My Mother’s Diary

My mother was chatting and laughing with the neighbors on the lush green grass. As their joyful laughter rose into the sky, suddenly dark clouds blanketed the heavens. A light rain began to fall. The women ran toward their homes. Thunder cracked through the sky, followed by a heavy downpour.

There’s a unique pleasure in watching the rain from behind a window—especially when the raindrops tap against the glass, stirring your thoughts. As I sat with a cup of coffee, the scene outside awakened memories. The rain wouldn’t stop. The streets were silent. Then the power went out. I reached for a candle, searching for matches. As always, they were probably in the box near the old cabinet where my mother’s photos were kept.

Indeed, when I opened the box, I was surprised to find my mother’s worn-out diary. I lit the candle and began to flip through it… I had seen the diary before but never read it. Now, as I turned each page, every line felt like a finger pressing on my heart.

Lightning lit up the room as if emphasizing each word. My little brothers, scared, buried their heads under the blanket while my mother listened to a greeting on the radio.

As a child, I was afraid to touch that notebook. My mother would scold me sharply:
— “Don’t touch it without permission, it’s mine!”

But today… with a trembling heart, I asked shyly:
— “Mom, may I read your diary?”

— “Alright… just be careful, the pages are very old. Inside are my childhood, my sorrows,” she said, her eyes filled with sorrow and permission at once.

The first entry was about a trip to Samarkand—I read it with delight. But the next page had a blank space that shook me.

“Why?”—I used to ask my mother such questions when I was little.
— “Mom, why does everyone have a father, but you don’t?”

She would sigh deeply, gaze at the sky, and with sadness in her voice reply:
— “My father flew to the sky. He’s watching over us from there. But don’t ever mention it when your aunt comes to visit!”

One particular line in the diary broke my heart:
“Spring, I hate you. When you come, I’m afraid you’ll take someone away again…”

That line unlocked more fragments from the past. When my older brother came home with wild spinach, my mother angrily gave it to the animals. My brother would plead:
— “Mom, please make green somsa! Jasur’s mom did!”

— “No! Just eat what I’ve made in silence!” she’d snap, and it used to irritate me.

Back then, I didn’t understand her harshness. But now… I think I do. Her dislike of spring, of green somsa—those were silent echoes of pain, memories tied to her father.

Further in the diary, there was a photograph of her father—tall, dark-haired, and dignified. Below it, a line read:

“Today was unforgettable. My father didn’t go to work!”

— “Daddy, aren’t you going to work?” I asked.

— “No! Today I’ll spend time with you all!”

But early in the morning, his friends came over, saying, “Let’s go to the mountains.” My sister cried:

— “So you’re not staying again?”

— “That’s enough! Don’t embarrass us in front of his friends!” my mother scolded as she took my sister away.

Was it necessary to go to the mountains on that rainy day?

The final lines of the diary tore at my soul:
“Father didn’t want to go. He said, ‘My feet feel heavy today.’ But he went anyway. We made green somsa and waited for him… He never came back.”

Reading these lines by candlelight, the rain hitting the window, and the wind outside felt like they were singing the sorrow in my mother’s heart.

Only now do I understand—this diary wasn’t just a collection of words, it was my mother’s silent scream.

I think my grandmother’s words had truth. My father would leave for work at dawn, long before we woke up. Sometimes he wouldn’t return for days—he carried the burden of two families.

Yet my grandmother supported him unconditionally. Even when he brought another woman with a child into our home, she welcomed them with kindness, offering new clothes without a glance of resentment. A different woman might have thrown her out, but my grandmother understood everything from my father’s eyes—without needing words.

That cursed day, my father left with his friends for the mountains. My sisters and I started making green somsa. In just an hour, it was ready. My grandmother had gone to a neighbor’s house to spin yarn. The house was tidy, our hearts filled with joy. For us, Father skipping work was a celebration.

But that celebration didn’t last long. Our neighbor, Eshim bobo, burst into the house—his slippers mismatched, face pale with fear.

— “Sharofat! Sharofat!” he shouted.

