Synchronized Chaos April 2024: Change of Seasons

Ice falls into a rocky lake from frozen waterfalls. Barren tree branches are heavy with the weight of snow.
Image c/o Peter Griffin

We are hosting our Metamorphosis gathering again! This is a chance for people to share music, art, and writing and to dialogue across different generations (hence the name, the concept of ideas morphing and changing over the years). This event is also a benefit for the grassroots Afghan women-led group RAWA, which is organized by women in Afghanistan who are currently supporting educational and income generation and literacy projects in their home county as well as assisting earthquake survivors. (We don’t charge or process the cash, you are free to donate online on your own and then attend!)

This will be Saturday April 6th, 2-4 pm in the fellowship hall of Davis Lutheran Church at 317 East 8th Street in Davis, California. It’s a nonreligious event open to all, the church has graciously allowed us to use the meeting room. You may sign up here on Eventbrite.

Also, we encourage everyone in the California area to attend the third annual Hayward Lit Hop on Saturday, April 27th. This is a public festival with different readings from different groups throughout downtown Hayward coinciding with Hayward’s choosing a new adult poet laureate, culminating in an afterparty at Hayward’s Odd Fellows Lounge. Several Synchronized Chaos contributors will read from their work at the 2024 Lit Hop.

Icon for Hayward's downtown Lit Hop, Orange background with green frog and white text reading Lit Hop, Saturday April 27th, 2-8 pm. Haywardlithop.com

This month, for April’s first issue, we’re reflecting on the change of seasons. We’re moving from winter to spring, or summer to fall in the Southern hemisphere. Much of the other work here deals with changes in moods, situations, stages of life, or with cultures and societies in times of change.

J.D. Nelson’s haiku evokes intriguing and disorienting seasonal transitions, while Jacques Fleury offers up an impressionistic reflection on a sunrise and the liminal state of consciousness between sleeping and waking. Hurliman Almuratova contributes a poetic piece about spring’s eventual return as Sayani Mukherjee glories in radiant poppies, Don Bormon listens to the symphony of natural sounds around him and Maja Milojkovic revels in the scents, colors, and renewal of spring. Annie Johnson exudes about diaphanous dawn, moonlight, and newborn creation in her poetry.

Mesfakus Salahin sees love all over the natural world around him. Kristy Raines speaks of a steady love where people know the depth of their connection even without using words. John Edward Culp writes of the tender growth of a relationship where there is trust. Davronbekova Sevinch speaks to the need to preserve integrity and trust. Graciela Noemi Villaverde writes of a gentle and silent love among the larks and lilacs. Inobat Karimova describes how her girls’ agricultural science club at school reflects the respect of her society for women, nurturing, the land, and life. Tammy Higgins’ photography concerns intersections of human culture and nature where nature remains present and vibrant.

Amirova Niginabonu’s work speaks to the cycles of nature and the ways of the mind as Michael Robinson reflects on loss and resurrection during the church season of Lent.

Female figure walks off towards a portal in a cave with an arched doorway and light.
Image c/o Gerd Altmann

Dildora Toshtemirova writes of celebrating her birthday after the loss of her parents. Sevinch Raxmanova illustrates coming of age amidst the loss of her parents and grandparents. Nosirova Gavhar’s piece focuses in on a single date to represent her grief at the loss of her mother.

Music pulls Taylor Dibbert back to thoughts of a marriage that ended, as Bill Tope describes an unconditional love that begins awkwardly but becomes very real until the title character’s death. Uzbekoyim’s poem reflects the pain of deeply caring for someone who does not return the care. Daniel De Culla comments on the vulnerability of women and children and the precarity of family life.

Surayyo Usmonova’s poetic story intermingles love, loss, and sorrow as J.J. Campbell speaks to longing and forbidden desires and Prasana Kumar conveys the pain of silence and words left unsaid. Sabina Rasulova writes of dreams dashed with reality and the absence of loved ones. John Sweet wonders what life is worth in a harsh and alienating world.

