Life is a journey filled with challenges. From childhood to old age, every stage brings its own struggles, uncertainties, and lessons. No one walks through life untouched by hardship. Yet alongside the difficulties come moments of joy, success, love, and hope that give meaning to our days.
As men, we are often taught to be strong, to carry burdens quietly, and to keep moving forward regardless of the weight on our shoulders. But strength does not mean a life free from pain. Every person carries an invisible story.
Some people lack money. Others lack health. Some long for children, while others wish for meaningful friendships. Some have wealth but feel lonely, and those surrounded by family who struggle with other losses. No matter how much we possess, there is usually something we wish we had. In this way, we are more alike than we often realize.
Life has a way of reminding us that perfection is an illusion. We all experience loss. We lose opportunities, relationships, dreams, and, eventually, people we deeply love. These experiences leave their marks on us, shaping who we become.
The beauty of life lies not in having everything, but in learning to appreciate what we do have. To celebrate where we are, even if it is not where we hoped to be. To find gratitude amid imperfection. To recognize that every person we meet is carrying a burden we cannot see.
The sun sets on difficult days, but it rises again. Tomorrow is another day. Another opportunity. Another chapter waiting to be written.
As long as we are alive, a story is still unfolding. And that, in itself, is something worth celebrating.
Blog
Where the Mississippi Flows: A Memorable Journey Back to Minneapolis
Returning to Minneapolis after nearly fifteen years felt less like visiting a city and more like reopening a forgotten chapter of life. From late-night airport delays and riverside walks along the mighty Mississippi River to Ethiopian restaurants, conference memories, and quiet reflections beside historic bridges, this journey became much more than a professional trip. It was a reminder of how cities, rivers, cultures, and shared experiences continue to shape our memories long after we leave them behind.
A memorable visit to Minneapolis is often shaped not only by the places one sees but by the emotions, conversations, rivers, and small, unexpected moments that stay in the heart long after returning home. Our recent journey to this beautiful Midwestern city became exactly that kind of memory, a blend of professional achievement, cultural discovery, friendship, and quiet reflections beside one of the world’s great rivers.
My wife and I had the rare opportunity to attend the same conference in Minneapolis together. It felt special from the very beginning. As professionals, we usually travel separately for meetings and conferences, so participating side by side made the experience uniquely meaningful. On the first day of the conference, our posters were displayed next to each other during the poster session. It was such a joyful moment watching visitors move from one poster to the next while we each explained our work. There was something deeply satisfying about sharing our academic and professional journeys together in the same space.
Our trip began after a long Monday workday in South Florida. We headed to the airport, tired but excited, taking an Uber to Miami International Airport. To our surprise, the Uber arrived as a luxurious seven-seat Cadillac SUV. We both laughed about how impressive the vehicle was and wondered how profitable such luxury transportation could be for rideshare drivers.
I have always enjoyed airports, especially Miami International Airport, which has connected me to so many places around the world — across the United States, Latin America, the Caribbean, Europe, and Africa. Airports often feel like gateways between different chapters of life.
We arrived at the airport with enough time to relax near our gate and enjoy a cold draft beer after a long workday. A refreshing Lagunitas IPA tasted especially good before the evening flight. Our trip included a connecting flight through Nashville, but unfortunately, bad weather delayed our departure by nearly two hours. Instead of frustration, however, the delay became part of the adventure.
We spent time at Ole Red, the lively Blake Shelton-inspired restaurant and music venue inside the airport. With live country music, burgers, and locally brewed beer, the atmosphere transformed an exhausting delay into an enjoyable evening. Even more unexpectedly, we met Ethiopians working at the restaurant, and suddenly the airport felt strangely familiar and warm. Conversations in Amharic, laughter, and shared cultural connections made the delay memorable rather than stressful.
By the time we finally arrived in Minneapolis, it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. The city felt calm and quiet under the cool night air. Since the car rental office was already closed, we took another Uber to the hotel. The driver was incredibly friendly, and despite the late hour, the ride offered our first glimpse of Minneapolis’s city lights and wide streets.
After only a few hours of sleep, we woke up early to attend the conference opening event at the University of Minnesota. Returning to Minneapolis after nearly fifteen years felt emotional. The last time I visited was in 2011, while attending a summer program at the famous St. Anthony Falls Laboratory during my postdoctoral research. Back then, I was younger, still exploring many dreams and directions in life. Returning now, older and with more experiences behind me, gave the city an even deeper meaning.