My sister’s face darkened:
— “Is everything okay? Speak quickly!” she said sarcastically.

— “Sharofat, Amir… there’s been an accident…”

— “What?! What are you saying?!” My mother’s breath caught, her gaze suspended midair. “This can’t be true!”

— “At first, I didn’t believe it either… but it’s real, sister. You must go to your in-laws’ home. They say he’s in critical condition…”

— “Tell me clearly! What happened?! Why are you suddenly saying such things?!”

Just then, my uncle and his friend arrived. They loaded us into the car, and we set off. The half-hour journey felt eternal for our shattered hearts.

When we reached my grandfather’s house, my grandmother was crying loudly, the house filled with grief. I was seized by panic. I desperately wanted to see my father—to hear someone say, “It’s not him.” But my legs trembled, my heart pounded.

Strangers kept entering—men with bloody hands, scarves at their waists, skullcaps on their heads. When we finally entered the room where my father lay, I saw him.

His watch still ticked on his wrist. His face was bruised, his body scratched. My grandmother let out a wail:
— “Oh, my God!” But we, still too young to comprehend death, didn’t understand why everyone was crying.

My sister tugged at his hand:
— “Dad, get up! Let’s go home! Where’s your car?!” But he didn’t move.

My grandfather wept:
— “You left your children behind, my dear son. How could you bear it?”

Later… we laid him to rest. As they carried his coffin out, the sky wept with us—a torrential rain as if nature, too, was mourning.

My sisters clung to our grandfather:
— “Grandpa, please don’t let them take our dad! You’re strong—stop them! Don’t let them separate us! We love our father!” they sobbed.

My sister screamed at my father’s friend, Rahmatjon uncle. He embraced her tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

— “If you hadn’t insisted, this wouldn’t have happened! Why are you silent?! Say something!”

Those questions hung in the air. There were no answers. Father was gone.

We held the memorials. We returned home. But the pain lingered. Every time I looked out the window, I imagined Father driving up again.

Spring, I hate you! You took my father away! I had barely tasted his love. But my little brother—he was only three. And my baby sister… she wasn’t even three months old. Every night my pillow soaked in tears, as if the pain in my heart spilled onto the bed.

Spring, please, don’t come again. The thought that you might take someone else from me makes my skin crawl…

Reading these pages, I couldn’t hold back my tears. We tried hard to fill the hole in my mother’s heart. But no… neither we, nor time, nor even Father himself could fill that emptiness.

That emptiness—was a scream in silence.

Xurshida Suvon qizi Abdisattorova was born on November 9, 1997, in Olmazor village, Chiroqchi district, Kashkadarya region. She is currently a third-year student at the University of Journalism and Mass Communications, majoring in Sports Journalism.

Her articles have been published in newspapers such as “Hurriyat” and “Vaziyat”, as well as on online platforms like “Olamsport” and “Ishonch”. She is also a participant in the international scientific-practical conference titled “Future Scientist – 2025”. Additionally, her article has been featured in the anthology “Let the World Hear My Words”.

When Books Breathe: How Stories Transcend Borders, Time, and Silence

When Books Breathe

In a world constantly racing forward, books remain the quiet keepers of human memory. Unlike fleeting trends or temporary platforms, they stay rooted, whispering stories from past centuries into the ears of modern souls. A book doesn’t demand attention; it earns it slowly — through pages that unfold truth, pain, joy, and hope.

When a person opens a book, they don’t just read. They listen — to distant lands, silenced voices, and forgotten times. Through the weight of a well-crafted sentence or the simplicity of a child’s rhyme, literature transcends borders. A young woman in Uzbekistan can feel the struggles of a mother in Sudan, or the joy of a boy in Peru, all through ink and imagination.

Books breathe when we let them live in our minds — when we carry their messages beyond the bookshelf. In this sense, books are alive not because they are printed, but because they are read, shared, and remembered. They wait patiently, knowing their time will come when a reader is ready to receive.

In a noisy age, the stillness of reading becomes a quiet revolution. Through books, we learn not only about the world, but how to become more human within it. They do not speak louder than others — they speak deeper.

