kindness. She told me that she had lost faith in humanity because of
all the violence and hatred that she saw in the news. But my small act of
kindness had given her hope again.

To be honest, elderly woman’s words stuck with me, and I realized the
importance of creating a peaceful future. We often get wrapped up in our
day-to-day lives and forget about the impact that we can have on others.
But through simple acts of kindness, we can make a big difference.
Moreover, the situation with that man also made me realize that creating a
peaceful future starts with small acts of kindness and compassion. It is
about reaching out to others in need, regardless of their background or
circumstances. It's about being empathetic and understanding towards
others and striving to understand their struggles and needs.
Sharing my thoughts and experience with you reminded me that even
young people like me can make a difference. We can't change the past,
but we can work towards a better future, together. I hope to see you again
someday. Maybe we can even chat again and share more stories.

Abdurashid, Fergana

77.

Unsuspecting, as always, I head home after an evening walk. I reach for

my phone out of habit, a routine I developed after discovering the internet
at the age of 12. Back then, YouTube and Instagram were unknown to
me, but I found inspiration on Google for my book ideas. In 5th grade, I
aspired to become a children's book author, drawing from my own
experiences to create stories with moral lessons that I submitted to the
newspaper. This early success fueled my excitement and determination.

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As I matured, my goals evolved, and I briefly abandoned my dream of
writing a book to gain life experience. I fell into a pattern of complacency,
feeling unmotivated and spending excess time on my new, more powerful
phone. Despite this, my intellect and love for reading remained strong.
It wasn't until I stumbled upon a video by a girl named Anya, showcasing
a productive daily routine, that I felt compelled to make positive changes
in my life. I began waking up early, exercising, and striving for self-
improvement. While initially successful, I soon realized that mimicking
someone else's routine was not sustainable. This realization led me to
explore time management techniques and develop my own personalized
approach to self-growth.

At 14, I considered starting a blog to share my knowledge and

experiences, but parental guidance steered me in a different direction.
While initially disappointed, I accepted their wisdom. As I continued to
learn and grow, I dabbled in languages, excelling in German and earning
recognition in various competitions.

My most significant victory came at 16 when I secured first place in a

regional competition, earning a trip to Germany. This experience
solidified my passion for language learning and paved the way for future
successes.

In the year 2024, my goals include improving my English skills, addressing

my vision issues, and overcoming my fear of starting a blog. I aspire to
create a daily routine assistant program to help others and become an eco-
activist to address environmental issues.
Although I am not a super-disciplined individual like the typical YouTube
blogger, I possess a unique ability to adapt quickly and find solutions to
challenges. I approach tasks with dedication, giving my all to achieve
success.

Looking ahead to the future, I envision myself at 47, serving my country

and community with integrity and kindness. Like a pen filling the pages of
an empty book, I aim to fill my life with colorful stories and positive
contributions until the very end.
In conclusion, I firmly believe that everyone has their own time, choice
and unique side. And only individuals can be opportunities for others, as
an example, I have learned from bloggers in YouTube, realized that

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people have goals in life and intend to live a happy life, not just live one
day spending time. The two most powerful warriors are patience and
time.

Shasi, Qorakalpakistand

78.

When people look at me, they think that I am someone who have never
gone through any hardships.
Always grateful with for her life,
Cheerful, successful at a young age, passionate about her silly strong
dreams ang goals.
Is that really true? Is that so?
No. Like with everybody else, life also showed its dark sides to me.
As if it's like one story that has both beautiful and sad sides.
I don’t know what will happen if I tell this story that I have kept inside the
deepest part of my heart for years.
Now I want to dive into this part.

I usually compare my life to a waterwheel.

It usually goes up and down over and over but never stops in one side.

As a young girl who lives in a beautiful village full of nature and beautiful
sunrise and sunsets, I used to live in an extended family. I have always
seen beauty, happiness, and gratitude in my life.
I used to play with trees as my future prince, holding trees' branches and
talking to them, imagining them as prince that I had seen in several
cartoons with glamorous endings, hoping that something like that magic
will happen in my life.
We had sheep, cows, hens. My witty friends usually understand my words
as if they are my another family.
We were family's youngest ones with my little brother.
I was living happily without any hardships until the life started throwing its
rocks at me.

I was my dad's princess.

Who does whatever she wants and is a bit arrogant too.
Until I knew sad reality.

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My dad was having some health problems.
They were not telling anything in detail just comforting us with lies.
Starting from March my parents started going to hospitals leaving us in the
hands of relatives. I couldn’t understand what was happening. My dad got
so weak he even couldn’t walk properly himself. Seeing this I couldn't
take myself from the depth of misery.
Summer has come, my parents have come back from hospitals-to-
hospitals journey. Seeing my father holding flowers with my mom smiling
at me and my brother was the best thing in this world for me. However,
this happiness didn’t last for long.
One day out of curiosity I peeped through the door and overheard this.
My relatives were talking, saying that my dad had cancer and that he
would live until August only. They were also talking sorrowfully about the
things that will happen to us when we know we lost him.
I was shocked and run away to the hill next to our house.
Crying endlessly knowing that I would lose someone I love the most.

Every single day coming back to home from playground I saw my mom
crying with granny and my dad was lying on his bed looking at the sky
from the window.
Hoping for some miracle to happen because he was so young. Only 32
years old.
I tried my best to make him happy, telling stories to him and playing
games. My days passed like this until August.
I left the house as I was going to play with my aunt’s daughter. We played
at our relative’s till noon.
A bride sister of mine came and told me that my mom was calling me
home.
I realized from her voice and eyes which were full of tears as if something
happened to my dad.
We ran so fast. When I was near to our house, I heard women crying
shouting so bad. It was like a hell where people were screaming from
pain.
I came. Seeing this scene made me totally crazy I could not hear anything.
Everyone was looking at me, weeping and telling oh poor young girl.
I rushed into the room where my mom was sitting. She was like a statue
without any feelings. When I put my hands to her face she started crying.
Looking at me with her hopeful eyes.

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After some time, I went to the room where my dad's body was put.
I kissed from his cheeks, he was like a sleeping young baby with shiny face
and a beautiful smile.
I started crying again in sorrow. In my heart I thought I would die but I
didn’t. I couldn't breathe.
I thought God granted him with paradise.
After funeral they lifted the coffin.
Started walking towards the graveyard.
I couldn't hold myself and ran towards him but suddenly somebody held
my leg and I fell down.
It was the last moment when I saw my dad. Then I was only able to see
him under ground.

My life changed so radically after that day. Nothing could bring me joy.
Nor the village’s color nor the nature’s beaty.
I got separated from everybody around. I used to talk to my dad’s spirit,
hoping he would hear, hear my regret that I didn’t tell him how much I
loved him when I still had the chance to.

I was complaining why me?

I haven't spent even proper 8 years with him because of these conflicts
and problems that my parent's family members and relatives were causing
that were slowly breaking our family. Then I thought I could’ve been with
him, spending even more beautiful moments together.

Once my granny told me that when my parents fought and we came back
to mom's house, he used to come see us, but we never went out to see
him. And he went back crying and sad.
Because of this after my father's death I told myself that I should’ve been
a better child who would go and hug him when he came to see me.
Yeah, regret never gives things back. It was too late.
Although the years were passing on their own, I was still the same. As if
stuck in that memory of the past. We moved to the old house where my
mother was brought up.
We started living with my uncle and granny. I started attending another
school there but nothing much mattered to my anymore.
I didn’t want to move on. I didn’t feel anything. My brother wasn’t better
either.

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But my brave mom was trying her best to take care of us.
We didn't realize it at that time.

But Time is the best cure for everything I started getting better and had set
goals with my mom.
I told myself yeah I lost my daddy but I still have my mom who is trying
so hard to provide everything for us.
My mom worked as a worker in garden, as a home cleaner, doing all hard
things.
Besides, some people were throwing baseless allegations at her, calling her
a strumpet, a robber etc. I hated them all and wanted to take revenge.
But she never cared about those things and raised us well and told me
There is God who will punish them.
I accepted that and decided I will make her the happiest woman ever.
It was the biggest motivation for me. I started studying hard achieving
some goals and seeing that my mom was happy. Now she is a successful
businesswoman and my supportive mom.
Everybody knows what kind of woman she actually is. One day she will
forget all hardships that she went through as a young widow.
And feel pride in her heart for us.
I forgave everybody and moved on.
This is my happy end.
I believe this happiness is the result of those hardships.
Life is going on.
My waterwheel is going around.

Butterfly, Fergana

79.

The future of each of us is in our own hands, and whether our future is
bright or dark is the result or consequence of what we are doing now. I
think we should never stop trying as long as we have dreams.

Yes, these roads are full of obstacles, maybe I should abandon them?

"No, only the weak capitulate on this road, and you are not weak,"– said
a voice inside me. In my opinion, the day we find the volition and courage

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to overcome the obstacles, we will get closer to the finish line. When I was
young, I used to think that perfection will be possible one day without any
actions, to our satisfaction. But after many years have passed, I realized
that I was wrong on that. When I was a child, I had my grandmother who
always inspired me to do something and encouraged me to reach my goals
with hard work. She used to tell me: “Cutie, do your best for your future
goals, don’t do evil to anyone if you cannot favor though, occasionally,
take risks. It may be the real opportunity for you, just believe in Allah”.
These words helped me during my life, I never thought that I would lose
her from my life. Because of this loss, I understood that everything is
transient, so I should do my best and achieve all my ambitions during this
short life! It all depends on me!

Initially, I have failed at almost every single thing in my life, then I felt
very depressed, I thought I cannot do them at all, but I didn’t take the
experience into account. Moreover, only the lessons I have learned are
worth billions not millions, so I learned that I should love failure, this
would be the first step towards success. When we fail at something we try
hard again and again until we reach our goals. It says:” If you win you get a
reward, if you fail you get an experience”. I trust those words, I didn’t stop
learning and I didn’t leave the field clear for obstacles.

