In just one week, I heard five stories of weddings that never came true.
A bride whose groom passed away the day before their wedding.
And a groom who struggled to prepare everything — a small room, borrowed clothes, a humble hall for a quiet gathering — only for death to reach his bride before their day could come.
In this city, grief snatches away even the tiniest moments of joy.
These tragedies leave scars on hearts, a lump in the throat, and a quiet rage.
Here, any joy — no matter whose it is — becomes a shared joy for us all.
We celebrate the happiness of strangers because we’re starved for joy, more than for bread or shelter.
Every delayed joy, every heavy heart, every rare smile… is a miracle in this place.
I am one of this city’s children.
And my story isn’t far from theirs.
I carry a postponed dream and I’m trying to begin again.
If you pass by, read, pray, and support.