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Awe With Awale, Brisbane (2026)

24/01/2026

Maybe I Am Cool

“I am still thinking about our chat together. It was so inspirational to me. I just wanted to let you know.”

“I’ve been talking about our conversation with most of my friends, so I thought I’d tell you. You clearly had an impact.”

Those were the words I received this week from a young man I met in Brisbane during my Christmas visit. We had met at a Christmas gathering, and the next day he offered to show me parts of the city. We spent the entire afternoon together exploring Brisbane until evening.

As we walked through "South Bank" and crossed the river by ferry which cost me just 50 cents, I shared stories and perspectives on history and geopolitics about Somalia, the Middle East, and growing up in Saudi Arabia. Much of it was new to him and at one point, as we walked through "West End", he stopped, looked at me with genuine admiration and said, “You know you’re cool, right?”

I was surprised by the impact I had on a young migrant man in his early 20s, educated and a recent graduate with a master’s degree in finance. When he asked if I knew I was cool, I laughed and said, “I know” and quickly changed the subject. Talking about myself has never been my strong suite. Like many of us, I feel uncomfortable at times when receiving a compliment.

But maybe I should sit with it. Maybe I am cool, maybe my words carry weight. Maybe when given the chance, I offer people something unique, something they didn’t know they were looking for. A new perspective, hope, or simply the feeling of being seen.

And maybe this is the reminder I needed to realise that my voice matters, that my stories, my openness and welcoming spirit have an impact on others. I have a gift and gifts are meant to be used. I will aim to use my gifts more often and share them with those who are willing to receive and reciprocate.

07/01/2026

The Somaliland / Somalia Problem

Many of you will have seen the news that Israel recognised the Republic of Somaliland on Boxing Day, Friday 26 December 2025. With Israel’s involvement, the long-standing Somaliland/Somalia problem has become even more complex. Something like the three-body problem in physics.

I came across the news by accident. I was in Brisbane for the holidays, hoping for rest, when I woke up to images of Netanyahu on a FaceTime call with the Somaliland president, announcing recognition. The night before, I had been discussing geopolitics with friends, criticising Netanyahu’s role in wars, covert operations, and devastation across the Middle East over the past three decades. Seeing that announcement the next morning felt surreal and dystopian.

I have largely avoided political commentary on Somaliland for years. The situation felt stagnant and hopeless. This announcement, and the reaction it provoked locally and globally, compels me to speak or my silence would mean complicity.

Let me be clear about where I come from. I was born in Hargeisa, the capital of Somaliland. The people celebrating this announcement are my people. And I am deeply opposed to this move. I am ashamed by the public celebrations, the Israeli flags, and the sudden praise of Netanyahu, a man responsible for mass killing in Gaza and wanted by the International Criminal Court.

If I am generous, I can understand the desperation. Somaliland has sought recognition for almost 35 years. Had Egypt or the United States been the first to recognise it, people would be waving their flags instead. But this is Israel, at this moment in history. Seeking recognition from a genocidal regime comes at a moral and political cost that is too high.

This did not come out of nowhere. In recent years, Somaliland’s government has shown a willingness to trade land, ports, and sovereignty for recognition whether with Ethiopia, the UAE, or now Israel. Recognition has become an obsession like a drug we seek, something we are willing to pay anything for, even our dignity and morals. This is not pragmatism, it is desperation.

**A Brief History:

Somalis are among the most homogenous peoples in Africa. We share one language and one religion. Yet we are also a deeply clan-based, historically nomadic society shaped by colonial disruption.

In the late 19th century, Britain colonised the north (British Somaliland) and Italy colonised the south. After the second World War, Britain controlled all Somali territories and initially supported the idea of a Greater Somalia. Under pressure from Ethiopia and the United States, that vision was abandoned. Britain handed the Ogaden and Haud regions (core Somali grazing lands) to Ethiopia, igniting deep resentment especially in Somaliland.

In 1960, British Somaliland gained independence and was recognised by 35 countries including the US, Soviet Union, France, China, Egypt, Isreal and other countries. Just five days later, driven by anger at British colonial betrayal and hope for a Greater Somalia, Somaliland rushed into unity with the south. No legal union was properly signed. Somaliland’s parliament was dissolved, and power was centralised in Mogadishu.

In 1969, a military coup brought General Siad Barre to power. His regime became increasingly authoritarian and clan-based. After Somalia’s defeat in the 1977 war with Ethiopia, a war backed by the Soviet Union and Cuban troops the dream of Greater Somalia collapsed.

