REEKING OF RESURRECTION

I've been labelled strong, a title that carries both weight and misconception. I've survived things that felt like they were meant to kill me, to break me, to erase me from existence. The memory of it is exhausting, a heavy burden that I've carried for far too long. It's like a perpetual fog that clings to my skin, making my eyes heavy with the weight of it all. The world around me seems to be in constant motion, pushing me over, pulling me down, gripping my ankles like an unforgiving vice, never letting me take one step forward.

And if this is what you call strong, I don’t want it. I don’t want to be defined by my ability to withstand pain, to endure suffering, to survive against all odds. Because most nights, I fear that my ribs will break from being crushed beneath the weight of it all. I fear that the cracks will spread, that the fractures will deepen, and that I'll shatter into a million pieces, never to be whole again.

But here's the truth: I am not strong. I am battered, bruised, and broken. I am a patchwork of scars, a mosaic of memories that refuse to fade. I am a testament to the power of resilience, yes, but also to the fragility of the human spirit. I have just bloomed out of death that found me, and I still reek of resurrection. Can you smell the mud on me? The earthy scent of struggle, the dampness of tears, the richness of rebirth?

I am a garden of contradictions, a landscape of paradoxes. I am strong and weak, resilient and fragile, broken and whole. I am a work of art, imperfect and incomplete, still being shaped by the hands of time. And if you look closely, you'll see the cracks, the fissures, the scars that crisscross my surface. You'll see the beauty in the brokenness, the strength in the fragility.

So, let's redefine what it means to be strong. Let's say that strength is not about withstanding the storm without flinching, but about facing it head-on, with all its fury and ferocity. Let's say that strength is not about being unbroken, but about being brave enough to be broken, to be vulnerable, to be human.

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AKAPUSA MUDYERE

Misonzi yachimwemwe idatsikira mmasaya mwa Sitelia kuchoka mmaso mwake. Sadathe kukhulupirira kuti loto lake lakwaniritsidwa. Zinali ngati kuti ali mtulo ndipo ali kulota. Chapatali potero Waisoni adakhala chete mkumaonerera mwambo wonse wa ukwati wa mkazi wake wa kale. Adakumbukira mmene amkamutukwanira komanso kumunyoza mkazi yo pa nthawi imene adali limodzi, mtima wake udagunda koposa ndipo anamva kuwawidwa. Kwa iye mkazi anali kalopo koposa ndipo amkakhulupirira kuti kumtchenetsa mkazi Kapena kumuyambitsa bizinesi kunali kutaya nthawi komanso kuononga ndalama chabe. Tsiku liri lonse Sitelia adali akukhala odandaula ndinso kugona ndi njala limodzi ndi ana ake awiri pamene Waisoni adali kupita kuzisangalalo kumene amakadyako mang'ina, zibwente, tchipisi ndi fuloze. Amkapita kunyumba atakhuta ndipo amkangofikira phiii kugona. Khalidwe li mkazi atafika potopa nalo anayamba kuyenda yenda mnamakasaka chakudya cha iye ndi ana ake ndipo waisoni analibe nazo ntchito. Pamene mkazi yu ada...

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