Mykyta Ryzhykh evokes the “silent emptiness” of alienation and modern warfare and Bill Tope dramatizes the toll of war and military and political oppression on civilian families and children. Azemina Krehic mourns the losses of so many mothers and the violence against women in Bosnia. Christopher Bernard highlights the folly of cycles of conflict and revenge in the Middle East. Mahbub Alam also expresses his hope that Gaza will find the peace he sees in nature. Linda Gunther reviews Ruta Sepetys’ WWII refugee survival story Salt to the Sea, exploring character development and internal and external conflict. In Nahyean Taronno’s detective story, while justice triumphs at the end, deception and violence seem a continual threat. Laylo Bakhtiyorova dramatizes the intensity of emotional pain, but reminds us that it will pass.

Muheez Ohamilekan gently encourages caution before being swept up in uncontrollable experiences as Maurizio Brancaleoni compares the uncertain journey of life to a train trip with an unstated destination.

Person with a walking stick and backpack and hat heads off at sunrise/sunset on a path towards some grass and trees and birds.
Image c/o Mohamed Mahmoud Hassan

Mark Young’s postwoman poems allude to life’s surprise gifts: one never knows what might arrive in the mail. Alan Catlin’s found poems repurpose other famous modern works in a fresh and surprising way, like Polaroids from the lives of artists.

Christina Chin, Shane Coppage, Marjorie Pezzoli and Jerome Berglund send up a group of concrete collaborative haiku that play with words and language.

Eddie Heaton crafts impressionistic takes on relationships and words and literature through long voyages of the mind. Goran Tomic alludes to a different kind of voyage through his collages of vintage images of flowers and clothes and buildings, illustrating city life in the time of the flaneurs.

Sevinch Tolquinova celebrates the value of reading and learning from books. James Whitehead illuminates the honest empathy of Richard Vargas’ poetry collection leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel.

Vintage image of a biplane, a steam train, a luggage cart, various people in suits and dresses, a boat and cable car and city scape, and old timey cars in front of a map of the United States and Canada.
Photo c/o Andrea Stockel

Brian Barbeito crafts a long series of character sketches and vignettes, while Noah Berlatsky’s humorous piece speculates on what sort of poet he wants to become. Ifora Olimjonova compares introverts to extroverts and suggests that many people are somewhat in the middle.

Jeffrey Spahr-Summers speaks to a society in transition with his poems on the latent cultural and racial tension in South Africa. Z.I. Mahmud writes of the power and limits of words and memory in Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and how the novel’s characters reclaim their flesh and history.

Thaalith Gimba offers up a dramatic poem of self-assertion, as John Grey crafts muscular poems on human needs and physical existence. Qurbonova Gulsanam extols the power of dedication and self-efficacy in working towards a goal as Donoxon Ibodullayeva reflects on the potential for developing Uzbek youth leadership through school and after-school organizations. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa’s childlike poems trace and celebrate our creative journeys through life. Dildora Toshtemirova urges readers to join her in living their dreams as Stephen Jarrell Williams speculates on whether he can bring his into reality.

Duane Vorhees’ poems of the gods and the ancients situate personal and cultural history within geological and natural timescales.

Ancient Latin star chart with writing and illustrations of cherubs in white on a dark blue background.
Image c/o Andrea Stockel

Bahramova Ifora Sunnatillayevna outlines the research of historical astronomer Mirzo Ulug’bek as Amirjonov Og’abek describes the ancient Islamic architecture of Samarkand. Wazed Abdullah commemorates the independence and pride of Bangladesh. Akhrorova Sarvinoz illuminates the historical and cultural value of cities in Uzbekistan, Rasulberdi Ashiraliyev highlights the Uzbek heritage of jurisprudence and the rule of law, Mirzo Ulugbek outlines types and structures of Uzbek businesses, and Xushroy Abdunazarova speaks to the history and beauty of the Uzbek language.

Gulsevar Xojamova encourages educators of Uzbek youth to draw on the nation’s cultural heritage in their lessons. Irodaxon Ziyoyeva discusses how to combine modern and traditional educational methods in the classroom, Shoshura Husaynova explores how to teach English with idiom and cultural context, Muhammadamin Xojamov addresses methods of mathematics instruction, Tolipova Zebuniso Ulug’bekovna draws on modern psychology and learning style theory in her recommendations for children’s education in Uzbekistan, Gulbahor Ergasheva discusses online learning technology, and Gulsevar Xojamova speaks to the role of information technology in modern Uzbek schools.