Years passed, I heard that a school was opened, its name was Ogahiy
creative school under the Agency of Presidential Educational Institutions.
My teacher was told that its exams would start in a month, and that day
was the last day of registration. At first, I thought that only the rich
people’s children could study there, and I said that I wouldn’t take the
exam. Although my teachers and parents submitted my documents and
brought me a permit for the exam. After the completion of three main
exams, the answers were announced. I started to dig through the list of
those who did not enter, my name was not there, I was surprised and
excitedly took the list of 30 students who entered out of 900 students and
saw that my name was written as 1st. It was the key to my greatest success
and the door to my dreams.

Then, it wasn't easy. There, we had exams on a weekly basis and

studied under pressure. Despite challenges, I believed myself and I
studied hard for reaching my goals. After several months, I began to
achieve my goals, and hard works paid off. I became the owner of the

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scholarship awarded to only 1 student out of 225 students at the school, I
participated in several republican forums and conferences and met with
the President of the Republic of Uzbekistan. I won the 1st and 2nd prizes
in international and republican essay and poetry contests, won Olympiads
and was accepted as a member of international organizations, including
the Indian "Humanitarian" and Georgian "Global friends" organizations. I
started writing scientific works, they were published in international
anthologies. After those achievements, I realized that If people work on
themselves and believe in Allah, their hard works can lead them to the
door of success!

Ziyoda Saparbayeva, Khorezm

80.

Life is going on like it always has, and as new people are born every day,
new stories are also coming to life.

I think that everybody's story is unique and needs to be heard and I am

also here to reveal some things about my own. I am a 16 year old girl,
living in one of the villages of Uzbekistan and I have always really loved
nature, so the things I enjoy doing are the ones that allow me to connect
with it. For example, I really love cycling in quiet roads in my village.
Sometimes I can't get enough of the beautiful, vast and endless sky, which
is sometimes like a canvas, filled with calm colors of purples, pinks and
yellows that blend with so much grace. I also love watching the birds as
they are freely flying in this colorful sky and chirping happily. I often wish
that I could be a bird for a day, because that would allow me to witness
the beauties of nature even closer and longer and also understand bird's
language. In our religious and holy book Quran, it is said that "even the
birds that go about spreading their wings in flight extol God's glory and
each knows the way of its prayer" and during the prayer times, I always
hear the chirps of the birds getting louder as if they are also praying and
calling humans to do the same.

I think that the experience that divided my life into 'before' and 'after' was
changing my school in grade 7. Until that point I had studied at small and
old school in my village. But then my parents suggested changing my
school to the one in the city so I could have better education and more

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opportunities. Even though I really excelled academically, I also had some
problems, one of which was getting bullied by my classmates. One of the
reasons for this was the fact that I come from the village and they have
always lived in the city, so some of them would call me a "villager". So it
really used to hurt me and sound really discriminatory. They actually
didn't like many things about me, the place where I live, the way I dressed
or the fact that I spent most of my time studying. It was actually the time
when I started learning English seriously and also studying at art school, so
I had many ambitions, and my family also supported me a lot. But my
classmates couldn't relate to me and once one girl even told me " you
don't have any childhood, you don't enjoy your life, you always study and
your life is really boring". When I told my mom about it, she told me that
the effort and time I was putting into studying and improving myself
would pay off one day, so I shouldn't listen to others and always
remember my goals. And my life that seemed boring to them was actually
full of enjoyment, because every moment I felt that I was getting closer to
my goals, and I also had some interests that I would do in my free time. I
believed if I kept walking towards my goals, I would meet people like me
and make real friends. Some time passed and the time my mom once told
me about came, and the skills and knowledge I have gained in patience
allowed me to participate in many competitions, programs and projects,
get high results and help others. Most importantly I got to make some real
and successful friends. Even though l regretted changing my school at that
time, I am grateful for it right now, because it helped me to work on
myself more, grow and develop the values and personality I have today, so
it was almost like a turning point in my life. I wish I could write more
because I still have a lot to say but, these are the most important ones to
tell. So, thank you for reading my story.

Sincerely,

Aisha
Fergana

81.

It was early July and the sun was just beginning to peek through the trees
as I set out on my usual morning bike ride. This had become a tradition
for me every summer - exploring the forest and its winding paths before

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the heat of the day set in. I knew the road like the palm of my hand, or so
I thought.
As I rode for what felt like hours, I realized with a sinking feeling that I
had somehow taken a wrong turn and was completely lost. Panic set in as
I frantically tried to retrace my path, but it seemed like every turn I took
just led me deeper into the unfamiliar forest. As the sun began to set and I
heard the distant howling of a wolf, I knew I needed to find shelter and
fast.

After wandering for what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon a small log
cabin tucked away among the trees. With no other options, I cautiously
made my way inside, hoping to find someone who could help me. As I
entered, I was met with the sight of an old man in his 80s sitting on a worn
couch with his eyes closed. I explained my situation to him and asked if I
could stay for the night, hoping to find my way home in the morning.
To my relief, the old man - who introduced himself as Frank - agreed and
even offered me some food to eat. As we sat at the small kitchen table, I
couldn't help but notice the serene sounds of nature coming from outside
- the distant wolf cries, the soothing sound of water flowing, and the
rustling of the trees. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and noise of the
city, and I found myself feeling surprisingly comfortable and protected in
this simple wooden house.

As we ate and chatted, I found myself opening up to Frank and sharing

pieces of my life. I told him about my job in the bustling city, my fast-
paced life, and my constant need for adventure and adrenaline. But as I
spoke, I couldn't deny the feeling that something was missing. Deep
down, I envied Frank and his simple, solitary life in the woods. I could see
in his calm demeanor and wise eyes that he had seen and experienced
more than most people ever would.

Feeling a sense of trust and connection, I decided to share the story of a

life-changing event that had shaped who I was today. It was a story I had
never told anyone before - about the day my best friend passed away in a
tragic accident. As I spoke, I realized for the first time just how much that
one event had changed the course of my life.

When my best friend and I were in high school, we were inseparable. We

shared a love for adventure and would often spend our weekends

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camping and exploring new places. But one fateful day, while on a hike in
the mountains, my friend lost their footing and fell off a cliff. I was in
shock and couldn't believe the reality of what had just happened. In an
instant, they were gone and my life was forever changed.
After that day, I found myself constantly chasing after that same
adrenaline rush to fill the void left by my friend's absence. I was reckless
and impulsive, always pushing the limits and never taking the time to truly
appreciate life and relationships. But sitting in that log cabin with Frank, I
realized that all this time I had been searching for something that was right
there all along - the peace and tranquility of nature, the simple joys of life,
and the importance of cherishing the people we love while we still have
them.
As the night went on and I continued to share my story with Frank, I
could feel a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I had never before been
able to open up and share my feelings, but his calm presence and
understanding nature had made it possible. I went to bed that night feeling
more peaceful and content than I had in a long time.

In the morning, I was able to find my way home with Frank's guidance,
but I left that log cabin with much more than just directions. I left with a
newfound appreciation for life and all of its complexities, a deep respect
for Frank and his wisdom, and the realization that sometimes the most
important journeys are the ones that take place within ourselves.

Kitty Cat, Jizzakh

82.

I stood alone on a wooden floor, surrounded by the sounds of nature,

safe within the walls of a log cabin deep within the forest where I had
sought shelter after losing my way. As I conversed with the wise old man
who had offered me refuge, my thoughts turned to a significant experience
in my own life, an experience that had left a profound impression on me
and had greatly influenced the person I am today.

The experience dated back to early July, very much like the present, and
it had taught me a great deal about resilience, determination, and the
fragility of life. It was the summer of my freshman year in high school, and
I had been looking forward to the carefree days before the academic

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challenges of high school and application processes. But all that changed
when I fell seriously ill.

What started as sharp abdominal pain quickly turned into an emergency.

After a series of medical examinations, I was diagnosed with a rare form
of appendicitis. This illness wasn't the typical appendicitis that many
experience - instead, it was a rarer, more severe type that required
immediate surgery. Hearing the news was frightening: I was immediately
faced with the prospect of going under the knife. As a young person, the
unpredictable nature of this frightening health scare filled me with anxiety,
fear, and uncertainty about what the future held.
The surgery itself was difficult, and the recovery was even more so. It left
an indelible mark on my life, dividing it into a 'before' and 'after'. The
physical and emotional toll of the experience was immense, and it
changed me in ways I never thought possible.

In the aftermath, the experience had a transformative effect on me. It

made me acutely aware of my own vulnerability and the preciousness of
life. I became more resilient, finding inner strength that I didn’t know I
had. My perspective on life changed profoundly. Suddenly, the small
annoyances and trivial worries of everyday life paled in comparison to the
important things: being able to breathe without pain, to laugh without
restraint, and to live without fear.

The difficult decision I had to make regarding the surgery also played a
significant role in shaping my values and principles. It taught me the
importance of perseverance, hope, and the value of health. The decision
was challenging not only because of the potential risks and uncertainties,
but also because it forced me to confront my own mortality. It was
imperative, and my values and principles reflected the importance of
taking care of one's well-being and addressing health concerns
fundamentally.

This event of my life could be compared to a puzzle. Just as a puzzle's

pieces fit together to form a complete picture, my surgery experience
created an intricate and transformative change within me that made me
more whole and complete. The pieces - the fear, the surgery, the
recovery, the gratitude for health - all connected to form a new
understanding of life and resilience.

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The interesting and unique side of myself that most people may not know
about but is valuable to me is my unwavering belief in hope, resilience,
and the power of the human spirit. The hardships I faced and overcame
have strengthened my belief in the capacity to triumph over adversity.
In the distant future, I see myself as an advocate for health and well-being,
using my own experiences to help others going through similar challenges.
I envision contributing to the advancement of medical knowledge and
patient care, advocating for improved surgical practices, and providing
support and hope to those facing illness and recovery.
If I could do anything right now, it would be to create a foundation
focused on researching rare illnesses and surgical procedures, with the
aim of providing better treatment and care options for those in need. I
believe I have a purpose in making a difference in the world of healthcare,
and this dream is one that I will strive to make a reality.
My journey was not without regret. Looking back, I regret that I let fear
and uncertainty cloud my thoughts during the illness and recovery
process. If I could revert everything, I would act with more courage and
faith, instead of dwelling on the unknown and the 'what ifs'. I would
embrace the experience with a more positive and optimistic outlook,
understanding the profound impact it would have on my growth and
compassion towards others.

