LIVIA'S BOOKLET

  I came back to the place of my sorrows, to roads that remember the footsteps of a grieving child, to hills that watched my first heartbreak, to skies that carried the day my father left. Years have passed, yet grief still knows my name. It waits in the sunrise. It hides in the evening wind. It sits quietly beneath the moonlight and whispers memories I tried so hard to bury. Here, I lost my first love— my father. The man whose voice made the world feel safe. The man whose absence turned laughter into longing. When sorrow found me. I was too young to understand death. Too young to understand pain. Too young to know that some wounds survive the years. Now, I am a woman. A survivor. Yet in this place, I sometimes become that child again. The child who cried in silence. The child who carried grief like a stone in her chest. The child who learned that life can change forever in a single moment. And still, I rise. With tears in my eyes, I rise. With heartache in my soul, I rise. With me...

  When Aku married Lozayo, everyone said he was the lucky one. She was beautiful, outspoken, and full of life. At their wedding, people laughed, danced, and wished them a lifetime of happiness. Aku believed every word. The first year was good. The second year changed everything. It started with words. Small words. Words that seemed harmless when heard by others. "You are useless." "Look at other husbands." "What kind of man can't provide more than this?" Aku would laugh awkwardly whenever she said such things in front of friends and family. Everyone laughed with her. Nobody noticed the embarrassment behind his smile. As time passed, the words became sharper. Lozayo controlled everything. His phone. His salary. His friendships. Whenever he wanted to visit his family, she accused him of neglecting her. Whenever he spoke about his feelings, she called him weak. Whenever he remained silent, she called him heartless. No answer was ever the right answer. At ...

Hi Dad, It’s me again. Another 6th June has come around, and as always, I find myself reaching for words that somehow carry everything I’ve lived through back to you. It’s the 27th time I’m doing this now, though sometimes it still feels like I’m learning how to speak into silence. Life has been… full. Not in a loud or perfect way, but in that quiet, complicated way you only understand when you’re the one living it. Since last June, I’ve had days where I felt like I was finally getting things right—like I was becoming someone I could be proud of. I’ve also had days where I doubted everything, where even simple things felt heavier than they should. But I kept going. I think that’s something I’ve learned to do better now… just keep going, even when I don’t fully understand where I’m headed. There have been small victories too. The kind I don’t always say out loud, but I know you would’ve noticed. The moments I handled things better than I used to. The times I chose patience over reaction...

  He walks with mountains in his chest, yet greets the world with a smile steady enough to convince everyone he is fine. The bills know his name. Responsibility knows his address. Expectations pull up a chair at every table he sits at, eating first, leaving him with whatever remains. He was taught that strength looks like silence, so he learned to swallow storms whole. He buries disappointment beneath firm handshakes. He folds heartbreak into quiet laughter. He trains his eyes to hold back oceans. And somehow, the world mistakes his silence for peace. But there are nights when darkness settles heavily upon the room and the ceiling becomes a faithful witness to battles no one else can hear. Nights when exhaustion sits at the edge of his bed and asks questions for which he has no answers. Who carries the carrier? Who lifts the shoulders that hold everyone else? Who heals the healer? Who listens when the strong one finally breaks? Yet morning still finds him standing. Not...