Work desk with a person's hand holding a cup of coffee above a laptop, a bunch of books, an open book, a phone, some pencils, a candle, and a notebook.
Image c/o Mohamed Mahmoud Hassan

Makhfiratkhon Abdurakhmonova and Abdullayeva Dilkhumor Abdukarimovna discuss strategies for effective early childhood education while Azi Umurzoqova highlights the importance of preschool education to her Uzbek homeland.

Uzbek writer Ruxzara Adiliqizi’s poetry carries a delicate mixture of love and patriotism. Boqijonova Madinabonu relates a story of the hard work and dedication of a mother, while Abdullayeva Feruza urges respect for parents and acknowledgement of their care. Farzona Koshimova writes of the importance of manners and respect for elders while Dilnurabonu Vayisova dreams of traveling the world with her mom.

We hope that this issue will deepen your heart and awaken your curiosity as you travel with us. Bon voyage!

Poetry from Amirova Niginabonu

Teen Central Asian girl with dark straight hair and a white collared shirt and blue tie and black vest.
Amirova Niginabonu
Cloud and sun

In the vast bosom of the sky,
Tinctures "blessed youth".
I'm tired of watching
Light is a generous sun.

To share my love
It was the sun's turn.
Unceasing cloud,
Share the tears.

So the sun changed,
Thanks to the cloud.
My service is over
I also give my light.

The sun is tied around his waist,
ready for service
Cloud's tears,
Dice turn into light.

A house by the river
A lonely house on the bank of the river,
Who was watching and waiting for?
Tevarak is surrounded by green trees,
How many days were crowded or lonely?

Not one guest, one thousand and one people.
Thankful refuge for all.
The passenger does not separate, does not choose at all.
It is a sin not to open the door.

The fury of winter, the day of the Koran,
A boat companion tied to a tree.
He is destined to be rewarded,
The sad, sad look of the loved ones.


Mind

The skin of the mind, the universe decorates,
Don't worry about your behavior.
The tariff you are told is a description,
A flower will please your heart.

We are higher than the mountain that will raise your glory,
Your services are an example to many.
Enthusiasm is always a friend of the mind.
Be familiar with the truth.


Law of life

The ice that conquered the peaks of the mountains,
It slowly melts from the sun.
Rushing through the grass
They are sick when they look up.

Life gives by walking the path,
There will be those who are offended.
This is the law of life from time immemorial,
Everything would be great then


Ship

white ship with white sails,
Suzar in the sea wave.
The sails flutter,
The horn is at the height of the wind.

Heading towards the horizon,
The goal is goodness.
Accompanying people
Let's reach the goal.

A tiny white ship,
There is a lot of power in him.
Believe in his power,
Your intentions are answered.


Rainbow

In the middle of the day,
It rained suddenly.
Nature's wonderful,
He performed a miracle.

The garden faded away,
From the rustling sound.
Insects are amazed,
From this rustling sound.

The rain has stopped,

The sun is in its place.
The sky suddenly cleared,
He looked beautiful.

Seven kinds of rainbow
Samo smiles across the sky.
I love you
Unfortunately, Ming does not know.

Rainbow from my youth,
I love the shine.
A drop of water in the sun,
I know you will be punished.

Amirova Niginabonu was born in the village of Ibrahimota ,Nurabad district , Samarkand Region .The 8 th – grade student of the Samarkand Specialized Art Boarding School has published a book of poetry entitled ʼʼ Kaldirgochʼʼ His creative works were published in the youth magazine      ʼʼ Samarkand Mishoirasiʼʼ

Essay from Gulsanam Qurbonova

Group of students and teachers of mixed ages and genders seated together in an assembly hall, dressed in uniforms and dress clothes.
Gulsanam Qurbonova (middle)

MY MOTIVATIONS IN LIFE

Successful people always think positively. They always enjoy life no matter what. They are good at almost everything. It’s always nice to talk to them because they’re always smiling and friendly. Such people poison others with their happiness.  Successful people believe in themselves and their success. They never feel bad that “I can’t succeed” because they make every effort to learn everything in advance. However, even if something fails, they, unlike those who are harmed, ask themselves, “How did this happen and what should I do?” They ask the question and look for ways to get a positive result.  Successful people are not afraid of responsibility. They take responsibility for the decisions they make, even if they are difficult for others or risky. When you’re successful, you immediately have haters around you. Ignore them, don’t let criticism, pressure, emotional attacks make you weak. Build up your confidence and use your armor of confidence for good!!

