First, an announcement: published poet and contributor Tao Yucheng would like to host and judge a poetry contest open to all readers of Synchronized Chaos Magazine.
Synchronized Chaos Poetry Contest
We seek short, powerful, imaginative, and strange poetry. While we welcome all forms of free verse and subject matter, we prefer concise work that makes an impact.
Guidelines: Submit up to five poems per person to taoyucheng921129@proton.me. Each poem should not exceed one page (ideally half a page or less). All styles and themes welcome. Deadline for submissions will be in early March.
Prizes: First Place: $50 Second Place: $10, payable via online transfer. One Honorable Mention. Selected finalists will be published in Synchronized Chaos Magazine.
From the back of the book: J.J. Campbell’s work is an unflinching look into a life spent alone with the bottle and the page readily at hand. It is raw, honest, and uncompromising in every sense of the word. You are keyed into the fact that this is a writer who doesn’t sugarcoat a single line to ever soften the blow. Campbell’s work is perfect in that sense, and in this newest collection, you are getting a writer at the top of his form.
Now, for our first issue of 2026. This issue explores what makes us who we are, physically and psychologically, as individuals and as communities and nations.
Nicholas Gunther explores what makes him human, where in his body his consciousness might be located. Kassandra Aguilera also speculates about her consciousness, considering what makes her feel alive.
Xudoyberdiyeva Mohiniso explores some Eastern and Western philosophical conceptions of what it means to live a conscious human life. Morley Cacoethes’ haikus also explore where and how we find inner wisdom and knowledge. Nilufar Mo’ydinova outlines themes of free will and the search for truth through experience in Goethe’s Faust.
Brian Michael Barbeito crafts a lyrical winter meditation on a person’s holding onto nature and his identity in an alienating new world. Satimboyeva Risolat echoes the importance of maintaining one’s personal values. Mahbub Alam urges people to draw on the wisdom they possess to make the world more just and healthier. Türkan Ergör considers the unpredictable nature of our lives and the need to choose kindness. Zeki Celic reminds us to make the most of the limited time we each have on earth as Stephen Jarrell Williams depicts characters choosing freedom, peace, and love.
Aliyeva Aziza Utkirovna points to the eyes as a place where humans reveal their inner feelings. Nurbek Norchayev’s evocative piece celebrates the power of poetry to convey emotion and sensibility. Aliyeva Zulaykho highlights the role of breath in vocal expression while reading texts.
Chloe Schoenfeld delves into Walter Gramatte’s painting of German artist, art historian, and social activist Rosa Schapire. She wonders how much of the craft of creating a likeness is about the subject and how much is about the associations the artist draws on to help them imagine and understand the person.
Shomurodova Dilafro’z Bahodir qizi explores approaches to Uzbek linguistics that focus more on the people creating texts rather than merely on the texts as isolated objects. Fayziyeva Hafiza Alisher qizi also looks at human life and culture’s influence upon languages.
J.K. Durick reflects on the seasons of life where we are observers, contemplating those around us or what has happened. Taylor Dibbert‘s poetic speaker considers his own role in the dissolution of his marriage. Bill Tope’s short story depicts family pulled apart, then back together, then apart again.
Dr. Jernail Singh urges parents to let their young adult children learn and work for their own dreams in life. Also, he reminds us to consider the legacies we leave behind for the rest of the world once we become successful enough to care for ourselves and our families. Tolqinova Marifatoi Shavkatjon qizi outlines research into approaches to social and vocational training for young adults.
Lan Qyqalla recollects his romance with his late wife as Adalat Eroglu versifies about a tender romance and Özcan İşler urges his love to remember him. Nasser Alshaikh Ahmed Arabia’s poetic mind wanders through the jasmine-scented depths and alleyways of love. Ramona Yolanda-Montiel considers an old and warm poncho as a sign of her family’s love. J.J. Campbell writes his way through another lonely, disillusioned holiday, wishing he had love and a close family.
Aleksandra Soltysiak wonders at gentle miracles at Christmas, within nature and within families. Gabriel Bates reflects on the ways he distracts and enjoys himself during holiday celebrations. S. Afrose sings of the joys of the Christmas season. Til Kumari Sharma highlights the beauty and value of the Christian faith at Christmas as Maja Milojkovic expresses gratitude to the archangel Michael. Kalipada Ghosh celebrates life, faith, love, and joy at the holiday season. Sardar Makhmudova’s short story shares how a little girl’s brave adventure lets her discover the meaning of the season, sharing love with others. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai goes into poetic rapture about romantic love, world peace, and personal stillness.
Ahmed Miqdad laments the cold winter endured by Palestinian refugees in a call for global peace and justice. Pat Doyne reflects on the United States’ gun violence epidemic and the lack of progress to tackle it. Also, she speaks to the political chaos in America and its negative effects on consumer prices. Giulia Mozzati Zacco mourns the deaths of children in school shootings through the ancient form of the ghazal. Ziyoda Muradilova reflects on cultural pressures that social media has placed on the craft of journalism, to be fast, interactive, and appealing to readers, and how that poses challenges to the task of delivering truth.
Eva Petropoulou Lianou reminds us that true freedom is a society where people can live safely together, not merely the chance to serve ourselves at others’ expense. Dr. Jernail Singh reminds us that what goes around, comes around, both in terms of the legal system and the religious concept of karma. Duane Vorhees points out that concepts such as justice and poetry and perception should not remain purely abstract but carry practical meanings in the real world.
Abdulrazaq Godwin Omeiza considers how formal education taught him the facts of history, but poetry showed him how to survive it. Ruqaya Mehran, interviewed by poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou, discusses her work as a museum guide, influencer, and historian of ancient Egypt. Dylan Lloyd speaks to the emerging, burgeoning magic of creativity. Taro Hokkyo’s short story illustrates the power of self-belief in overcoming oppression and obstacles. Zaxina Tohirova highlights the lessons we can learn from failure and perseverance. Aziza Xasamova urges us through piercing prose not to give up, whatever happens in our lives.
Elza Hansen celebrates the maternal and paternal love at the heart of the Christmas holiday. Abu Rayhan Beruni connects the importance of strong families to a strong nation.
Dildora Khojyozova highlights the cultural renaissance of the nation of Uzbekistan as Diyorbek Elmirzayev looks at Uzbekistan’s increasing government debt as an outgrowth of economic growth and investments in modernization. Lolaxon Sodiqxonova highlights the importance of gender equality and initiatives to empower Uzbek women in economics and education. Dilshoda Nodir qizi Nurboboyeva presents strategies for educating and raising children without gender stereotypes. Priyanka Neogi urges women around the world to move forward with self-respect, creativity, and independence. Ashraf Al-Mismar provides a literary analysis of gender, identity, and migration in his novel Soul Shards.
Communication is integral to intercultural understanding and migration. Shaxriniso Savranboyeva outlines various approaches to translating idioms across languages and cultures. Saminjon Khakimov points to how language instructors can harness the phenomenon of code-switching, reverting to one’s native tongue, in the classroom. Abdurashidova Sabina Eldarovna highlights teen code-switching, from normal language to chat-speak and slang. Eshpo’latova Xilola highlights the role of audiovisual teaching aids in enhancing students’ foreign language acquisition. Ruziyeva Sitora outlines why and how English is still considered a global language as Ubaydullayeva Saodat discusses the role of English in international travel.