My experience with illness and recovery compelled me to make the

difficult decision to confront my fears and aspire to bring meaningful
change to the world of healthcare. It has ultimately shaped my life, helping
me discover my purpose and the value of hope, resilience, and empathy -
values that I continue to carry with me today, as I aspire to create a lasting
impact within the medical field.

NLily, Qashqadaryo

83.

Disclaimer: The following program contains material that may be

disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.

This story is the one I have heard from relatives of my relatives, so

thankfully, it doesn’t have to do anything with my family or people I

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know. Nevertheless, it doesn’t diminish the gravity of the issue in any
sense, but rather highlights the importance that domestic violence is
present, and no family can be guaranteed to be an exclusion. I hope after
reading this story, you will not just scroll over and forget immediately but
rather take some time to reflect on what values we are building our society
and what monsters we are feeding with our carelessness.

A young woman, let’s call her Zilola, got married to a man from
Qashqadaryo, although she was born and raised in Jizzakh. Moving to a
completely new city and a completely new family was a hard decision,
both for her and her parents. But the parents-in-law seemed like decent
people, both doctors, with 2 big houses and 3 cars. The girl would soon
hit 20 years, so they needed to marry her off faster before the flow of
candidates stopped.

Not like she ever had a lack of attention. Slim and gorgeous, she would be
a subject of interest wherever she went, be that at school or university. She
had enough suitors who would shower her with presents and flowers.
Once, her mother opened the door of their apartment to find a huge
Teddy bear toy sitting on the corridor with a note for her daughter. Zilola,
however, was not interested in neither dating nor marrying anyone yet.
She was learning Chinese and wanted to become a professional translator.
Marrying will wait a bit, she would say. Her parents weren’t much
supportive of that idea, obviously. They loved her, especially her father, as
best they could, so they wished her the best, and they didn’t want her to
be a subject of gossip for slowly becoming a “spinster.” She was worthy of
the best, they believed.

So, when a seemingly perfect family appeared with an intention of taking

their daughter as a kelin, they couldn’t refuse. It was “marriage for love”
after all, they said, as it was the young man who admired her from afar
when he came to Jizzakh with work purposes, and persuaded his parents
to go to “sovchilik” to another city. The wedding was splendid, they let her
go with tears in their eyes and the hopes that everything will be alright with
her.

For the first few days, Zilola’s husband, let’s call him Azizbek, seemed
very caring and lovely. He was a man of simple complexity and smaller
height. Her parents-in-law spent most of their time at work, they were nice

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and fair, but also a bit cold and didn’t seem to care about her whatsoever.
“Just do all of your jobs properly and on time and no one will bother
you,” they said.

And so she did. However, after a few weeks of marriage, her husband
began to behave strangely. He would snap at small mistakes and criticize
her for not being “a proper kelin.” He grew more irritable with each day
and it was hard for the young woman to guess what made him angry this
time.
A year later, he found a new reason to be dissatisfied with her – she is
“infertile as she still didn’t get pregnant.” As months passed by, the
arguments increased, and he began to beat her. With bruises under her
eye, she would come to her parents-in-law and seek some help, but they
would only shrug her off with “you should have been more tactful” or
“you shouldn’t have talked back”. She was afraid to tell anything to her
parents as she didn’t want them to be a subject of “uyat”, or “shame” to
the neighbors. Her family would visit her once a few months and she did
her best not to seem suspicious. So, living in a different city with different
people, and not able to go outside to meet with anyone as she knew no
one, she felt completely isolated from the world.

One rainy day of October, Zilola came home from a market to find her
husband sitting in the kitchen. They have been married for a year and a
half. He didn’t look at her when she greeted.
“Where have you been?”
“In the market,” she replied, and began to put the products in the fridge.
“Hoy,” he stood up, “look at my face when you are talking with me.”
With slow careful movements, she turned towards him, looked at his eyes
and away immediately.
“I asked, where did you go in such sluttish clothes?”, he came closer, his
hands in fist.
She always had this habit – whenever anyone raised voice at her, her
throat would tighten and she wouldn’t be able to utter anything, or if she
did, it would be some incoherent timid whispers which would get too loud
at inappropriate times.
“They are not sluttish, I wear them all the time.”
Hit. She was prepared for some outburst but she didn’t expect the hit to
come so soon. What followed next is a messy sequence of swearing and
beatings. He dragged her to the bedroom by her hair and choked her

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behind the closed doors. She tried to scream but he closed her mouth
with his hand.

A few days later, the neighborhood was buzzing with news of a man who
killed his own wife. he choked her to unconsciousness but then when he
found that she was already dead, he in panic washed the body and hid it
between mats in the storage. His mother came home to a stinking smell
and was the first witness of the crime. The investigation was ongoing.

The young woman’s parents must have been devastated after hearing that.
Believing that little quarrels happen in every family, neither her family nor
her parents-in-law stepped in to stop the conflict. We can talk a lot about
the man’s behavior and what punishment such sadists deserve, but we also
must make one point clear: we as a society avoid discussions on sensitive
topics hush down many instances of domestic violence, therefore letting it
creep deeper within the cracks. No one wants to be preached at, of
course, but if to every complain of abuse we are going to answer with “a
woman’s fault is her tongue”, what outcomes can we possible expect?

bomitripplex, Jizzakh

84.

Success means different things to different people.

In 2021, I embarked on a journey to achieve the coveted C1 level

certification from the CEFR in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. At the time, I was
working as an ESL teacher and was deeply passionate about attaining this
certification, as it was a rare accomplishment in my community. After
traveling to Tashkent and taking the exam, I anxiously awaited the results
for two weeks. I felt confident that I had performed well, but to my
dismay, I received the news of my unsuccessful attempt one evening while
riding the bus home from work.

The disappointment weighed heavily on me, and I found myself at a loss

for words when considering how to share this news with my parents, who
were also invested in my success. As if this weren’t enough, earlier that
day, I had missed the opportunity to take a taxi home and had to settle for
the bus – a situation that further fueled my frustration.

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However, it was during this bus ride, with my mind consumed by thoughts
of my failed exam, that a profound realization struck me. As I gazed out
the window, I witnessed a devastating car crash involving the very taxi that
I had missed earlier. The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of
bricks. In that moment, I understood that my unsuccessful exam result
paled in comparison to the potential tragedy that could have befallen me.
This experience served as a powerful reminder of the blessings in my life
and shifted my perspective on success. It became clear to me that there
are far more important things than a certificate – things that I should be
truly grateful for. This newfound understanding lifted the weight of
disappointment from my shoulders.
Determined not to be deterred by this setback, I resolved to retake the
exam a month later, despite harboring little hope for a different outcome.
To my immense relief, I achieved success on my second attempt. While I
chose not to share the details of my eye-opening experience with others, it
left an indelible mark on me. It taught me that life’s challenges and
disappointments often hold unexpected lessons and opportunities for
growth.

In hindsight, I’ve come to realize that success is not defined solely by

external achievements, but rather by our ability to find meaning and
gratitude in the journey itself. This experience has shaped my
understanding of what true success means and has instilled in me a deep
appreciation for life’s blessings.

Elbek Akbarovich, Samarkand

85.

Nobody can help you. Because every person's life changes depend on
their own actions.

When I was studying my first class at school, I needed to memorize the

first poem in "Òqish" (“Reading”) book. I asked my mom to help, but she
said that she didn’t have time for that as my mother was sewing beautiful
women clothes at that time. I got upset and began to memorize the poem.
First of all, it seemed a very difficult task for me. After some time of
struggle, however, I finally memorized it. My mother smiled as if she
knew I would make it.

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After one year, my mom died. Still young myself, I was helping my little
sister to read and write. She was in her first class and wouldn’t be able to
do her own homework. While helping her, I always would remember that
event with mom and be thankful for the way she brought me up. She
made me stronger and independent. I always whisper thank you and love
you whenever I visit her grave.
I excelled academically at school, studied medical college and now I’m
completing my senior year at Medical Institute. I want to be the master of
my profession.

Many people may get discouraged to try out something difficult if they
can’t find help. But that’s not how things work: most of the times, we are
the only ones to seek help from.

Helpful people aren’t that many in this world, you know. You can’t wait
for somebody’s push all the time. You set a goal and go after it. Even in
difficult situations, you keep on moving as difficulties exist for strong
people. When you rely on yourself more than on others, you have more
confidence in yourself. Even on days when it feels like you can’t do it
anymore, you have to pull yourself together and remember why you
started it all in the first place. For the sake of loved ones, of those who are
dear to you.

Madina_Sharobiddinovna, Fergana

86.

From Arrogance to Respect

My name is Amirbek, and this is the story of my transformation from

arrogance to humility, from failure to success.
In my youth, I exuded confidence and pride, particularly in my academic
pursuits. As I prepared for the IELTS exam, I boasted about my
knowledge and achievements, believing I was destined to excel. However,
when the results were announced, I faced the harsh reality of failure. My
pride crumbled, leaving me to confront my shortcomings and reevaluate
my approach to learning.

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Acknowledging the role my arrogance played in my downfall, I embarked
on a journey of self-discovery and growth. With humility as my guide, I
sought guidance from mentors and peers, recognizing the value of
learning from others' experiences. Through dedicated study and
introspection, I identified areas for improvement and committed myself
to overcoming obstacles with perseverance and resilience.
As I prepared to retake the IELTS exam, I approached my studies with
renewed determination and a newfound sense of humility. I humbly
accepted that success was not guaranteed, but I remained steadfast in my
pursuit of excellence. When the results were announced, I was elated to
discover that my hard work had paid off—I had achieved a high score,
surpassing my previous performance and proving to myself the power of
humility and dedication.

