an unseen appearance before it swallows you whole.
Seeming is the spider
that builds the mansion where Maya hides the tiger.
And you curl into your spider’s blanket and say,
“Yes, there may be other situations. But this one is mine.”
These are words of the white sheep that graze on your tongue, issuing from the edge of your lips to baffle my art.
Belief conceals recognition. Orthodox clichés are sweeter than exotic heresies.
I need a poet to speak your freedom.
“Poetry!” you say. “That factory of idols! Valueless words strung together like cultured pearls. A compromise between the universe and imagination, windy sounds tangled in winter branches. A sheetless bed in a purple room with no light or exit.”
A poem can come from a prophet or a priest or a professor or a philosopher or a physician or a beautician. But only a true poem can feel the sun on your face as the snow commandos parachute in behind enemy lines. A real poem contains stone syllables standing against a rain-striped horizon.
Let me be your pattern. I’ve pawned my pasts, demolished the wall that blocked truth-bearing winds.
To deny my tongue is to strangle your throat.
Together we can be worlds upon a wider world.
Our bronze countenances can besiege the Maya fortress, storm its magic damsel resident therein.
We won’t eliminate or lift any veil completely. But we can add invisibility.
“Perception, memory – can’t they be real? Who could confuse a long naked body with an artifice of the mind?”
Anyone.
Everyone.
We live in rust on chrome.
“But, that tiger?”
Being is the all-at-once-ness of everything.
The world is not all thieves and wolves. Providers and puppies inhabit too.
Judges and lawyers may be the masters of bar and brothel, and a poem’s sentence may condemn. But also it may acquit.
Death is always the same distance away and life as near as we arrange.
Yes, our voyage ends with a wake, but not just the wake behind the boat.
It’s now call-and-response time. Your fate depends on your answer.
I say Quiver.
Do you say, “Tremble”?
Or, “Arrow”?
MÖBIUS STRIP
Swans echo the clouds
that echo those swans.
Moon recycles faces, recycles face
I am Today years old, as always
but which we am I today?
es, recy
This river remembers its geese,
wanders woods in their search.
cles fa
BRIDE OF COPPER
homonyms that mean the same
or, your gray is not my grey
they have divergent offspring
bronze if copper mates with zinc
brass if copper mates with tin
bird as vulture, bird as dove
a painter’s silver, or smudge
the flat wilderness of dusk
an opaque landscape of mist
the nothingness of a coin
dime-like or silver florin
hides the man within the war
in a Southern uniform
in a museum’s armor
ENLIGHTENMENT
Aging, we mislearn the universe from birth.
But if then all our illusions we lose —
Can we be sure that lives improve?
IN AN ON-ONE (self-portrait, unfinished for now)
Sophiadome aflame,
Halfunplundered yet.
The Moon is trapped in our crimson net
(like a Frisbee in a cage)
(aluminum pan in macrame)
dark iris riveted to bloodshot eye.
No. Wait.
This is altogether too depressing a prospect. Let the picture compose elsewhere.
Bloated fingers like floodwaters upon the plain.
Unberibboned wrists, not tigered yet by failure.
Arms loose and empty, tethered to boney shoulders
and a lonely bed.
Nope. No improvement from that angle either.
Silver is the ego-greed that turns glass into a looking glass; and mercury, that poison, makes us mistake temperament for actual temperature; while the iron lasts us through the large littleness of our long lives.
Such is the brittle wisdom, these are the elements of our same old sad story:
Globalization and the Lost Identity of a Generation
“Modern wars will no longer be fought with weapons, but with ideas. The goal will be to distort the thinking of our youth.” — Islam Karimov, First President of Uzbekistan
We live in an era where information travels across continents in seconds, where a cultural shift in one part of the world can influence the mindset of a young person thousands of kilometers away. This is the power—and the peril—of globalization. And in the heart of Central Asia, in countries like Uzbekistan, it’s not just progress that is arriving at our doorsteps, but also a silent crisis: the cultural and spiritual erosion of our youth.
The 21st century is marked by technological triumphs. Our lives have become more connected, more informed, and more digitized. Yet in this wave of innovation, young people in developing and post-Soviet countries find themselves torn between tradition and trend. They are learning, evolving, and adopting—but at what cost?