Abdullayeva Feruza suggests visual activities that help accentuate young children’s learning. Yusupov Otajon Ulug’bek ogli outlines various creative approaches to teaching and learning foreign languages. Gulsevar Amirqulova encourages teachers to practice and develop their own creativity as part of professional development. Jo’ranazova Dilobar Dilmurod qizi highlights different ways to teach young children their mother tongue. Nasulloyeva Feruzabonu expounds on the value of science and technology education for society in ways that go above and beyond the practical. Dr. Jernail Singh Anand urges society and our educational system to teach wisdom and the humanities rather than simply focusing on speeding up students’ financial success. Bahora Akmalova considers approaches to teaching preschool children social skills in a classroom setting. Rupa Rao interviews writing mentor Balachandran Nair about his work with emerging authors.
Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews Dr. Reda Abdel Rahim, inspector of Egyptian antiquities at the Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, about his work with artifacts of his nation’s past. Jeffrey Spahr-Summers’ digitally altered photographs glimpse a more recent past, giving homes and street scenes a hazy, nostalgic feel.
Image c/o Jeffrey Spahr Summers
Sayani Mukherjee’s imagistic work explores nature, love, loss, and the concept of home. Natasha Leung draws on oceans and canoes as a metaphor for a couple who are separated all too often. Eleanor Hazel Hill reflects on physical mementos of summer fun. Yusufjonova O’gilxon revels in the chill pleasantries of winter. Soumen Roy looks to a river metaphor to express consistent flow, purpose, humility and resilience. Dr. Byeong-Cheol Kang evokes the resoluteness and strength of an eagle. Kujtim Hajdari highlights ecological themes in his review of Eva Petropoulou’s poetry. Axmadqulova Sapuraxon shares ideas for educating preschool children about the environment. A group of youth in China submits various short poems inspired by natural scenes. Alan Catlin patters out imagistic pieces inspired by various Japanese words for rain as O’rinboyeva Zarina speculates on life on a planet where rain is a rarity. Robert Beckvall reflects on his life’s winding path and how it deposited him on the lush big island of Hawaii. Mesfakus Salahin looks to the longer-lasting natural world for absolution from his complex memories. Riley Winters laments human exploitation of animals and the wilderness.
Mykyta Ryzhykh evokes the inextricable natures of life and death. Alyssa Trivett graphically renders the aftermath of a car accident. Nilufar Yoldoshova outlines similarities and differences between Uzbek and Korean funeral customs. Tea Russo’s work dramatizes the soul-killing effects of grief, loneliness, and shame. Gabriel Kang’s work exposes exploitation disguised as progress and love. Robin Beernaert outlines the psychological impact of a griever’s journey through poetry and prose.
Jessica Vanderwall composes an emotionally complex love letter to herself. Daniela Chourio-Soto reflects on the power of dreams to express and warn us about feelings in our waking lives. Joshua Obirija paints a lower-case portrait of the grief and lostness driving his writing.
Adrina Esparas-Hope crafts a graphic image of visceral love that could be a metaphor for creative pursuits. Brian Barbeito lets go of the need to understand everything before he can experience beauty and mystery. Texas Fontanella’s work revels in color and improvisation, reminiscent of jazz and electronica. Mark Young artistically alters geographical maps of checkerboards and Australian regions. Grant Guy intentionally erases parts of painted and typed texts as an artistic experiment. Zamira Moldiyeva Bahodirovna encourages readers and students to take up a refreshing and creative hobby. Federico Wardal explores the career and casting decisions of artists’ manager Adriano Aragozzini.
More practical fields can be creative as well. Shahlo Rustamova explores the role of discrete mathematics, particularly combinatorics, in understanding biological structures. Farangiz Musurmonova urges Uzbek accounting frameworks to match those of international professional standards. Medical student O’roqova Nargiza outlines the importance of salivary glands in the human body. Normurodova Salina Saitkulovna discusses how the medical field prepares for pandemics. Ahmedova Dilorom Mahmudovna highlights the progress of medical therapies for cancers caused by human papillomavirus.
We hope that this issue will inspire your creativity!
The Drama of the Snow and Sebastian Sumac in that Season
-words and picture by Brian Michael Barbeito
It kept descending in the night, and for the most part, seemed like a wild secret or strange dream. It was pretty, certainly, like silent music orchestras floating around the industrial grade electric lights of town roads curt and organized or the playfully amidst Christmas bulbs residential and red, blue, yellow, green, and even purple.
And there were dreams when Sebastian Sumac did fall asleep amidst his books. A Malcolm Lowry book, a Charlie Brown book called, You’ve Got a Friend Charlie Brown, and a few others. He dreamt of clothing and people that he had outgrown, situations that didn’t fit him anymore. The subconscious was figuring things out. Many of the dreams had him lost in large cities with multitudes around, a populace that he didn’t know or fit into. He tried always to find his way home, or a sympathetic soul, but rarely encountered either.
And out there the winds northern blew the new snow to and from, and made wild crazed drifts across country roads, roads that had white outs for there was nothing to break or block the snow drifts. Finally, if one were travelling from the north to the south, the first structure of the town was an impossibly old church with stained yellow bricks, a marker of another time. It had a graveyard in the back with about thirty or forty souls buried and the stone markers though tall and well built, didn’t have the names any longer as time and seasons had eroded them. Now, each it was just a memory a soul anonymous, as perhaps little, or no other souls knew who the departed were.
Then places where the nocturnal animals travelled widely. Deer. Coyote. Perhaps other things. Their tracks could be seen on the bright of days after the snowstorms and sometimes it seemed they had gone along the very middle of frozen streams, beige reeds, and bushes on the sides very still then in time like artifacts from photographs. Sebastian pictured them, and how beautiful all the creatures looked then, say, under the quiet bright moon and going along more like a painting or dream, a separate and somehow dignified world that little to nobody ever saw.
Then the big box stores, their humungous parking lots, some abandoned vehicles on the edges and the odd large transport truck or trailer. The new world had taken over the old world and was spreading like a wave intent on overcoming coastlines and having the pulse and prowess of a seemingly infinite world behind it. Urban sprawl uniform and intentionally unoriginal, and each set of kilometres displaying a series of the same petrol stations and strip plazas and inhabitants also.
In the days Sebastian, who had shed his old name and named himself after the trees that remained red deeply and always struck his consciousness in faraway meadows and fields in a benevolent manner. He had read that some cultures had even used the sumac for dye in clothing. In an ever changing world all one really had was oneself and oneself in that situation was like the sumac when it succeeded…colourful, upright, a unique phenomenon under the azure sky…all and everything peaceful and unique up the way from labyrinthine paths in the whimsical wondrous woodlands and far enough away from the sky infrastructure of troubled and over populated cities and towns.
He stopped often and sat with a warm coffee. The shops had decorated the windows with stickers of towns themselves, towns decorated with trees and snowflakes. Again, the snow. He watched the sticker snow and the light sprinkles of snow arriving outside. And the patrons often talked of such also. ‘They are calling for more on Tuesday,’ or ‘Soon, like last year, we are going to run out of places to put it all…’ Some people were with friends and others with family, but Sumac was mostly alone. Alone with the vision of the snow, the idea of poems and travel logs or epistolary. And with the nights. The drama of dreams, books, and writing…and that snow…sometimes wafting down easily, like a languid journey being had, but also at moments fast, vexatiously even, in a rush, some gods of the other upper world intent on making winter a true winter certainty.