One of the defining features of Minneapolis is the majestic Mississippi River, which gracefully divides and connects the city at the same time. Few rivers in the world carry as much geographical, historical, ecological, and cultural significance as the Mississippi. Stretching approximately 2,340 miles (3,766 kilometers), it is the second-longest river in North America and one of the largest river systems in the world. The river flows through or borders ten U.S. states, beginning at Lake Itasca in northern Minnesota and eventually emptying into the Gulf of Mexico in Louisiana.
For centuries, the Mississippi River has shaped American history. Indigenous peoples lived along its banks long before European settlement. Later, the river became a major transportation and trade corridor that helped build entire cities and economies across the United States. Writers such as Mark Twain immortalized the river in American literature, turning it into a symbol of adventure, exploration, and freedom.
What makes Minneapolis especially beautiful is how naturally the city embraces the river. Bridges elegantly connect both sides of the city, while walking and biking trails follow the riverbanks. The combination of water, greenery, and urban life creates a peaceful atmosphere rarely found in large metropolitan areas.
The University of Minnesota’s campus buildings, many constructed in historic red brick, added another layer of charm to the city. Walking through the university grounds felt timeless and inspiring. I noticed something I remembered clearly from fifteen years ago: people everywhere walking, jogging, and riding bicycles. Minneapolis has one of the strongest biking cultures in the United States, with extensive bike trails and pedestrian-friendly infrastructure. Coming from South Florida, where car dependency dominates daily life, it was refreshing to see so many people actively enjoying the outdoors.
The weather itself was part of the experience. Before leaving Florida, temperatures had been above 85°F, and after living in South Florida for so long, we almost forgot what cool weather feels like. We packed lightly and were completely unprepared for Minneapolis temperatures below 50°F. The cool air felt refreshing but surprisingly cold for Floridians like us. We quickly found ourselves shopping for jackets at Burlington and nearby stores.
Food also became an important part of our memories. Minneapolis has a wonderfully diverse community, and we had the opportunity to visit Meseret Ethiopian Restaurant for homemade Ethiopian food. The warm hospitality, familiar flavors, and welcoming atmosphere reminded us of home. Throughout the city, we encountered people from Ethiopia, Somalia, and many other African countries, alongside vibrant Asian and international communities. Minneapolis truly reflects the diversity of modern America, a place where people from all over the world come together, work hard, build families, and contribute to the life of the city.
Each evening after the conference sessions ended, we walked along the Mississippi River. Those walks became some of my favorite moments of the trip. The peaceful riverbanks, cool evening air, and endless greenery created a calming rhythm after long days of presentations and discussions. Even while traveling, I was able to maintain my daily walking and running goal of five miles, which made the experience even more energizing.
On the final evening of the conference, we joined colleagues at Surly Brewing Co. The brewery was lively and full of energy — the perfect setting to unwind after several intense days of academic engagement. Sharing conversations, laughter, and locally crafted beer with colleagues from different places reminded me how conferences are not only about research, but also about human connection.
Before our return flight home, we spent additional time exploring the city and even drove across the border into Hudson City, Wisconsin, for a brief visit. It was fascinating how a short thirty-minute drive could introduce us to another state and another atmosphere entirely.
After visiting Hudson, we stopped by a vibrant Ethiopian restaurant called Bole Ethiopian Restaurant. The restaurant was beautifully designed to warmly welcome people from many different backgrounds. What touched me most was seeing that the restaurant was not filled only with Ethiopians or East Africans. I saw many local Americans and people from different cultures enjoying Ethiopian food, coffee, and hospitality while exploring traditions different from their own. It was a beautiful reminder of how food can connect people, cultures, and communities in such a natural and meaningful way.
One of the most unforgettable moments came shortly before leaving for the airport. We walked across one of the bridges over the Mississippi River, taking in the incredible scenery. Dense green forests lined both sides of the river valley, while the river itself flowed quietly below. The elevation difference between the river and the surrounding landscape created breathtaking views.
Watching rivers has always carried special meaning in my life. As a hydrologist and researcher, rivers are not simply bodies of water to me — they are living systems filled with stories, history, science, and emotion. Over the years, I have studied and worked on many rivers around the world: the Nile River and its tributaries, the Niger River, the Río de la Plata and Río Manatí in Puerto Rico, the Great River, Rio Cobre, Yallahs, and Hope Rivers in Jamaica, and the Yuna and Haina Rivers in the Dominican Republic, among many others. Yet every river still feels unique, and the Mississippi carries a particularly powerful presence.
As our time in Minneapolis came to an end, we experienced that familiar mix of feelings every traveler knows: sadness at leaving a place that welcomed you so warmly, yet happiness at returning home to family, children, and the comfort of familiar routines. Traveling always reminds me of how beautiful and diverse the world is, but it also reminds me of how meaningful home truly becomes after every journey.
