As I cycled to work this morning, the crisp air and clear skies reminded me why I love living in Copenhagen, Denmark. Passing by the city's iconic bike lanes, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

All my life, we had no money. We were constantly short of everything. But we always stuck together as a family, and that made us strong. We survived all the crises.

Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am. The sun rises over the ocean every morning, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, and I get to witness this from my beautiful house overlooking the sea.

Every morning, I open the doors of my coffee shop in Maastricht, greeted by the rich aroma of freshly ground beans and the familiar hum of early customers. Seven years I've been running this place, through all the ups and downs.

Life has been kind to me, and I am very grateful for that. I have always loved sewing clothes, and for years I have run a small store in Praia, Cap Verde Islands. It gives me joy to create something beautiful and useful, and it has been my passion throughout my life.

It's strange how you can get used to living in a cage. For a long time, the only law I knew was the law of the jungle on the streets of León, Mexico. Violence, drugs, weapons, and criminal gangs—this was my world.

Last year, something really bad happened to me, and it still haunts me sometimes. I’m 15 years old and from Glasgow, Scotland. It all started when I got into doing TikTok challenges with my friends.

Working as a farmer in Cornwall, England, not far from the famous Stonehenge monument, has its share of mysteries. Almost every summer, crop circles appear in my large fields, sometimes taking on spectacularly complex formations.

Living in Tehran, Iran, means navigating a labyrinth of restrictions and dangers, especially as a woman. The rules dictating our behavior in public are suffocating, and not adhering to them places us at great risk.

I woke up before dawn, the cool morning air a welcome reprieve from the relentless heat that would come later. As I tightened my boots, memories from years ago flickered through my mind. At twenty, desperate and reckless, I hunted monkeys in the forests of Congo.

Every morning for many decades, I would wake up early and prepare Laksa soup to sell at the market in Kuantan, Malaysia. Over the years, I perfected the national dish and had many satisfied customers.

Even as a child, I realized that I didn't feel like a boy or a girl. It was something in between, but I couldn't clearly define it back then. Later, at school, I was often put down because of my feminine appearance.

This morning, I woke up to the familiar sound of my cat, Míša, pawing at the bedroom door. After my routine coffee, I sat down at my desk in my Prague apartment, ready to dive into the novel I’m currently translating.

This morning, I sat quietly in my study, the soft glow of the early sun filtering through the stained glass windows. The church has always been my sanctuary, a place of solace and reflection.

Navigating the bustling streets of Mumbai, I often reflect on how different life is here compared to Palitana, my hometown. Growing up in Palitana, known as the world's most vegetarian city, was an experience steeped in the principles of Jainism.

At 35 years old, I felt the accumulated toll of years in the ring as I swung my legs out of bed. Our modest apartment in Almaty, Kazakhstan, was bathed in the early morning quiet, the city slowly coming to life outside.

Yesterday morning, I found myself stuck in traffic on my way to an interview in Valletta. The roads, once serene, are now choked with cars, a symbol of Malta’s economic upswing.

As I push open the door to our spacious apartment in Qingdao, China, a wave of exhaustion washes over me, dragging along the weight of the day's shoot.

I'm originally from Chicago, but the milder temperatures brought me to California. For the past six years, I've been living on the streets of San Francisco. It's hard and dangerous out here, only the strongest survive.

I had to think again recently about an experience that took place a long time ago at the Office for the Protection of Historical Monuments in Rome, Italy. I worked there for 40 years as a clerk, but this story happened only once. Fortunately.