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet, writer, and photographer. His most recent book, a compilation of prose poems and landscape photography, is titled The Book of Love and Mourning.
Student of Denov Institute of Entrepreneurship and Pedagogy
Email: shomurodovadilafruz07@gmail.com
The article discusses the fact that in Uzbek linguistics a number of studies have been carried out on the linguopoetic, pragmatic, derivational, and communicative features of texts, and that the emergence and development of such fields as pragmalinguistics, discourse analysis, cognitive linguistics, and linguoculturology in world linguistics have led to the appearance of serious theoretical approaches in interpreting the phenomenon of text creation.
It is well known that in world linguistics texts were initially approached mainly from semantic and syntactic perspectives. In recent years, especially since the beginning of the 21st century, the tendency to study texts on the basis of linguoculturological, pragmatic, sociolinguistic, cognitive, and psycholinguistic principles has intensified. Texts began to be viewed not merely as a collection of semantically and syntactically connected sentences, but as a form of communication possessing social value and as a mental construct that reflects the knowledge, linguistic thinking, national psychology, and mentality of speakers of a particular language. The formation of the anthropocentric paradigm is associated with the study of the speaker as a linguistic subject. The anthropocentric turn in linguistics shifted attention away from the structuralist principle of studying language “in and for itself” and focused instead on the human factor. The roots of anthropocentrism, which is now recognized as one of the leading paradigms in linguistics, draw upon the theoretical views of W. von Humboldt and L. Weisgerber. The term anthropocentrism is derived from the Greek anthropos (human) and the Latin centrum (center). Initially, the term was used in reference to the ancient Greek philosophical idea that “Man is the center of the universe,” a view that became
especially widespread in medieval Europe. In linguistics, the anthropocentric study of the language system has been manifested primarily in research on linguistic semantics, cognitive linguistics, psycholinguistics, pragmatic linguistics, and linguoculturology. Studies conducted within the framework of the anthropocentric paradigm investigate the language system in close connection with the human factor. Although research by Uzbek linguists in linguistic semantics, pragmatics, and cognitive linguistics demonstrates anthropocentric tendencies, studies in this area are still insufficient.
In particular, approaching text analysis from an anthropocentric perspective has become one of the leading directions in modern linguistics. Many researchers emphasize that in the study of texts as complex and multifaceted phenomena, the triad consisting of the speaker-text-listener (author- text-recipient) should be regarded as the main object. The well-known Russian linguist Yu. N. Karaulov, in the preface to a collection of articles devoted to issues of language and personality, emphasized the idea that “behind every text stands a specific individual who has mastered linguistic systems.” The external and internal structure of a text can be likened to a mirror that reflects the linguistic competence of speakers belonging to a particular nation.
In early studies of text, attention to the text creator was observed mainly in psycholinguistic and pragmalinguistic research, whereas today rapidly developing fields such as cognitive linguistics, functionalism, ethnolinguistics, linguoculturology, and discourse analysis have made this issue one of the central problems of linguistics. The main achievement of the system-structural approach was proving that language is a systemic phenomenon. However, it became evident that these paradigms shared a common shortcoming: language was separated from its owner-the human being. Attempts to overcome this deficiency led to the emergence of pragmatic and cognitive linguistic paradigms.
Professor N. Mahmudov, reflecting on the formation of the anthropocentric paradigm in linguistics, notes that in accordance with the objective nature of language, the anthropocentric paradigm places the human being at the center, while language is regarded as the main component that shapes human personality. Specialists often cite the aphoristic statement of the famous Russian writer S. Dovlatov that “90 percent of a person’s personality is formed by language.” At the same time, the anthropocentric approach to language integrates the latest achievements of these fields and increasingly strengthens its status as an independent paradigm. As recognized in linguistics, the anthropocentric paradigm focuses primarily on the subject of speech activity-that is, the language user who produces and perceives speech. The inclusion of the category of the language user in scientific paradigms necessitates greater attention to concepts such as personality, linguistic consciousness, thinking, activity, mentality, and culture.
At present, the concept of the language user is mainly employed in the following senses: (a) an individual capable of carrying out speech activity in a particular language, that is, capable of producing and perceiving speech; (b) a person who uses language as a means of communication, a communicant; (c) a representative of a particular language community who possesses and manifests the lexical resources reflecting the national-cultural and spiritual values of their people.
In contemporary research, various branches of linguistics approach the issue of the human factor from their specific perspectives. The problem of text interpretation and the human factor is closely connected with issues of text creation and the perception of its content. In studying this problem, it is important to examine not only the text creator but also the perceiving individual-the listener or reader. As N. I. Zhinkin aptly stated, “A person speaks not through individual sentences, but through texts.” Therefore, a person’s stylistic features can be adequately studied only on the basis of the texts they produce.
Investigating the speech style of a writer or creator solely from the perspective of word choice or sentence construction no longer meets contemporary requirements. Consequently, studying text creation from the perspective of individual style enables a deeper examination of the linguistic aspects of texts.
It is well known that cognitology is intrinsically linked with semantics. Today, many researchers regard the 21st century as the age of
interdisciplinary integration. Interdisciplinary cooperation yields effective results in revealing the essence of particular objects of study. Such an approach is especially appropriate in investigating the speech activity of the human personality, a complex phenomenon. Human speech, like the human being itself, is multifaceted and complex. Therefore, cooperation among linguistic disciplines will undoubtedly yield fruitful results.
It should be noted that in the early years of the 21st century, significant research was conducted in Uzbek linguistics within the field of text linguistics. Monographic studies emerged on text linguopoetics, content perception, pragmatic, derivational, and psycholinguistic features of texts, as well as text modality and temporality. Studying texts from the perspectives of their creation, perception, and comprehension further deepens theoretical views on texts. Investigating the mechanisms through which the intellect and thinking patterns of a discourse subject are transformed into textual form makes it possible to identify features specific to the reflection of cognitive models in the Uzbek language. In literary works, especially in prose, the expression of key linguoculturological concepts such as life, death, mother, homeland, love, goodness, justice, and woman frequently occurs. Since literary texts are products of creative activity, the expression of particular concepts in such texts naturally manifests individuality and imagery.
Consider the following text:
By the side of a great road, a tree was growing… By chance, a traveler came to rest beneath it. The day was hot, and the traveler was tired. He sat in the shade of the tree and rested… The traveler grew hungry. He looked and saw that fruits were ripening on the tree. He was too lazy to climb it, so he threw a stone. The fruits fell abundantly. The traveler ate his fill… The destination was far. He broke off a branch from the tree and made a walking stick… Then his throat became dry. He went back under the tree’s shade… Then he continued on his way… The tree began waiting for another traveler… The name of this tree was Goodness… (O’. Hoshimov, “The Tree by the Road”).
In this passage taken from O’. Hoshimov’s book Notes in the Margins, the concept of GOODNESS is expressed. In the text, this concept is represented through the symbol of a tree, and the act of comparison employed in the author’s cognitive- discursive activity gives the text a metaphorical meaning.
