Forwarded from The Sun & Her Flowers
His name is Duol Gatluak Chol, He is PC2 student, 2011 intake in St. Paul's Millennium Medical College. His where about has been unknown since 25/08/2014 after 2 oclock local time around Ayahulet. He was last seen wearing a black Jean's jacket. Please contact Gatluak 0937149563 with any information you think will be helpful and help find our fellow student as his family and friends are concerned and would appreciate the information.
Forwarded from Unabridged Manuscripts (H)
Isn't living the euphemism for dying?
Aren't we dying when we say we are living?
Aren't we living for the celebration-
The commemoration of our lives,
On our death day?
Isn't death the coronation of life?
Isnβt life a souvenir for death?
For the sake of remembrance when we depart?
Isnβt life the irony of death?
We think we are living,
When we are actually dying!
#inquiry
@zworldinsidemyhead
Aren't we dying when we say we are living?
Aren't we living for the celebration-
The commemoration of our lives,
On our death day?
Isn't death the coronation of life?
Isnβt life a souvenir for death?
For the sake of remembrance when we depart?
Isnβt life the irony of death?
We think we are living,
When we are actually dying!
#inquiry
@zworldinsidemyhead
Forwarded from The Cinematologist
αααα(2000)
I First saw this film when I was a child, possibly under age of 10, and I watched it again today, despite the fact that it was labeled PG-13.
It is based on the true story of a woman named hermeal Wosenyelhe and directed by yonas berhane and produced by yonathabn kessete.
One of the rare Amharic film's that makes me think about things more deeply is this one.
The story is familiar because it is the most typical story in Addis Ababa in the 1970s, 1980, and 1990s, in which women are abused physically and mentally by men who claim to be their lovers, and my Mother is Also a victim.
When we get to the movie, it was difficult not to be moved by the characters. the film soul is the chemistry between girum ermias and Sofia shibabaw.
I literally have no words to describe girum ermias performance; it was something very profound and primal that I can't convey.
Hermeal is a film that will likely stick with you for a Long Time after you've seen it, as it did with me
I First saw this film when I was a child, possibly under age of 10, and I watched it again today, despite the fact that it was labeled PG-13.
It is based on the true story of a woman named hermeal Wosenyelhe and directed by yonas berhane and produced by yonathabn kessete.
One of the rare Amharic film's that makes me think about things more deeply is this one.
The story is familiar because it is the most typical story in Addis Ababa in the 1970s, 1980, and 1990s, in which women are abused physically and mentally by men who claim to be their lovers, and my Mother is Also a victim.
When we get to the movie, it was difficult not to be moved by the characters. the film soul is the chemistry between girum ermias and Sofia shibabaw.
I literally have no words to describe girum ermias performance; it was something very profound and primal that I can't convey.
Hermeal is a film that will likely stick with you for a Long Time after you've seen it, as it did with me
Going in circles. Wondering if I ever left the place To be back at it so quickly. "What am I doing wrong?" "Have I lost sight?" "Are the people I trusted to shed light on me sweetening their words to protect me?" "From the truth...or myself maybe?" "Am I wrong for expecting them to do so?" "Should I maybe put a bit guilt on myself for not doing that for myself?" If so I am deceiving myself what am I not looking at?" "What am I justifying?" I want to know. If the answers for this are a way of coming back....not to the same point in the circle. But to myself whom I have forgotten looked or sounded like.
-Yeab
-Yeab
Forwarded from Our Side of the Story (Debbie)
α₯αα°ααααα α°α α
ααα½ αα α©α
α¨α αααΌ αα α΅αα "α°α α" ααα αα α...you know waking up with a grateful heart instead of one filled with dread and hatred. Looking at myself in the mirror and smiling because I appreciate whoβs staring back at me.
α¨αα α ααα α α«αα© α΅αα α αα αα α°α΅α ααα¬ αα α...α₯αα α¨ααα αα΅αα α αα°α°αα::
Everyday felt like carrying a pile of the worldβs burden and everyone living in it. The days took everything out of me, the years made me hate my existence and God.
α°α "α₯αα΄α΅ αα ?" α°α₯α α²α α¨α
"α°α α αα α₯ααα α₯αα ααα΅αα!" α²α α¨α₯ααα΅ α₯αα αα α:: α₯αα°αα α°α΅α³ αα΄ αα α₯α¨α°αα α α¨αααα₯αα α΅α αα α₯α«α°α₯α© ααα΅ αα€α αααα₯αα "αα αα« α°α΅α α¨αα¨α₯α© αα¨α" αα°α«α΄ αααα΅αα::
Iβm not going to say a miracle happened and I was suddenly okay. No it took forever.
