Family
The Things We Bow To
"The Things We Bow To" — A Story About Idolatry Long ago, in a sun-scorched land, temples towered over the hills like monuments to forgotten truths. People came from all directions—merchants, mothers, shepherds, soldiers—each bringing something to offer. They laid their sacrifices before carved statues with eyes that never blinked and mouths that never spoke. Some were made of gold, others of wood or stone, each one shaped to represent power, beauty, love, or strength.
By Gabriela Toneabout a year ago in Confessions
The Silent Epidemic: A Story of Strength Amidst Struggle Among Australian African Women
Mental health is very difficult illness and complicated, different aspect of well-being that often goes unspoken, especially in communities battling invisible barriers. In Australia, the mental health crisis is becoming a glaring reality that no longer permits silence. Among its many population groups, women, particularly women of African origin carry an unrelenting weight on their shoulders, balancing societal expectations, professional obligations, and cultural responsibilities. It is a reality that reveals itself in private moments of quiet despair, yet echoes through households, families, and entire communities. Why, then, is this silent epidemic so pervasive? And more importantly, how can these women and the communities around them begin to shift the narrative?
By Majok Wutchokabout a year ago in Confessions
Why do people Lie
Why Do People Lie? A Real Talk About the Truth Behind Dishonesty Let’s be honest — we all lie. Maybe not in huge, dramatic ways, but in little, everyday moments. Like when you say “I’m fine” even though you're not. Or when you tell your friend their new haircut looks great, even though you're not totally convinced.
By Gabriela Toneabout a year ago in Confessions
It was always about the littlest things
You know those moments that light you up like a forestfire, the circumstances, people, entities, stories, words or notions that trigger something in you. That makes you act differently, to approach your life differently, to stride a different walk or embrace a new mindset. These are often quite moments that we think are insignificant, but are in reality monumental transgressions of metamorphosis, where everything changes, but also nothing changes.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Confessions
The Day I Stopped Chasing “Enough”
Most of my adult years, I believed being "enough" was something you attained. Enough was about being on at all times. Being agreeable at all times. Constantly reaching for the next milestone, the next promotion, the next unread email in my inbox. I boasted about my fatigue as a badge of honor, as if running on empty indicated that I was doing something right. Society calls it hustle. I called it survival.
By MD NAYEMabout a year ago in Confessions
The Morning I Missed the Bus—and Found My Way Instead
The Morning I Missed the Bus—and Found My Way Instead I was 17, late for school, and flying down the block in the middle of winter with half-frozen hair and a burnt piece of toast in my mouth. Classy. The yellow school bus came around the corner just as I was reaching the stop. I waved frantically, breath clouding in the air, but the driver didn't see. Perhaps he did, and just decided it was too late.
By Amzad Rahidabout a year ago in Confessions
The Day That Took Away All My Colors
Date: 14 April 2017 (Pahela Baishakh) Isn’t that a beautiful date? It truly was — once upon a time. Before 2017, that date meant joy, colors, laughter, and pure memories. We used to play with colors, even though we weren’t allowed to. I studied in a madrasa, along with my friends and cousins. Color play was forbidden there. If the Huzur ever saw color on us, we’d surely get punished. But who cared? Our childhood hearts were wild and fearless. I remember it so vividly — how we used to hide colors in small packets, carefully hidden in our pockets or under our shirts. The thrill of sneaking out to play Holi-like games, using those powdered colors, and running around the village. It was a small, simple life, yet so rich in emotions and joy. I, Arif Chacha, Rahman Chacha, Mehedi Mama, and so many others — we turned the village into a rainbow. Even though the colors were forbidden, happiness wasn’t. After the color games were over, our secret mission was to rush to the pond. We had to wash ourselves clean, erase every sign of color from our bodies. Because if Huzur found out, we would surely be beaten. That fear — strangely — added to the fun. That pond became our place of laughter, splashes, and silly jokes. We were young. We were wild. We were free. 2016 — that was the last year I felt those colors deeply. Then came 2017. Pahela Baishakh — April 14th, 2017. It wasn’t just a new Bengali year. It was the end of an era for me. The day that used to be colorful, The day that once brought joy, That very same day washed all the colors away from my life. I remember everything about that day. Every sound. Every scent. Every silence. But I won’t tell it all — some memories are too painful to speak aloud. But I can say this: That day marked the beginning of a dark chapter in my life. A chapter that still echoes within me, every single day. You left that day. You, my companion in color, my partner in laughter. You went to some unknown world — And you didn’t take any of us with you. How could you leave like that? How could you not even think once — How will Wafi live without you? That question still haunts me. You were always the light — the vibrant color — in all our celebrations. You were the soul of every gathering, the first one to bring color, the last one to leave the pond. And yet, on that day, you disappeared — quietly, suddenly, painfully. People say I’m okay now. They say, “Wafi is strong,” “Wafi has moved on,” “Wafi has found peace.” But what do they know? What do they know about the sleepless nights, the invisible tears, the prayers whispered under my breath? They say I’m free now — but are we ever truly free from our past? You left, and with you, you took all the colors of my world. You left me in black and white. Still, I pray for you. I ask Allah every day to give you peace — to give you light, warmth, and the joy you once gave us. Allah is the best of planners. And though I miss you, though I ache for you, I accept His decision. There is wisdom in His will, even if I cannot see it yet. But oh, how I wish I could see you one more time. How I wish I could tell you how much I miss you. How I wish I could give you something — anything. But what do I have? All I have left… is this prayer. And so I offer it, with all my heart: Ya Allah, please take care of them. Please keep them close to You. And if possible — let them know that I never forgot. Never.
By TA TAZIM about a year ago in Confessions
Me and my village
The mishap of my life began when I went to the city to study in class 4. I was born in a small village near the border of the country. My family was scattered all over the country due to poverty. My father is a farmer. The expenses of our family members come from the farmland.The expenses of family members depend on that one person. We are siblings. My father struggles to provide for our education and fulfill the family responsibilities. Then he worked hard to develop us as human beings. When I finished class 3, my uncles took me to the city for better education.
By Md Mujahidul Islamabout a year ago in Confessions
The Scam That Taught Me More Than a Classroom Ever Did
I was in 12th grade when I first decided to order something online. Back then, online shopping wasn’t common in my family. In fact, it was strongly discouraged. My parents believed it was risky, and every time I mentioned it, they’d look concerned. They thought everything online was a scam waiting to happen.
By Takbir Hasanabout a year ago in Confessions