Indeed, the most important source for elucidating the relationship between language and personality is the text. A text is not only a speech structure that encompasses all levels of language, but also a phenomenon that fully reveals the linguistic potential of the speaking (or writing) individual. Cognitive metaphors, as one of the factors generating implication, leave their traces in words, phrases, sentences, or entire texts. Units whose meanings have shifted on the basis of metaphor represent the visible part of the “cognitive iceberg” (to use Fauconnier’s term), while its main part remains hidden deep within our linguistic consciousness. It should be noted that the cognitive background phenomenon manifested in such cases has not yet become an object of study in Uzbek linguistics. Studying the cognitive background in connection with metaphor, metonymy, simile, and personification is one of the essential issues of anthropocentric linguistics.
Today, the study of the human factor as the performer of linguistic activity continues to deepen in such linguistic fields as psycholinguistics, linguoculturology, cognitive linguistics, and pragmalinguistics.
References:
1. A. Aliyev, Q. Sodiqov. From the History of the Uzbek Literary Language: A Textbook for University Students. Tashkent: Uzbekistan, 1994. 118 p.
2. U. Tursunov et al. History of the Uzbek Literary Language: A Textbook for University and Pedagogical Institute Philology Students (revised and expanded edition). Tashkent: O’qituvchi, 1995. 264 p.
3. M. Vahoboyev. The Uzbek Socialist Nation.
Tashkent, 1960. pp. 30-32, 49.
4. M. Qodirov. “A Journey into the Wealth of Words.” Labor and Life, no. 4, 1972, pp. 20-21. 5. A. Nabiyev. Historical Local Studies. Tashkent: O’qituvchi, 1979. pp. 63-74.
Shomurodova Dilafruz Bahodir qizi was born on October 3, 2007, in Sariosiyo district of Surkhandarya region, Uzbekistan. She is a first-year student of the Uzbek Language and Literature program at the Denov Institute of Entrepreneurship and Pedagogy of Samarkand State University. She is a holder of a national certificate in her native language and literature. Her scientific articles have been published on the Google Scholar platform. She is also an active member of the Argentina Association of Science and Literature Writers and actively participates in academic and creative activities, holding numerous certificates.
Scott Brown sat on the sofa in the shadowy living room of his modest clapboard house, a warm beer clutched in his hand. His clouded mind journeyed back through the previous year. What might he have done differently? he wondered. And what should he do next? With a tired sigh he sat up straight. There was no time like the present, he decided.
One year ago
The call came in at 3pm Central Standard Time. I was living in Illinois, across the river from St. Louis, 20 minutes from the Gateway Arch. I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored the summons at first. But when the call went to voicemail, they hung up and then called back immediately and, thinking it could be important, I picked up. It was.
I said, “Hello?”
“Mr. Brown, please?” asked the young-sounding male voice. “I need to reach Mr. Brown or another member of the Brown family.”
“You got him,” I said easily, expecting a spiel on a Medicare advantage plan or something. “This is Scott Brown.”
“Mr. Brown, are you related to Phillip Brown?”
Instantly my heart sank. I had neither seen nor heard from Phil for many years and I knew this could not be good news.
“Phil’s my brother,” I told the man.”Mr. Brown,” he said, “this is the San Francisco Medical Examiner. I have some bad news to deliver to you.”
That sealed it. He continued, “Your brother was found deceased in his Veterans’ Housing apartment earlier this week. I am very sorry, sir.”
I took a great breath and then released it. “Can you tell me anything about the circumstances of his passing?” I asked. I had assumed for years that he was already dead.
“Yes, of course. He was reported as unheard from by a wellness worker three days ago and the police were summoned and when they arrived they gained access to the apartment through the building manager. Phillip was unresponsive and emergency workers were unable to revive him. There was no sign of foul play…””How long had he been…deceased?” I asked
.”He was last sighted on Oct. 23,” the ME told me. I glanced at the calendar on my laptop: it said Nov. 14.I shook my head.
“I’ve very sorry for your loss,” the man said again. “Did he have any children that you’re aware of?” he asked. An old joke, but serious as a heart attack.
“I’ve no idea,” I said honestly. “How did he die?” I asked.
“There was drug paraphernalia found in his residence,” said the man. “And his remains tested positive for fentanyl.”
“So, just another statistic, huh?” I asked bleakly.
“I’m afraid so. I wish there was more I could tell you.”
“Thank you.”
“Could you tell me when you last saw your brother?” he asked next.
“It’s been right on 50 years,” I said.
“I see. I’m required to ask,” said the man, “if you wish to make funeral arrangements?”
“No,” I replied at once. “Regretfully,” I added.”
I understand,” he said, then he told me how sorry he was again and we ended the call. I went through a maelstrom of emotions: loss, anger, indifference, then loss again.
My brother and I had little in common, going back to when we were youngsters. But there is an indelible bond that exists between individuals, particularly family members, who have known one another for all their lives. I had often fantasized about what I would do if ever Phil would come home, the prodigal son, and beg forgiveness. I’d told myself I would spurn him, deny him entrance to the home that I’d inherited from our parents; a home that we’d shared as children. But, would I have treated him so indifferently? I still don’t know.
I walked into the kitchen, fetched a can of beer and returned to the living room and sat down on the sofa. I reached out and seized the large half-filled bottle of liquid cold meds. Unscrewing the cap, I took an unmeasured swig of the gloppy green fluid, then shuddered at the awful after taste. I popped the tab on the beer and took a big drink. And thus began the evening,
The next morning, I awoke slumped on the sofa. I stared blearily at the forest of spent beer cans and the now-empty bottle of cold medicine. Then I recalled the night before. The phone call from California. For a long moment, I wondered whom I should notify of Phil’s death. There was no one in our immediate family left to inform; my parents had predeceased us and I had no other siblings. We’d had just two aunts and uncles and a small handful of cousins growing up and they were all long gone or unreachable.
Apart from my parents, family had not figured prominently in my life for many years. I had no best friend to be consoled by and no significant other; no friends I ran with. I was a 71-year-old disabled man with practically no connection to the world outside the four walls of my home. I no longer even drove, and my most frequent visitors were the kid who mowed the lawn and the man who delivered my mail. Feeling an almost overwhelming aloneness, I cast my thoughts back to my brother.
Phil had in part made me the man I became. My parents’ disappointment in Phil’s lack of effort in school, despite his native intelligence and creativity, served to make me study that much harder, in order to please them. Perhaps Phil thought I did it to show him up, but it wasn’t like that. The older I got, the more Phil’s resentment seemed to build, manifesting itself in beatings and scorn and overt animosity towards his younger brother. I grew up believing that all sibling relationships mirrored our own, but discovered, years later, that genuine love often existed between brothers. Phil was always hugely popular with people unrelated to him.
“You got a fine son there, Carol,” they would tell my mom. “He always pitches in and helps out.”
“He does?” my mom would ask in surprise. That didn’t sound like Phil. From a tender age, he got into trouble with the police. Be it a curfew violation, maliciously setting a field afire or even pounding pennies into dime-sized tokens with a hammer and feeding them into vending machines, he was never idle. He became an embarrassment. When he came of age, the authorities ceased taking his mischief so lightly.
