Life is like that: some grow up starving for affection, while others take the affection they have for granted. Some spend their lives searching for happiness, and others fail to recognize it even when it stands right in front of them.
Dilobar Maxmarejabova
Children were running outside, their laughter ringing like tiny bells in the air. From behind the window I listened to their cheerful noise — something inside me stirred every time. Their voices pulled me back to life, yet scratched at my heart at the same moment. I couldn’t join them. The glass between us felt like a wall: they were the joyful children playing freely, and I was the lonely child locked inside a quiet house.
The house was silent. So silent it felt as if even the walls were holding their breath. My footsteps moved softly, as though they, too, were afraid to disturb the stillness — or perhaps it was the house that feared me.
Every morning my mother rushed to work, and I left for school. But coming home from school… that was the hardest moment of the day. Other children ran toward their fathers, clinging to their older brothers, laughing their way home. I walked slowly. Because there was no voice waiting for me at home.
Darkness fell early. The street emptied, and parents’ voices echoed one by one as they called their children home. My name was never among them. Each time, my steps grew heavier. It felt less like I was returning home — and more like I was walking back into silence.
When I opened the door, the darkness greeted me as if it had been waiting. I would enter my room, press my face into the pillow, try to hide the sound — but tears always broke through. That quiet crying became the only companion of my childhood.
My mother returned late. She would find me already asleep, gently place me in my bed. I stayed silent, and the house stayed silent with me. They were struggling, working endlessly for our livelihood — but a child’s heart cannot be filled with work. It can only be filled with affection.
Years passed. The cold rooms of my childhood gradually froze a corner of my heart as well. A person who grows up without affection knows its value more than anyone.
I entered university. I hoped life would finally change. And one day, when I heard my brother was coming home from abroad, something warm flickered in my heart for the first time in years.
The airport… full of rushing people. I stood amid that crowd, trembling as though waiting for my childhood to arrive. My brother appeared from a distance. My heart leapt. Tears gathered in my eyes. I thought — at last, the affection I had missed all my life was finally returning to me.
We embraced. But… the warmth wasn’t there. In his arms I felt not closeness, but distance. This was not the brother of my childhood — it was someone else entirely. It was as though the affection I had waited for had been stolen and replaced with coldness.
After he returned, the house seemed to shrink again. Harsh words, raised voices, needless scolding — each day his tone fell on my heart like stones, awakening that old emptiness inside me. The walls of the house turned cold again. And I slipped back into the child I once was: unseen, unheard, alone.
One day, I ran into my old classmate Ikrom on the street. His eyes carried exhaustion, sorrow, and a burden he had been unable to share with anyone. He spoke endlessly, pouring out his worries. He said he wanted to leave the country, hoping life would finally get better.
I told him quietly: “Ikrom… people think everything will change once they earn enough money. They think life will fix itself. But you know… some things never come back. Lost time doesn’t return. A cooled heart never warms the same way. You can’t find your childhood again, nor the people who should have stood beside you then. When feelings leave — they leave a hollow space that no one else can ever fill.”
He fell silent. And I had nothing more to add. Everyone’s pain is enough for themselves alone.
As I walked home, the wind brushed against my face. It reminded me of the affection I had been searching for all my life — it was like the wind itself: it existed, but I could never hold it. It would touch me for a moment, then disappear again.
Life is like that: some grow up starving for affection, while others take the affection they have for granted. Some spend their lives searching for happiness, and others fail to recognize it even when it stands right in front of them.
But I have learned one truth: Lost affection does not return. But if a person learns to soothe their own heart and give themselves the kindness they were denied — the wounds do heal. Yes… they do heal.
_________________
Dilobar Maxmarejabova is a 2nd-year student at the University of Journalism and Mass Communications, Uzbekistan majoring in Philology and English Language Teaching.