Mushtariybegim Ozodbekova is a student and aspiring writer from Uzbekistan. She enjoys exploring literature as a bridge between cultures and generations. Her writing reflects a deep belief in the power of language to inspire empathy and awareness.

This article was inspired by my own experience of discovering books during a time of personal reflection. In today’s fast-paced world, I wanted to write something that reminds us of the silent strength books carry — and how they connect readers across continents, cultures, and time.

Fading colours 

~~~~~~~~~

Desdemona dies every day 

Among those eyes that gaze at her beauty 

Greeting her for her beauty each time 

Although being beautiful isn’t a crime!

Has Monalisa ever been a subject of suspicion in the hands of da Vinci? 

Where her colours turned pale and faded long ago? 

Even now, she is dying somewhere! 

Unfulfilled, longing for a little bit of poison 

Every time she fails to be loyal,

To be beautiful, the way she is 

Those eyes say it all 

So helpless they seem to be 

Suffering all alone, Wearing a smile 

In the tales of mystery, 

Revealing every time or yet to be…  

The monsoon rhyme

The monsoon rhymes in my heart,

Long abandoned within a barren desert.

Drenching my barren heart full of glee,

There smiles the yellow over the cactus decree.

Of the lonely bird singing forlornly,

Bombarding weapons in the heart of the city,

A cruel nexus nibbling the weak,

Falling out subtle emotions across the Mediterranean Sea.

The day the rain came laughing out bitterly,

Sang the song of Damodar, woefully.

Returns the sonorous in the nest of wobble,

Nestling honey to the beaks that gobble.

There sings Meera the song of verdancy 

Sways the swing amidst the longing trees 

Love so divine continue to flow, boundless and eternally 

Reaping hope with faith and harmony 

Best friends 

~~~~~~~~

Happiness and sorrow

Two friends of mine 

Traveling in opposite sides, 

But with one another .

They are so loyal and lovable with one another 

Just made for each other

Sorrow has never left happiness alone 

Sometimes happiness has doubted it’s intent 

Why does he steps in my hours of glory? 

But he failed to one single question!

What and from where does his glory comes from? 

Smiling gracefully happiness rolled down my cheeks again 

They travelled so far to the distant lands 

Yet untired although they suffered so much 

Fighting the darkness all alone 

Until that spark that came from within 

Where darkness answered everything 

Blend

A girl on the far left—

a cooling white sweater, 

navy shorts that absorbed the salty texture of the sea

—raises her arm to shield her eyes from the glittering beam.

Ships fly across the waves,

seagulls float in the sky; 

a brushstroke deeper, 

layered in long tones of slate and teal. 

The water moves with quiet muscle,

creases of white gathering near the shore

before breaking into lace at the toes 

of seven figures drawn by tide—

some standing close where the water sighs,

ankles kissed by foam;

others linger just behind,

head slightly rested back, caressed by the soft ocean winds.

A few drift farther down the shore, 

turned slightly, as if to say:

‘come see what the horizon hides.’

Three boys with their feet buried in the chilling sand,

one with a backwards hat, trying to fight the glaring gleam.

Two others play rock, scissors, paper 

—their conversation captured in the pause between waves. 

Sand, pale gold and warm with noon, 

holds footprints like soft echoes.  

The sun presses down,

gives the waves a shimmer that sings. 

Light folds over each figure, placed precisely,

spaced like notes in a slow chord—

black shirts, white sleeves, a shoulder bare to the sun,

each color bleeding into the sea and sky.

Portraits Without First Chapters

The silence after a story that’s missing its end—

that’s how we meet them.

A pair of wrinkled hands, softened with time, already slower.

Their voices linger not in memory but in my imagination. 

A train ticket with no date,

folded in a drawer beside war medals

and recipes written in a language, 

we never learned to speak. 

The note tucked into a borrowed book,

Laying neatly between pages of stories

flat, delicate, and fragile. 

Maybe from someone they loved 

before the word “family” included us—

a couple of letters to me, 

a name I’ll truly never know. 

We hold their endings like heirlooms, 

guessing at beginnings. 