In the 1980s, resistance movements emerged in the north. The regime responded with overwhelming violence. In 1988, Hargeisa was bombed and destroyed, tens of thousands were killed and I was among those who fled as a child and was lucky to make out alive.

When Siad Barre fell in 1991, Somalia descended into chaos and Somaliland declared independence on 18 May 1991. This time, no one recognised it.

**Missed Opportunities:

While the south collapsed into warlordism, Somaliland built peace, institutions, elections, and stability. But international recognition never came. The African Union and major powers insisted that the issue be resolved through dialogue with Mogadishu. That dialogue never happened, not seriously anyway.

Offers were made from the south. At one point, there was even discussion of relocating Somalia’s capital to Hargeisa. Somaliland refused. The south was framed as the enemy, and an entire generation was taught to see all Somalis through the lens of the crimes of Siad Barre’s regime. This was a historic mistake.
A negotiated settlement, independence, confederation, autonomy, or a referendum was all possible. Instead, Somaliland chose isolation for over three decades. Now, at the end of that road, it is turning to anyone willing to promise recognition, regardless of the cost.

**Why Israel Makes This Worse:

Netanyahu’s recognition letter thanked the Mossad. That alone should alarm anyone. Mossad involvement is never neutral. If this relationship leads to a military presence, Somaliland becomes a target without the protection Israel enjoys as we don’t have an iron dome to protect our people.

This move also isolates Somaliland from Arab, Muslim, and African countries. The public celebrations with Israeli flags are not only politically reckless, but they are also morally wrong.

Some argue this is pragmatism (any recognition is good; any publicity is welcomed). Others believe the US will follow Israel’s lead. I am highly doubtful that will be the case, although no one can predict Trump’s next move. Even Ethiopia and the UAE despite their interests have avoided formal recognition because they already get what they want without international backlash.

**Final Thoughts:

Somaliland once had unity, moral credibility, and a strong political case. That strength has eroded since around 2015. Internal divisions are growing, and as always tribal politics are resurfacing with regions in the east and west looking for a different solution than the Somaliland project.

Yes, Somaliland has a legitimate case for recognition. But it is not achievable without dialogue and agreement with the rest of Somalia.

Personally, I do not care what political system we end up with: Somaliland, a united Somalia, or something in between as long as it works and serves our people. What I do care about is dignity and prosperity for our Somali people both in the north and in the south. We cannot trade land, security, and morality for symbolic recognition.

Our traditions taught us to resolve disputes under a tree, through dialogue. Today, we thank Netanyahu while refusing to sit with our Somali brothers. What a shame!

The Somaliland/Somalia problem stagnated for 35 years due to stubbornness. Adding Israel to the mix has only made it more dangerous and more complicated. I argue it’s as complicated as the three-body problem in physics.

The greatest irony of all is this: we cite genocide as our reason for separation yet now shake hands with a genocidal regime. I do not know how this will end but I expect nothing good from Netanyahu’s government. What I do know is that the solution is not to befriend Netanyahu, but to sit and negotiate with your brother under a tree as our people have done for hundreds of years.

P.s: If you want to learn more about the history of this region, reach out and I am happy to explain.

08/12/2025

Cashing In My Good Deeds

In the past couple of weeks, I travelled unexpectedly to Saudi Arabia, the country I left almost a decade ago. I had no plans of visiting, but it became an urgent, spontaneous trip due to family circumstances.

The reason for my visit was my dad’s recent health scare. Without getting into the details, he was scheduled to undergo a critical procedure in Makkah (Saudi Arabia), and I needed to be there with my brother and sister, who had accompanied him throughout this journey.

I met some interesting people at Melbourne Airport, including a Kuwaiti national (Falah) who had just graduated from economics and cyber security from Melbourne University. He was on his way to Saudi too, to visit his dad, who is a senior diplomat working in Riyadh. We had a lovely chat while waiting for our flight. I wish I could get into the details, but maybe another time.

The flight to Abu Dhabi was smooth, and I slept like a baby for most of it. That’s what the flight attendant told me when she woke me up for my meal. Kylie, the young woman sitting next to me, told me she planned a month-long trip to chase the Northern Lights in Europe with her friend. Their plan was to visit Austria, Hungary, Denmark, and Finland.

They were pretty stressed when we landed in Abu Dhabi, as they had less than 30 minutes to catch their connecting flight. I, on the other hand, had a long layover in Abu Dhabi, about 20 hours. It was a good chance to catch up with one of my old friends who recently moved there, a creative director and photographer. The last time we met was back home in Hargeisa watching the World Cup in December 2022.

