I don’t know what this is..It feels like a diary entry. It’s not.

The Post I was too lazy to type here last time can be found by clicking here

I am also writing a very interesting article about a topic I came across while working on something else. I guess once in a while I pop out of my philosophical bubble where I worry about what my life is supposed to mean and why people are so weird and I actually learn something worth sharing.

Expect something informative soon. 🙂🙂

Blog · Writing

A Gross One. Read and Leave.

I know that I never tire of going around in circles thinking that I have figured out some important details about life and that there's a certain meaning and fulfillment in it then going back to feeling unhappy and depressed about how stupid certain things feel. The strange thing here comes to me in the form of people who would attempt to make me feel better about this. It makes me wonder if they would take their own advice and if they even go through the same thoughts. If not, what the hell makes them feel like they understand it. I wonder whether to believe them.

I haven't been writing. I feel bloated because of it. I know that it's not that I don't have anything to say. It's that I don't want to say anything. I am going through some life changes that might be equivalent to me throwing my life away and I'll bet that'll be interesting to write about. I find myself not wanting to write though because I'm afraid of being exposed.  I think a good alternative to this is writing fiction, making characters I create go through hell. But I haven't seen the end of this road and so I wouldn't know how to proceed. I think I read in Leaky Insira Guy's blog something implying that it's good to wait until one is forty or something to be a writer and I guess it makes sense but I get that sense of discomfort when i'm not writing, like i'm lying in a bed with cookies crumbled in the sheets and I don't know what this is. I don't know what to do with myself while I turn forty.

Writing used to be my mental toilet. Immediately after writing, I would feel better. But I don't want to write these days and thinking to write is headache inducing and everything about it hurts.  I've come to learn that I am not the only writer who feels this way. If writing was my mental toilet, I'm constipated. That shit hurt…(Teehee! I'll stop now.) Charles Bukouski said in his poem So You Want to be a Writer, "…if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it…"

I don't know.

P.S. I don't really want notes or advice for post. Read it and leave.



Blog · Random Thoughts

I’m a Little Worried.

I miss my two blog posts a week rule. I was writing a lot of shit but at least I was writing. I consider just giving up on my blog on a regular basis because I would remember it at random times of the day and feel guilty by the way it's going. I always think I can do better than I am doing. Billy Joel sang, "..don't you know that only fools are satisfied…" Well, I'm no fool.

Sometimes I forget why I keep this blog.

I usually come up with ideas for my blog getting inspired by things that I observe and experience but sometimes writing about how messed up the world is gets old and when I think about it, no matter where I am, I just want to curl up under a blanket and fall asleep.

I am keeping busy because I've been doing a full-time internship the past month and I haven't been reading much which feels like it's own separate version of writers' block. I'm struggling through Sylvia Plath's book. I always feel like I would rather be doing other things and I love reading more than I like a lot of things in life so I don't really know what is happening to me. Maybe I'm just tired.

I shouldn't be tired though. I'm too young to be tired. I should be doing stuff and I should be feeling much more inspired. I think it's unfair that we get to feel tired in a sense like this is all life has to offer us. People would tell me that I have to be "realistic" and that I have to be prepared to mould myself into the world because that's the only way to do well for myself and it seems like that is the point to everything. Doing well for yourself and being able to afford things and attracting valuable friends.

There seems to be a problem with this for me as I am failing at all of the above.

Like many of my peers, I was raised to think I had the potential to change the world and I'm awesome and everything but I fall just a tad short from world changing. Someone told me that this way of thinking is a very good way to become unhappy. So I wonder if it's better to be "realistic" and be someone that "makes babies and dies." or if it's better believing and trying to change the world until it kills you but you'd be in the Valhalla of dreams so it won't really matter. You've tried.



Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Every time a new year comes around, what brings the feel of the holiday spirits is the smell. Especially on the eve, from households comes the smell of baking bread and the berbere laced scent of cooking onions and the mouth watering whiff of barbecuing meat, simmering seasoned butter in doro wot or the raw, spicy aroma of kitfo feeling like you could just stick out your tongue and taste it. If you’ve recently eaten, you’ll catch the throat scratching smell of the bonfires too.