Through photographs where they are younger

than we’ll ever know them to be. 

A Childhood in Five Objects 

Its fur dulled by the decade of sun, 

ears bent from too many hugs, 

eyes stitched with storied only I recall. 

It once leaped from planets I drew in crayons, 

spoke bedtime whispers only I could hear. 

A stuffed rabbit slumps against the wall, now it waits—

from the last time, I tucked it in, quietly guarding retired dreams. 

Where tea parties once were held.

Its patterns are now a faded trail,

stories of imagination yet more vibrant than  

the wallpaper’s flowers ever dared to bloom, 

echoes etched deeper than time could consume. 

It has caught the weight of every goodbye—

To dolls, to friends, to phases passed. 

Now it cradles still, but never forgets the shape of my steps. 

Their spines creased with thumbprints of belief. 

Each page reverberates my mother’s voice,

each character a mask she wore—yet all I remember is her. 

Now they rest like loyal sentinels,

inked in the versions of me they kept,  

a carpet lies bruised with soft indentations.  

Framing skies that changed with my moods,

stormy eams, sunlit breaks, a single star I wished upon.

Four repeating seasons, every item slowly maturing with the age of time. 

At night it played the moon’s lullaby, 

by day, the chatter of birds on the branches. 

Now it reflects back the outside world,

but never quite lets it in. 

Warping my height as I grew each year, 

Flashing glimpses of twirls, tears,

and the first stolen lipstick swipe.

Reflecting words mouthed in silence, a face rehearsed,

it now holds the quiet imprint of every version I’ve been.

Sally Lee is a student at an international school in Seoul, South Korea. Immersed in a multicultural environment, she draws inspiration from the diverse cultures and experiences around her. She is currently working on her writing portfolio.

Flower  

a disbelieving priest got lost on his way to the sausage shop

god died

a dog died and cheap semi-counterfeit sausage appeared

god died and cheap semi-counterfeit sausage appeared

a son planted a cherrystone bone and a tree grew from the rib

god was born

a dog was born

a homeless dog is a god born in the cold

merry christmas

the butcher shop is closed for the holidays

the meat has fallen asleep

merry birthday

a tree gives birth to a flower

but a flower is not the future

Вird

province of death

without a hat and jacket a snowman goes out into the street

and around the raging iblian hot weather

a fragment of a shot moon falls out of a gun

naked people press themselves against the pistols of summer

a snowman shoots me in the chest and a bird flies out

Jaden piblik/Public Garden

My Poetry Translation and Recording Featured in a “Sound Walk” at the Boston Public Garden

ECHOES APP

Location: Boston, Massachusetts, United States

A collaboration with between Cantabridgian poet Jacques Fleury and Bostonian musician Rachel Devorah Wood Rome, Ph.D.by Jacques Fleury

Boston Public Garden Image C/O Jacques Fleury

I am featured in a “Sound Walk” recording on the Boston Public Garden!

I was commissioned by Berklee College of Music Professor, Dr. Rachel Rome, who discovered me on the Haitian American Artists of Massachusetts Facebook page, to translate and record a poem to her naturalistic electronic musical composition at Berklee recording studios.  The recording is divided into three sections, each having its own sound and intent achieved by dividing the poem into three parts. You can listen to it as part of your meditation practice, whether manually or at the Boston Public Garden itself should you be visiting or live in the Boston area.

The poem was originally written in English  by Dr. Jason Allen Paissant, a professor of Jamaican descent who speaks seven languages. 

It is about the manmade  erosion of our natural wonders and entitled TREENESS. Below is the poem, the translation and link to the public garden recording which you can listen to manually or visit the garden to listen automatically on the app. 

Check it out!

Link to my Haitian Creole translation of the poem Treeness at the Boston public garden, which will be there indefinitely…

You can visit and listen for years to come on your phone by downloading the ECHOES app!