It took so many βYou got this debs, just one more breath, one more dayβ
So many days being ruined with panic attacks and grief.
Tons of βααα heal α£αα°α¨α α’ααα΅"
βTo hell with growthβ
βI donβt want to do this anymoreβ
But weβre here, with God, my people and me.
α°α α αα!
α¨α αααΌ αα α΅αα "α°α α" ααα αα α...you know waking up with a grateful heart instead of one filled with dread and hatred. Looking at myself in the mirror and smiling because I appreciate whoβs staring back at me.
α¨αα α ααα α α«αα© α΅αα α αα αα α°α΅α ααα¬ αα α...α₯αα α¨ααα αα΅αα α αα°α°αα::
Everyday felt like carrying a pile of the worldβs burden and everyone living in it. The days took everything out of me, the years made me hate my existence and God.
α°α "α₯αα΄α΅ αα ?" α°α₯α α²α α¨α
"α°α α αα α₯ααα α₯αα ααα΅αα!" α²α α¨α₯ααα΅ α₯αα αα α:: α₯αα°αα α°α΅α³ αα΄ αα α₯α¨α°αα α α¨αααα₯αα α΅α αα α₯α«α°α₯α© ααα΅ αα€α αααα₯αα "αα αα« α°α΅α α¨αα¨α₯α© αα¨α" αα°α«α΄ αααα΅αα::
Iβm not going to say a miracle happened and I was suddenly okay. No it took forever.
It took so many βYou got this debs, just one more breath, one more dayβ
So many days being ruined with panic attacks and grief.
Tons of βααα heal α£αα°α¨α α’ααα΅"
βTo hell with growthβ
βI donβt want to do this anymoreβ
But weβre here, with God, my people and me.
α°α α αα!
Watch "α΅α¨α»α¬α α α΅αα" on YouTube
https://youtu.be/vOb4jU-segk
https://youtu.be/vOb4jU-segk
YouTube
Dawit Cherent - Tekeshayen Asfaw (cover) | α³αα΅ αΈααα΅ -α΅α¨α»α¬α α α΅αα (αΆ/α α°α¨α α¨α α°)
Abditoryπ€
Watch "α΅α¨α»α¬α α α΅αα" on YouTube https://youtu.be/vOb4jU-segk
Humongous love for this beautiful humanπ€
I don't remember the last time I picked up my pen to write something. Maybe my head isn't clouded anymore that I have to write to clear it up. Maybe nothing exciting is happening in my life. Maybe I am baptizing myself in the need for satisfying capitalism a little too much. Maybe I no longer have the words in me. Maybe the words don't dance for me or even dress up in their cute little metaphors to satisfy my need of making something beautiful out of all of this. Maybe there is too much to spill out off this head that makes me afraid to even start pouring. Maybe I am afraid I am romanticizing the pain. Maybe I have sunk a little deep into the normal day today life I have neglected my alone time. Maybe there shouldn't even be an alone time for the life I am living. Maybe you know maybe its time I let go. Maybe its time to stop and let life take me wherever it wants to take me with every tip of its grusemoness and beauty without restructuring it.
You know maybe the words were there to accompany through the hardest battle of having no ear to listen to my thoughts. Maybe the words were there to give me the feeling of living after everything I go through throughout the day. Breakfast in bed after the panick attacks. Vanilla scented fragrance to put over my hands for the tremors. Bracelets for the joint pain. Lipgloss for the mouth that doesn't speak. Comfy baggy clothes to make the tired body comfortable. Milk to put it fast into imagination. Spiced life enough for me to stay and be present.
You know maybe the words were there to accompany through the hardest battle of having no ear to listen to my thoughts. Maybe the words were there to give me the feeling of living after everything I go through throughout the day. Breakfast in bed after the panick attacks. Vanilla scented fragrance to put over my hands for the tremors. Bracelets for the joint pain. Lipgloss for the mouth that doesn't speak. Comfy baggy clothes to make the tired body comfortable. Milk to put it fast into imagination. Spiced life enough for me to stay and be present.
"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
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
Forwarded from HOME || α€α΅ π