I had a great time with him and another friend I hadn't seen in years. For the short time we had, they showed me around, proudly sharing their city and its development. We even visited a local art party called “Block Barty,” where we met some artists, including a Somali photographer interning with CNN. I said goodbye to my friends as they dropped me at the airport on my way to Jeddah.

I landed at Jeddah International Airport around midnight. The airport looked different, and I couldn’t go straight through the E-Gate because I had to give my fingerprints. I had lived in this country as a Somali for 26 years, and now I was visiting as an Australian with an online visa that took only four minutes to be issued. In with the new identity and out with the old.

I was wearing my white Ihram, as I planned to do Umrah as soon as I arrived in Makkah. There was a sea of local Saudi drivers looking for passengers. I knew the language, so it was easy for me to communicate, sort out my SIM card, and make a deal with one driver on the condition that I share the fare with another passenger going to Makkah.

He found another Somali guy going for Umrah too. He worked with United Airlines and had some free tickets. He was a Somali man from Minnesota in the US. At one point I was looking for some cash to pay for my SIM card, and the driver and the American Somali brother (Faisal) thought I had left. The Saudi driver later told me that Faisal kept saying in Arabic, “Where is my brother?” “Ayna Akhi?” He didn’t speak much Arabic, but that was the phrase he kept repeating. The Saudi driver found it amusing.

During our trip to Makkah, I chatted with the Saudi driver the whole way in the local Saudi dialect, and he thought I was Saudi! I told him I grew up here for 26 years, but I’m Australian now. Faisal couldn’t get his money from the ATM for some reason, so I offered to pay for both of us while he gave me some US dollars in exchange. They didn’t understand each other well, so I made sure to drop Faisal at his hotel first and ensure he got in safely before going to mine. I was in a hurry because it was approaching 2 am, but I wanted to make sure he was safe as my Somali brother.

We dropped Faisal at his hotel and then headed to mine. My brother and sister were asleep when I arrived, and I didn’t have a key to the room. I went to reception and told them my siblings were asleep, and I would try calling them again. They offered to open the door, mistakenly thinking I was my brother, they had no idea we are lookalike.

Finally, my sister woke up, and I said hello, dropped my bags, and went straight to perform Umrah. I thought it would be quiet late at night, but it was busy. I guess the holy city and the Kaaba, where Muslims pray toward, is one of the few places on earth that is always busy.

Surprisingly, I saw Faisal there, and I offered to finish Umrah together. I wasn’t expecting to see him after dropping him off at his hotel. We got to know each other better. He was on his way to Cairo after Umrah to attend his wedding. I prayed for him, and I asked him to pray for my dad to regain his health, and for me to find a suitable wife too. After all, that’s the hot topic in my family and among my friends. Everyone is invested in seeing who I am going to marry.

In the following couple of days, I met my dad, and we were in and out of hospitals. During that same period, I felt like God was testing me. It felt like I was attracting people who needed help and assistance. My instinct was to help and go above and beyond. Usually, I don’t ask for anything in return. But this time, for the first time, I thought: why don’t I cash in my good deeds and ask them to pray for my dad?

I am not rich with money, and unfortunately my dad isn’t on Medicare like I am, I couldn’t afford my dad the best healthcare possible. But I am rich in character and kindness, and that might be my most valuable currency. Here are some examples from my encounters with strangers who needed help:

1) A Sudanese man had lost his way to his hotel and asked if I knew where it was. He didn’t have the internet, so I checked Google Maps and found it. I offered to walk him there. It was 20 minutes out of my way. After I finished my deed, I asked him to pray for my dad, and he did.

2) An older Somali woman visiting from Michigan (US) had issues with her hotel booking because the agency mixed it up. I was asked to translate, and I gladly accepted. I helped her move between the two hotels and carry her bags. I stayed with her until she was admitted to the correct one and she was given her room keys. I waited with her for almost two hours. At the end, I asked her to pray for my dad, and she did.

3) I went looking for breakfast and found a small Yemeni shop selling delicious Yemeni food. While waiting for my order, a Somali woman from my city (Hargeisa), who had just arrived with an Umrah group, was also looking for Yemeni food. She didn’t speak much Arabic, so I offered to order for her. She asked me not to leave her in the shop with all the men around. I stayed with her and paid for her meal. Then she wanted to shop for fruit, milk, and detergent to wash her clothes. I took her shopping and paid for everything. Her demeanor reminded me of my mum, and I happily helped her. I told her about my dad and asked for her prayers. She prayed for him and gave me some food advice for diabetics, as she is one herself.

