Scribe your soul out

teach them young.

but i got the van.

the other sideeee its more of kenuuuuu my lovely friend handmade it.

peep my bookmarkkk

spoiler i just saw a comment 😭😭😭 the god of mischief becoming the keeper of time is so fitting because "time plays tricks on us all" "time is a thief" and so on and so forth. they better do something in doomsday.

binge watched loki honestly i loved it but ahhhghh

the feeling that nobody is rushing you to leave. i hope museums are always a little boring. i hope they stay quiet forever. i hope i consume all that boredom for the rest of my life. i give museums five stars.

museums i always loved museums, not because they were historical or because i was that interested in history itself. i loved them because museums are quiet. people become quieter there. they whisper there. they respect things there. more than libraries even. maybe because history feels fragile and people instinctively lower their voices around fragile things. most people do not really visit museums to stay. they just stare, whisper, go. when i was in grade 11 me and my friends were around Mexico omezeker library. we were bored and starving so we walked to eat the famous erteb at 5 killo everyone talked about at the time. after we ate impulsively, we decided to check the museum out. at the time i was really into bones and skeletons. still am, just not as obsessively as then. i loved how long bones survive. how everything else disappears first. decades pass and somehow a skeleton still remains there, stubbornly existing. we saw Lucy, and selam. one of my friends name is selam, and we were making her take a picture with her. history surviving in pieces. but what i remember most is sitting cross legged on the floor staring at Afewerk Tekle’s “African Heritage” is the name i think. i think that was when i fell in love with stained glass paintings. i loved staring at them for too long. he really deserved every honorable names he has gotten. after that almost every saturday, i would walk to 5 kilo with 20 birr in my pocket and a book in my bag. i would pay the 10 birr entrance fee and spend more than five hours on the top floor of the museum. mostly sitting on the leather chairs reading, sometimes just existing there quietly, and would use the 10 birr for a taxi back. at the time i thought it was a really lame thing i did. yesterday i told my friend i used to do that all the time and she said it was the coolest thing a teenager girl could do. i think that healed me a little. i was a bit ashamed how nerdy i was. i loved how people respected art there. respected history there. to be preserved means to be remembered. to be amongst things cared for, protected, untouched for years i think it gave me life somehow. the room i sat in the most had old farming tools and pieces of ordinary life. people barely stayed there. they would glance around awkwardly and leave. i loved that room for exactly that reason. i loved how uninterested everyone else was because it gave me an excuse to stay longer. as if i was quietly telling the room i will sit here with you. i believe non living things have life, the first thing humans create is give life to the non breathing. you can call it art, tools humans give it life. when i was little whenever i ran into furniture and complained to my dad that “the table hit me” he would say “no you hit it. i think you should say sorry to it.” funny thing is i still do. i still apologize to walls and the corners of beds when i bump into them. i feel bad for running into them, as if it was rude of me to disturb something that was simply standing where it always had been. i am a clumsy human, i offer a lot of sorrys each day. the museum was mostly empty. nobody really goes to museums to stay. and selfishly i am glad they do not. i almost made it my room. every tiny laugh echoed too loudly there, every footstep felt you could hear it . sometimes i felt watched by history itself. sometimes i felt preserved with them. i too had become one of the things there. something glanced at briefly. something sitting quietly amongst history. maybe i seem like i am pushing it, but its the one of the best thing i want to keep from my youth, see preserved. the museum people were always kind enough to let me stay there for hours. eventually i stopped feeling like a visitor. i even started saying hi and having small conversations with the guards, i felt like i belonged there somehow. i was a part of it too. i like places consumed by me and not by many people. i do not recommend museums to people. i gate keep,i love that museums are boring to some people. i love the boredom of them. the slowness. the emptiness.

the feeling that nobody is rushing you to leave. i hope museums are always a little boring. i hope they stay quiet forever. i hope i consume all that boredom for the rest of my life. i give museums five stars.