What is the role of energy in our life? Why do I rarely take people close to me? There are different categories of people around us and we have to establish a relationship with them. I have been working on my spirituality and personal development for years and I want to share my findings with you! I avoid 3 categories of people very quickly, I don’t even read their messages: 1) He complains about his life, shares his pain with everyone, blames everyone and makes himself the victim 2) Interferes in the life of others, discusses and gossips about it; 3) Those who do not understand you, who only think they are right and give unsolicited advice. These 3 categories of people eat your energy. After you talk to a person who constantly complains about his life, makes himself miserable, blames everyone, his energy and aura of dirt will transfer to you. You feel powerless, unable to do anything. Those who interfere in other people’s lives and look for dirt under their fingernails can even make you sick. Gossip, discussions, finding fault with someone will darken your heart, and being too busy with things that have nothing to do with you is nothing more than wasting your energy. For example, I don’t care who is married, divorced or at war with someone. Those who always blame you, who do not understand even if you explain a million times, who look for dirt under their fingernails, are the biggest enemies of your energy. By the time you explain to them and justify yourself, you will be exhausted and nervous. Because he does not understand, does not want to understand. Because he himself is so negative, he thinks of others as well. I will forever block those who have bad suspicions about me, I will never talk to them. Because if you don’t do a thousand good deeds, he will suspect evil. Allah also said: “I am in the suspicions of my servant about me.” Whatever you suspect about people, he will show you. I rarely have close relationships with people. I do not allow negative energy to influence others. I don’t listen to anyone on personal matters, I don’t give advice. Because I don’t know the situation completely, and someone’s problems and pains definitely affect me. That’s why I stay away. Don’t let someone else’s dirty aura affect your beautiful life, don’t waste your valuable time discussing the lives of worthless people.

When you bring yourself to zero, that’s when positive energy flows into you. Zero is the strongest number and state in the world. The number, which represents nothingness, emptiness and nothingness, is a very powerful number. God created man innocent. At first he was zero to sin. That’s when he was the strongest. For example, you talk about your problems, let’s say you have 10-15 problems. You don’t have a car, your health is bad, you are unhappy with your family, and so on. Is it possible to erase these when you write them down on a piece of paper? Of course it is possible. But what can’t you turn off? Zero! You can’t erase an absence from a sheet.

QURBONOVA GULSANAM was born on April 16, 2006 in Dehkhanabad district of Kashkadarya region. She is currently a grade 10 student at school number 68 in Dehkhanabad district and is proud of the regional German language. She has also achieved many results in sports, table tennis, chess, checkers.

Poetry from Eddie Heaton

light and bitter

sunday lunchtime 
with my father 
in the cemetery  
wind striking stone
beating conflict 
bearing down   
scratched on a head 
marking the days 
four poems prowl
as i fly into deeds 
that bought me up 
for change
to bring me into line
to put me in these lines  
the imagery awakes
and in this mist of time
this son of york
moves effortlessly 
‘mongst the pines 
a slicing of anxiety that lies 
most pale in the moonlight
witness the nervous prayer
vistas that were there for us 
a very useful sunset
once more cut adrift
lover-to-be – begin
sex and secularity
show boats in the drink 
adolescent agitprop revisited
a really low shuck scuttle
across the backs 
of daunting zebras 
leap or they’ll come for you 
get down on the blanket then
harsh noise too dark 
once i was a walking erection
entitlement personified 
lewd passions break neck 
runaway class 
runaway signs 
sonic experiments 
ranging from riffs
exclude ecstasy 
include instances 
you know 
she whispered
you do know
gentle then 
gentlemen
we are subjects 
of the author 
of his latest 
and the world won’t end
oh delighting one
after all you will 
after all you’ve seen
full-lotus on the mantelpiece
a technique to be admired 
move on to more familiar hypnosis 
twist yourself into a tree 
incendiary personal collections
consisting of salacious clips
behaviour can be useful 
a fortune on the pools 
north carolina is drowning
and she is a million years old
in his pocket lies your breathing 
modern psychology fries
wavemakers made off 
with my waking  
red brick telephone lines 
yes sir she does have two kidneys 
racists are usually thick
the meat grinder has read your note 
but you are not excused   
a hundred-thousand potbellies
can’t be wrong
and personal chemistry 
can only take you so far
this blend of surreal chicanery 
is remaining  
weaving opening pieces
and having to make do 
so cease your 
fashionable scuttling
i also find that 
quite contrived 
we held 
we necked
as first rains 
hit the carriage
we decoded the typology
and oh what fun we had
live streaming the event
simplify and exemplify  
or you will be disturbed 
try to exercise 
begin to form softness 
sink into self-defence 
only partly consume yourself  
more profit for the shucksters 
out ways means way out
sullen leaps from the parapet 
my stares have been changed  
and both are rather weary now
coffee brews with queer desires 
following which and taking it on 
take what you want and get it to shore 
farewell yearning cobra 
cats that ridge their backs 
time to find 
the dreamlike 
frame mind 
abiding buttered cool 
blue-tiled pools and pixled fools
furnish them with everything 
be unconscious mind i said 
call it out then mother-hen 