Inspired by my journey, I embraced a new role as a teacher, eager to

share my experiences and insights with others. As I stood before my
students, I saw reflections of my former self—bright-eyed and brimming
with confidence, yet unaware of the importance of humility in the pursuit
of knowledge.
Whenever I encountered a student struggling with arrogance, I shared my
story, emphasizing the transformative power of humility. I encouraged
them to approach their studies with an open mind and a willingness to
learn from both successes and failures. Through empathy and guidance, I
sought to instill in my students the importance of humility as a catalyst for
personal and academic growth.

And so, from an arrogant student to a respectful teacher, my journey

continues. Through humility, perseverance, and a commitment to lifelong
learning, I have not only achieved academic success but also found
fulfillment in guiding others along their own paths of discovery and self-
improvement.

Amirbek, Bukhara

87.

In the heart of a bustling city, amidst the chaos and noise, there lived a
boy, me Abduqaxxor. I was a dreamer, a believer in the magic of everyday
moments, and a seeker of beauty in the ordinary. From a young age, I was

145
drawn to the arts, finding solace and inspiration in the colors of a painting,
the words of a poem, and the melodies of a song.
Growing up in a modest apartment with my parents and younger brother,
I found joy in the simple things in life. My mom, a kind-hearted woman
with a passion for gardening, instilled in me a love for nature and the
importance of nurturing one's surroundings. My dad, a hardworking man
with a gentle spirit, taught me the value of perseverance and integrity.
As I navigated through the ups and downs of adolescence, I discovered
my voice through writing. I poured my thoughts and emotions onto paper,
creating a world of my own where I could escape and explore the depths
of her imagination. Writing became my sanctuary, a place where I could
be truly himself without fear of judgment or criticism.

One fateful day, as I wandered through a local bookstore, I stumbled

upon a poetry collection that would shift many things in my life. The
words on the pages spoke to my soul, resonating with my deepest desires
and fears. Inspired by the raw emotion and vulnerability of the poems, I
decided to take a leap of faith and share my writing with the world.
With trembling hands and a racing heart, I submitted my work to my
school's publication, unsure of what the future held. To my surprise and
delight, my story was accepted for publication, marking the beginning of
my journey as a writer. As my words found their way into the hearts of
readers around the world, I realized the power of storytelling to connect
people across time and space.

Through my writing, I explored themes of love, loss, resilience, and hope,

drawing from my own experiences and observations of the world around.
I delved into the complexities of human relationships, the beauty of
fleeting moments, and the eternal quest for meaning and purpose. Each
word I penned was a piece of my soul laid bare for all to see, a testament
to my courage and authenticity.

As I continued to hone my craft and share my stories with the world, I

found fulfillment in touching the lives of others through my words. I
received messages from readers who had been moved to tears, inspired to
create art of their own, or simply felt less alone in their struggles. In those
moments, I knew that I had found my calling – to be a beacon of light and
hope in a world that often felt dark and uncertain.

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And so, as the sun set on another day in the city, I sat at my desk with pen
in hand, ready to write the next chapter of my story. With each stroke of
the pen, I wove together threads of love and longing, joy and sorrow,
weaving a tapestry of words that would endure long after I was gone. For,
in the end, I knew that my legacy would not be measured in fame or
fortune,
but in the hearts I had touched and the lives I had changed with my art.

Mockingjay, Andijan

88.

My name is Emily, and I work as a receptionist at the local police station.

Every day, I couldn't help but notice Officer, who had a really strange
name - Pete Potato.
Pete was a character straight out of a comedy sketch. He was a guy that
you can honestly call a careless weirdo: Pete had a knack for misplacing
his keys, forgetting his lunch, and of course, wearing the most ridiculous
hats you could ever imagine. From a sombrero to a top hat adorned with
feathers, Pete's headgear was the talk of the town. His favorite one was a
bright red cowboy hat with a feather sticking out of it.

One of Pete's greatest passions was golf. He dreamed of hitting the perfect
hole-in-one someday, although his attempts on the mini-golf course
usually ended in disaster. Yet, Pete's enthusiasm never waned, and he
approached each game with unwavering optimism.
At work, Pete's carelessness often led to amusing situations. He once
accidentally handcuffed himself to a lamppost while trying to apprehend a
suspect, much to the amusement of his colleagues standing by and looking
at him, intrigued by his actions. Despite the constant laughter and teasing,
Pete was never angry at his coworkers.

In fact, a guy had a heart of gold. He always greeted everyone with a warm
smile and a friendly wave, even if he sometimes forgot their names.
One day, Pete surprised us all by bringing a little girl named Cath to work
with him. She was an orphan, from the nearby shelter and had been
through more than any child should. She was a daughter of a famous
serial killer, who was arrested for the murder of more than 19 people in a
town. Our department was investigating this case. Pete was just a newbie at

147
the time. Regardless, he was the one who found evidence proving that
Cath's parent was guilty of all the deaths.

Unfortunately, even though Cath was not related to all those crimes,
people still could not accept a "monster's child". Adults and even
orphanage workers avoided Cath. Kids, who shared the shelter with the
poor girl, also refused to play with her.
No one expected that Pete would adopt her. 4 years have passed since the
moment her murdorous parent was sentenced, and not a single family
cared to take her yet.

At first, Cath was shy and reserved, trying to keep her distance away from
Pete and other people that surrounded her. But Potato's genuine
personality and kind heart quickly won her over.
As days turned into weeks, I watched as Cath blossomed under Pete's
care. He took her under his wing, showing her the ropes of police work
and, more importantly, showering her with love and attention. And
through it all, Pete's silly hats never failed to bring a smile to Cath's face.
Before we knew it, Cath became a beloved member of our police family.
She was always by Pete's side, proudly wearing a miniature version of his
signature cowboy hat. And as for Pete, his once-ridiculous hats now
symbolized something much more profound: love, compassion, and the
power of a caring heart.

Years later, as I reflect on those days, I'm reminded that sometimes, the
most unexpected friendships can lead to the happiest endings. And it's all
thanks to one man with a funny name, a penchant for silly hats, and a
heart as big as the sky.

Amira E, Tashkent

89.

Adam Gopnik once said: Making a big life change is pretty scary. But
know what's even scarier? Regret". It may mean nothing to some people,
but I will say: "It's time to write a new story".

Do you believe in love at first sight? Since my childhood, I have been in

love and interested in anything which is not common among people,

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fascinated by anything that people around me believed would just be
fantasies for me. In my seventh grade, I was obsessed with English rap
songs and aspired to be a rap singer just like Eminem. As I finished ninth
grade, I realized that no one would ever believe in or support my dream
of being a rap singer. Whatever field I selected, it was either unsuitable for
women in my country or would be criticized by others. During my ninth
and tenth grades, I was depressed and in a huge turmoil that I had never
been in my whole life. Although I was tired of hearing people tell me that
I should choose “a feminine career’’ or that males had more rights in our
society than females.

When my teachers at school started asking their students which

universities they wanted to apply to for their final year, I told them that I
was going to study abroad. They didn't believe me. They kept reminding
me that it was impossible and inappropriate for a young girl to study in an
unfamiliar country with strangers, especially if she went alone.
It was furious to know how girls were treated in my country. However, I
was always supported by my parents in terms of education. I indicated my
major when I decided to apply to international colleges. I finally realized
that I have the freedom to choose my subject based on my own interests
even though many people disagree with me. If I keep taking other’s
viewpoints into account, I will never achieve my goals. I have always had a
feeling that something miraculous would happen in my life. The miracle
finally took its place! When my father was aware that my uncle’s daughter
was studying in a foreign country, he made sure that studying overseas is
completely safe and advantageous for his young energetic daughter. He
wanted me to continue my studies in the USA. In the country where I can
develop and more significantly, in colleges where students aspire for their
bright future. By choosing the field of Journalism, I am certain that I will
be able to not only prove those who did not believe in and doubted me
and said that girls cannot study or work, but also establish a team in this
sector. That's why I call it "Love at first sight". With the knowledge that I
gain, I hope to be independent, to have my rights, to display that women
can be competent in many fields.

Charos, Navoi

90.

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I am energetic person but sometimes I fail to go to the bathroom in the
morning. I am extrovert but sometimes the only person that I can talk
with is me. I make plans for the future but sometimes I have no idea what
to do the next day. I am optimistic but sometimes the only thing I want is
to die.
Internal conversation. One of the strongest skills. I spend a lot of time
talking to myself and I get energy from it. I do this often probably because
I haven’t found a true friend yet. There is no doubt that the person
reading these lines thinks that I am shy and timid girl, but that is a
completely wrong idea. Now I am 16 years old and at this moment I have
a close friend but she is far away from me and we don't have time to talk
often.

Sometimes I get upset about this situation, but after looking for the reason
and thinking about it, I realized that God is opening a way for me to
strengthen my inner conversation, which is one of the abilities that not
everyone has. When others ask friends and acquaintances to do
something or get something I discuss it with myself and it helps me to gain
my inner confidence. Naturally, I am not shy and I often try to start the
conversation myself, as those who have spent a lot of time with me know
this.

I changed my classes three times for various reasons, and then I realized
that not all people are what we expect. From a young age, my parents
created all conditions for me to be independent and did not interfere with
my school life at all. If there was any problem at school, I solved
everything myself. When I changed classes for the first time, the students
did not accept me as I expected, they even called me “Alien”, and
because of these reasons, I started to go to the “Youth Union”. From the
moment I joined the organization, my life changed completely. I spent my
happiest, most joyful, and sometimes sad days in this organization, in this
team.