When Progress Threatens Identity
There is nothing inherently wrong with globalization. In fact, it offers invaluable opportunities for learning, innovation, and cross-cultural exchange. But each nation carries with it a unique soul—embedded in its history, traditions, and moral values. For Uzbekistan, this identity is rooted in the legacy of thinkers like Alisher Navoi, Ibn Sina, Al-Khwarizmi, and Al-Biruni—giants whose wisdom once shaped the course of human knowledge.
Yet today, many of our youth struggle to name these intellectual forefathers. Instead, they idolize imported pop culture, replicate global social media trends, and embrace superficial modernity that often contradicts local values. From imitating art forms born in foreign contexts to defacing historic buildings with graffiti in the name of “expression,” we are witnessing a cultural drift that can no longer be ignored.
This is not an argument against modernization or art. It is a call for balance. A plea for young people to know where they come from before deciding where they are going.
The Cultural Cost of Belonging Everywhere—and Nowhere
In an attempt to belong to a global narrative, many young people are losing touch with their own. Cultural pride is not nationalism; it is self-respect. And preserving heritage does not mean rejecting the world—it means entering it with dignity.
The future of our youth must not come at the cost of forgetting the past. The ancient cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva are not just tourist destinations; they are breathing textbooks of our ancestors’ contributions to science, literature, and philosophy. When these landmarks are defaced, when traditions are mocked, it is not just stone that is broken—but memory, identity, and self-worth.
Moving Forward with Roots Intact
Technology is here to stay. Globalization will continue. The question is: Can we raise a generation that embraces the modern world without abandoning its own? Can we empower young people to be both connected to the globe and grounded in their culture?
We must. Because only when young people know who they are, will they know how to lead.
Dilobar Maxmarejabova Elbek qizi is a second-year student at the University of Journalism and Mass Communications, majoring in Philology and English Language Teaching. She is passionate about topics such as youth, spirituality, globalization, and cultural heritage. Through her writing, she seeks to draw attention to pressing social issues and contribute to meaningful discussions on identity and values in the modern world.
Silent Battles: Navigating Mental Health Challenges and Loneliness During Student Years
Introduction
In today’s competitive and fast-paced world, student life is often romanticized as a time of personal growth, academic achievement, and social connection. However, beneath the surface lies a silent struggle faced by many students—one of mental pressure, emotional isolation, betrayal, and the absence of support. For some, these experiences define their entire educational journey. Yet, even amidst such darkness, it is possible to emerge stronger, wiser, and victorious.
This article explores the often-unspoken psychological burdens students endure—particularly mental health struggles, academic stress, feelings of loneliness, and emotional pain caused by those they once called friends. By shedding light on these hidden experiences, we aim to foster understanding, advocate for compassion, and remind every student walking this difficult path: your victory is coming.
The Weight of Expectations
Academic institutions are designed to challenge and educate. But with that mission often comes a pressure cooker of expectations. Students are expected to maintain high grades, be active in extracurricular activities, secure internships, develop social networks, and prepare for uncertain futures—all simultaneously. For many, especially first-year students or those from underprivileged backgrounds, this transition can be overwhelming.
The societal narrative often neglects the mental toll of such pressure. Constant comparison, fear of failure, and the need to prove oneself—whether to family, peers, or society—can slowly erode self-esteem and mental well-being. When grades become the only measure of worth, students begin to equate failure with personal inadequacy.
These internalized pressures frequently lead to anxiety, depression, and burnout. Yet, few students feel safe enough to speak about it. The stigma surrounding mental health, especially in cultures where vulnerability is mistaken for weakness, forces many to suffer in silence.
The Quiet Ache of Loneliness
Loneliness during student years is a complex and painful emotion. Even in classrooms filled with hundreds of students, one can feel profoundly alone. Moving to a new city, adjusting to a new environment, or failing to find ‘your people’ can leave students feeling isolated and misunderstood.
Social media often intensifies this loneliness. While it paints the illusion of connection, it can also create feelings of exclusion. Watching others post about friendships, outings, and achievements can foster a painful sense of “Why not me?”—leading students to question their worth and their ability to belong.
Loneliness does not only stem from being physically alone; it often arises from emotional disconnection. It is the feeling of not being seen, heard, or understood. It is sitting in a crowded library with tears threatening to fall, and no one noticing. It is wanting to share your burdens but having no one who truly listens. It is the ache of invisibility in the most formative years of life.