“Mr. Brown,” the policeman addressed my father at the door, “I’m afraid your son stole a car.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” muttered Dad in dismay. That was neither the first instance nor the last. More thievery, shoplifting, breaking into the residence of a family friend, it just went on and on. My brother left home at 19, bound for the war in Vietnam. It was either that or go to prison, by order of the judge, for what amounted to a penny-ante offense. The judge, probably a veteran of WWII, remarked from the bench that it might “straighten you out,” meaning my teenage brother.
In the mid-60s the U.S. Army was eager for recruits and my brother didn’t fancy a jail cell. So Phil chose Nam. When he returned, 20 months later, it was with a less-than-honorable discharge. What was once a casual flirtation with illegals had morphed into a serious romance with hard drugs.
During his service, I recall my mom receiving in the mail unopened cartons of American cigarettes. She didn’t realize that these were not Marlboros, but rather, professionally-rolled marijuana doobies. I hadn’t the heart to tell her the truth, and she put them away for Phil’s return.
I now found myself streaming every memory, good and bad, that I had of my brother, from the time I was born until age 12, when Phil went to Southeast Asia. When my parents saw Phil off at the bus station, he hugged my mom and gravely shook hands with my dad. He utterly ignored me. The next time I saw him, other than when he was only passing through, was when I was 17, and he took up residence in our hometown. He never invited me to his home. He borrowed money from our father and then split town, leaving my dad in the lurch. Still, he was forgiven.
When I saw him next, he was being sentenced to prison on some inflated, improbable charge: possessing burglary tools. He was no doubt intent on robbing the drugstore, but had he had a competent attorney, he would not have gone down for it and would not have done time. Phil was anxious for my folks to forfeit their modest home in order to make his bond and acquire a lawyer for him, but once burned, twice warned. Convinced he would flee the state if released, they turned their back on him. I was glad they did.
At length, while serving time in the maximum-security state prison, Phil wrote me a letter for the first and only time in his life and asked me to ferry his girlfriend the 80 miles in my car to visit him. I did this twice, but the first time we were face to face, Phil would not even look at me, much less shake my hand. Was it shame, disdain or just complete indifference?
In between visits to the prison, I romanticized my brother as I sped along lonely highways in my jalopy 1964 VW Beetle. I pictured Phil as the title character in the Elton John tune “Daniel,” as it played over the tinny speakers of my car stereo. I had always longed to admire my brother and, growing up, I repeatedly got into scuffles with friends who branded him a “hood” and later, a criminal. Under the reproving gaze of my contemporaries, I lost friends and, in many instances, never made them in the first place.
I made a second and final visit to the prison, taking along Jayla, Phil’s love interest. If anything, he was even more remote than the first time I’d been there. After that, the girlfriend got her own transport and I was not invited along.
That was the last contact we made but for one. Phil reached out to me once more, shortly after he got out of prison. As a life-long diabetic, I injected myself daily. Cagily, Phil asked me to get him a “rig,” a glass and metal hypodermic syringe, with which he could inject hard drugs. This was the first time we had spoken in two years.
“I can’t,” I told him. “Why not?” he demanded. “Well,” I said, “because it’s illegal? “He hung up on me. When Dad died 20 years ago, Phil did not make an appearance at the funeral. And when Mom passed a handful of years ago, his absence was once again conspicuous. His long-time best friend came to the funeral home after Mom died and told me that Phil had perished in the Nevada desert at the hands of supposed friends.
“Three went into the desert,” he said ominously, “and only two came out.” So then I forgave Phil for denying our parents their eldest son for decades. I remembered my father, stricken with Alzheimer’s and crying in his room at the nursing home over his missing son. And my mom, sitting forlornly in her recliner at age 90, wondering when her son would make his way home.
Fast forward a lifetime and the call from the San Francisco Medical Examiner. My brother, I decided, had not progressed, he had not evolved; he was the same dismal, shameless but oddly appealing figure he had always been. Sitting alone in the dark–how long had I been reminiscing–I drew a great breath and let it out, then cursed myself for a fool as a single tear traced its way down my cheek. He had died alone and for that I was profoundly saddened. I knew that a similar fate probably awaited me, as I had no friends. To the very end, my brother never failed–to disappoint. I shrugged and opened another beer.
Two days later
In the aftermath of my brother’s death, I decided to pen an obituary, as a service to those few remaining people who might have known him. But even a brief notice in my local newspaper cost more than $500 and, being nearly as poor as my late brother, I opted instead to use a free service to publish the obituary online. That made more sense, inasmuch as many of his old acquaintances might have left the area over the years and could readily access the item online. I struggled, but eventually came up with something that was serviceable and published it.
Two weeks later I got another stunning phone call, this one from Colorado. The caller, a woman with an eerily familiar voice, and I talked for almost an hour. I had never met her before, but we shared a thread of history. She said she wanted to meet me. She said she would fly in a few days later.
On a Friday, three weeks to the day after I learned of my brother’s death, I met Phil’s daughter, Jasmine. She told me she was the offspring of Phil and his long-time girlfriend, Jayla.
“Hi, Uncle Scott,” she deadpanned. She leaned in for a cursory hug and I hugged her back. “Call me Jaz,” she said. Jaz was born in Las Vegas in 1986, making her 39-years-old. With her high cheekbones and chiseled facial features she favored Phil. I could scarcely recall Jayla, having seen her only twice. Jaz told me she had only a few short minutes before she had to catch a flight to New York. We sat on the sofa. I offered coffee but she waved it away, saying she had only minutes before she had to leave.
“When’s the last time you saw your dad?” I asked her.
“To begin with,” Jaz replied, “I don’t consider him my dad, or even my father. I consider him to be the sperm donor. My dad is my stepfather, Edward Smith. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, where I was raised.”
“So when did you last see Phil?” I asked in a different way.
“When I was a-year-old,” she said. “Of course I don’t remember. My mom, whom he dumped after she got pregnant with me, went to San Francisco, where he’d moved, to show me off, to introduce us.” She grew silent.
“How did that go?” I asked.
“Mom said he showed zero interest, in either one of us,” Jaz replied with a grim expression. “He didn’t even ask to hold me,” she said. “But he screwed her again and she got pregnant again, and nine months later I had a little sister.”
“Phil has a second child?” I asked with surprise. “Where is she? What’s her name?”
“Michelle Menendez,” said Jaz. “She’s married, got two kids; she’s very happy.” She smiled a little.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” I said warmly. “Glad that something positive emerged from Phil’s troubled life. You’re married too, you said?”
“For the time being. I’m going through a divorce.” She stared thoughtfully into space.
“And you have a daughter,” I remembered aloud.
“Jayla,” she said, flashing Phil’s smile. “She’s 19. Named after my mom.” She looked up at me. “Mom’s the reason I reached out to you, Scott,” she said. “She said she met you when you took her to the prison to see Phil, all those years ago, and she was impressed by what a stand-up guy you were. She said that Phil was no account, but that she thought something of you.”
“You told me she passed away,” I said, recalling our phone call.
“Two years ago,” she said. “I know that you didn’t really get to know her well, but losing her left a hole in my heart, you know? We’re a close family.”
I nodded, regretting that Jayla and I had not remained in touch. Jaz perhaps read my mind. She said, “Mom was determined to put the whole Illinois experience out of her mind. She grew up here too, but after Phil, she never came back.”
“Did Phil know that she passed?” I asked Jaz. She shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t tell him. I didn’t even know if he was still alive. I searched the web and found a lot of Phillip Browns, but nothing that matched, nothing that rang a bell. I put an obituary online, like you did, but I didn’t get a nibble from the man who told my mother he would love her forever…”I nodded again.