All of the above made me want to talk to myself even more. Sometimes in
life, your parents aren’t sure what’s best for you either. Because our
parents are worried about us, and they don’t allow us to take risks. This is
a normal situation for everyone. But you know what is best for you,
discuss more with yourself, make the right decision, and don’t be afraid to
take risks. Before starting a task, imagine it down to its elementary

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elements, ask yourself questions, and look for the answer within yourself.
Don’t start a job that you can’t imagine till the end. And most importantly,
I understood that if you are sure that your opinion is right even when the
whole world is against you, do not give up, stick to your opinion, do it,
and prove it. Do not forget that God is always with you and I am on your
side. Start a conversation with yourself now, find answers to your
unanswered questions, and solve your problems independently as much
as possible.
The inner conversation may seem boring and complicated, but the result
will be pleasant, you will begin to feel lighter, and you will begin to look at
life with more confident eyes.

Donokhon, Navoi

91.

My name is Shakhriyor. I am 23 years old and have been working as a

Data Engineer for the past 3 years. I will briefly describe my journey to
enter this field by opening up some of my mistakes.

In 2019, I enrolled at the newly opened branch of the Mephi-Moscow

Nuclear Research Institute in Uzbekistan with a scholarship. Why did I
enroll? What were my future goals? I didn't ask myself any of these
questions; I just joined the university. The reason was that I had not won a
scholarship to Inha University that year, and there was no opportunity for
me to pay for a contract-based admission.

From the first day of classes, I knew I wouldn't stay there for long. After
the first lesson, I called my mom to tell her that I wouldn't continue my
education there. Naturally, she didn't take it seriously and calmed me
down. At that time, the university offered C++ courses. I wasn't
particularly interested in programming yet. But one day, I created a
calculator using C++ and got hooked. The feeling of creating something
functional was incredible. After that, I started planning. I decided to drop
out and aim to win a scholarship at Inha University the next year.
It wasn't easy to convince my parents, but they eventually agreed. I should
mention that with all respect to our parents, one should try to show
his/her passion into the field or change they want to make in their life in
order to convince the most important people in our life. So, I dropped

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out in March, 2020 and started preparing for Inha. The exams were
supposed to start in June. I prepared and won the scholarship in June.
Yay :)

A month before starting my studies, in May, I received an internship offer

from the local consulting company. They were looking for candidates
strong in mathematics and English. My math was good, and I had an
IELTS score of 7.0 at that time. I accepted their offer and started
preparing. The preparation was simple: they gave me one book and a link
to YouTube tutorials and told me they would assess me on these materials
in a month. I didn't like the book at all, so I put it aside and continued
preparing for the university.

When there was only one week left before my university studies began,
the company planned to quiz me on the materials they shared. I set the
book aside and only used YouTube. I did well on the test day. Even
though we didn't know other programming languages, they asked us three
questions on Java, Python, and C#. When I asked, "How do I solve it if I
have no idea about this language?" they replied, "Google it!" This response
has been useful ever since. I managed to solve 2 out of 3 questions by
Googling. The next day, they invited me to Tashkent for an internship.
The internship lasted six months. It was an unpaid internship, but I
learned a lot. Afterward, I was hired. Initially, it was challenging. When I
learned one technology, it was not enough; I had to learn another. This
was somewhat discouraging at first, as I wondered if my days would only
consist of learning. However, I hadn't realized that life itself is about
learning. Over time, I adapted. Software developer Azimjon Pulatov's
(currently he is a Googler) words, "Don't see new technology as a
headache but as a new opportunity," really clarified things for me.
University was going smoothly. What I have been gaining there is
networking. I met friends working and studying in various programming
fields. I always get different perspectives from them. I didn't learn much
about my field at the university, but I don't regret going there. The
connections I made and the fact that I studied there are what I consider
my greatest fortune in life.

Why do many people start learning programming, but few continue?

Because for most, the primary motivation is money. But it can take at
least a year, often more, for someone who starts learning programming to

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start earning money. I didn't earn any money for 9 months. What kept me
in the field was my interest and the people around me. Therefore, my
advice would be to pursue what you're interested in and spend more time
with people with the same interest, and of course keep it up until you
achieve the fantastic results.
We will surely win!

Shakhriyor, Sirdaryo

92.

In the quiet, peaceful embrace of the dawn, amidst the whispering winds
and the soft rustle of leaves, a new soul entered the world. Born into the
world of hopes and dreams, amidst the life’s gentle hums, her arrival
marked the beginning of yet another new journey.
As years unfolded slowly as petals, my life too, started to take shape. It's
me and this is my small yet insightful story.

For me, life is like a book. Just like the turning of pages, we journey
through life, encountering new characters, exploring new landscapes, and
delving into the depths of our own narrative. Just as a book is composed
of chapters, our lives are composed of moments - some fleeting, some
enduring, each contributing to the pool of our existence. Some chapters
are filled with joy and laughter, while others are filled with darkness and
despair.
Yet, each chapter serves a purpose, shaping us into the person we are
meant to become.

But perhaps the most beautiful aspect of life as a book is the opportunity
for growth and transformation. Just as a character evolves throughout the
pages of a story, so too do we evolve throughout the chapters of our lives.
We learn, we grow, we adapt - becoming wiser, stronger, and more
resilient with each passing moment.

On a chilly February morning, I found myself stuck in my high school

dorm, feeling far from where I had hoped to be. I had set my heart on
attending a prestigious language school, pushing myself to the limit to
make it happen, sleepless nights, and immensely high obsession with that

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school made me basically a nerd. But when I finally got in, reality didn't
match my dreams.

Instead of the paradise I imagined, the school felt like a place that sucked
away my energy and left me feeling lost. Despite my best efforts, I
struggled to keep up and faced criticism from teachers and doubt from my
parents. A toxic environment with zero friends, fake teachers and a fake
life was completely disgusting, I had a question on my mind: Is it really
what you wanted? The world got darker with each negative thought, and I
knew I was missing out something.

As my health suffered, I realized I needed to make a change. When I

went to the hospital due to unbearable pain I had in my head I felt as if it
was the end of my story but......It wasn't. I realized that a new opportunity
was given to me and the missing thing in my school where was
happiness...I realized that anything in the world including the success you
wanted to achieve would not be enough to make you happy, it is you who
can make yourself happy. A hospital visit opened my eyes to the toll my
obsession had taken on me. It was a wake-up call to prioritize my well-
being and let go of others' expectations. I don't have to make my parents
proud and I don't have to torture my health for other's wills. I am a
human being and the only person whom I can make proud of is me...
During my recovery, I discovered the power of self-love and positive
affirmations. I learned to value myself and let go of the need for
perfection.

I made the brave decision to leave the prestigious school and pursue a
path that truly resonated with me. With determination and self-care, I
found success and fulfillment in unexpected places and achieved great
accomplishments with a smile on my face and happiness in my soul.....
Through it all, I learned that by embracing self-love and resilience, we can
overcome any obstacle and find true happiness within ourselves.
May my story inspire you to prioritize your well-being, follow your heart,
and cherish every moment of your journey. Remember, you have the
power to shape your own destiny and find joy in the simplest of moments.
Come on, let's live our lives to the fullest with happiness and health...

n_mira_sunset, Namangan

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93.

My family, consisting of three children, is middle class and lives in a

distant city where education is not given much importance. This is where
I've been living and growing up, where nepotism and corruption are
rampant. There were a lot of naive individuals, mostly blue-collar workers,
telling me that I would never get an education, that I couldn't go to
university, and that I would either end up a housewife like my mother or
get married after graduation. I simply spot on what they said and thought
at the time. I continued to work, although...

Those days, our whole family lived on only my father’s salary. We lived
on my father's salary from one month to the next. But life has got ups and
downs. My dad faced a serious illness, and he suddenly stopped working.
This meant that our family lost a source of income. I have two brothers; at
that time, they were studying at college in our hometown. But anyway,
they started working for our family and my father’s operation. I remember
the atmosphere in our family at that time: sadness in everyone's eyes; no
one spoke to each other. We have forgotten what happiness is; we just
wanted our dad to get well. I remember those days with tears in my eyes.
My mother prayed every midnight for my father’s health and my brothers’
work. I understood one thing: I must become an educated, rich person in
the future.

I began to prepare to enter the university, but I did not have enough
money to pay for my extra classes in English and history. I could not tell
about it to my immediate family; it seemed superfluous to me to tell them
about it. However, I am so grateful I have such a supportive family; my
middle brother helped me financially; he paid for all my additional
courses. Although my father was ill, he borrowed to pay for my IELTS
exam. With the support of my golden family, I passed the IELTS
successfully and got my desired score. After that, I applied to many
national and foreign universities. I received admission letters from more
than 15 universities, but my strong love for the legal profession and my
desire kept me going to study law at university. In 2022, I was successfully
admitted to be a student of the Tashkent State University of Law, which
none of the people from my neighborhood have been able to get into.

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 I have to say that I am the only and first child in my family to have the
great possibility to study at the Top University of Uzbekistan. Neither of
my parents obtained a university degree.
And my successful journey started after entering law university. I am
studying several types of law subjects. In my very first year at university, I
formed a team and won together with them in the national moot court
called "TSULCOURT.” Civil law, administrative law, and criminal law at
our university showed my abilities not only intellectually from the legal
side but also in terms of leadership. Although we were freshmen, we got
only 1st place from three of them. In my sophomore year, I discovered
my passion for teaching and started working at “MY SCHOOL” LC. As a
junior, I spent most of my time with kids who had a strong desire to learn
English. I am proud of myself that I had the experience to teach such
responsible students. During my second year at the university, I was
accepted into the exchange program of Adam Miskevich University in
Poland with a fully funded scholarship. In addition to that, I have been
participating in many projects to broaden my horizons and gain practical
insights.

As a sophomore student at Law University, I can say that now I am not

anymore a hard-working 15-year-old girl who has a goal and does not
know how to achieve it. Currently, I believe that my big goal, strong desire
for my career, experience, and perseverance gained over the years and
become stronger year by year. It is all about me, my life.

Everything I've accomplished in my life is because of my family.

