Essay from Gulsevar Xojamova

Older Central Asian teen girl with straight black hair in a  black suit jacket with a white blouse. She's standing in front of a black and white and red and green background.
Gulsevar Xojamova

My innocent friend

      I have a friend. We talk to him every day. His thoughts are deep and thoughtful. I don’t pay much attention to his words. I used to laugh at his wise words: “Don’t be so wise.” One day he said: “You should appreciate your parents, I envy you.” I understood all the pain in his tearful eyes.

      There was an orphanage near our school. I pass by there every day, as long as I don’t pay attention. After this incident, I began to look at that place with a different look.

       I saw a crying four-year-old boy. My steps led involuntarily towards the boy. As my hands gripped his tiny shoulders, I felt a surge of strength.

 – Does the boy cry too, what’s the matter, little one?

 – I saw my father. I ran, but they left without looking…

    I wiped the tears on their faces and comforted them. In the child’s Byron language: the resounding word “father” – the image of “invisible fathers” raised many questions in my heart…

Gulsevar Khojamova

Uzbekistan, Student of Andijan State Pedagogical Institute