when i was 4 or 5 years old, i became obsessed with chaos. not the kind you hear about through gossip or on social media. no, mine was far more intimate. personal. i remember the joy i felt getting chased by a grown man who wanted to hurt me for deflating his tires — not slashed but a gentle exhale. a whisper of robelion. the man was furious, chasing me through my apartment building, up and down stairs, down hallways, and through many rooms to where my mother was resting, pregnant with my baby sister. i was out of breath but not from tiredness, but because i laughed too hard.

i enjoyed disappearing for hours, wandering through unfamiliar neighborhoods, trying to find new streets and ledges i can peer over. it was fun. i wanted a new perspective. my feet were too small to reach pedals, so they spent time stomping around, free to do what they wanted. i valued the freedom i had to roam as a kid because violence wasn’t something i understood. back then, my world smelled only of berbere and gasoline, and my greatest weapon was a slingshot powerful enough to scare away pigeons.

i had a childhood friend, robel, who would often join me on these adventures. he was the braver than most people i’ve met since. on our best adventure, we finally got access to our apartment building’s roof. the roof was a different world. at each corner, rusted rods jutted out — i guess the skeletal remains of an unfinished dream. with a smile, he jumped up and grabbed one and started to dance. as agile as a ballerina, and with the strength of a pole dancer, he flung himself, and it looked fun.

and then it was my turn.

i stepped up. reached for the rod. grabbed it. pulled myself up. and then i looked down.

and in that moment — that moment — i saw it. the end.

a metaphor and a possibility. a fall, a crack, a final silence. something that wouldn’t be followed by laughter or joy. suddenly, i understood something no child should.

that was the day i met death, not as a figure but a concept. they didn’t say hello. just stood there at the bottom of, waiting to see what i’d do next.

shortly after i met the figure with a razor around my neck, but thats another story.