Gulzira Keldimuratova Gulamovna, Tashkent

94.

Change starts from within

The need for change is an often-discussed topic whether in our society,

community or daily lives. We often emphasize the importance of
embracing it and philosophize about its benefits for everyone. We
consistently say that if we introduce changes and new innovations, we can
find any solutions to all problems; for instance, for the improvement of
education system, reduction of ecological issues, or the better healthcare

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and lifestyles, etc. But when it comes putting them into action, nobody
wants to do it. Why is so? Are we not remarkable individuals, or are we a
bit hypocritical? Actually, we all understand how important it is, but we
are not so enthusiastic when it comes to accepting of being the one who
must change. Here, I would like to share my story which has influenced
considerably how I think and view the world.

We are two children in our family: my sister and me. Our childhood is
filled with wonderful and vivid memories. But I do not want to talk about
them now. My sister and I got along with each other very well and would
never let others harm each other. However, like all sisters, we also had
our disagreements; for example, there was always a fight when it came to
do the household chores. For this reason, our mom made sure that we
both took responsibility for all tasks and share all the chores. One day, my
dad bought home 30 pots of blooming flowers, and taking care of them
was also entrusted to us. But both of us ordered their care to each other,
and paid no attention to them, as a result, we have dried them up. My
parents are people who really adore flowers and seeing their glooming
gives them a great source of joy. After this incident, they were very upset
with us, especially my dad. He did not even talk to us for several days. But
one day, finally, when we were having lunch, he looked at us and said:
“Who was in charge of looking after flowers?” My sister and I both
answered “We were” in a low voice, bowing our heads to the ground.
Then my dad said something that I would never forget in my life: “Your
problem is exactly here, both of you should answer ‘I was’ not ‘We were’.
Why do people carelessly throw garbage on the streets and schools, but
never make their own home dirty? This is because they see it as the duty
of cleaners and those working in the neighborhood. If we consider
everything as a shared responsibility, everyone will wait for someone else
to start. But, if you treat each thing as your own responsibility, you will
surely take actions, and others will follow your lead intuitively.”

It has been many years since this incident. Since then, I consider
everything as my own duty, and do not wait others to start them. Changing
the world, improving ecology, uniting youth, and creating all the
conditions for the future generation: all of them are my own
responsibilities. Now, I am at my 19s, and I understand the meaning of
these words better than ever. So, my advice is here, if you want to change
the world, you need to start with yourself. If you want to improve the

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education system, first, become a good learner yourself. If you want to
address ecological issues, pay more attention to the environment around
you. These may sound like simple advice, but behind its simplicity lays a
strong power that can change the world. To conclude, as Mahatma
Gandhi said, be the change you want to see in the world!

Abdikhamidova Sevinch, Qashqadaryo

95.

Six Days That Will Stay with Me Forever

In the quiet of the night, tears streaming down my cheeks, I whispered,

"Finally, I have won." It was a moment of triumph, the culmination of
years of hard work and dedication. But the journey to get here was far
from easy. It began in 2020, amidst the uncertainties of a world grappling
with a global pandemic.

I remember the day vividly when my chemistry teacher, Khaydarov

Dilshod, approached me with an idea. He believed I had the potential to
compete in the International Chemistry Olympiads, igniting a spark within
me. Despite being just a high school student with dreams, his faith gave
me the courage to believe in myself.

In 2021, I faced my first major setback, failing to qualify for the national
team. A nose surgery further drained me physically and emotionally. Yet,
I refused to give up, resolving to try again next year.
In 2022, I threw myself into my studies with renewed determination.
Despite my best efforts, I fell short of my goal once again. It was
disheartening, but I couldn't give up. There was a fire burning inside me -
a desire to prove myself to the world.

In August of that year, I joined the Chem Olymp Uz team, a group of

dedicated individuals who shared my passion for chemistry. Under the
guidance of our teachers, we embarked on a journey that pushed us
beyond our limits.
For months, we immersed ourselves in the world of chemistry, tackling
complex problems and conducting experiments. We studied tirelessly,

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pushing ourselves to excel. Slowly but surely, our hard work began to pay
off.

In April of 2023, I received the news I had been waiting for - I had been
selected to represent my country at the 57th International Mendeleev
Chemistry Olympiad. It was a moment of pure elation, a validation of all
the sacrifices I had made.

But the real challenge was yet to come. In May 2023, I boarded a plane
bound for Kazakhstan, where the Olympiad would be held. As I settled
into my seat, anticipation and nervous excitement coursed through me.
The next six days would be the most important of my life.
The opening ceremony at Nazarbayev University was a sight to behold,
with participants from 21 countries coming together to celebrate the spirit
of competition. As I looked around, I felt a sense of kinship with my
fellow competitors.

And so, the competition began. For six grueling days, we were put to the
test with theoretical and practical challenges. Each task pushed us to our
limits, testing our knowledge, skills, and creativity.
But through it all, I refused to be daunted. With each problem I faced, I
drew on years of preparation and training. Slowly but surely, I began to
see my hard work pay off.

The laboratory tours were perhaps the most challenging part of the
competition, requiring us to apply our knowledge in a real-world setting.
But I approached each task with confidence, knowing I had the support
of my teammates.
And then, finally, it was over. As I stood on the stage, receiving my silver
medal, I felt a sense of pride, unlike anything I had ever experienced. It
was a moment of triumph, a validation of all my hard work.
But as I looked out at the sea of faces before me, I knew this journey was
about more than winning medals. It was about resilience, determination,
and believing in oneself. It was about pushing past limits and discovering
true potential.

And as I whispered those words to myself once more, tears streaming

down my face, I knew these six days would stay with me forever. They
were a reminder of what could be accomplished with hard work and

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determination. And they were a testament to the power of never giving up,
no matter the challenges.

The lessons I learned during those six days in Kazakhstan would shape
the rest of my life. They taught me that success is not always about
winning – it's about the journey, the struggle, and the perseverance. And
most importantly, they taught me that, no matter how difficult the road
may seem, giving up is never an option.

CineBiblioPhile, Tashkent

96.

The Library's Loyal Visitor"

"Libraries store the energy that fuels the imagination. They open up
windows to the world and inspire us to explore and achieve and
contribute to improving our quality of life." - Sidney Sheldon
In our small town, there were two libraries. The first library was far from
home, and the other was just down the street. The library was humble and
quite small, with few books and visitors. I used to go to this library from
time to time, but I will never forget this particular event.

Around three months ago, I borrowed some books, and I had almost
finished reading them. However, I either couldn't be bothered or didn't
have time to return them. One day after school, I decided to return the
books to the library. As always, there was no one in the library except for
the librarian who was busy writing something. After handing over the
book, I began to browse the shelves to find another book. Suddenly, the
librarian spoke up:
"I can't give you a book. It's been three months since you took it away.
The deadline was only a week. What if you don't bring it back?" she said,
checking the deadline.
"No, I'll bring it back. I just forgot to return it," I replied.

While searching for a book, an old man entered the library. He wore
worn-out clothes and had snow-white hair and beard. Though his pockets
were empty, his mind was rich with curiosity and a hunger for knowledge.

160
In his hands, he held two books: "Dunyoning Ishlari" by Oʻtkir
Khoshimov and "War and Peace" by Tolstoy.
He handed over the books and apologized, "I'm sorry. I wanted to bring it
back yesterday, but I had a terrible ache in my back and couldn't stand
due to old age. I apologize a thousand times."

"It's okay, don't feel guilty. Would you like to borrow another book?"
asked the librarian.

"Yes, of course, but I want to read the book here," he replied, searching
for another book.

When he saw me, he smiled kindly, took a book, and sat near the
window.

You know, I felt very guilty because he apologized so much for being one
day late. He had shown such remorse, while I hadn't even said sorry once.
While others indulged in idle gossip and fleeting conversations, this old
man found solace within the library's hallowed halls. It was here that he
sought refuge from the hardships of his daily life, finding comfort in the
company of books rather than people. Every time I saw him at the library,
he was engrossed in a book, transported to another world with other
people. He was very poor but rich with curiosity and knowledge.

Iroda, Jizzakh

97.

Once my teacher said that everything happens for a reason.

It made me remember of one autumn afternoon.

My dad works as an officer in military, and he has dedicated over 30 years

of his life to this job.
As a little girl, I would see him only twice or thrice a year, and each time I
had to be told that he was my father as I couldn’t remember him. He
spent those months on the borders of our country, “protecting us,” as
mother used to say. We moved from one city to another, and I changed
schools more times than I can remember. I speak in various dialects
because I was able to pick up some of the each language they spoke.

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My dad is a military man which means that he is angry more often than
other dads. It means that when he comes home tired and stressed, the
best thing for us to do was to keep dead silence at home so he wouldn’t
snap at one of us. It also means that at certain times of his life he used to
both drink and smoke. Each time one of the army members rose in status
they would throw an evening celebration with food and a lot of beer.
That’s what dad I have.

But I love him. I love that compared to most children, I can very open
with my dad and even discuss topics I can’t talk about with mom. I love
that when mother plays strict and doesn’t allow me certain things, be that
buying something or going somewhere, my father is always ready to let me
do what I want. I love that when all the relatives talk ill about my “nasty”
behavior, my dad is always there to take my side. That’s what dad I have.

Several years ago, when I was not yet even a teenager, I spent my
afternoon in the military camp where they were testing and practicing on
helicopters. I was playing with the fallen golden leaves on the ground in
my own miniature military form, a present from dad.

The soldiers would let me take a look on the interiors of the helicopters
showing what a beauty it was. I decided to play spoiled and started
pleading to let me fly on the test with the soldiers. Dad said, absolutely no.
It’s dangerous.

I kept asking why can’t I if other people here are allowed. They are
soldiers, he answered. I was extremely angry at dad as we stared at the
ascending helicopter.
It was beautiful.
Until the helicopter came crashing down. After some mad rotations and
rapid descent it hit the ground with a lot of force. The two people on it
didn’t survive.

