Anania Mekonnen

"NO STUPID PEOPLE" huh

Some laughed, some frowned, some stayed silent as if caught off guard. A joke to one, a warning to another, a mirror to someone else—same words, different hearts.

City lights humming, headset on, main character mode: activated. 🎧✨

every song suddenly feels personal — like the universe secretly hired my playlist as the soundtrack for this walk.

the breeze smells like stories I haven’t lived yet, and the streets are gossiping about dreams I still owe myself. 🌆

somewhere between traffic noise and neon signs, life feels both too big and perfectly small.

the buildings stare down like old friends, pretending they haven’t seen me daydreaming through the same block for years.

jazz night hit different when you’re surrounded by friends, good vibes, and a drink that keeps refilling itself somehow 🍷🎶

everyone’s laughing, the sax is flirting with the trumpet, and for a second it feels like life actually figured itself out.

There’s something about sharing meals with someone you live with that makes the food taste better—probably because half the time you’re laughing too hard to actually finish eating.

It’s the little rituals: arguing over who gets the last piece of bread (“it’s not sharing if you always take it, Daniel”), pretending to “accidentally” steal fries from their plate, or both of you deciding you’ll cook together and then mysteriously ending up ordering takeout anyway. 🍕

The dining table becomes less about food and more about comfort—a stage for inside jokes, dramatic retellings of the day, and the occasional “who left the wet spoon in the sugar jar” interrogation.

The tree’s shadow is stretching across the park like it’s auditioning for a Marvel movie: “Fear not, tiny humans, I shall protect you from the evil fireball in the sky!”

Meanwhile, the sun is like: “You think you can hide? I invented hide-and-seek, and I always win.” 🔥

And the grass? Just laying there sizzling like, “Bro, I did not sign up for this barbecue.” 🌱

Even the pigeons look like they’re reconsidering their life choices. 🕊️

In the narrow alleys of Lalibela, where ancient stones whisper prayers older than kingdoms, he walks. Draped in his white shamma, with a cross hidden close to his heart, the Ethiopian priest carries centuries of faith in his steps. His smile is quiet, but it holds the weight of dawn chants, incense rising like clouds, and the echo of drums that call heaven and earth to meet.

He is a guardian of stories carved in rock, of hymns sung in Ge’ez—the language angels are said to understand. Children chase his shadow for blessings, and elders bow their heads as he passes, for in him they see both history and hope.

Some say when he lifts his hand to bless, the air grows still—like the ancient churches themselves are listening. Others believe that in his laughter, you can hear the bells of Axum ringing across time.