When Friends Become Strangers
One of the most disheartening experiences during student life is betrayal or emotional abandonment by friends. For many, university friendships are a source of comfort, laughter, and survival. But not all friendships last—and not all friends are genuine.
Some students experience bullying, exclusion, or emotional manipulation from those they once trusted. Others are left behind without explanation as their peers form new cliques or focus solely on their own goals. The realization that your support system has crumbled can be both devastating and disorienting.
This emotional abuse—whether subtle or overt—leaves scars. The fear of trusting again, the self-doubt born from rejection, and the inner voice whispering “you’re not enough” can become constant companions. When betrayal comes not from strangers but from those you once called friends, it hurts with a deeper, more personal sting.
The Absence of Support
Perhaps the most paralyzing aspect of student mental health struggles is the feeling that there’s no one to lean on. For students far from home, the physical distance from family can feel like emotional abandonment. Even those with parents nearby may feel emotionally misunderstood or invalidated.
Many institutions lack the resources or sensitivity to identify students who are silently suffering. Professors are focused on delivering content, not checking in on emotions. Friends may be too busy or too self-involved. And in a world where everyone seems to be “managing fine,” it can feel shameful to admit you’re not.
The absence of support is not just about who is missing; it’s about the haunting silence in times of crisis. It’s about breaking down in a dorm room at 2 a.m. with no one to call. It’s about realizing that while you have hundreds of contacts, you can’t name one person who would truly understand.
This lack of support amplifies the mental health crisis among students. Without emotional anchors, students spiral deeper into anxiety, depression, and hopelessness. And yet, despite the darkness, some keep walking.
The Turning Point: Choosing Yourself
Amid all this pain—academic pressure, loneliness, betrayal, and emotional neglect—there lies a quiet decision: the decision to choose yourself.
This is the moment when a student realizes that they are their own safest home. It may not come dramatically. It may arrive on a regular Tuesday after a failed quiz or during a solitary walk. But it is powerful.
Choosing yourself means seeking help even when it’s scary. It means setting boundaries with toxic people. It means crying, and still getting up the next day. It means talking to a counselor, writing your truth, or simply breathing deeply through the storm. It means recognizing that your value is not defined by grades, followers, or others’ opinions—but by your resilience.
This turning point is not loud. It is gentle and consistent. It is the beginning of healing.
Healing and Growth: A Slow But Beautiful Process
Healing from emotional wounds is not a linear journey. There will be good days and unbearable ones. Some mornings you will feel like yourself again; others, you’ll wonder if you ever will. But growth lies in persistence.
During the healing process, students begin to rediscover themselves. They find joy in small routines—making tea, reading books, listening to music, journaling. They begin to seek genuine connections, no longer chasing popularity but authenticity. They start valuing their mental peace more than validation.
And slowly, something remarkable happens. They become the very friend they needed. They develop empathy, strength, and emotional intelligence. They learn to identify red flags, to say no, and to choose environments that nurture them. Their scars become sources of wisdom, not shame.
The Inevitable Victory
The journey through emotional turmoil is not just about survival—it is about transformation. Many students who endure such pain emerge with an inner strength that no textbook could ever teach. They become leaders, mentors, healers, and creators. They carry stories of overcoming, of rising from the ashes, of winning the hardest battles—those within.
Victory does not always look like a gold medal or a perfect GPA. Sometimes it’s simply waking up and choosing to try again. Sometimes it’s smiling after days of tears. Sometimes it’s graduating despite depression, or finding real friends after years of loneliness. These victories are deeply personal—and deeply powerful.
In the end, you win. Not because the pain disappears, but because you become someone who refuses to give up. You win because you fought with grace, because you learned to love yourself, because you did not let darkness define your story.
Conclusion
Student life is often painted in bright colors, but many live it in shades of grey. Mental health struggles, academic pressure, emotional loneliness, and the absence of support can make it a painful chapter. Yet, within this pain lies the potential for profound transformation.
To every student fighting silent battles: your story matters. Your feelings are valid. And even if no one else applauds your quiet victories, know this—you are not alone, and you will rise. Keep walking, keep breathing, keep choosing yourself.
In the end, you do not just survive. You win.
