Voices Unheard

At the heart of the human condition lies a profound tension: the longing for the infinite while being confined to the finite. We are creatures of form who yearn for the formless, beings of thought who seek to grasp that which transcends it. In this existential dilemma, humanity has crafted two primary responses: religion and […]

There is a violence that does not wound with fists, but with words. A destruction that does not shatter bones, but erodes spirit. It is a quiet, insidious force, one that chips away at a person’s essence, not in one brutal strike, but in countless imperceptible cuts. This is the tyranny of malignant presence: an

There is a quiet violence in the way some religious teachings demand endurance at all costs. Where leaving is framed as betrayal, but slow destruction is tolerated, even sanctified. Marriage becomes a holy trap, a divine contract where suffering is valorized and escape is sin. The theology of “till death do us part” twists into

The modern spiritual mantra that all hatred is toxic is not only naive, it is a dangerous oversimplification. To condemn hatred outright is to deny the sacred fire that burns in the hearts of those who have witnessed true injustice. There is a hatred that does not corrode the soul but refines it, a hatred

His First Birthday in Heaven: Let This Be a Haunting Warning Some souls are too pure for this world: too honest, too upfront, too trusting. Our brother Fika was one of them. He moved through life with radical transparency: when he was angry, you saw it; when disappointed, he told you. There were no hidden

Happy Father’s Day, Fikaye! I miss you. Every single day. But today, on Father’s Day, the ache is sharper, the questions louder. You were such a good father. The kind who rolled on the floor with the kids like you were their age, who matched their energy jump for jump, laugh for laugh. I close my eyes

Those words burn in my chest like embers, relentless and furious, because too many voices rise in places they don’t belong, voices that have never known the weight of a parent’s sorrow, the hollow silence of a room that once echoed with a son’s laughter. Yet they speak. They judge. They take sides as if

The Moment Truth Walked In Death has a way of stripping away illusions. In life, people hide behind pleasantries, half-truths, and comfortable lies, until the finality of the grave forces silence upon them. Then, the unspoken rises like a ghost. Secrets spill from trembling lips. Regrets, once buried under pride or fear, claw their way

Religion should be a source of comfort, a refuge for the weary and a light for the lost. But when twisted into something darker, it becomes a blade that cuts deep and a hammer that shatters souls. Some people aren’t killed by violence or illness, but by something far more insidious: the slow, methodical destruction

The Weight of Unheard Truths There is a particular kind of grief that comes not just from loss, but from realization, the slow, crushing understanding that someone was telling you the truth all along, and you didn’t fully listen. It’s the agony of hindsight, the way their words, once dismissed as confusion or exaggeration, now