“Do you know if Phil had any other children?” Jaz asked.
I shook my head. “I have no clue. He hasn’t been a factor in my life for a half century,” I said. “I may hear something from someone, like I did from you, and if I do…””Yeah,” she said. “Who knows?” She glanced at her cell phone.
“So what’s next?” I asked.
“I’m catching a flight to New York tonight,” she said, “so I’ve got to get back to the airport.” She stood. I stood as well.
“I’d like to meet Jayla, if that’s okay,” I said. “And Michelle. And I want to see you again.” I wasn’t used to having a family. The idea excited me, and I didn’t want to let the opportunity slip away.
“I’ll tell them.” she said. “I just wanted to scope out the territory first, you know? Since my stepdad died last year, I’m the de facto head of the family.”
“Where does Michelle live?” I asked.
“New Mexico. Roswell. She married an alien,” she said with a straight face. I smiled.
“Michelle would like to learn something about the man who gave her birth,” said Jaz. “Medical history and the like, you know, for her kids. Plus, she’s curious. Phil’s absence, in spite of my dad, always left a hole.”
“It’s not a pretty story,” I said. “And there’s a gap in my knowledge of about 50 years.” She wrote down her address, handed it to me and I told her I would be in touch and would send her my mom’s letters from Phil from Vietnam and from prison and any photos she wanted. “What’s mine is yours,” I said.
She rose to her feet, leaned in for another hug, warmer this time, and drifted to the door. “I’m glad I met you, Scott,” Jaz said. “And I’ve decided that I want my daughter and my sister and her family to do the same. Would that be alright?
I told her with a grateful smile that it would be more than alright.
“Too late for Thanksgiving this year,” she observed, “but prepare yourself for next year, alright?
“I said I looked forward to it. With the passing of my mom years before, I had imagined that I would never again enjoy family time. It occurred to me that a brighter, happier, less lonely chapter could be opening up for me. Like any family, it would be a mixed bag, but I thought: Phil, in spite of the tragedy that was your life, you did something right and I’m to be the better for it.
The following summer, during vacation, Michelle and her two young ones showed up, along with Jaz. We had kept in touch via emails and telephone calls in the interim and I felt I knew them pretty well by the time they turned up. Because my modest home had only a single extra bedroom, they all opted to stay at the local Holiday Inn. That meant that we took most of our meals out, which suited me. For the previous five years, I had been battling Parkinson’s Disease, which made everyday tasks like cleaning and cooking increasingly problematic.
I didn’t tell my guests about my condition and they didn’t let on that they suspected anything was amiss. Over the winter and spring, Jaz had gotten her divorce and hadn’t yet found a new “Mr. Right,” but she was looking, she said. Jayla had not accompanied her, she said, because the 20-year-old college sophomore had a job and couldn’t take time off. Jaz told me wryly that Jayla’s newfound uncle couldn’t compete with her new boyfriend. I told her that was alright, that I’d see her over the Thanksgiving holiday. We did touristy things and I took them all out to a Cardinals’ baseball game, where Jaz drank too much beer and Michelle had to drive the rental back to my place.
Michelle’s kids were a hoot. Brandon and Karen, 14 and 12 respectively, bickered endlessly, but unlike it had been between my brother and me, there was no malice apparent. I grinned when Brandon accused his sister of being “such a Karen.”
“Mom, how could you ever name me this?” she lamented to her mother.
“Prescience,” replied Michelle with a sigh, and her daughter looked at her queerly, not understanding. They stayed in town for three days and I lapped up the attention, answered a million questions and shared memorabilia from my brother’s early life. On the final day, before they left for the airport, the gang convened at my house for a goodbye.
When I walked into the bathroom, the rank effluvium of incinerated pot struck me like a slap in the face. I grew concerned for Michelle’s children and before they left, I took her aside and told her what I’d found. Michelle thanked me profusely and promised she would nip this behavior “in the bud” and asked me not to mention it to the others.
Smiling at her clever turn of a phrase, I agreed.
“You understand, Scott,” murmured Michelle more soberly, “that my family is rather sensitive to the danger of drug use and addiction. There was a sea change in the attitude of my mom from when she hung around with my birth father. Jaz would go to pieces if she thought my kids were getting high.”
“I understand,” I said.
When they had gone, the house rang with a now-unfamiliar silence. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed preternaturally loud and the stark absence of iPhone rock & roll music was a little jarring.
Just when I thought the house would only get any more oppressive, I met Violet. Violet, a 60-something divorcee who had lived next door almost anonymously for the past five years, turned up on my doorstep one morning in early September. She was seeking, she said, to borrow a cup of sugar. This was the first time we had spoken and I wondered at how I had missed making her acquaintance. She was, as Agatha Christie, one of favorite authors, was wont to write, a “handsome woman.”
“Please, come in, Mrs. Starkey,” I told her. I was lucky to have remembered her name.
“It’s Violet,” she replied, stepping across the threshold. “And what may I call you?” she asked expectantly.”Mr. Brown,” I deadpanned. When her face fell I smiled and said, ”No, call me Scott.”
She smiled.I got her the sugar, we shared a cup of coffee and got along famously. We laughed and talked about our families (she had a daughter and a grandson and I explained the new dynamics of my own family); our former jobs (she had been a high school English teacher, I a computer nerd); and what we did for fun (she belonged to every conceivable organization, group and club, whereas I joked that I didn’t have any fun).
“We’ll have to change that, Scott,” she said brightly.
She asked me what sort of car I drove, having seen no vehicle in my driveway.
“I don’t drive anymore,” I replied a little self-consciously.
“Then how do you get about?” she asked. I explained the paratransit bus, which ferried me door to door. “Must make dating a little awkward,” she said, and laughed. “Not at all,” I said. “I don’t date.”
“No?” she said. “Did you ever date?” she asked. I felt Violet was getting a little too personal for such a new friend, if that’s what she was, but I held my tongue. Perhaps sensing my unease, she said, “I’m sorry, Scott, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“That’s alright…” I began. “…it’s a natural question, I guess…”
“None of my business,” she said. “Besides, I have other gay friends…””That’s very white of you,” I commented dryly.
Violet blanched. “I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly, scrambling to her feet. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I said in return. As the door closed behind Violet, I saw the cup of sugar still sitting on the table before me.. . . . .It took two days for Violet to work up the nerve to darken my door again.
When I answered the summons, she burst out at once, talking rapidly. “Scott,” she said, still standing in the doorway, “I didn’t mean to insult you by suggesting you were gay…””Violet,” I said, “it would not have been an insult.”
“Oh!” she said. “Then you are gay?”
I rolled my eyes. Violet’s blue eyes grew wide. “I didn’t mean…””What did you mean then?” I asked.
“I mean,” she said, calming down, “that being gay–or not being gay–is entirely up to you. I respect your choice and…””Many people feel it’s not a matter of personal choice,” I inserted, which only made her more upset.
“Scott,” she said desperately, “what am I supposed to say?”
“Whatever you feel,” I replied easily, then I chuckled at her befuddlement. “Do you want to be my friend?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said, “I do.”
“Then come in and finish your coffee,” I said, stepping aside.
