Top Stories
Stories in Confessions that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
My recent reflection
Life has its ways of teaching you important lessons. Everything that happens in our existence strides its convoluted intersectionality with a purpose, a purpose that in its divinity has an impactful metamorphosis in our reality. How little do we know about what is about to come when we so confoundingly announce that I know this is how my life would turn out to be. In its own magnanimous and unexpected ways, you would get to what you deserve rather than what you want in most anomalies that our choices create. Whether we get what we want or face a delay or rejection, every event is a rendered outcome of the myriad of choices we chose and how divine intervention in its beauty shielded us from the things that could have destroyed us.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Confessions
Using Silence and Empathy to Find Strength
The authority of silence 😌 Silence. It is not only the lack of noise. It is a tool, a power, a weapon. Silence can be the loudest statement in a society when everyone is yelling to be heard. Try to consider it. When have you lately really welcomed silence? Not the embarrassing sort that causes fidget, but the kind that lets you breathe, think, and simply be.
By Ojo2 years ago in Confessions
I'm Not a Strong Black Woman, I'm Weak
The word “weak” and “black woman” don’t go together, in the eyes of the masses anyway. It’s paradoxical, an oxymoron, almost criminal. As black women we are supposed to stand strong, right fists up, battling through the trenches and stepping up victorious without shedding a tear. Cook, clean, raise kids, fight racism, work, study, and keep our edges in check, make sure our black don’t crack, and stay looking 22 forever because that melanin is so strong. We are tired!
By Edina Jackson-Yussif 2 years ago in Confessions
Confessions of an Empath
The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining in a cloudless July sky. The vibrancy promises a beautiful day, but the cooing of the Mourning Dove perched on the powerlines seems to be more fitting than the lively songs of the robin flitting through the trees. The melancholic calls of the dove cloak the world in a sadness that hangs like tattered drapes.
By Alyssa Musso2 years ago in Confessions
A Grubby Little Pastime
When the then chancellor Gordon Brown raised the price of ten cigarettes to £1.30 in his 1998 budget statement, young Joseph drew a line in the sand and said no more. Being an old hand at quitting, I expected this latest attempt to fail like all the others, as cravings would pick at my resolve like vultures pick at carrion until I caved in and grabbed the Zippo.
By Joe Young2 years ago in Confessions
Desire for my chemistry teacher
The title sounds pretty unappealing. But I have to say, my chemistry teacher in college was something different. I like how he was a young man who drank tea instead of coffee and had no belief in breakfast. When will you ever see a brainiac chemistry teacher who drinks tea instead of coffee and doesn't believe in breakfast!!
By Kodah2 years ago in Confessions
Broken Hearts Fall Silent
Attraction can sometimes be a deceptive guide, leading us through a mirage of charm only to leave us stranded in a harsh reality. It's a cruel twist of fate when the dream we chase turns into a nightmare we cannot escape. The realization that we've been deceived by our own feelings is a bitter pill to swallow, leaving us to pick up the pieces of our broken illusions. Yet, it's often through these painful experiences that we grow stronger and learn to see beyond the veil of mere appearances.
By Mercedes Chavez2 years ago in Confessions
No Plus One
It's nearly one AM and I just got back from my third wedding of the four in this last month alone, and I have always been alone. I hide behind my camera to pretend to be useful, hide behind a safety net of skill set. So I do not have to confront the loneliness that is sleeping alone when everyone else seems to have a partner to crawl into bed with. I love the time spent with those who decided I was worth the 30-plus dollars per plate they decided to spend on me, and I do not need to have a partner on these occasions, but it would be nice to have someone notice, me. See when I am in the corner because they know I need time to recharge and to kiss me on the head until the time has come to leave. Maybe that's the problem about being a professional storyteller, I dream of something that isn't meant for me.
By Rilee Arey2 years ago in Confessions
