I can’t believe it’s already been a year since my last fall residency program. Looking back, I can’t help but cry — tears of joy and pride.
Despite the silence and ignorance from various government bodies that are supposed to support such initiatives, my small but dedicated team of volunteers managed to organize some of the warmest, most meaningful gatherings in Uzbekistan.
Call it a residency, a festival, or simply a friendly get-together — it was, perhaps, a unique initiative the world could learn from — an attempt to make our shared world a little warmer, more human.
There’s hardly a single month in the calendar when Facebook doesn’t remind me of another international event I once organized — big or small, each one filled with friendship, creativity, and cultural exchange.
Yet today, this exchange is no more.
I am tired — tired of knocking on the doors of various government bodies and businesses, trying to find someone who truly cares. There is no one in Uzbekistan who would even call and ask, “What is this all about?”
Still, there is hope in my heart. If supported properly, I know this program could live on and even grow. But sometimes it feels like the government does not like — and will never support — people like me: open, transparent, sincere, friendly, and not corrupt.
And yet — I’m still here.
Hanging around, focusing on more meaningful programs for myself elsewhere, while continuing to share my experience with young creatives in my motherland — those who, I hope, will take it from here, and carry forward my programs and initiatives that once connected Uzbekistan with the world.
Because no one can ever erase these efforts from the pages of Uzbekistan’s literary, cultural, and creative history.
