LIVIA'S BOOKLET

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THE PSALM I SANG WHEN HEAVEN WAS QUIET

- October 29, 2026

Inspired by Psalm 13 He gave me a chapter to sing and I sang, but the first note was a question, and the second was a tear I had been carrying for longer than I cared to admit. He gave me Psalm 13. And I understood why before I had even finished reading. For how does a woman explain that she is tired without sounding ungrateful for her life? How does she tell the world that she is trying, that she is praying, that she is doing everything she knows to do, yet some mornings, even the smallest hope feels too heavy to carry? How long, O Lord? How long must I watch my dreams stand at a distance while I count the coins in my hands? How long must I possess a vision for a life I cannot yet afford to build? How long must I encourage myself with the same promises I have been holding on to for years? And how long, Father, must I be the woman who understands when all I want is to be understood? I have learnt to smile without giving away the state of my heart. I have learnt to say, "I am fine,...

WHEN THEY FINALLY REMEMBERED MY NAME

- October 21, 2026

NOBODY CAME TO MY FUNERAL The morning arrived dressed in grey, and the church stood open, its wooden benches waiting for the weight of people who would never come. A bell rang somewhere in the distance, as though heaven itself had mistaken my burial for an ordinary Sunday. The flowers were fresh. The grave was ready. My name had been written carefully on a piece of paper that the wind kept trying to turn. But nobody came. Not the friend whose midnight confessions I had carried like sacred things. Not the family I had loved with the stubbornness of a candle that keeps burning in a room where nobody remembers to say thank you. Not the people who promised that distance would never change us. Nobody came. And I wondered, as the soil waited patiently beside me, whether a person could spend a lifetime being necessary to everyone and still be nobody's first thought. I had been the emergency contact, the borrowed shoulder, the last coin in somebody's empty pocket. I had been the voice ...

THE SONG I SANG IN THE WAITING

- October 14, 2026

In spired by Psalm 40 He gave me a chapter to sing and I sang, though my voice was a whisper, though my heart was a wilderness, though the words on my lips were fighting the tears in my eyes. He gave me Psalm 40, and I wondered how a woman standing in the middle of a pit could possibly sing about deliverance. For I, too, had been waiting. Waiting for a door to open that would not ask me to knock twice. Waiting for the kind of breakthrough that would make sense of all my breaking. Waiting for the morning to look different from the night before. I had prayed until my words grew tired, knelt until my knees knew the floor, and held on to promises with hands that were beginning to tremble. Lord, I have dreams that are growing impatient. There are versions of me I have not yet had the money to become, books I have not yet had the courage to open, and roads I have not yet had the strength to travel. There are bills that do not understand prayer, needs that cannot be postponed until a miracle,...

THE FUNERAL I HAD WHILE ALIVE

- October 07, 2026

NOBODY CAME TO MY FUNERAL . Not because the earth had swallowed my name, nor because the heavens had forgotten my address, but because I had spent a lifetime dying in places where everybody could see me and nobody thought to ask if I was all right. I died in conversations where my words were met with silence. I died at tables where I served everyone but myself. I died in the arms of people who held my body but never bothered to learn the language of my heart. And yet, I lived. God, how desperately I lived. I laughed with a mouth full of sorrow, wore courage like a Sunday dress, and told the world, "I am fine," because I had learnt that honesty was an inconvenience to people who only loved me when I was easy to love. I became everyone's shelter while praying for somewhere to rest. I learnt to listen to everybody's storms while drowning in my own. And whenever my soul grew tired, I apologised for being human. Nobody noticed the funeral. There were no flowers, ...

THE PINK DRESS IN HER WARDROBE

- October 01, 2026

The pink dress remained in her wardrobe long after she stopped wearing it. It hung between a black dress she wore to funerals and a blue one she once wore to her best friend's graduation. She had bought it on an ordinary Tuesday. There had been nothing remarkable about that day. The sun was too hot. The market was crowded. Someone had overcharged her for tomatoes. A child was crying beside a woman selling second-hand clothes. She had argued with the tailor over a missing button and laughed with her sister on the way home. It was just an ordinary Tuesday. She did not know then that ordinary days were treasures. She wore the pink dress more than thrice. Once to church, once to the lake and once to a wedding. Once to a family gathering where she ate too much rice and laughed until her stomach hurt. Then she stopped wearing it. Not because she stopped liking pink. Because one morning, while dressing, her fingers found something that wasn't supposed to be there. She stood in front o...