Link to listen to the recording on the Internet Archive:
https://archive.org/details/jadenpiblik

Link to download on Echoes App to listen manually if NOT in Boston or at the Public Garden if you are:

https://explore.echoes.xyz/collections/d859Ek1TXRNh64gz

“All Soundwalks are located at Boston Common and Boston Public Garden. Boston Common and Public Garden are open 

from 6:30 a.m. until 11:00 p.m. each day.

Installation Title: Jaden Piblik/public garden

A diverse collection of plants from around the world live together in the Boston Public Garden, embodying the ideals and contradictions of the United States. Heralded as the “first public botanical garden in the United States,” this historic site reflects a uniquely American paradox: the aspiration for multicultural democratic inclusivity juxtaposed with the tenants of colonialism. Nature is not left to thrive on its own terms but meticulously curated, shaped to conform to Victorian notions of beauty and order. jaden piblik is an electroacoustic soundwalk setting of the Haitian-Cantabrigian poet Jacques Fleury’s Haitian-Creole translation of the English-language poem “Treeness” by Jason Allen-Paisant. The work bridges languages and traditions, resonating with the complex, layered histories embodied in the Public Garden itself.”-qtd. from the Echoes website.

Treeness

By Jason Allen-Paisant

A tapestry of earth suspended

In a forested temple

Beneath the roots

The sheer face of a cliff

Music from a rock gong

Among the snakes

Of the rhododendrons

Trembling at the blackness

Of their skin a human walking

Among the birds

Past the barrier of time

A climb away from land

Where we punish ourselves

Because there are no trees

Because the woodlands

Have been cut down and

Land has no time for itself

If my thoughts can become

Ageless let them travel to a place

Called Infinite from

The words that kill time that kill

Things that kill vines let me lie

In the infinity of a beetle in

Its meshwork in the muscles

That grow from its burrowing a way

From the noises

Of the crowd whose sounds silence

The music of rhododendrons

Who shun the temple of the rock gong

And the sacred hanging tapestry where

The birds’ thoughts echo

Dear tree let me lose

my head and find it in the

Hairs of the birches

In the air where my feet meet

the river that blossoms

From their exposed veins

Treeness

By Jason Allen-Paisant

(Translated to Haitian Creole by Jacques Fleury)

Yon tapi sou latè sispan

Nan yon tanp forè

Anba rasin yo

Fè fas a absoli nan yon falèz

Mizik ki soti nan yon gong wòch

Pami koulèv yo

Nan rododendron yo

Tranble nan nwa a

Nan po yo, yon moun ap mache

Pami zwazo yo

Pase baryè tan an

Yon grenpe lwen tè a

Kote nou pini tèt nou

Paske pa gen pye bwa

Paske rakbwa yo te koupe

Epi tè a pa gen tan pou tèt li

Si panse m ka vin san laj

Kite yo vwayaje nan yon kote

Yo rele Enfini

Soti nan pawòl ki touye tan ki touye

Bagay ki touye pye rezen

kite m kouche nan infini yon skarabe

Nan net li nan misk yo

Ki grandi nan twou li ale

Pou li soti nan bwi yo

Nan foul moun ki fè silans

Mizik la nan rododendron yo

Ki moun ki evite tanp gong wòch la

Ak sakre tapi pandye a

Kote panse zwazo yo fè eko

Chè pye bwa, kite m pèdi tèt mwen

Epi jwenn li nan cheve nan Birches yo

Nan lè a, kote pye m ‘kontre

Larivyè Lefrat la ki fleri

Soti nan venn ekspoze yo

______________________________________________________________

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, amazon etc… He has been published in prestigious publications such as Spirit of Change Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him at:  http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.–