For me, the bonfires hold a whole sentimental value because as a kid, it was something my peers and I looked forward to. Meskel is my favorite holiday. On Demera celebrations, I feel I might relate to a certain animal facet that the kids in Lord of the Flies experience when I am looking into the flames of the large bonfire with smoke bellowing up, opaque like thin smoke colored scarfs of nylon…I don’t go out and kill afterwards but that feeling is certainly larger than life.

This new year’s eve, I spent with my uncle and my cousins. On the ride to their house, I was looking out the car window and the air was this strange shade of grey. It was late afternoon and I wanted to think it was just the keremt air with mist when seen against darkening sky but it obviously wasn’t. What I was looking at was thick smog.

Smog is a type of air pollutant, which gets its nomenclature by combining the words smoke and fog. It contains air polluting smoke, with the various emissions of burning fuel and fog, crystalline water droplets.

As I observed this, my tree-hugger instinct ticked a little but it was the holidays so I just decided to think it was something cool to experience outside. I kept thinking about how insane it would be to get lost in that.

I got to my uncle’s house where the festivities were going on. There was food, there was barbecuing meat, there was wine and beer and there were happy people. The holiday vibe was full on. I noticed however at some point that nobody was laying out the chebo. Instead, my uncle put forward a pile of wax tapers. (What we know in Amharic as tuaf.)

I’d heard many people around the city complaining about how they’ve had to buy a skinny bundle of twigs for 7-10 birr and then recalling nostalgically how fat and thick the ones on the market used to be before.

My uncle explained that in a certain part of Adigrat, the people have actually managed to use up all the trees that were used to make chebo to a point where there aren’t any left. If that’s the case for one part of Tigray, we’re led to believe that it could be a similar case for others too as the chebo prices keep going up.

“I have been around to see the difference that cutting the plants has made although for younger people, it may not be as obvious. There used to be bees living in those trees that have now all disappeared.” he said. And for this reason, he’s done a cut back on the chebo burning and uses tuafs instead. He said that when using tuafs, we are supporting the honey market that will have to be around for there to be wax to make the candles.

As I am writing this article, I’ve tried to come up with the statistics on how much carbon is emitted from the bonfires in Ethiopia but I couldn’t find any on the internet and I guess I’m too uninterested in statistics to get off my chair and ask. But the thick hovering layer of smog that appears on Buhe, Hidar Michael, New Years and Demera should be evident enough I guess.

In 2015, Ethiopia was appreciated and celebrated as being a leading example for submitting an Intended Nationally Determined Contribution (INDC) goal promising to lower what would be 400 Megatons of Green House Gas emissions per year by 2030 to 145 megatons per year, decreasing by 64%. Many articles call it a little too ambitious as the country is not a very wealthy one. At the moment, controlling climate change and emissions happens to be an expensive endeavor. But Ethiopia is also celebrated for being one of the first to build its policies around Climate Resilient Green Economy and with most industries just beginning to grow, it would be easier to make them grow having put climate change in mind than breaking what was already built and rebuilding to adapt like many countries are being force to do today.

As I celebrated New Year’s eve burning tuafs instead of chebo, I found that it wasn’t any less fun. I was brought under the impression that people have to know about this. It’s too much to ask the world to change at once and I doubt it will over night. I know that some of you who would read this are sensible people who’d understand. I’m not asking that we ditch our traditions but I feel like with what needs to be done, our traditions will have to change to adapt.

Rhyme and Prose

It should be okay
Be to sad sometimes
Because sadness is heavy
It keeps our feet on the ground
Not one where you brazenly laugh
And look around to check if they've heard
Or the one you wear round your neck
And open your blouse to let them see
But real happiness,
swells like a balloon in your chest
To make you feel as if you'll float away
And get lost.
Be careful though
Because you'll fall.
You always fall.
Brace yourself and get ready
To land on your feet
And don't bite your tongue
But even if you do
Don't open your mouth
Don't let them see
Your Scarlett mouthful.

Amharic · Rhyme and Prose

ጉሮሮውን ጠራረገና
ወረቀቱን ጠበቅ አድርጎ
ለመጀመር እንደገና
ፍርሐቱን ለመደበቅ
በፈገግታ አይኑ እያየኝ
"ልቤ እየመታ አስቸገረኝ" አለኝ::
የዋህነት ሲፈታተንህ ነው
ተራነትህ ካላስደነገጠህማ
ምኑን ኖርከው
በደንብ ምታ በለው::

Blog · Random Thoughts


I joined Facebook in eighth grade when my best friend told me that this guy that my group of friends and I collectively had a crush on was on Facebook. I thought, I should get on this and I joined. Now about eight years later Facebook feels like a husband I can’t bring myself to divorce.