museums i always loved museums, not because they were historical or because i was that interested in history itself. i loved them because museums are quiet. people become quieter there. they whisper there. they respect things there. more than libraries even. maybe because history feels fragile and people instinctively lower their voices around fragile things. most people do not really visit museums to stay. they just stare, whisper, go. when i was in grade 11 me and my friends were around Mexico omezeker library. we were bored and starving so we walked to eat the famous erteb at 5 killo everyone talked about at the time. after we ate impulsively, we decided to check the museum out. at the time i was really into bones and skeletons. still am, just not as obsessively as then. i loved how long bones survive. how everything else disappears first. decades pass and somehow a skeleton still remains there, stubbornly existing. we saw Lucy, and selam. one of my friends name is selam, and we were making her take a picture with her. history surviving in pieces. but what i remember most is sitting cross legged on the floor staring at Afewerk Tekle’s “African Heritage” is the name i think. i think that was when i fell in love with stained glass paintings. i loved staring at them for too long. he really deserved every honorable names he has gotten. after that almost every saturday, i would walk to 5 kilo with 20 birr in my pocket and a book in my bag. i would pay the 10 birr entrance fee and spend more than five hours on the top floor of the museum. mostly sitting on the leather chairs reading, sometimes just existing there quietly, and would use the 10 birr for a taxi back. at the time i thought it was a really lame thing i did. yesterday i told my friend i used to do that all the time and she said it was the coolest thing a teenager girl could do. i think that healed me a little. i was a bit ashamed how nerdy i was. i loved how people respected art there. respected history there. to be preserved means to be remembered. to be amongst things cared for, protected, untouched for years i think it gave me life somehow. the room i sat in the most had old farming tools and pieces of ordinary life. people barely stayed there. they would glance around awkwardly and leave. i loved that room for exactly that reason. i loved how uninterested everyone else was because it gave me an excuse to stay longer. as if i was quietly telling the room i will sit here with you. i believe non living things have life, the first thing humans create is give life to the non breathing. you can call it art, tools humans give it life. when i was little whenever i ran into furniture and complained to my dad that “the table hit me” he would say “no you hit it. i think you should say sorry to it.” funny thing is i still do. i still apologize to walls and the corners of beds when i bump into them. i feel bad for running into them, as if it was rude of me to disturb something that was simply standing where it always had been. i am a clumsy human, i offer a lot of sorrys each day. the museum was mostly empty. nobody really goes to museums to stay. and selfishly i am glad they do not. i almost made it my room. every tiny laugh echoed too loudly there, every footstep felt you could hear it . sometimes i felt watched by history itself. sometimes i felt preserved with them. i too had become one of the things there. something glanced at briefly. something sitting quietly amongst history. maybe i seem like i am pushing it, but its the one of the best thing i want to keep from my youth, see preserved. the museum people were always kind enough to let me stay there for hours. eventually i stopped feeling like a visitor. i even started saying hi and having small conversations with the guards, i felt like i belonged there somehow. i was a part of it too. i like places consumed by me and not by many people. i do not recommend museums to people. i gate keep,i love that museums are boring to some people. i love the boredom of them. the slowness. the emptiness.

remember this.

i am constantly reminded, i am getting older i don’t like it. i wanna sleep life away.

its either heavy ass rain or super hot sun, no inbetween huletum legeelun nw memetut😭

i think i finally did it. either i’ve broken my threshold for painkillers, or the pain has decided to outgrow them and without it would’ve been worse.😭

i said yellow because thats her favorite color, plus the bracelet and didn’t even noticed this at the back until now but the name it self is yellow. so any yellow handmade bracelet want you go to her, i thought it was just a little date, but i now own more cute bracelets.

i had lots of lots of feathers in a journal i even had a peacock one. sadly it’s somewhere either lost or hiding amongst piled up stuff at my grandmother’s house. i did start collecting again now, each has its own story. i am more sentimental now, i do care to look back now.

i hate hate how boutiques, or idk clothing stores pick up a mannequin. why do you have to pick her up like that? show some respect. it genuinely creeps me out, betam uncomfortable thing to see. taxi queues are getting so hard, i am considering say yes to older men that asks me ,if i want a ride.

its yellow yellow yellow yellowww thank you yellow