THE PRAYER THAT STAYED

- September 28, 2026

(A short story for Blood Cancer Awareness Month) The first thing Lhane noticed was how tired he had become. Not the ordinary tiredness that followed a long day at work, but the kind that settled into his bones and made even small things feel unnecessarily heavy. He stopped taking the stairs. He slept longer. He began turning down invitations because he simply did not have the energy to explain why he was always tired. Kazina noticed before he did. She noticed the way he held his body when he thought she wasn't looking. She noticed how often he pressed his hand against his chest. She noticed the silence between his words. "Something isn't right," she told him one evening. Lhane smiled. "You worry too much." "I know," she replied. "But this time, let me." A few weeks later, the doctors gave them a diagnosis neither of them was prepared to hear. Blood cancer. The word seemed too large for the small consultation room. Lhane stared at the fl...

THE THINGS WE ASK THE HEART TO CARRY

- September 22, 2026

(A prose piece for World Heart Day) We speak about the heart as though it only knows how to beat. But the heart carries more than blood. We ask it to carry grief without breaking. Love without becoming foolish. Fear without becoming weak. Disappointment without becoming bitter. We ask it to keep going through things we sometimes don't even have the courage to name. And yet, for all the poetry we give the heart, we sometimes forget that it is also an organ that needs our care. We remember it when something goes wrong. We remember the importance of movement after we have spent years being inactive. We remember what we eat after the doctor tells us to be careful. We remember our blood pressure when the numbers become frightening. We remember that smoking, excessive alcohol use, unhealthy diets, physical inactivity and other risk factors can quietly increase the burden placed on our cardiovascular health. Perhaps caring for the heart should begin before it has to ask for our attention....

WHEN MEMORY BECOMES A STRANGER

- September 15, 2026

(A poem for World Alzheimer's Day) There comes a quiet kind of forgetting that does not ask permission. It enters through little doors— a name misplaced, a familiar road suddenly unfamiliar, a question asked twice before the first answer has settled. At first, we laugh gently. We say, "You are getting old." We find the missing keys and place them in waiting hands, never imagining that one day the keys will not be the thing that is lost. Then slowly, the house begins to change. Photographs remain on the walls, but the faces inside them become difficult to name. Yesterday folds into today. Today slips quietly toward somewhere we cannot follow. And there is a particular sorrow in being remembered only in pieces. A daughter becomes the kind woman who visits. A husband becomes a familiar stranger. A childhood home becomes a room with beautiful curtains and no history. Still, love does not always require memory. Sometimes it is found in the hand that reaches back when yours r...

STAY UNTIL THE MORNING

- September 08, 2026

(A prose piece for World Suicide Prevention Day) There are people who become very good at saying, "I'm fine." They say it at work. They say it at home. They say it when someone asks them how they are doing and they know the person is already walking away before the answer has finished leaving their mouth. "I'm fine." Sometimes those two words are simply the truth. And sometimes they are a curtain. Behind them may be exhaustion. Grief. Loneliness. Shame. Financial pressure. Relationship problems. Trauma. Depression. Fear. A feeling that life has become too heavy to carry. Not everyone who is struggling looks broken. Some people continue going to work. They answer messages. They laugh with friends. They post photographs. They take care of children. They show up for everyone else while quietly wondering how much longer they can keep showing up for themselves. That is why suicide prevention belongs to all of us. Not because we can always see the signs. We can...

THE LITTLE BOY WHO PRAYED FOR MORNING

- September 01, 2026

(A short story for Childhood Cancer Awareness Month) Mirembe was seven years old when he decided that hospitals were too white. He told his mother they needed more colour. "Even the walls look tired," he whispered. His mother laughed for the first time in days. She had forgotten what his laughter sounded like. Mirembe had been diagnosed with cancer months earlier. Since then, their lives had become a collection of hospital appointments, medicines, blood tests and long afternoons waiting for doctors. But Mirembe remained Mirembe. He still asked too many questions. He still wanted to know why clouds moved. He still believed that every nurse secretly had a favourite child. And every night, before sleeping, he prayed. "God, please let me wake up tomorrow." His mother once asked him why he prayed such a simple prayer. He shrugged. "Because tomorrow might be a good day." She turned away so he would not see her cry. Children should be thinking about school. Abo...

THE FACE BEHIND THE NAME AND THE PEN

- August 29, 2026

Meet Livia_writes ✍🏾🇲🇼 — The Pen, The Passion, The Power Behind the Words Livia_writes✍🏾, a proud Malawian, passionate bibliophile, writer, literary enthusiast, and one of the long-standing faces of The Reading Culture Union:Creative Minds Group, where she has been an active member since 2014. For the past 12 years, Livia has not merely belonged to the Union—she has shown up for it. She has contributed to its growth, vibrancy and expansion, bringing with her an infectious love for books, words, people and the beautiful communities that literature creates. Friendly. Outgoing. Warm. Bold. Expressive. Curious. Adventurous. Unapologetically creative. A natural conversationalist. A lover of stories and a storyteller in her own right. A community builder. A literary cheerleader. A fierce advocate for reading. And, perhaps most importantly, a woman who genuinely believes that words can change people. Livia is an influencer of books and reading culture, constantly encouraging people ...

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