Our Side of the Story

Here’s the link to the above article :)

Be mindful of what you consume :).

Fighting the urge to write pages about my joy in human form friends after a hang out. (I might).

One of the things I do to keep myself from forgetting Bahirdar is having coffee from street vendors.

ከዚህ የተረዳሁት ነገር ቢኖር ቸግሯችኋል በጣም🤣

Guys! Sappy poet personality just made an appearance🤭 አይዟችሁ ይህቺን ሰሞን እንግዲህ።

Everything in this world is fleeting. Everything. That is good news for us so long us we do not live in idolatry of the fleeting.

The responses ትንሽ ራሴን እያዞሩኝ ነው🫠

እዚህ ሰፈርስ?

The Homeless Wanderer (ለወላጆች) ህፃናትን ወደ ትምህርት ቤት መላክ ብቻ አይደለም። ትምህርታቸውን ተከታተሉ። ብትችሉ አስጠኚ ቅጠሩላቸው። ባትችሉ አብራችኋቸው ቁጭ በሉ። በደረጃ ፥ ከ1–3 እንዲወጡ አስጨንቋቸው። ሲያድጉ ሐኪም ይሆኑላችኋል። ሐኪም ፥ በቀን ሶስት ጊዜ መብላት አይችልም። ህፃናት መጫወት አለባቸው። እንዳይጫወቱ አትከልክሉ። ነገር ግን ውጪውን እንዳይለምዱና እንዳይበላሹ ተጠንቀቁ። መጫወቻውን ፥ ቤት ገዝታችሁ አምጡላቸው። እና የተወሰነ ቀን በፕሮግራም ይናፈሳሉ። ከዛ በተረፈ ወደ ትምህርት። ያጥኑ ህፃናት ያጥኑ! አንደኛ ሁለተኛ ሶስተኛ ይውጡ! ሲያድጉ ሐኪም ይሆኑላችኋል። ሐኪም ፥ ልብስና ጫማ መቀየር አይችልም። ህፃናት በተገኙበት ሁሉ ‘ሰላም ሰላም’ እየተባሉ “አደክ! አደግሽ!” እየተባሉ... “ስንተኛ ክፍል ደረስክ? ደረስሽ?” እየተባሉ... ከዚያ ቶሎ “ስንተኛ ወጣህ? ስንተኛ ወጣሽ?” ይባሉ። ህፃናት የክፍል ደረጃቸውን እየተጠየቁ ፥ ይፋጠጡ፤ ይሸማቀቁ። የሰነፉት ልጆች ተግተው እንዲማሩ ፥ ይመከሩ፤ ይገሰፁ። የጐበዙትም እንዲያሻሽሉ። “ሁለተኛ ወጣህ?”... “በቃ ቀጣይ ትገለብጠዋለህ!”... “ጐበዝ ልጅ!”... ጐበዝ ልጅ ሲያድግ ፥ ሐኪም ይሆናልና። ሐኪም ሲታመም ፥ ለምኖ የሚታከም ነው። ህፃናት ሲታመሙና ሆስፒታል ሲሄዱ ፥ ወላጆች ፥ ነጭ ጋወን በለበሱ ተንቀሳቃሾች ትንሽ ትንሸ ያስፈራሯቸው። “ካልበላህ ፥ ዶክተሩ መርፌ ይወጋሃል! አየኸው? አየኸው?”... እንዲሁ በእነዚህ ነጭ ለባሾች ፥ ትንሽ ትንሽ ያስቀኗቸው። “አንደኛ አንደኛ ከወጣህ ፥ እንደሱ ዶክተር ትሆናለህ። የራስህ መርፌ ይኖርሃል። አደል እንዴ ዶክተር?” “ልክ ነው... ልክ ነው...” ይላል በመሽኮርመም የሚስቅ ሐኪም። ይህ ሐኪም ልጅ ቢወልድ ፥ ማሳደጊያ የለውም። ይህ ሐኪም ፥ የቤት ኪራይ መክፈል አይችልም። ይህ ሐኪም ፥ የታክሲ ብር ይቸግረዋል። ይህ ሐኪም ፥ ቸገረኝ ማለት ሲያፍር ኖሯል። ይህ ሐኪም ፥ በጋወኑ መንኩሶ ኖሯል። ይህ ሐኪም ፥ ቤትየለሽ ከርታታ (The Homeless Wanderer) ነው። 23|09|17 አማዶን (GP) @amadonart (በመጨረሻ ግን ፥ አንድ ነገር ባለመቻሉ ደስተኛ ሆኗል። የሚጠብቁትን ታናናሽ ወንድምና እህቶቹን ፥ ማስተማር አለመቻሉና አለመማራቸውን ሲያስብ ፥ ፈገግታው አሁንም አሁንም ያመልጠዋል...)

Sitting at yet another family member’s funeral, my cousin and I found ourselves trying to process the weight of it all. The news had shaken us both, and in the quiet moments between the ceremony and the silence, we started to talk. In the middle of our conversation, she put into words something I had been carrying for a long time, something I hadn’t yet been able to name. “I feel like we’re the ones left behind, you know? All the good ones are already up there, they’re in their permanent homes. And we’re still here, stuck worrying every day about this temporary one. When we were young, people pitied the dead. But now I think it’s us who should be pitied. They left us here to finish… who knows what. But I think they left us behind. I just hope we get to finish what we’re meant to, and join them. Because this world? It’s not it.”

No sense of urgency because ጥሌ said ሂዱ መጣሁ በሏቸው to everyone you think is way ahead of you🤭

It rains, I wait until I listen to the memories I’ve lost the taste of. Where love was ordinary and magic lived in the most simple rituals like እማዬስ ቁጨት, slow breakfasts, mom coming home with donuts for መክሰስ, አባዬ quietly preparing ከሰል to keep the house warm and I’m stocked with piles of books to keep me busy until school starts. It’s a need, to hold it close. Carrying a quiet strength from the past to keep me grounded in the present because somewhere between believing everything will last and life proving you wrong, you’re left with a grief that doesn’t go away but changes shape over time, memories that don’t have voices anymore and a gaping hole of silence they leave behind in your heart.