She walked in.. . . . .By October, I had acquired a new friend. Violet and I sat on the swing on her front porch, doling out candy to trick or treaters. For the past ten years I had kept my porch light darkened, opting not to participate in the annual celebration. But Violet, as with everything she did, wrapped herself enthusiastically in the occasion.
We discussed where we grew up. Violet hailed from the Pacific Northwest, and I had lived all my life in the Midwest.
“Trick or treat!” shrilled two little ghosts, clomping up the steps and holding out their goody bags. I reached for the candy dish, but Violet stood, stepped forward and said shrewdly, “Weren’t you here earlier this evening?” She narrowed her eyes at them. The children lowered their bags and together shouted, “busted!” and scampered down the steps and through the neighborhood, laughing all the way.
Violet resumed her seat next to me on the swing. “Pretty cagy, aren’t you?” I kidded her. “You betcha,” she replied, smiling. She placed her hand over mine. It was warm where we touched. At nine o’clock, we doused the light, took up what was left of the candy and went inside.
I started to sit on the sofa, but Violet put her hand on my forearm and said, “Would you like a little treat, Scott?” My sex life, dormant for a dozen years, swung like a pendulum in the other direction.. . . . .
In the leadup to Thanksgiving, Violet asked if I’d like to spend the day with her and her son and his family. I was torn because I had promised to spend the holiday with my nieces and their families. I explained it to Violet. “You have a happy dilemma, then, don’t you?” she observed lightly. You have multiple gatherings that want to include you.” But she assured me that she understood why I’d want to spend my first holiday in years with family, and she gave me her blessing.
Jaz had taken to phoning me each Friday, but then that was reduced to twice and then once, a month. But I understood. She was a busy woman. When by the fourth week of November I hadn’t heard from her, I called her. I was very surprised when the phone was picked up not by Jaz, but by her sister Michelle. I could tell at once that she was upset. I asked her what was wrong.
“She’s gone, Scott,” she said. “I was going to call you.
“”Who?” I asked. I could hear sobbing. “Jaz,” she replied. “What do you mean? Where is she? Is she alright?” “She passed away, Scott.”
I stood there, speechless, clutching the cell phone with a death grip.”What happened?”
“She went out to a party with her new boyfriend and they were found dead in his car. They’re both dead,” she told me.
I instantly recalled Jaz drinking heavily at the baseball game, to the point where she couldn’t drive. She had more sense than to drive, I was certain.
“It was drunk driving?” I asked.
“No,” Michelle said. “They didn’t crash. They were parked. Their blood alcohol level wasn’t high.”
“Then how did they die?” I demanded. This wasn’t making sense.
“Fentanyl,” she said, the word slicing like a knife through my flesh.
“When did this happen, Michelle?” I asked.
“Last night,” she said in a teary voice.
“How is Jayla?” I asked, instantly concerned for Jaz’s daughter.
Silence.
“Michelle?” I prompted.
“She was in the car with Jaz and Mike. She’s on life support, Scott,”
I felt a chill run like an icy stream down my body. “Will she…”
“She’s expected to make it,” said Michelle.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. “Thank God,” I whispered.
“But,” said Michelle, “there are complications.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “She’s suffering kidney failure, she’s had at least two seizures and a stroke and…””There, there, that’s alright…” I began.
“No, it’s not alright,” she hissed.
“I only meant,,,” I began.
“I know what you meant,” she said harshly. “It may be alright for you to not see your own brother for a half century and sit calmly at home while he dies alone in government housing halfway across the country, but this is my family!”
“Michelle,” I said with great surprise, “you don’t blame me for Jaz and Jayla, do you?”
“We never had this problem before you barged into our lives,” she said. “Nobody used drugs before you came along.
“What about the pot we smelled in the bathroom in my home?” I said.”How do I know you didn’t get them high then?” she asked hysterically.
“Michelle,” I said calmly, “you’re in shock over what’s happened. But, I’m not to blame. Drugs are everywhere. They didn’t get them from me. I don’t use illegals. I wouldn’t do that to my family.”
“You’re not family,” she said.
I felt crushed. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she replied. “Don’t ever call or email again.” She hung up._______
Seeing as how I was supposed to be in Boulder with my own family for Thanksgiving, Violet had made plans to spend a week with her son and his family in Vancouver. She had left only the day before I called my niece. I hadn’t the heart to call her and tell her the tragedy that had befallen us.
On the evening of Nov. 26, Thanksgiving Day, Violet called me. I didn’t tell her about Jaz and Jayla even then. I asked her how her holiday was going. Her tone grew guarded. After a moment, I asked her what the matter was. Then she came clean.
She told me that her ex-husband, Mike, had turned up at the celebration, which was a surprise to Violet. The reunion, she said, was a huge success. “Mike has retired now too,” she said.
“What are Mike’s plans?” I asked, just to be pleasant. She often talked of her ex, who lived somewhere in Oregon. Maybe I was a little jealous.
“He’s moving to Vancouver,” Violet replied. “There’s an available lot in the same neighborhood as Frank,” she said, meaning her son.
“So he’s building a new home?” I inquired, thinking that Mike must have either a helluva credit rating or a great deal of money. Violet had never told me what he did for a living.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “And he’s getting married.”
“Well,” I said, frankly relieved. “Good for him. Did he meet her in Oregon?”
“Yes. Scott, I am remarrying Mike. I’m moving to Vancouver, where he’ll be teaching part time at the University…”
Then I recalled: Violet had told me he was a math professor. He was even a published author, no less, with ten mathematical tomes under his belt. I gulped. I struggled to regain my aplomb. “Congratulations, Mrs. Starkey,” I said stiffly.
“Now, Scott,” she chastised. “We had our fun. But now, our time is over. I guess that I never really fell out of love with Mike,” she said wistfully, and giggled. “After all, he’s the father of my only child. You do understand?”
“I think I do,” I replied, feeling like I wanted to puke.
“Good. Take good care, Scott,” she said breezily. Then I heard the click of the land line.. . . . .I called and emailed Michelle again and again, but got no response. When Violet came back a few days later, she was there to supervise the loading of her belongings into the back of a moving van. I stayed inside and she never knocked at my door or called. I told myself that she was cold and crass and no great loss, but I knew I was lying to myself. As twilight settled over my little community, the moving van rolled away, followed by Violet’s Hyundai.
I pulled the drapes and sat on my sofa, a 24 oz. Tall Boy on the coffee table before me. I leaned forward and decanted some green syrupy green cold medicine into a little plastic cup and then tossed it back like a shot of tequila. I opened the can of beer and took a long draught.
Present day
Scott opened his laptop and searched the web. He had grown used to being in the company of people who at least seemed to care for him. He had been out of practice at relationships and perhaps he stumbled a time or two. He could learn from his mistakes, he told himself.
Looking at the screen, he finally found what he was looking for: a community bulletin board on a dating site. Unsteadily tapping the keys with an index finger, he typed, filling out the app: I AM: A man SEEKING a woman. I AM: 72 years old. OBJECT: ?