Surayyo Nosirova Elyor qizi was born on May 13, 2006, in the Narpay district of the Samarkand region, Uzbekistan. From an early age, she showed a deep interest in literature, languages, and creative expression. Her passion for learning and writing became evident during her school years, where she actively participated in various academic, literary, and cultural activities. Currently, Surayyo is a first-year student at the Uzbekistan State University World Languages university, specializing in English Philology and Teaching. She is known for her strong academic performance and her dedication to mastering the English language. Her commitment to education extends beyond the classroom—she is the author of three published books: Heartfelt Thoughts, Voices in Writing, and Beyond Words: Mastering English. Each of these works reflects her insights into language learning, writing skills, and the emotional depth of student life.
their hues shifting from black and white to radiant colour
each stroke of ink, colour of an era
Here, seasons reveals in cycles of brush and verse
cherry blossoms scatter as hopes for renewal
fallen leaves turn retreats into solitude
and the moon rises, a serene witness
to centuries of longing
The weight of tradition presses gently
layered meanings drift like petals in the wind
plum for passing beauty, pine for the everlasting
The borderlands between village and forest blur
where foxes haunt the edges of knowing
mystical, in-between
To look upon a garden
is to see history tell stories
a pine’s shadow carries the chill of distant winters
while lanterns reflect moons in memory
yet present still in gleaming silk
This is not nature untouched
but nature shaped, revered
held both close and cautiously distant
a mirror for the human soul
seasonal cycles
woven into the fabric of living
And in the end
the cherry blossom
is never just a cherry blossom
it is a thousand years of seeing
a transient note
the happiness of eternity
V.T.N.M.
Võ Thị Như Mai was born in the soft breeze of high land Dalat, carrying within her both a resilient spirit and the gentle soul of an artist. From her meaningful time at Edith Cowan University to the warm, intimate classrooms of Western Australia, she has been not only a dedicated teacher but also a poet and translator with a heart devoted to literature. Through her delicate verses and meaningful translations, she has helped bring Vietnamese literature to a wider audience, connecting communities through bilingual poetry festivals and meaningful publications.
For her, literature is an art of words and a bridge of emotions mixed between real life and wishes. She finds inspiration in quiet moments and the small corners of everyday life, crafting tender poems and graceful translations. With four published poetry collections, nearly ten bilingual books, and more literary projects underway, she is a poet of passion and dedication. A woman of quiet charm and vision, she brings Vietnamese literature to the world while preserving the soul of her homeland in every poetic line.
“People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them.”
James Baldwin
In this issue, we explore how people are influenced by their times and cultures, and how they learn from and engage with the thoughts of their forebears. Also, we acknowledge the wealth of wisdom and life lessons carried within each person due to the events through which they have lived.
Amit Shankar Saha writes of then and now, memory and future, remembrance and forgetting, universal human questions. Duane Vorhees’ poetry evokes change, thought, aging, and the creative process.
Stephen Jarrell Williams speaks to memory and the human experience. Eva Lianou Petropolou speaks to artists and authors’ learning from and being inspired by each other throughout the ages. Writer Rizal Tanjung offers up an existential analysis of Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s poetry.
Giorgos Pratzigos interviews Konstantinos Fais on his artwork and advocacy for rediscovering Hercules and ancient Greek virtues. Muxlisa Khaytbayeva records her grandfather Jumaboy Allaberganov’s memories of knowing famed Uzbek author Omonboy Matjonov as a young adult and discusses Matjonov’s contributions to culture. Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy Shamsodovna relates her scholarly and personal journey to understanding and illuminating Russian writer Alexandr Faynberg’s poetic legacy and its influence on Uzbek culture.
Kuziyeva Shakhrizoda highlights the Uzbek government’s investment in the nation’s youth and the incredible potential of their young adults. Otaboyeva Khushniya outlines how the psychology of early childhood can inform education. Su Yun collects and translates the work of Chinese elementary school students.O’tkirava Sevinch outlines strategies for learning Mandarin Chinese as a second language and for teaching the language in Uzbek schools. Olimboyeva Dilaferuz outlines verb conjugation rules in the Uzbek language.
Mashhura Farhodovna Joraqulova’s short story encourages students from low-income families to persevere with their education. Sevara Kuchkarova outlines strategies to motivate students to complete work at school. Rashidova Shaxrizoda Zarshidovna honors the life and work of a woman who mentored many of the girls at her school. Dilbar Aminova advocates for a balanced approach to screentime in young children’s lives. Shahnoza Ochildiyeva reflects on the value of her journalism education at an Uzbek university. Xo’jamiyorova Gulmira Abdusalomovna highlights the role of emerging and young poets in Uzbekistan’s national destiny.