Rachel Devorah Wood Rome
Rachel Devorah Wood Rome is a Boston-based electronic musician, educator, and labor organizer. She values machines for their patience and capacity to remember. She is interested in superhuman prolongation, opaque complexity, the re-signification of archaic tools and materials, and parallels between the physical properties and social meanings of spaces. Her work has received support from the Adrian Piper Foundation (Berlin), EMS (Stockholm), INA/GRM (Paris), the Goethe Institut [DE], MassMoCA [US], the New Museum [US], New Music USA, STEIM (Amsterdam), Swissnex [CH], and Villa Albertine [FR]. It has been released on pan y rosas discos (Chicago); Infrequent Seams (NYC); and Full Spectrum Records (Oakland), published by parallax; Feminist Media Histories; and Ugly Duckling Presse, and has been heard in fourteen countries on four continents performed by/with artists such as Nava Dunkelman, Fred Frith, Forbes Graham, Brad Henkel, Seiyoung Jang, Ava Mendoza, Roscoe Mitchell, Robbie Lee, Lydia Moyer, Ryan Muncy, Liew Niyomkarn, Erin Rogers, and the William Winant Ensemble. She is employed as an Assistant Professor of Electronic Production and Design | Creative Coding at the Berklee College of Music, and Vice President of Full-Time Faculty with MS1140 AFT Massachusetts.

SPEAKING  ACTIVITIES  FOR  FLUENCY  AND ACCURACY:                                    

                 A BALANCED APPROACH

Annotation: One of the most important but difficult goals for teachers in language teaching is to find a balance between fluency and accuracy. Fluency helps learners express their thoughts clearly and confidently, while accuracy makes sure that their language use is correct and fits the situation. Focusing on just one part of communicative competence may slow down its overall growth. So, for language learning to be effective, it’s important to take a balanced approach that includes activities that focus on both fluency and accuracy. So, this article talks about how important it is to have a balanced approach to helping students improve their grammar and fluency. It looks at free conversation, role-playing, and discussion exercises to help people speak more fluently, as well as grammar and pronunciation exercises that are designed to help people speak more accurately. The article gives teachers suggestions on how to do things and real-life examples that will help them get good results in the classroom.

  Key words: Educational technology, positive learning environment, direct instructions, fluency, accuracy, natural, repetition, drilling, pronunciation, pairwork games, tongue twister.

  Firstly, teachers have a significant impact on students’ values, attitudes, and behaviours, and this influence frequently extends beyond the classroom. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, teachers act as role models for their students because they are authority figures who engage with them on a daily basis. Students are more likely to internalise and emulate teachings that exhibit traits like honesty, respect, punctuality, and a love of learning. This influence is particularly potent when the younger generation is developing their social identities and moral convictions.

For instance, a teacher who treats every student fairly and kindly not only fosters a positive learning environment in the classroom but also sets an example for how to use empathy and respect in daily interactions. Likewise, when a teacher calmly manages a challenging lesson or adjusts to unforeseen circumstances in the classroom, they can encourage students to be resilient and determined in their own lives. Since students witness values being exhibited in practical settings rather than merely in theory, such a role model frequently has greater impact than direct instruction. 

The movie Freedom Writers tells the story of Erin Gruwell, a teacher who really lived. She changed the lives of many students from troubled backgrounds by being dedicated, caring, and willing to go above and beyond the standard curriculum. Through her work, they learnt that discipline, empathy, and faith in the potential of others can help them get through difficult times. In daily life, even small things like warmly greeting students every morning, showing real interest in their lives, or admitting mistakes can have a big impact on how students think and act. In short, teachers are not only teaching academic subjects when they show their students the qualities they want to develop in them. They are also helping young people grow as a whole. Their actions become a living program that teaches them life skills and moral values, and the effects of education go far beyond the classroom.

  Activities that focus on clarity put a lot of emphasis on using the right language, which helps students improve their grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation, making their communication clear and professional. Fluency encourages people to speak without thinking, while precision stops mistakes from becoming ingrained over time and builds a strong language base. Typically, these kinds of activities are short, controlled, and meant to help students practise certain language patterns before they use them in free communication. To help students remember how to use things correctly, teachers often use repetition, targeted correction, and clear explanations. One of the most common ways to learn is through drilling, where students repeat certain structures over and over again until they know them by heart.

For instance, practicing conditional sentences like “If I had studied harder, I would have passed the test” helps students learn both how to do things automatically and how to do them correctly. Games with a grammar focus are also useful resources. Grammar review becomes engaging and interactive when students are required to use the appropriate tense when asking and responding to questions, such as “Find someone who has been to London,” in the “Find someone who…” activity. Simple pairwork exercises that teach students to hear and pronounce subtle sound differences that can impact meaning, like differentiating between ship and sheep, can help students improve their pronunciation accuracy.