and this is what that feels like

it creeps into you backwards 
with its bug eyes on your feet 
on a tight leash 
fold and unfold 
as the woodland comes to life 
in surroundings 
i wave she waving 
must run 
rice cake wars 
once factories made sure 
still jolly reader 
really bad got bored 
rather than wait 
the creature stirred 
who would have thought 
of virgin lands 
with ringing crystals 
so debauched 
who then is watching 
this unprecedented growth 
through a soft lens 
reach for a cigarette 
vodka 
this world 
has become a dark world 
murdering catamites 
behind a white picket fence 
what is on offer 
we bring you plate 



ransom note 

thought circuits bathed in flaming gravy
simple weird moments in a deep bass slot
fine dimly wondered march acoustics
sirloin beef broils there bypassing breath
this infernal whooping through my mucus 
has transformed the cold machinery of war    
break out the psalms and trance-like simul-
ations before the god of winds caresses 
your last breath counting your sleeps in a 
sound-proofed chamber recycling waste 
for a jollier death my knees have turned 
against me and now they’re spreading so 
there’s little else left here for me to do oh 
damn your dreams fish don’t want air and 
many more besides a little bit of ghostly’s 
gone astray go check for mail and mow 
the lawn and throw your groceries in the 
bin this must we see it cannot be it flows 
through graduated forms a stasis tube 
containing light a play with something 
different new concerns providing stranger 
personal effects aesthetic coffins ripened 
love buds please dear uncle am i then the 
one am i a shade of energy pulsating in 
and out of love of time not out of hate of 
signs but talk of peace that mimics all 
the body’s core and fights what should 
have made a difference and yet 
appears in more and more degrading 
revelations force fed into my conscious 
mind it’s what is endlessly desired 
discover walks and roots in forestation 
that renew then take up huge amounts 
of time – the moments must so easily 
slip by be still and concentrate as best 
you can with myra hindley on your 
knee a flash of bottled radishes pressed 
uo against your spine that so inflames 
the rash that your humanity decries






irrational darkening dream status 

a sinistere mouths 
and my glass eye rolls 
left arm draped 
in a short space
stake gibbet and cross
and repent 
base pernicious 
and degrading
fire and sword 
from lip to ear
crystallised 
into a creed
prenatal memory 
cognition
black fire town 
once there was
a red hot poker
now there’s only
central heating
shadow travellers 
offend 
a sort of rising 
for a few 
like-minded friends 
and what is left 
is postmarked quarantine
daisy gristle welts
green gnomes here lie 
and their chunks 
anastasia was disposed of
lady chatterley's 
a broken tuba now
her topical mouth 
is a gift shop
but it’s closed
whose contraption 
am i strapped upon
the master-key 
is in their hands
and i believe 
they watch my dreams
through apertures extending into space

Eddie Heaton studied innovative and experimental poetry under the tutelage of post-modern poet and educator Keith Jebb, achieving a first-class honours degree. He also won the 2021 Carcanet Award for Creative Writing. His work has been extensively published in a number of prestigious literary journals.

Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh

***
red bones boiled in night porridge
my grandmother coughed every time bypassing the cemetery which does not exist
an inconspicuous shadow hangs on the wall of our high-rise building
birds peck at this shadow from hunger
crumbs of pigeon bread here stick to the asphalt
every grocery store in our area is going bankrupt
even the cats here don’t dare to leave a dead mouse without eating its flesh to the
end
glue for eyes and fingers in the form of world history falls on the eyelashes with
crumbs of hunger

https://thegorkogazette.com/2024/03/07/poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh/      

***
the sky is so vain that the rain ends
a stranger with the face of death gives a dead kitten
dead kitten nibbles milky evening
and its dark around after the airstrike

https://thegorkogazette.com/2024/03/07/poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh/

***
moonless night sensors
couple in love in blood and happiness
pleasure of the flesh develops into a play of shadows
the iron doors of the bedroom are bashfully silent
light bulbs don’t light for some unknown reason
only something inside the bellies warms the whole bedroom

https://thegorkogazette.com/2024/03/07/poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh/

***
hungry children racing
with pigeons run to the yard
bread of tears and water of bodies –
in that order
little sons die each
time trying to
resurrect

even snakes share
their apples with the
starving

https://thegorkogazette.com/2024/03/07/poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh/

***
broom of glances
forgive me for love
I will never forbid you
to die alone again

https://thegorkogazette.com/2024/03/07/poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh/

***
I want to be a killer sleeping on crumpled grass
I want to be buried in crumpled grass

I want to kill
I want to be

Buried under the grass is a home for worms and insects
The buried has no room for error

I want to kill the war
I want to be home

https://thegravityofthething.com/untitled-poem-mykyta-ryzhykh-2/

***
The bush is devoid of all berries
Autumn is now stripping off the leaves too
The future is uncertain

https://boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/3-poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh

***
By dying like the first time you teach me to feel sorry for you
A cry torn off by the wind is carried away leaving a silent emptiness
I don’t know how to feel sorry for you because you are indifferent to my regrets
Death is just a surprise box that you finally gave me
This is your first gift to me
This is the last gift

https://boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/3-poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh

***
I grab the tree but its branches don't care
I'm walking through the cemetery looking for life
I cry about the living because the
dead are indifferent to everything
I don't find anyone alive anywhere in this world
Only photographs on graves speak to me of love

https://boatsagainstthecurrent.org/poetry/3-poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh




Essay from Donoxon Ibodullayeva (needs to stay April 1)

Teenage Central Asian girl with black hair and eyes and a white headband and black braids and a kitty on her white polo shirt and a black jacket. She's standing outside under a few trees on a sunny day.
Donoxon Ibodullayeva

“Social activism or exemplary education”

In the fast-pased world, it is completely wrong to think that the “Youth Union” and voluntary organizations consist of idleness and only taking the time of students. I think that every student should be socially active along with education, because sharing the knowledge and skills that they have with others, organizing various creative projects for their peers, and sharing news there is no bad side, on the contrary, it is very useful. But some teachers are against it, in their opinion, the knowledge of the student who joins the organization decreases and his grades fall. Unfortunately, through such wrong ideas, they are withdrawing students from social activity. After all, if they don’t share their knowledges with others, why are they studying, just to enter the university? Well, let’s say he or she is a student, if they do not have initiative, if they can not speak fluently, what kind of staff will they become?

We ambitious youngsters must conquer the highest peaks. Of course, in order to achieve these results, we need a clear structure.”Youth Union” organization helps us lay this solid foundation.

Every student who joins the organization develops a number of skills, such as working with a team, thinking deeply, and speaking fluently, and these skills will always be useful to the student in the future, regardless of what kind of work they will do. In addition, this organization provides us with unforgettable childhood memories, and always calls for activity and unity. Every student who steps into the leadership system can’t get out of it again, because a person who has found his place in a society does not want to leave the system at all.

The leaders of Uzbekistan are a big, united and inseparable family! Organizing projects and motivational training together with them gives me energy. Another pillar of leadership is that it teaches students to be positive, because a positive person can lead those around them to a brighter future. I can say without hesitation that the first step to leadership begins with “Youth Union”. I am proud to join this organization, and I encourage all my peers to join this system!

Let’s unite youngers and leave the past behind and move towards the future. Let’s try so that our name will take place in the pages of history!!!

Essay from Boqijonova Madinabonu

The truth.

