Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian writer and photographer. Recent work appears at The Notre Dame Review. 

Spirit of a Place, Spirit of a Thing (Artist Statement)

In an off handed remark during an interview, U.G. Krishnamurti, called by some an anti-guru, and by himself, ‘Something like a philosopher,’ said that he once thought he could sense the spirit of a place. But then he brushed it off through words and body language. It didn’t fit in with his philosophy and message. But I resonated with his statement anyhow, because I had always felt that I could feel the spirit of a place and also a thing. Old town, lake still and wide. City street, carnival game vendor and prizes. Bee. Spider. Flower. Vine. Ridge. Summit. Stone. Petal. Stream. Sun. Cloud. Bird and dusk, horizon and dawn. Lock, denoting love, affixed to lonesome bridge alone in the rain. Artifacts. Areas. Some saturnine and some sanguine. Hundreds of places and things, their spirit, against reason and logic, somehow speaking out, not with language of course, but calling out nevertheless. Semantics and nomenclature could argue what spirit means. Is it the atmosphere, the daemon, the angel, the area, the vibration, the feeling? Is it physical, metaphysical, true and there, or purely imaginary and projected? Difficult to know conclusively. But there is something I think in all that mise- en-scene, and so on the rural footpaths and metropolitan worlds also, I try and photograph it and also write about it, this spirit of a place and spirit of a thing.

We all know that the twenty-first century has evolved into an era of technology. Both young and old people are holding cell phones. It’s a terrible situation. After all, this is detrimental to young people’s futures. Not just children, but also adults… Parents are glued to their phones when they get home from work. They don’t care about their children’s future because they don’t care about their children. Instead of learning, young people spend their days staring at their phones. Unfortunately, not all information found online is helpful, and not everyone utilizes it properly. This poses a serious threat to the nation’s future. Parents should first rectify themselves in order to stop this. It is essential to be concerned about his future and to support his decisions. It is a good idea to set up all the necessary circumstances for them to fall in love with reading and to congratulate them when they finish a particular book or assignment. Children are like flowers, my dear and beloved parents. Be sure to look after it. You will then see positive effects.  

Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student.

Measurement of life according to the scribes

All of us have been granted the invaluable gift of life by the Almighty. Each person must decide how to use it. You should expect to experience
a variety of difficulties throughout your life pathways. We ought to make to the most of the possibilities that are given to us. Life shouldn’t be wasted on pointless things. Every second that goes by is an integral aspect of human existence.
It will be a witness to a person’s gain or loss on the Day of Judgment. Therefore, a Muslim should manage his time like a savvy businessman.
I have no issue with advising all scientific students to read ‘’The Value of Time in the Eyes of
Scholars’’ in order to be able to manage their time wisely and utilize it efficiently.
This book exhorts the reader to seize each moment as it comes. When a genius rests,
They rehash what they have written and the information they had learned since they were so absorbed in what they were doing.
Time is not a fabric that can be created; rather, it is an opportunity that comes along only once.
‘’Each day that begins calls out: ‘O son of man, I am a new day, I am a witness of your deeds,
Take advantage of me. If I pass away, I will not return until the Day of Resurrection, ‘’remarked
Hasan Basriy, may God have mercy on him.
Time is precious.

Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student. 

Ishmurotova Sabrina Sarvar qizi

A little girl who missed her daddy

She is a child, but there is no childhood,
There are no exuberances, no masculinity.
Her heart hurts so much
A little girl who missed her dad .
Seeing her mother secretly crying
Her heart troubles again.
She can't tell anyone about her suffering
A little girl who missed her dad.

Hugging her dad's pictures
"I miss you dad", - she says.
A girl who didn't see mercy from Father
Why does she miss him so much? 

A little girl of six-year-old 
Listening to her longings, you say: "Ohhh!"
O, people, tell me what is going on
Listening to it, you will be feeble.

There are so many tiny hearts in the world
I don't know, how many at the moment.
But, a girl who missed her daddy
Don't cry from longing anymore
One day, you will be very happy 

If I head away.
Maybe then my worth is known, 
If I leave a mark on your heart. 

My parents miss me,
They have been waiting for me for years.
Looking at the streets where my childhood was left
You know my worth again.

You can't find me,
Your dreams are telling the truth-
You look for my laughter, though, 
You can't find them either, my friend! 

You ask the moon where I am
He is ashamed of not being able to answer.
I repeat again, my dear ones,
You will never find me 

Mokhinur Askarova daughter of Bakhadir was born on May 13, 2006 year in Jizzakh city.In 2013 year she went to the 14 th school in Jizzakh city. She is also a member of about 20 international.organizations and the owner of more than 50 international certificates. a graduate of the special course of the world famous"Oxford University's Home study center"course, published the first poetry collection "World" announced.America's "Amazon"his poems were published in "Raven Cage"magazines of Germany,he was invited 3 times as a guest of"Assalom Jizzakh"show.

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

Teacher

Winter. The snow has learned the purity from you teacher
Spring. The flowers have learned the beauty from you teacher
Warm shines of the sun pattern is you
Your knowledge is light in the darkness, too


If this world is an ocean, my precious jewel is you
If this world is a flower, my wisest gardener is you
If students are stars, you are my endless sky
You are the brightest sun that lights my way.


Teacher this world would not meaning without you
The human step would not reach the moon without you
The honorable name of "teacher" would not heard in the world
No one's value, the honor would not glorified like you


All respect to you, all thanks to you my dear
After all, my wonderful world is you my dear