@tig2712: #ቅዱስ_ሚካኤል_ለሁላችን_ይድረስልን @REGBEYE ART @d/n abenezer wubshet

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Monday 31 August 2026 15:47:50 GMT
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meron.78
ሜሮን :
https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSVoRQSvA/
2026-09-02 07:29:29
0
user9129600016559
Debisha zerafu :
Mar yehonish
2026-09-04 05:08:49
0
tig23277
Tigisti21 :
ይሳካል 🙏🙏🙏
2026-08-31 15:52:41
181
dj.andualem
Dj Andualem :
ማር ሙት አንሳ ቅዱስሚካኤል አድራሻውን እባካችሁ
2026-09-01 00:26:40
37
sintad252
የኔ ብቻ :
እሷ ነገዳም እንድትሄድ የኔ ላያክ ከጠቀመ እድኛው እኔ ነኝ
2026-08-31 21:33:20
83
yedengelemareyameleje
hab cosmo :
🥰🥰🥰d/n abani 💪💪💪 teleyaleh
2026-08-31 16:22:53
5
fikir_a
Fikir :
አቤት ሞገስሽ ደስ ስትይ በቤቱ ያፅናሽ🙏
2026-09-01 18:17:18
13
ashuashu8395
Ashu Ashu :
12 🌹21🌹24🌹:አድርጌልሻለው ይሳካልሽና ሔደሽ በፀሎትሽ አስቢን እኛን ስደተኛ ልጆቹን ይማረን🌹🌹🌹
2026-09-03 10:32:16
1
hani1_051
❤❤❤ :
የተባረከ ልጅ እባክህን በፀሎትህ አስበኝ 🙏🙏🙏
2026-09-01 19:25:33
7
mamoshmamosh375
tesfaye :
እሱ ስላለበት 1ሚሊዮን ብትይም ይገባል
2026-08-31 19:23:00
8
motherqeefn
mother Queen :
ልጆቻችን ተባረኩ
2026-09-01 05:41:37
3
mibi1355
yemaryam :
ካንዴ በላይ ላይክ ማረግ አይቻልም በቃ ወይኔ
2026-09-03 17:50:37
0
user7219260928724
yeabyInatua :
fexari yibarikih wendime anchim berchilign
2026-08-31 17:37:20
3
yabuyeshewa
yabu ye 12 🌹21🌹24🌹 :
አድርጌልሻለው ይሳካልሽና ሔደሽ በፀሎትሽ አስቢን እኛን ስደተኛ ልጆቹን ይማረን🌹🌹🌹
2026-09-03 07:58:32
2
yaried.ybrah
ኦርቶዶክስ 100% :
:እሷ ነገዳም እንድትሄድ የኔ ላያክ ከጠቀመ እድኛው እኔ ነኝ
2026-09-03 20:36:31
0
ermiastekest
ermiastekest :
yisakal gin 1 neger lingeresh egziabhern betam edelegna nesh
2026-08-31 20:21:59
1
bettyg07
Betty :
ይሳካልሽ🙏🙏🙏
2026-08-31 19:36:18
2
user356844169
Pray :
wow
2026-09-01 18:48:13
0
shimeshenkataw
ሸሜ ሸንቃጣው :
100 ሺ
2026-09-01 03:13:36
1
haqhaqun_et
ሀቅ-ሀቁን :
ኧረ ለ113ሺህ ተከታይ ላላት እህታችን 100ሺህ ላይክ ልክም አይደል ወገን ቢያንስ ቪው ይሁን
2026-09-01 17:39:50
1
anilymengistu
Anily Mengistu :
Hi
2026-09-02 10:30:36
0
llovemycountryethio
RODNOG :
ይመችሽ ትሔጃለሽ
2026-09-03 07:19:45
0
samueldereje335
sam sam :
ኢትዮጵያ ታደርሳለች
2026-09-03 07:10:35
0
gizayasayhal
Miracle ⚡⚽⚡ :
"ወደ እግዚአብሄር ቤት እንሂድ ባሉኝ ጊዜ ደስ አለኝ" ውሰዳት በናትህ
2026-09-04 06:29:16
0
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Before, I measured that relationship by its loud moments. The fights. The door slamming hard enough to shake the picture frames. Me sitting on the bathroom floor at two in the morning, phone in hand, with no one I could call, rehearsing a sentence I never sent 🕯 After, something strange happened. The loud moments faded first. Memory kept the other reel: the good mornings, the vacation photos, the way he laughed at my jokes in front of his friends. A year out, I caught myself thinking: maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe I was too hard on him ✨ Then one memory came back and put everything in order. I couldn't tell my mother. For three years, the person who knew every scraped knee of my childhood got an edited version of my life. At family dinners I translated my week into something acceptable. I trimmed the stories. I explained bruised silences as tiredness. My sister once asked if I was happy, and I said yes so fast it sounded like a reflex. Not because my family was cold. Because I was ashamed of what I was allowing, and saying it out loud would have made it real. That's the proof, and it doesn't fade. You don't hide a good life. Nobody edits happiness for their mother 🤍 The hiding itself was the answer, back when I couldn't afford to hear it. So now, when memory brings me the vacation photos, I let it. And then I ask memory one question: those years, could I be honest with the people who loved me? The answer closes the album. ... If your memory has started to soften someone who made you smaller, ask the same question. Not
Before, I measured that relationship by its loud moments. The fights. The door slamming hard enough to shake the picture frames. Me sitting on the bathroom floor at two in the morning, phone in hand, with no one I could call, rehearsing a sentence I never sent 🕯 After, something strange happened. The loud moments faded first. Memory kept the other reel: the good mornings, the vacation photos, the way he laughed at my jokes in front of his friends. A year out, I caught myself thinking: maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe I was too hard on him ✨ Then one memory came back and put everything in order. I couldn't tell my mother. For three years, the person who knew every scraped knee of my childhood got an edited version of my life. At family dinners I translated my week into something acceptable. I trimmed the stories. I explained bruised silences as tiredness. My sister once asked if I was happy, and I said yes so fast it sounded like a reflex. Not because my family was cold. Because I was ashamed of what I was allowing, and saying it out loud would have made it real. That's the proof, and it doesn't fade. You don't hide a good life. Nobody edits happiness for their mother 🤍 The hiding itself was the answer, back when I couldn't afford to hear it. So now, when memory brings me the vacation photos, I let it. And then I ask memory one question: those years, could I be honest with the people who loved me? The answer closes the album. ... If your memory has started to soften someone who made you smaller, ask the same question. Not "were there good days." There were. Ask who you couldn't be honest with, and what that silence knew. Believe her. She was the only witness who was there for all of it 🌙

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