It was a strange realization that if I happened to be on that helicopter I

could have been dead now.
We mourned the soldiers. Went to their homes.
And I thought that.

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Yes, I guess everything happens for a reason. Sometimes even such small
things change or save our lives.
Dilrabo, Samarkand

98.

Recently I have watched Little Women and for the first time I could relate
to a movie and sympathize with the characters. I thought the sisters in the
movie very much reminded me of my own sisters.
The thing about having sisters is you will inevitably argue with them a lot,
loathe them at times. They may seem like the nastiest girls sometimes.
But at the end, they are the ones I am going to rely on and share my worst
moments. We are four sisters in the family, and I think I am pretty lucky
to have them.

I am the eldest girl. The one a year younger is Ruxshona, our dutar
player. She is slightly rude and tough-built, and far from what you would
call feminine. She would rather look after the cattle in the field than help
me in the kitchen. We used to fight a lot with her and Malika over
household jobs – our third girl – mainly because Ruxshona thought
household jobs were for girls like me while she finds playing outside with
boys more interesting and because Malika is more arrogant than seems
appropriate. Malika used to spend her afternoons in the living room
sewing pretty dresses for her dolls and knitting something. Honestly, the
only sibling I am very close to and whom I could be less defensive with
was always Shaxzoda – our youngest sister. She is quiet, kind and rarely
ever argues with anybody. She also plays piano.

Growing up as little girls in the outskirts of Samarkand we thought only of

the little world we were in. Each of us had their own worries but as with
any other young girls, those were never serious. We were just little girls.
Until we weren’t.

We used to sometimes hear from other people that our mother is of a

“bad breed,” that she is a thief and that she borrows money often but
rarely ever returns. Several times we would not be let into a shop “until
our mother paid back her debt.” I never knew if it was true. I never
believed she would steal from anyone because she was our kind loving

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mother. She would make pancakes for us in the mornings and saw
beautiful, unusual clothes for us.

Two years ago, on cold autumn day, we went to a bazaar with mother to
buy shawls for us. We couldn’t understand why mother kept on crying.
Maybe because yesterday one stranger man came to our house and
threatened to burn our house if mother didn’t give back his money. We
were alone at home, dad working in Russia. She didn’t talk to us much
either. She bought the shawls and a few sweets for Shaxzoda. When we
reached the house gate, she told us to go in and that she would enter later.
We did as she told.

After half an hour or so, we heard a young woman’s screaming. It was our
neighbor, young kelinka who was also pregnant. We rushed out to see
what the commodity was.

Only to find out our mother hung by a rope attached to a tree branch.
There she was, our mother. The young woman screaming, my sisters
crying, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to close Shaxzoda’s eyes but I
couldn’t detach my own from the body of my mother, which wasn’t
breathing anymore.

Once, when I was not even twelve I think, I got scolded by mother for not
cleaning up the kitchen although it was my sister’s turn to do so. I told it
was unfair that it was her who was at fault but there I was taking the
responsibility. Mother sat down beside me and told that’s what it is to be
the eldest child. You take responsibility. You are the care-giver. You are
the protector. You are the peace-maker. When your sisters stumble and
make mistakes, you are the one who is going to lift them up and let them
continue. You are born to be wiser and more mature than them.
I think she was right.

After a few moments, I hugged my scared little sister and covered my

sisters’ eyes. I told them to calm down. That I am here. That we are here.
Neighbors quickly took mother’s body down and untied the rope. We
were rushed into our homes with one neighbor old woman who looked
after us until our relatives came.
Shaxzoda was taken to our aunt’s to distract her a little bit. Dad came
from Russia after a few days. Mother’s side blamed my father’s for driving

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mom desperate and threatened to take us with themselves. They didn’t,
however. We, three sisters, were left as the only ones who would look
after the house. We had only our grandmother from women.

We all changed so much. The spark I used to see in my sisters’ eyes was
replaced by dull grieve and helplessness. I thought of ways to entertain
them whenever possible. We all took up our household responsibilities
diligently and promised we would stay by each other’s side no matter
what. While one would work in the field others would be either cleaning
or cooking or looking after grandmother. I saw my sisters crying a lot and
would sit hugging them until they calmed down, but I made sure they
never saw my tears. We had enough pain already.

One day, however, when my little sister returned home from aunt’s she
went to her piano and sat down next to it. I observed her from the
doorway as she opened her sheets notebook and there on the corner of it
was a photo of my dad and mom. Quiet tears flowed down her cheeks as
she stared at the photo. I couldn’t hold myself from crying too. I went and
knelt down beside her, and there, my head on her laps, cried. Told I
missed my mother. That I was angry with her for choosing the easy way
and leaving us like this. How could she? When she had four girls who
loved her so much? Why would other people’s words matter? We would
find a way of getting her out of the debt if she had any. If only she had let
us.
I always believed our youngest was always the most mature among us.

A year later, my dad married another woman. She is kind, beautiful, I

think I could even like her in the future. She got divorced once. Now, dad
told, she would help us with the household so we wouldn’t struggle much.
He told I must not give up on my studies and that I have only a year till
university.

Two of my sisters are going to musical schools in the city. Malika is

planning on opening her own studio once she grows up and become a
designer.
And as about me.. hopefully, I will become a teacher. I already know
French and Arabic, planning to add yet another language.
I ask God to make our future bright. And I am confident that whatever
awaits, we have each other to support.

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 Anora, Samarkand

99.

The first thing that caught my attention in Namangan was the noise. Of
course, the noise of those surrounding me speaking in a new language was
an anticipated “shock,” but I had traveled to many non-English speaking
countries before. The noise of Uzbek did not startle me. Rather, I was
first unsettled by the constant white noise of my new surroundings, which
signaled to my subconscious brain that this place was truly different from
my home in California.

Before my departure for Uzbekistan, I had been living with my family in a

small coastal town called Thousand Oaks. Our neighborhood is separated
from major roadways by small hills and hiking trails. Living at home, I had
become accustomed to falling to sleep to the sound of crickets, owls, and
the occasional howl of a coyote. In my new home, located near the
bustling Chorsu bazar, my eyes now drifted off to the sounds of trucks, car
horns, and the occasional loud discussion being held below my window.
In daytime, I found myself turning up the volume of my earphones to an
uncomfortable level just to hear my music over the roaring engine of the
damas and the aggressive dialogue of my fellow passenger who preferred
to yell into their phone instead of maintaining a normal volume. I felt that
Namangan had no sound of “life,” as the natural sounds of weather and
animals seemed consumed by the sounds of industry and commotion.

While my previous travels and readings on “culture shock” had prepared

me to navigate differences in traditions, societal expectations, language &
gestures, and even different approaches to cooking and healthcare, I
arrived to Uzbekistan somewhat ignorant in handling small changes to
public behavior and habits. I had anticipated some challenges with
“culture shock,” but I never expected to be utterly defeated by something
as miniscule as noise pollution!

But like many things in life, this small frustration grew on me. As I began
to find my place in Namangan, I felt a strong camaraderie for all of its
“quirks,” including the noise. As I laid by head on my pillow at night, the
sounds of automobiles rolling past my window no longer disturbed me.

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Rather, these noises reminded me that I wasn’t falling asleep alone. Sitting
in the damas, I learned to appreciate the loud dialogues of my fellow
passengers as a modern rarity. So many of us young people around the
world never even notice the faces of our fellow passengers, let alone strike
up a conversation, always glued to our devices. And having observed the
digitization of shopping in my hometown, I became grateful for
shopkeepers in Namangan shouting “keling, keling!” from their
storefronts and the human interaction necessary to buy goods at the bazar.

As the months went by, I began to explore the surrounding villages in

Namangan region. In Chust, I heard the playful sounds of fountains in the
central park. In Kosonsoy, I felt connected to nature through the sound of
the babbling stream. And one night in Mingbuloq, I was gifted with the
howl of a coyote as I opened my guestroom door.

All of these sounds – industry, commotion, nature – served as a testament

to the livelihood of Namangan. It’s a noisy city, but it’s a city that’s alive!
The noise depicts the energy of its dynamic inhabitants, from hustling
businessowners to hardworking students and large families.
I finally left the city after three years even though I was originally invited to
teach English for a year. It is the longest I have ever lived in a place
outside of my hometown, and it has truly become my second home. And
as silly as it sounds, I’m beginning to miss its car horns dearly.

Eleanor Barker, California

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100.

Prologue

This project has collected hundreds of stories around the country, and
only 101 were supposed to be chosen for the book. Eventually, I have
decided to stick only with 71 and write the remaining 30 myself. Those 30
stories were ones I have heard from my acquaintances and relatives, or
the stories which some teenagers couldn’t write themselves for various
reasons – language barriers, for instance – and therefore asked me to
write. Those 30 are not marked or separated in this book in any way, and
have been written solely from the perspective of those teenagers and not
mine.

However, the following story is about a life of a young person, the son of
my mother’s friend. I would like to express my deep gratitude to her for
sharing such an intimate experience and allowing me to document it as
well.

The young person’s name is Ahror.

***

The dimly-lit room has a slightly cool feel as if the long-forgotten parents
house, the one once full of summer memories, has been finally renewed
with new habitants. The dark wooden shelves and table are clean and the
overall look is reasonably neat, but the cozy warmness of a home is
absent. It reminded me of times when my family would come back from
Tashkent to our hometown to find how desolate our house got without
our presense.

It's maghrib time, the sky outside darkening behind the clouds and highly-
saturated leaves of grape tree covering the house canopy. I sip the cold
water to ease my tension, unsure whether it’s Madina opa or me who is
more nervous. But no, she seems completely undisturbed as she asks me

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about my studies and family and how my mom’s doing. I answer, thinking
of the best time to move to her son’s story. Her little daughter, around 10
years of age, is playing her phone next to us on the sofa.
Finally, I ask:
- I think you are already aware of my project and what we are
doing.
- Yes, your mother told.
- So… I just thought, won’t it be uncomfortable for you to share
the story-
- No, it won’t. Don’t worry. I look at it with logic and reality, and I
understand that what’s gone is gone, I accept that.
- Ah.. that’s good then. So, can you then please tell when it all
began?