I met many others who were sent my way. Those I could help, I did. Those I couldn’t, I offered advice or a kind word, and our encounter ended with a prayer for my dad’s health. I felt like I was collecting good energy from the universe and sending it toward my dad. I believed it was just as important as the medical intervention, especially since we were in the holy city of Makkah, where almost two billion Muslims face every day to pray.

The whole journey was much more than that. Lots of physical, mental, and emotional labor but things went well for the most part, and my dad is on his way to recovering. On the other hand, I got sick with what seemed like a serious flu or lung infection for a long time, and my aunt and sister took care of me while I was sick. I tried everything including eating raw garlic and breathing in hot steam.

It was ironic that my dad called me from the hospital to make sure I was okay, and I was the one who flew across the world to make sure he was okay. I guess we will always be our parents’ children no matter how old we get. They will always worry about us more than we worry about them.

I am back now, and I have almost recovered from my sudden illness. Just last month I had no idea I would be travelling to Saudi Arabia, the country I left almost 10 years ago. If it had been a planned visit, I would’ve visited my childhood neighborhood, my old friends, my university, and the places where I witnessed history. Maybe I will leave that for another visit. This visit was for family, and family only.

Although it was a tough time, it was great to bond again with my siblings and dad. To see the changes and the sacrifices they have made throughout the years. To see how resilient and brave they are. I can never compare myself to them. Now I realise how much easier my life is than theirs. The healthcare system we have here in Australia, and the lack of it in my homeland.

As someone who grew up away for many years, I deal with challenges, but I also see the other side of the coin. The challenge of keeping a family together, of caring for each other through thick and thin not just financially, but mentally and emotionally. It’s not an easy feat, and I have a newfound appreciation for my family for surviving and making it work back home, regardless of all the difficulties we go through as individuals and as a nation trying to find its way on the world’s map.

P.s: hope that wasn't a long read. It could've been double the fold if I added details. It's the short version :)

09/11/2025

The Moth StorySlam Winner

This week has been very busy both at work and in my personal life, here and back home. Despite the busy schedule, I made sure to attend my usual Tuesday Arabic class. We study the language, watch Arabic films, and lately, I’ve been given a weekly 10-minute slot to share one of my stories.

This week, I told a story about my visits to an immigration detention center about a beautiful family I used to visit, and the little girl who was trapped there with her mother. I shared how I once printed their family photo on a t-shirt and dedicated my marathon run that year to advocate for their freedom. The T-shirt carried a humanitarian political message, so I had to hide it under another layer when I visited before my marathon run. There’s more to that story, but I’ll save the rest for another time.

The very next day, I decided to attend The Moth StorySLAM. I hadn’t planned to tell a story that night, but as the event went on, I remembered that I still had the same T-shirt from the night before. The theme was “Cheat,” and I suddenly found a way to connect that story to the theme. I spoke about cheating the system not for personal gain, but to show a little humanity, to give that family a small moment of hope and compassion that the system had failed to provide in their darkest hour.

To my surprise, the story resonated deeply with the audience, and I ended up winning the night. I felt calm and comfortable on stage, sharing the story as if I were talking to one person, to a friend even though there were nearly 200 people in the room.

I’ve been sharing stories on The Moth stage since 2018, and this is my third win from close to minimum 30 stories I have told on that stage. But to me, the joy of storytelling has always been greater than any prize or score from the judges. I’m simply grateful to keep sharing my stories after all these years. It’s both a joy and a blessing. I also love the storytelling community, the warmth, the support, and the connection we build over time.

I feel blessed to have found different ways to express my stories and life experiences through storytelling, poetry, and journaling in both Arabic and English. Slowly, my writing is finding its way into anthologies and publications, but my dream is to one day share these stories through published books of my stories and poetry. I might not be the greatest poet, but I know that I am good at storytelling, and I use poetry to compliment my stories.

It’s awesome to share my stories on stage or online, or even in spontaneous conversations with strangers but I want to create something that remains after I’m gone. Something that carries my message in life: stories of compassion, kindness, and connection. Stories that remind us of what’s possible when we approach one another with curiosity, love, and humanity.

And now, I’m excited to have another chance to take part in a future Moth GrandSlam. I’ve been there for the past two years, and it’s become one of my favorite events.