DEVELOPING STUDENTS’ ORAL SPEECH THROUGH AUDIO-VISUAL MATERIALS IN THE PROCESS OF LEARNING FRENCH
Samarkand State Institute of Foreign Languages Philology and Language Teaching (French) 1st year student Eshpo’latova Khilola Davron kizi 0009-0005-9329-4347
Annotatsiya: Mazkur maqolada fransuz tilini o’rganayotgan talabalarning og’zaki nutqini rivojlantirishda audiovizual materiallarning tutgan o’rni va samaradorligi tahlil qilinadi. Bu tilni o’rganishda audiovizual vositalar talabalarning muloqot kompeteniyasini rivojlantiradi va bu til egalari bilan bo’lgan amaliy suhbatlarga tayyorlaydi. Tadqiqot davomida audiovizual materiallar, xususan, videoroliklar, filmlar, podkastlar, television ko’rsatuvlar va video ma’ruzalardan foydalanishning afzalliklari ko’rsatib beriladi.
Аннотация: В статье анализируется роль и эффективность аудиовизуальных материалов в развитии устной речи студентов, изучающих французский язык. При изучении языка аудиовизуальные средства развивают коммуникативную компетенцию учащихся и готовят их к практическому общению с носителями языка. В ходе исследования будут продемонстрированы преимущества использования аудиовизуальных материалов, в частности видеороликов, фильмов, подкастов, телевизионных шоу и видеолекций. Ключевые слова: аудиовизуальные материалы, устная речь, развитие произношения, речевая активность, эффективность обучения, аутентичные материалы
Abstract: This article analyzes the role and effectiveness of audiovisual materials in developing oral speech in students learning French. Audiovisual aids in learning this language develop students’ communicative competence and prepare them for practical conversations with native speakers. The study highlights the benefits of using audiovisual materials, particularly videos, films, podcasts, television shows, and video lectures.
INTRODUCTION Today, due to the growing interest in the French language in many parts of the world, the use of modern methods is required in the process of learning this language. Especially one of the pressing issues is the development of speaking skills, which is the main way of communicating in a foreign language. Therefore, a number of studies are currently being carried out on improving the ability to speak orally. However, we are facing several problems in their practical application.
The main purpose of this article is to improve the ability of spoken speech among students with a particular specialty of young people studying French, to adapt them to live communication and to analyze the effective aspects of the use of audiovisual materials in the formation of the skills of not only speaking French but also thinking. The results of this study provide an opportunity to develop oral speech in the process of learning French by using audiovisual tools correctly and purposefully.
RESEARCH METHODOLOGY This study was conducted in a practical and experimental direction, using audiovisual tools to improve students’ oral skills and develop their ability to speak independently, as if they were native speakers of the language. First of all, to analyze theoretical approaches to the topic.
Important scientific articles such as Karimov’s “The Role of Video Lessons in the Educational Process” and Jo’rayeva Mohina’s “Linguodidactic Foundations of Developing Students’ Oral Speech” were collected and studied. At the same time, international experiences were summarized based on the article “The Use of Audio-Visual Materials as Strategies to Enhance Speaking Skills among ESL Young Learners”, prepared under the global collaboration of Keeth Kthirvel and Harvati Hashim.
In the practical stage, pedagogical observation, comparison, and experimental methods were widely used. During this experiment, audiovisual materials (video clips, films, podcasts, and subtitled videos) were used in French language lessons. Changes were observed and analyzed in depth during the lessons and exams. The methods chosen based on these observations are fully consistent with the main goal of the study and serve to determine the importance of audiovisual materials in developing the oral speech of students learning French.
In the final stage, the useful and harmful aspects of these methods were fully studied and suggestions and recommendations were developed for the purposeful use of the above tools.
REVIEW OF LITERATURE USED
Today, the use of audiovisual materials in modern pedagogy and education is one of the most important of the issues that is at the center of current and heated discussions. In recent years, many practical and theoretical studies have been conducted on this topic, confirming the usefulness of these tools (audiovisual materials) in the learning process, especially in developing speaking skills.
In the scientific article of Karimova “the role of video cameras in the educational process”. Videodars and presentations have scientifically substantiated the development of independent thinking and talkative skills. Also, in her article “Linguodidactic Foundations of Developing Students’ Oral Speech” by KarSU doctoral student Jo’rayeva Mohina, she emphasizes the use of audiovisual materials as an effective method of developing oral speech.
At the global level, Keeth Kthirvel and Harvati Hashim conducted a study on the use of audiovisual materials as strategies to enhance speaking skills among ESL students and young learners in their article “The Use of Audiovisual Materials as Strategies to Enhance Speaking Skills among ESL Young Learners.” The article provides a scientific basis for the use of videos, podcasts, and audio-video tasks to improve students’ oral communication skills.
Studying the above studies, we can see that although the importance of audiovisual materials has been thoroughly analyzed, there is a lack of methodological approach to using these tools. This article examines this issue.
ANALYSIS AND RESULTS The results of the experiments conducted showed that the regular and purposeful use of audiovisual materials is important in improving students’ oral speech. And it came to my stop taking into account the percentage indicators of the following experiment.
In the first stage of the experiment, two groups of New simple and experimental groups were formed from 1st year students with a homogeneous level of knowledge. In normal gruhs, classes were held in the traditional style of Experimental while in gruhi, classes were held using audiovisual materials. In 2 months of favomi, changes in these groups were monitored and deeply observed. 2 months later, an examination was carried out and their level of knowledge was assessed. According to preliminary results, 30% of students in ordinary Gruh satisfactorily underestimated the skills of oral speech.48% showed an average of while 22% of students performed low. In the case of experimental gruhi, the results were significantly improved. Specifically, 50% of students returned satisfactory grades, 35% returned average grades, and 15% returned low grades.
According to the results obtained, the learning effectiveness in the group using audiovisual materials was higher and more effective than in the control group. In particular, students who achieved satisfactory results were 20 percent higher, while those who achieved low results were 7 percent lower. These percentages are clear evidence that audiovisual materials are useful in developing oral speech.
This study showed that audiovisual materials are extremely necessary and useful for every student studying French. The above figures are a clear proof.
In a typical group, a large proportion of students (58%) reported a low average of 22%. This result suggests that traditional teaching methods are inadequate in the development of student oral speech. This situation was mainly explained by the limited opportunities for real-world and auditory-visual learning during the lesson.
In the experimental group, the proportion of students who showed satisfactory results reached 50%, indicating that audiovisual materials increased students’ speech activity. Through video materials and audio recordings, as well as various films and podcasts, students can better master the pronunciation, speaking style, and speed of speech in French. Furthermore, the 15% reduction in the proportion of students who performed poorly in the experimental group showed that audiovisual materials are an important pedagogical factor in the development of oral speech.
CONCLUSION In conclusion, audiovisual materials are important in studying the natural world because they demonstrate the pronunciation, speaking style, and cultural characteristics of the French language. Through video materials, podcasts, films, and shows, students’ vocabulary and pronunciation improve. From the results of the study, we can know that the use of audiovisual materials in the course of the lesson increases the interest of students in relation to the lesson and forms the skills of free communication. This serves as an important foundation in tending them to a real-life environment.
It is also worth noting that these methods are an important guide in the process of interactive learning and an important factor in the development of students’ communicative skills and competencies. Pedagogical research has shown that each student should use additional materials on the language they are learning, which will be beneficial to their perspective and their ability to communicate freely in that language. In addition, each language that needs to be learned requires regular development and work on itself. If every student uses advanced methodologies such as audiovisual materials on a regular basis, they will make great progress in this field. This is the main goal of the study.
LITERATURE USED
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