Introduction

Hello everyone, and welcome to my next post—a reflection on my journey so far, on 22 years of life in this world. Let me tell you something straight away: if you think you are exempt from challenges or hardships, you are mistaken. Life has a way of proving each of us wrong, often in the most unexpected ways.

Today, I want to share a part of my childhood, from 2014 to 2019—the years that shaped my resilience and taught me what it truly means to be unstoppable. In 2014, we returned from Russia. My father didn’t have enough money to update the necessary immigration documents, and from that moment, it felt as if life had decided to pour every challenge upon us.

School became a battlefield: fights with peers, constant setbacks, and desperate attempts to improve that seemed to lead nowhere. Nights were often filled with tears, worrying about the future, exhausted from relentless effort that yielded no visible results. At the time, I didn’t understand why this was happening or what God’s plan could be. I only felt the weight of the struggle.

But now, looking back, I realize the truth in the saying: “Life only makes sense when viewed in retrospect.” Every difficulty, every obstacle, every sleepless night was preparing me for what was to come. These experiences didn’t break me—they made me stronger, more determined, and truly unstoppable.

This is my story—a story of resilience, faith, and the power of perseverance. Let’s dive in.

Backstory

We are on the plane, ready to return to the land of Tajiks. I am ten years old, traveling with my mother and little sister, ready for takeoff. The airplane staff came to tell people to tighten their seatbelts. I was disappointed because I believed that back home, out in Dangara, no one would notice me or my talents, that I would be disregarded and overlooked. In Russian schools, where I had been studying, everything seemed normal to me and met my standards.

When I asked my mother which school I would attend back in Dangara City, she calmly said it was the same school she had graduated from. I looked at her and said, “In my school in Russia, everybody already knows me—they respect me, they know I am an excellent student. What will happen to me in Tajikistan, where nobody knows me or anything about my capabilities?” She said, “It is not for nothing that we are returning to our roots.” I was still disappointed, but what could I do back then? Nothing, except accept what was given to me.

And here we are: Dangara City—the City of Dust and Yellow Sun. I immediately enrolled in the 56th School of Dangara City. What an experience. I had knowledge and experience from Russia in many areas—but the first thing I faced was emotional challenge. Small fights over trivial things, constant struggles with adopting the Tajik language, the scorching sun, and more. Everything seemed lost in my eyes.

Year by year, I began to realize that something was wrong with me and that I needed to change it immediately. I remember passing by the Presidential School for Gifted Students in Dangara, established under the authority of the President of the Republic of Tajikistan. “What a nice place to study!” I said to myself. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford $400 per month to study there. My mother knew that something had sparked inside me—something that wanted to say, “I want this school, Mama!” But she also knew she couldn’t afford it for me.

“Let’s go, Eraj,” she said. “If God wants something for you, that something will rush toward you,” she added.

The Turning Point

The end of 8th grade. Summer. Dangara City. Zebunniso Street. I got a call from one of our teachers saying that the Presidential School needed additional students from different schools to help make an event successful, as they were short-handed. I agreed to help. I went there and offered, “Maybe I could help you with something.” They looked at me with disbelief but said yes, just to see if I was right about myself.

The results were astonishing. They congratulated me and appreciated my efforts. I went back home, got my dump cart (in Tajik we call it “Aroba”), and started collecting scrap metal to sell later. I gathered enough and headed toward the bazaar to sell it—only to return home with my dusty, empty dump cart and find my teachers talking with my parents. I learned that I had been enrolled in the Presidential School to study fee-free, as the government would fund my school fees. That was the beginning of a new life—a moment that struck me deeply. A moment of joy and determination.

“Pack your things and see you tomorrow,” said the teachers. “You will live there with the other students. The journey starts now.” I was so happy I could hardly believe it myself. That was a turning point in my life.

The Year 2025

Now here I am in Africa, far from home, reflecting on my little life and sharing some moments with you. What am I thinking about? Simple: how Dangara made me unstoppable. Believe me, what I’ve realized about my small life is that setbacks and everything bad that happens to us teach us something—we just don’t realize it at the moment. The main thing to remember is to live through those moments passionately, without a single bad thought, accepting everything that happens to us, because we don’t know what kind of person we will become afterward. Never underestimate the power of life. In the grand scheme of things, your biological life and everything you’re going through is so petty that even God laughs at us for worrying too much.

I mean, from now on, whenever I worry about anything—whether small or big—I imagine the Milky Way and the solar system. Then I pinpoint our planet Earth with a red pen and say to myself, “Out here, a human named Eraj Alisherov is worrying about something that eventually won’t matter at all.” And then I feel relieved. Am I wrong? I don’t think so. That perspective feels right—the things happening on a universal scale are far more important than your tasks, your little problems, the pain in your teeth, or the harsh words of someone you’re worried about. Chill and move on with your life, rastafari.