The other day I read this article where the writer said that we go on Facebook to feel good and to feel better when we are having a bad time and we almost always end up feeling worse when we see the things that our friends are posting because we don’t feel that our life is as glamorous. I think he even implied that that Facebook is a big cause for unhappiness and to cure some unhappiness one would just need to get off social media.

I think this writer might be right because I saw an interview with Ed Sheeran where he said that he’d been taking a break from social media for the past year and he’s ultimately better now away from all that negativity. I salute Ed Sheeran.

For some people, social media and cyber friends act as a sort of escape. It would be unfair to totally discredit all the good social media has done for shy people who can’t bear to make friends face to face or generally can’t stand people. I’ve gone through a phase where my entire life revolved around social media and I can honestly say that I felt a little less alone because of it at a time when I was in fact alone.

Because of the favor that social media did for me at that time, I’d been thinking that perhaps escapes can’t be a bad thing. Escapes in general are a grand and welcome idea in my book. I grew up escaping you might say. I escaped into Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire until my copy became so frayed now I am afraid to pick it up because it might just fall apart. I escaped into Disney because yes, I am a Disney freak and may or may not know all the songs from several of the classics. Escaping is just fantastic when the real world becomes difficult and many would tell you that is the sole reason things like fiction and video games and whatever exist. To escape reality.

This morning I had a thought.

In the movie Men, Women and Children, Jennifer Garner’s character is a paranoid mom that would stalk every movement her daughter makes to a point where she would print her daughter’s messages to read over tea. So, this woman tries to convince this other dad that his son playing video games is a bad thing. She tells him that when his son is plugged in, our world, the real world doesn’t exist anymore and the kid’s reality becomes the video game. I saw this movie a few years ago and have seen it a few times too but I just realized today how true that psychopathic woman’s statement is.

My aunt was freaking out about something this morning and her son, plugged in watching Star Wars, did not pay her single ounce of attention. He is ten. When I get into a fight with someone or am having a hard day, I get home, grab something to eat and binge watch New Girl or something instead of confronting my problems because when there’s a certain emotional over load that I do not want to deal with or think about, I just want to escape.

Watching my little cousin play dumb to his mother’s distress made me think if perhaps escapes are making us insensitive.

I remember a line from Thirteen Reasons Why where Hanna says that social media has made us into a society of stalkers. She was right. I am a master stalker (on and offline but that’s a story for another time). I am sure as hell not the only one. Lately I’ve met people who like to pretend that they are better than you because they’re “so over Facebook” when they manage to stay offline for 24 hours straight. They are better than me but you know, why be an ass about it. Anyways personal rage aside, I scroll through my feed in the mornings usually and I see a lot of cries for help. I have taken an initiative for my mental health where I unfollowed a lot of people but even still every day, with every post or with every poem or with every quote I read, I feel like I’m passing through a line of so many people hurting and wanting to be heard and needing help but wanting to be cryptic because asking for help is not cool, you know. You do what Wolfgang from sense 8 did when he needed help. He had so much pride that he couldn’t bring himself to ask so he paid the other sensates a visit where he didn’t say much and they magically knew that he needed help.

I know that some of my cyber friends do need help but I don’t do anything about it because I think that it’s not my place or that that particular post must be meant for someone specific or some other excuse with in the same lines to get me out of helping. I know a few people who always step in to help in these situations. They don’t really let it affect them whether they get shut down or become considered uncool. I wonder how many other people, like me, are becoming un-phased or uneager to help.

Rhyme and Prose

When we're older we'll tell stories
Of the time as little kids
Aliens came to our home.
They lived their lives in boxes and boxes
And saved their emotions in their little pockets.
Their smiles stopped just short of their eyes
Strong arms and stronger minds
But still they tripped and fell over on little rocks
And the brambles cut through their thicker skins.
There was a time aliens came to our home.
They looked sadly at us
And we looked sadly at them.