  It is commonly known that tongue twisters, which are brief sentences or phrases with repeated and similar sounds, are useful tools for improving spoken language accuracy and fluency. Their ability to engage several facets of speech production—pronunciation, articulation, rhythm, and intonation—all at once makes them valuable in the learning process. From the standpoint of fluency, tongue twisters instruct students on how to rapidly and fluidly pronounce a series of sounds without making undue pauses or hesitations. The speaker concentrates on creating seamless transitions between the sounds because they are frequently similar but marginally different, which is reminiscent of the requirements of natural communication. The tongue twister “She sells seashells by the seashore,” for instance, compels the learner to make rapid sounds, improving speech coordination. With regular practice, such tasks reduce hesitation and improve the natural flow of speech.

  In conclusion, developing comprehensive language competence requires striking an efficient balance between speaking activities’ accuracy and fluency. While accuracy guarantees that their speech is grammatically correct, precise, and socially acceptable, fluency enables students to convey their ideas clearly, maintain communication flow, and grow confident in real-life confrontations. A balanced approach recognises that these two elements are not mutually exclusive but rather interdependent: accuracy without fluency may impede spontaneity and natural expression, while fluency without accuracy runs the risk of fossilising errors. Teachers must use a variety of teaching strategies that incorporate both form-focused and meaning-focused activities in order to achieve this balance. While focused drills, constructive criticism, and pronunciation practice help improve accuracy, role-plays, debates, and discussions encourage students to speak freely, fostering fluency.

Importantly, activity sequencing and adaptation should be in line with learners’ communicative needs, learning objectives, and proficiency levels. Students are more willing to take chances and try new things with language when they are in a classroom setting that is encouraging and views errors as chances for improvement. So, a well-rounded approach gives students the communicative competence they need to operate with assurance and effectiveness in a variety of real-world situations, in addition to improving language proficiency. Teachers can develop students who are not only articulate and expressive but also precise and contextually appropriate in their speech by carefully crafting speaking exercises that foster both fluency and accuracy. By ensuring that language acquisition progresses from isolated skill mastery to true communicative ability, this all-encompassing approach equips students for meaningful interaction in everyday, professional, and academic contexts.

References:

1. Brown, H. D. (2007). Principles of Language Learning and Teaching (5th ed.). Pearson Education.

2. Harmer, J. (2007). The Practice of English Language Teaching (4th ed.). Pearson Longman.

3. Nation, I. S. P., & Newton, J. (2009). Teaching ESL/EFL Listening and Speaking. Routledge.

4. Richards, J. C., & Rodgers, T. S. (2014). Approaches and Methods in Language Teaching (3rd ed.). Cambridge University Press.

5. Thornbury, S. (2005). How to Teach Speaking. Pearson Longman.

6. Ur, P. (2012). A Course in English Language Teaching (2nd ed.). Cambridge University Press.

7. Bygate, M. (1998). Theoretical Perspectives on Speaking. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 18, 20–42.

8. Ellis, R. (2003). Task-Based Language Learning and Teaching. Oxford University Press.

Panoyeva Jasmina O’tkirovna was born on November 14, 2006, in the Shofirkon district of Bukhara region. She graduated with a gold medal from School No. 13 in Shofirkon, demonstrating academic excellence and dedication throughout her studies.

Currently, she is a first-year student at Bukhara State Pedagogical Institute, majoring in Foreign Languages and Literature. Jasmina is an intellectually curious and active young woman who regularly participates in the “Zakovat” intellectual game, showcasing her critical thinking and broad knowledge.

In addition to her academic and intellectual pursuits, Jasmina has also contributed as a volunteer to several environmental projects, reflecting her strong sense of social responsibility and commitment to sustainable development.

With her passion for learning and active involvement in both academic and social initiatives, Jasmina continues to grow as a promising and motivated student, ready to make meaningful contributions to her field and community.