Duane Vorhees compares the poetry of Phillis Wheatley and Nikki Giovanni as part of a broader comment on changing Black consciousness in the United States.
Cherise Barasch writes with respect for the hardworking people she observes digging into the earth in the heat. Yongbo Ma brings a poetic and scientific perspective to fog. Sayani Mukherjee contemplates peaceful natural scenes in a reverie. Priyanka Neogi compares accepting life’s changes to living through different seasons and times of day. David Sapp reflects on the transcendent experience of seeing a peacock. Dilnoza Islamova looks to nature’s beauty as an invitation to spiritual faith and practice. Maki Starfield sends up elegant reflections on weather and fruits in Thailand as Maja Milojkovic meditates on sunflowers, existence, and perseverance.
Brian Barbeito lets his mind wander to cosmological and existential places while walking near birds by a lake. Orinbayeva Dilfuza rejoices in the beauty of nature at springtime as Dilobar Maxmarejabova shares the emotional significance of tulips in her life. Don Bormon revels in the fun of rain at school. Mark Young renders up more of his fanciful “geographical” maps of Australian regions. Mathematics is a language we use to describe nature, and Timothee Bordenave discusses how his geometric studies inform his artwork. Mesfakus Salahin speaks to drought in Bangladesh in a meditation on accepting life and nature’s cycles.
Bruce Mundhenke urges humanity to turn away from hate towards love and acceptance. Vo Thi Nhu Mai illuminates the beauty and communicative power of the craft of poetry.
Leslie Lisbona sends up a childhood memory of having fun dancing to and figuring out rap lyrics. Marjona Baxtiyorovna Jorayeva celebrates sports and their fandoms and their power to bring enjoyment and bring people together.
Kholmurodova outlines strategies to bring digital access and economic opportunities to the world’s rural women. Rakhimov Rakhmatullo outlines challenges and solutions for logistics technologies. Sa’dia Alisher outlines some benefits, problems, and challenges from modern digital technologies. Gulnora Rakhimjonovna Khomidova explores the educational potential of artificial intelligence.
Dr. Jernail S. Anand relates how, regardless of the tools we use to craft our work, restraint and discipline can serve as a creative force. Dr. Debabrata Maji highlights the power of perseverance and devotion. Azemina Krehic compares the care she has for her poetic works to the process of washing her clothes on a line. Hassan Mistura speaks to the journey of developing a healthy self concept. Surayyo Nosirova reminds us to let go of the illusion of more control than we have and to stay open to change.
Grant Guy offers up stage directions for absurdist theater, an artistic reaction to periods of rapid social change. Ahmed Miqdad speaks to the absurd persistence of normal life amid wartime. Mykyta Ryzhykh, in a similar vein, evokes the quest for queer love and sensuality among bombs and bullets.
Pat Doyne laments violent immigration enforcement overreach in Los Angeles. Otabayeva Khusniya reveals the deeply humane vision of Erkin Vahidov’s work Rebellion of Souls, a tribute to the memory of Nasrul Islam and other artists who died as a result of unjust persecution. Chimezie Ihekuna shares some of life’s paradoxes and urges nations and groups of people to move away from war as a solution to issues. Mahbub Alam also puts out a call for peace, remembering the many people lost to war. Boboqulova Durdona laments the many civilian deaths in Gaza as Stephen House highlights war’s effects on ordinary people, especially children.
Muslima Olimova reflects on surviving an unhappy marriage and urges families to welcome young brides and for women to carefully consider before marrying. J.J. Campbell speaks to the lingering effects of trauma on people and the tension between hope and disillusionment. Dr. Bindu Madhavi speaks to the inner battles many of us fight as Mirta Liliana Ramirez evokes the pain of loneliness.
Doug Hawley’s short story presents several characters representing a mix of lawful and roguish motives and actions. Taylor Dibbert’s poem lampoons the worldliness of a priest and the devotion it still inspires. Sarvinoz Sobirjonova Abdusharifova depicts the dual nature of humanity: kindness and cruelty.
Kelly Moyer uses vegetable humor to convey and navigate the experience of chronic illness. Alan Catlin frames evocative images with words, plumbing the imagined photos for meaning.
Mark Blickley, a combat veteran who finished education later in life, reflects on what he gained as a person and an artist from popular literature and reminds the “literary” crowd not to so easily dismiss popular writers.
