Abditory🖤
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My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery,always buzzing,humming,soaring,roaring,diving and then buried in mud.🥀 For cross and ideas @chesed_29
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887
Repost from Our Side of the Story
“መረሳት አያስፈራም? ታሪክ መሆን? ውይ ስሟ ማን ነበር? ምፅ የዛሬን አያርገው እና እናቷም እንደ እናቴ ነበረች...የት ነበር የማውቅሽ መልክሽ አዲስ አልሆነብኝም? መባል"
ማስታወሻዬን ሳገላብጥ ያገኘሁት...መፃፌንም ረስቼዋለሁ...እንዲህም ብዬ ነበር? ስለመረሳት ጽፌ እኔው ራሴ ስረሳ?
887
A woman while explaining the love she has for her children said,"love is so powerful it is scary." I believe that says a lot.
887
Repost from Abditory🖤
"While I keep finding how you live through me I will unlearn a few things,replace them with a few constructive ones."
When that man from the side of the street mentioned that I looked like my dad without being being fully aware I was his daughter, I thought I was the same exact physical copy of my dad. Mentally,spiritually,life principle wise o found i was more him than myself. The same traits he wanted me to suppress are the same traits his father told him to. The same rituals I practiced that he loathed are the same traits he got shamed for.I can't lie it wouldn't have been a bad thing to have a killer smile that can make men line up. Maybe in another lifetime I guess. I remember what we went through together to make me break my silence. All the blood flooding on my face from crying too much. Multiple rides from the voices and the silence. No friends. Isolation. Alcohols. Even in the brokenness I love who I am through him. Pain and pencil weren't necessary. He is a life long teacher. Everything he taught he lived teaching it. 24 hours of non stop labor. Discipline. Silence. Peace of not dealing with anything that doesn't require energy. Jeopardizing his critical illness to give us a stable future. Selflessness.Mostly vivid memories of "I love you" but had his fair share of the maker in living love rather than speaking it.I still would have loved it if I had his smile.
My father raised himself and so did we. He is our idol. I still see a little 14 year old boy who left his hometown to belong in the streets of 'Mercato' while looking at the 75 year old version of him....most part of him stuck there. Salivating over no responsibilities,a father to suck life lessons out of,a mother to come home to after disappointing workday to make him 'kocho with aybe'-made from the hands of love. Hometown smell. Flavors of the sense of belonging. Existing among his true root. That is a thing about this blood line. Each of us ceased to exist somewhere. Looking at our family photo I can see which one of our life incidents we have sank into to never come back. Living him while also killing the doomed parts of us feels like betrayal. But I am still honoring his last words before I left to face the world. 'Live! Promise to live.' What other way of living than existing in the uncomfortable awareness of self. What other way of existing than killing parts of yourself in the name of Love.
-Yeab T
