There are moments when the past sits beside us like an old friend, uninvited yet familiar. It leans in during quiet evenings, whispering stories of classrooms, laughter, and the unspoken resilience that carried us through.
Memory is not a passive archive—it is a living companion. It reminds me of the tragedy that carved me into who I am. It reminds me of nieces whose birthdays mark the passage of time, each candle a symbol of continuity. It reminds me of friends who became family, whose solidarity during illness was not charity but covenant. These recollections are not simply nostalgia; they are the scaffolding upon which tomorrow is built.
Yet tomorrow is not guaranteed. Stroke taught me that. Paralysis taught me that. The irony of immobility is that it forces one to move inward, to journey through corridors of thought and spirit that daily busyness often conceals. In those corridors, I discovered resilience not as a heroic act but as a quiet discipline: waking up, writing, remembering, refusing to surrender dignity.
What, then, is the task of memory? It is to remind us that we are not accidents of history but authors of it. To write is to weave, and to weave is to resist forgetting.
So I got a notification from WordPress recently and it’s my 14th anniversary and oh my I think I am (this) the oldest blogger/blog.
So I write—not because words are enough, but because they are what I have. And in writing, I find that memory is not heavy after all. It is light, guiding me toward a tomorrow that, though uncertain, is still mine to claim. To more writing and getting better
Mwene 
Happy 14th Mwene! I was writing earlier this morning and did not realise how much time had passed. There is something about writing. And to quote you : To write is to weave, and to weave is to resist forgetting.