***

“So, it was almost 2 years ago, a few days before his 15th birthday, which
is on 29th of January.
He complained about diarrhea. You know, birthday celebrations are
always full of sweets and not-very-healthy food so I thought that was the
reason why it didn’t pass. But two weeks gone, his diarrhea still bothered
him. The stomach ache got worse so after a few days I took him to
Republican Children’s Center, where he was diagnosed with gastritis. The
doctor told that it’s usually fast food, sodas and energy drinks to blame.
Ahror admitted that at school they do drink them quite often. I didn’t
think much of it, as young people always indulge in such food, and I let
my children decide what to eat.
We had to go through colonoscopy, but all centers were closed due to
celebration of 21st of March. When a few days later there was now blood
in stool, I knew something was definitely wrong.
Having lost around a week, we went through the tests which showed that
he had Ulcerative colitis.
The following weeks were spent with different hospitals sending us from
one center to another, looking at his condition once and prescribing it all
to colitis. Having lost again more time, I then texted to a health clinic in
Turkey, who told that it’s certainly not colitis and that we need to clarify
the diagnosis.

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Ahror always seemed to be out of place here in Uzbekistan. In
kindergarten he was really hot-headed and fought a lot, but as he got in
school, he couldn’t quite fit in.
You know, children in their young age are usually interested in cool
clothes, cars and how to show off to other peers. Ahror was never
interested in cars. He never even sat on the front seat, saying he wouldn’t
risk his life like that.
He was interested in brand clothes, a lot, but not the ones popular here.
He would order premium clothes from abroad that only a few people
here knew.
He got deeply interested in biology after I suggested him to take up
medicine. He knew it so well that he could easily tell what plant it is,
where it originated from, whether it was a hybrid and if yes then with what.
He even wanted to buy a microscope.

We flew to Moscow in May.

After a biopsy in an Israeli health clinic, we were told that Ahror had stage
4 colon cancer.

I texted to clinics in Turkey, Germany, Korea and Israel with our

diagnosis details. Turkey and Germany told they couldn’t take on this as it
was “obvious he wouldn’t last long.” Korea said that they had never seen
such a case with a patient so young. Only Israel agreed to perform surgery,
although it was considered very risky. Fortunately, one Uzbek professor
worker there – our acquaintance – who decided to take the responsibility
on himself and perform the operation. The surgery took 3,5 hours.
As cancer cells began to spread to other body parts, however, Ahror had
to receive chemotherapy.

Later, he had colostomy - surgery to create an opening for the colon (large
intestine) through the abdomen – to prevent remaining organs from
contamination. He hated it all, hated having a tube connected to his
stomach. The first question he asked before chemotherapy was whether
his hair would fall out, to which the doctor, also in humorous tone,
answered that no, he won’t lose his hair.

Ahror cared for his appearance a lot. He had many face masks that he
would put on in the evenings, various lotions and very thorough skin-care
routine. He would get angry if he spotted any pimples on his face. He had

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long hair that he took care of very diligently. I would sometimes joke that
if he walked round the streets of Namangan with such hair, he would
certainly get beaten up. That’s why he always told that moving to Tashkent
was the best decision I had made as a mother.

His interests were certainly different. He shaved his legs, did his nails
sometimes. Once he even wanted to color his hair. I had no problems
with these, as I knew that as a teenager one tries out everything and that all
that was temporary (although I doubt his father’s reaction would be the
same). He was completely open with me, could talk on any topic. At times
he would get unsure whether or not religion was a human invention and at
times he would become a devoted muslim. Yes, he wandered a lot. He
was open to everything.

Doctors told that we had to have a break from chemotherapy for 6

months. They didn’t agree when I suggested the break to be 3 months,
urging that we had to let his body rest. He lost a lot of weight. It ached, he
told, so “if he knew it was going to be this painful, he would never agree.”
We came to Uzbekistan, where he spent his last months.

Throughout all this time, I wasn’t scared of his death. It’s something that
happens to everyone, isn’t it? What I was scared of the most was seeing
him suffer. Seeing him go through so much pain. Cancer is an extremely
exhausting disease – a slow death, in other words.

He was optimistic till the very end. But in the last month, I think he
already knew he was going to die. I sometimes think that the reason I am
not bitter or angry at the world is the reassuring thank-yous my son always
said to me. He thanked me for letting him have such a good childhood
and that he doesn’t regret anything. I am grateful at least for the fact that I
could give him that, good childhood.”

The little daughter hugging her mother passes me a tissue. I take it, wiping
the tears I wished I could hold. I think the daugher has seen her mother
cry a lot, and is afraid of seeing her upset again. She keeps her hugging
throughout the whole talk, asking whether she needs more tissues.

I had a lot of things I couldn’t tell at the moment. With heavy silence, I
could only track her eyes’ movements and see what she went through.

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He was a young man strong enough to accept his fate without looking for
pity. Although the cancer broke his body, it never broke his spirit nor the
never-inappropriate irony. He loved collecting money under his pillow,
and to his elder sister’s sarcastic remarks like “Where would you take
these to if you are going to die anyway?” he would reply with an equally
sarcastic “you will bury me with these like a pharaoh.”
As the only son of his mother, he knew his mother would suffer tenfold
than him. Seeing her cry, he comforted her with “Don’t cry ma, I am just
happy that I am not married so I am not going to widow anyone.” When
his internal organs failed one by one and special tubes were connected to
his abdomen, he would throw a fit pleading to take those ugly things away.
His pride never diminished.
His older sister stayed in Tashkent instead of going abroad to the
universities she was accepted to, as she knew they wouldn’t be able to
afford both with her brother’s condition. She told she would never forgive
herself if on her brother’s last days she wouldn’t be able to be next to him.

His death was expected. And his mother was ready for over a year. She
knew her son would leave her and that was the fate. She knew she had to
carry on with her life as her son told her to. But she never knew how
lonely her house would be without the weight of the ill child, whose
presense could not be left behind, whose presense and pain the mother
was desperately holding on. She knew she had to let him go, to stop his
pain and let everyone breathe. She wasn’t bitter. She just didn’t have any
emotions left.
“I couldn’t do what a son had to, ma. I made you suffer, I made you get
older before your time. I didn’t do anything that a son had to. I’m sorry,
mom.”

She felt sorry that she dragged him for so long. When the doctors said he
had only 6 months to live, he carried on for 2 years. Through
chemotherapy. Through shrinking of his body. Through slow decay.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have tortured him so much. Maybe I had to let him
go at the very beginning. He left anyway. He would leave.”

“The thing that makes me upset the most is the fact that he was aware of
his slow death. When his organs began failing, he knew exactly what was
happening. In the last weeks, when he couldn’t go outside, he himself

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would tell us what medications to bring. It just hurts that he knew
everything even at times when I didn’t.”

A day before his death he told her that he could no longer move on. “Let
me go, mom. I can’t anymore. I’m tired.” And she did. “Go,” she said,
“go on.”

He passed away on 6th of May, 2024.

I tell her she is a strong person, to which she replies that she wishes she
weren’t.

“Of course, I accept that perhaps God decided that this way was better. I
don’t know why. Maybe we will see once we go there too. For now, I just
believe that it had to be this way. But.
It’s still hard to lose a child, you know. I tell myself I am realistic, but I
cannot say I fully accepted his death yet.
I still can’t accept that. I just tell myself he is in China – where he was
planning to study pharmacy – and that he will come back. I don’t know,
it’s just easier for me this way. Maybe in the future I will be able to accept
it, and maybe it’s self-deception, but for now I can’t do otherwise. I don’t
even go to his cemetery because for me he isn’t dead. Even the flat where
he spent his last days is left the way we left it on 5th of May – his clothes,
pills, even his shoes are all there. I cannot remove them yet.”

She then pointed to the sofa I was sitting on and told that it was there he
lay and took his last breath.
They lived in a flat close to the family house. On 5th of May, he asked to
be moved to the house.
“Perhaps he felt his death was approaching.”

I’ve heard somewhere once that the dominating feeling for a parent is not
that of love but fear. You are constantly terrified of the possibility of
something dreadful happening to your child. You brought him to this
world, but you are nevertheless afraid of the world harming your child. So
perhaps when they leave this life, however sad that may be, a parent gets
relieved in the comfort of their love being in a safer place.
Perhaps.

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“Do you have any favorite memories with him?”
“Well, it’s not like I have one or several favorite moments with him. They
all are valuable to me that now he is gone.
But one thing that comes to mind is how everyday he would come to my
bedroom and wake me up, hugging, and with such a wide smile like that
of the Grinch. I used to call it a Grinch smile. I think I missed that, him
waking me and saying good night every day.”

“I am moving on, slowly. I wouldn’t like to lose myself. It’s hard, yes, but I
still have two more daughters that need me.”

I finish my cup and look at the sofa she pointed at earlier.

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101.

When the apple had not yet ripen

We have spent our days and nights
Into neighbor’s gardens creeping,
Stealing sour and greenish fruits.

Foolish, wild and slightly dizzy,

We have seen the best of life,
Never thoughtful, never busy,
Days so cheerful and bright.

Our brothers, our sisters,

We would build our kingdom come,
Playing leaves and stones of garden
Till “dinner’s ready” from our mom.

Sweet and meaty dumplings

With sour cream and hot black tea.
Saying thank you for the cookings
And back to streets to set one free.

We were children
We were simple
Love was cheap and deep-heart-driven
Life was little
Life was easy
We were simply living the life given.

Nodira

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 Note:
All the money collected from the sellings will be sent to “Ezgu
Amal” – one of the first oncology charity funds in Uzbekistan.

Uniting in fight against cancer

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 About the author

Nodira was born in Namangan. Previously published “Behind the

Geniuses of Literature.”

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