P.s: I enjoy sharing stories. I offer story sessions to exchange stories, it will cost you a coffee and a couple of hours that will go fast. I might start charging for my story sessions in the near future :)

23/10/2025

A Melbourne Birthday Again

“Let my soul smile through my heart and my heart smile through my eyes, that I may scatter rich smiles in sad hearts.” – Paramahansa Yogananda

I have a confession to make. Two years ago, on my birthday I announced that I would be leaving Melbourne for Perth. I made a big deal about it. I was a little nostalgic and maybe emotional, because I loved Melbourne and its people. My confession now is that I’ve been back for a while, and every time I meet someone I know, they assume I’m just visiting. So, yes… I’ve been “visiting” Melbourne for months😄.

Perhaps it’s fitting that I announce: I’m back in Melbourne on my birthday. I must thank Perth and all the wonderful people and friends I made there. There are so many perks to living in Perth, the beautiful beaches and landscape, the stable weather, easy overseas travel...etc. But I’m simply better fit with Melbourne and I would like to send a big shout out to the Centre for Stories and my poet family over there, they made me feel welcome and were a peakon of light.

So now that that’s out of the way, today's birthday is the 10th birthday I’ve celebrated since moving to Australia. I’ve been here almost a full decade in this land down under. Before I moved, birthdays weren’t a big thing for me growing up in Saudi, no one celebrated them. Things are different now as everyone celebrates. So, you’ll understand that I have no expectations when it comes to birthdays.

It’s just another trip around the sun. Though, as humans, we tend to bonder when we hit milestones like birthdays or New Year’s. I’m guilty of that too. But the truth is, we don’t need to wait for a milestone to change direction or begin something positive. You can do that any day, anytime.

I’m not sure if you’ll believe this, but while I was in Perth I became more of an introvert. I didn’t have the amount of chance encounters I had in Melbourne. For those who know me, you’ll know I value human connection, that spontaneous bridging of gaps. For some reason, I’m able to do that more freely when I’m travelling, or when I’m in Melbourne. (You may have noticed more of that in my recent stories).

This morning, on my way to work, I got a call from Sister Ursula. The 92-year-old Tassie nun I visit in aged care. She called to wish me a happy birthday and reminded me she’s looking forward to seeing me this Sunday for our monthly visit and hearing some of my poems. She’s slowly becoming my personal hype woman :)

Last week, while leaving a Centrelink office, I saw an older gentleman in his 80s, leaning on his walking stick, slowly making his way. I greeted him with a smile. He stopped and said, “Young man, you’re still walking fine.” I replied, “Next week is my birthday and I’m getting older, I’m not sure I’m young anymore!”.

He shook his head and said: “You’re only old when you stop being young. As long you have your health and can walk, you're young”. We had a lovely little chat about Somalia and his country of origin Croatia, and the wars that forced both of us to move to this country.

That brief chat made me feel young again. Yes, I’m getting older and maybe I’m a little late with some of my life projects. Nothing’s perfect, but I believe that with more determination the blessings will come, and the kindness I share with the world will not go in vain.

Thanks to everyone who sent me a beautiful birthday wish or message today. Even for those of us who are used to the spotlight, days like these can be hard to receive all the kindness we give so freely to others. So, I am getting better at it with time.

I strive to see a better world, one built on justice, where kindness is the norm and love flows freely. I believe that if enough of us stand together, we can guide the world toward a better direction away from the madness, prejudice and greed that poison this earth.

I like to think of myself as a champion of hope and light. That I’ve positively touched many people through my travels and through the gift of my storytelling and meeting people in the right place at the right time with a genuine smile and care.

I only hope to have an even greater reach and impact in the future, and to leave a legacy that reflects my philosophy in life. Perhaps a series of books full of stories and poems showing what’s possible in the realm of human connection, bringing us together toward a better world.

21/10/2025

Last week I was invited to the community Resilience podcast as part of SYN podcast. Thanks to Rebecca and Amira for hosting me and having a great chat about poetry and storytelling.

To listen to the episode:

https://omny.fm/shows/stories-of-community-resilience/spoken-word-poetry-awale-ahmed?fbclid=PAT01DUANi_blleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABp4ysrxnMFZMzErZCRMrdTe1-xzcYMuzRIKdZtbh3yuVB86MKSln3O_jjl6vj_aem_xUiMoVIfpdHmyF-dgAv3TA

20/10/2025

Happy Vietnamese Women’s Day

Have you ever had a chat with a Hungry Panda delivery person before? I mean beyond taking your food order or seeing them speed through the streets on their bright yellow electric bikes.
Today was a busy day at work, and I finished around 6 p.m. in the CBD.