 A mother is a mother.  She does not need another quality.  (O’tkir Hashimov “World affairs”) 

August 29, 2022…

  The last days of summer.  Hot days are over.  One season was ready to give way to another season

Having graduated from school, achieved my dream, and been admitted to a higher educational institution, I fly in the seventh heaven, hoping that I will be a special person in the coming season, that is, I will be a student.  I grew up in a simple village, among simple people.  This event that I remember now is what I witnessed with my own eyes.  The names in it have changed.  Maybe people too.  But it did not affect me.  I know there are many stories, fairy tales, songs, poems about mothers.  Among these, I would like to add the fate of a poor mother who I witnessed.  I know that I am powerless to reprimand someone for something.  However, through this story, I would like to remind you that we need to understand the truth more deeply.  

ЭIt was August 29 … I was returning home after celebrating with my friends because of my admission.  There are a lot of cars and people on the street.  I could not understand what happened.  A little while ago, when I was returning from a party, I fell into a different state after seeing this situation.  I could hear the whispers of people passing by me on the street: “Yes, the poor man was ill for a long time, it was difficult for his son. Such words. I felt like I understood.  Aunt Farida

… Aunt Farida is dead. Aunt Farida is our neighbor, she has one son and one daughter. Her children divorced her husband when they were small. I am also the richest person in the world.  I don’t say that I am satisfied with life and my fate, I am living a very good life. Therefore, this cannot be expected even from a poor and helpless person. But my aunt Farida was really struggling to make a living. As soon as her daughter graduated from school, she worked from morning to night in order to help her mother.

It is not for nothing that they say that the role of the father in the upbringing of a boy is great.  Farida’s aunt’s son may have lacked this upbringing.  True, he also helped his family and his mother, but for some reason he did not act himself until he said that his mother was suffering and that he should act for the sake of the family.  One day my mother was baking bread in the oven.  I was always busy with tasks.  Aunt Farida came to our place.  While they were talking with my mother for a while, my mother went to the oven again, to my aunt Farida’s house.  At that time, my mother said that she will stay with you today.  It has been a year and a half since the wedding of my aunt Farida’s daughter Sevinch.  He came out to say that his son is staying at our house because he is alone at home today for some reason. 

That day remained with us.  He could not sleep well at night because it was a strange house.  Whether my brother or mother noticed it, I felt it very well.  Sahar got up in the morning to pray the morning prayer.  We all read.  But he said that he will go home without having breakfast.  The medicine he used to drink before breakfast was left at home.  One day he went in without agreeing to do nothing.  Aunt Farida’s house is almost not finished, even so, it took a lot of work to get to its current state.  That is, my aunt Farida picked cotton and carrots in autumn.  In the spring, he took out the cotton crop.  So, in every season, seasonal jobs were found for him. 

My mother said that they restored these houses with the help of my aunt Farida’s father, and then they did a lot of work themselves.  Of course, his children were young at that time.  In 2020, when the coronavirus spread all over the world, my aunt Farida became seriously ill.  His daughter is married.  His son was in Russia.  He spent a lot of time in the hospital.  He left the hospital, but the effect of his patients did not go away.

They were in the process of renovating their house beautifully to marry their son. It was summer.  It was the end of summer.  Aunt Farida was affected by that illness, difficult times of fate, the end of many misfortunes, literally speaking.  Maybe there are many things that happened in the fate of this mother that I did not know.  But the difficulty of the past tense of these simply written words, which I have listed, is actually great.  What was the saddest thing… After the death of my aunt Farida, she sold her son’s houses, the house where she was born and grew up, where she spent her childhood, where her mother and grandfather worked hard, and married a woman in the city.  He moved to the country.  He did not stay in that house because of his mother’s respect.  Sorry… It really hurt me.  Because it was not just a house, but also a memory.  One day my married sister came to our house.  When they come, there will be a holiday in our house.  When my sister was talking to my mother, I overheard: “I saw my aunt Farida in my dream last night. They were looking at me and saying: Iftar is being served in heaven, I am going there.”They were like happy people. 

Mother’s love is real, not everyone understands it.

Boqijonova Madinabonu. Born in 2004 in Koshtepa district of Fergana region. Currently, he is a 1st-year student of the Faculty of Philology of Fergana State University, majoring in Russian language and literature.