I was rushing off to a cafe to prepare for my poetry slam competition tomorrow night at the Brunswick Ballroom. All I could think about was which three poems to share tomorrow night.
As I left the building and approached the intersection of William and Collins Streets, I noticed a silver cab parked nearby and a Hungry Panda delivery person sitting on the ground, his leg extended, leaning against the traffic light. It looked like he’d been involved in an accident with the cab driver, who had already left by the time I arrived.

The light turned green, and people began crossing the street. But no one stopped to check on the man. I couldn’t just walk away. Even though he didn’t seem badly hurt, I felt compelled to see if he was okay. I asked, “Are you okay?”.

He didn’t respond right away, he seemed to be in shock. Another woman stopped beside me, and together we asked questions like: “Do you need help? Were you in an accident? Should we call the police or an ambulance?”

He finally said he was diabetic and that his blood sugar was high. He just needed to eat something and rest for a bit. We asked if he had food with him or if we should get him something. He said he had food in the back of his bike, and the woman got him some seaweed snacks.

He refused to go to the hospital, explaining that as an international student, after hours medical care will be too expensive. He said “I’ll go in the morning. I’m just waiting for a friend to come and help me fix my bike.” I learned his name was Nam, and the woman who stopped was Nicole, who happened to live nearby. She was as surprised as I was that no one else had stopped to help.

Nam’s bike was slightly damaged, and he asked if we could find a screwdriver. Nicole went home to look for tools, and I returned to my office, hoping there might be something useful there. Within a minute, I found a full toolbox I’d never even noticed before. It felt like I’d manifested it lol.

I rushed back and managed to fix the bike just before Nicole returned with her own tools. It felt like teamwork, a couple of strangers brought together for one small act of kindness. Like two angels sent to help Nam.

When his girlfriend arrived, we had a lovely chat. Her name was Mai, also from Vietnam. They met in Melbourne and lived in the same building. Mai was working part-time with Hungry Panda too, and she said she’d love to be friends with me and Nicole to practice her English. She took Nam’s bike and promised to ride it home for him.

Nam planned to take the tram home, but I noticed he was limping slightly. I couldn’t let him travel alone, so I decided to go with him. We walked at his pace, chatting along the way. On the tram, he taught me how to say “hello” (xin chào) and “goodbye” (tạm biệt) in Vietnamese.

He told me how lucky he felt to have Mai in his life. “Today is Vietnamese Women’s Day,” he said with a proud smile. “I got her a bouquet of flowers and sushi for lunch”. Nam shared more about himself; he is a 26-year-old from Vietnam who studied cookery in NSW and now studies business in Melbourne while working part-time as a delivery rider to cover the high cost of living. During the pandemic, he even opened a small Vietnamese restaurant in Wagga Wagga, but when it didn’t work out, he moved to Melbourne to start again.

Recently, he and his friends launched a new food store called Freshies Square, offering healthy Vietnamese lunch packs at 200 Queen Street in the CBD. They just opened 2 weeks ago and trying to attract customers with healthy food. When we finally reached his home, we waited for his friends to arrive from their delivery shifts. He gave me some business advice, and we shared more stories about our lives in Australia. His friends arrived after a while and were very grateful that I helped their friend. They invited me to visit their shop anytime for a free lunch as thanks for helping Nam.

Nam struck me as ambitious, optimistic, and deeply passionate about his dreams to become a famous cook sharing his healthy meals with people.

It’s funny just last week, I stopped at that same corner after work and met a man named Peter holding flowers and a sign that said, “Slow down and smell the flowers.” Today, I stopped again but this time, it was to help Nam and connect with two kind strangers, Nicole and Nam.

What a coincidence that it happened on Vietnamese Women’s Day, the day Nam gave flowers to his girlfriend, and the week after I’d been reminded to slow down and notice life’s small details and beautiful moments. Both times, I stopped, I extended my hand to the chance of a human connection and I was privileged to gain a small window into someone else’s world.

Happy Vietnamese Women’s Day and wishing Nam a speedy recovery.

P.S. Vietnamese Women’s Day, celebrated on October 20, commemorates the founding of the Vietnam Women’s Union in 1930, which advocates for women’s rights and equality. It’s a day to honor the strength, value, and contributions of Vietnamese women.

P.P.S: I didn't have time to prepare for my poetry competition tomorrow as originally planned, but I am sure I will do just fine. Helping Nam and connecting with Nam was 100% better use of my time tonight.

Awe With Awale

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