Minneapolis gave us far more than a conference. It gave us memories of rivers, cultures, conversations, music, cool weather, late-night airport stories, and moments shared together as husband and wife. And like the Mississippi River itself, those memories will continue flowing with us for a long time.
The Stories That Found Me Again: How I Rediscovered Writing Through Memory and Family
A personal reflection on rediscovering the power of storytelling—through family memories, cultural roots, and the moments that shape who we are.
Every Life Is a Story. I Finally Started Writing Mine
The Return of Storytelling
There was a time when writing came naturally to me. This storytelling journey did not begin today—it started long ago, in high school, in college, and even in the early years of my career.
I often wrote down thoughts, reflections, and fragments of life as I experienced it. But then life unfolded in its full weight and beauty. Family responsibilities grew. Years were spent in graduate school and postdoctoral work. I moved across continents—from Ethiopia to Sweden, and eventually to the United States. Each transition brought opportunity, but also a challenge. There was little room left for quiet reflection. Slowly, writing faded into the background.
Until recently.
Something shifted in me. Almost unexpectedly, I felt the urge to write again—as if a long-lost part of myself had returned. Words began to flow, not out of obligation, but from a deep inner need to capture life as it happens. I realized something simple, yet powerful: every moment of life holds a story, and every person carries stories worth telling.
The Storytellers Who Shaped Me
Perhaps this storytelling journey is not new for me. Perhaps it is something I inherited.
I grew up surrounded by storytellers.
My father, Sergeant Gebriye Setegn, was one of them. Though he passed away when I was only thirteen, his presence remains vivid in my memory. When he sat among friends, he had a way of speaking that drew everyone in. People listened, laughed, and became part of the story. He never wrote down his stories, but he carried a lifetime of experiences. As a soldier in the Ethiopian army during the 1950s and 1960s, and later during a deployment to Congo, he witnessed history firsthand. Those stories lived in his voice.
Another storyteller in my life was my cousin, Tesfaye Takele. He had a remarkable gift—not only for telling stories, but for remembering them in extraordinary detail. He could recall not just events, but the time of day, the weather, the movement of clouds, even the direction of the wind. When he spoke, we did not simply listen; we saw, we felt, and we lived those moments with him. His stories brought laughter, connection, and life to ordinary days. He passed away in 2015, but his voice still echoes in memory.
And then there is my aunt, Tadesu Befikadu, now 88—a living archive of history. Through her, I have come to understand not only our family’s past, but also its connection to the broader history of Ethiopia. She speaks of ancestors, of journeys from Shewa province to Hararghe during the expansion of Emperor Menelik II’s rule, and of connections to figures such as Lij Iyasu and King Menelik. She remembers names, generations, and relationships—threads of history that were rarely written down, but deeply lived.
One of the stories she tells has stayed with me.
She speaks of her father, Befikadu Woldeyes, my grandfather, a warrior who fought during the Italian invasion. In those days, it was tradition for traditional singers to welcome returning warriors and celebrate their victories through song.
One day, when her father returned from battle, a singer hinted, through her words, that he had come back without victory.
The singer’s voice rose in Amharic:
አባ ጅግሳው ፍቄ የገደለ አንደሆን
አኔም አገላለሁ በደጋኔም ቢሆን
The message was clear—and it stung. The words were not just a song; they were a challenge.
In response, her father returned to the wilderness. Days later, he came back, this time with proof of his courage—a tiger he had killed with his bare hands and a traditional knife, a gorade.
Later, before the gathered crowd, the same singer returned with a different tone—this time, one of praise:
አባ ጅግሳው ፍቄ የጎራው ወንበዴ
ማን አድርጎት ያውቃል ነብር በጎራዴ
In essence, the song honored a man whose courage was so extraordinary that few could imagine defeating a tiger with nothing but a blade.
Stories like these are more than memories. They are identity. They are history. They are lives carried across generations.
But storytelling did not remain only in my childhood. Even during my college years, I found myself surrounded by people who could turn ordinary moments into unforgettable memories.
One of them was my dear college friend, Zerihn Bekele. Zerihn was a born storyteller. To this day, I can still hear his voice when I think about those years. He could speak about his family, his father, his siblings, world politics, or stories from daily life in ways that made everyone stop and listen. Even when he told a story we already knew, he somehow made it feel new, alive, and more interesting than before.
During our college days, we often watched movies together. But sometimes the real entertainment began after the movie ended. When we returned to the dormitories, Zerihn would retell the movie in Amharic, adding expressions, humor, emotion, and dramatic details that made his version even better than the original film. We laughed endlessly during those nights. Looking back now, I realize he was teaching us something deeper: storytelling is not simply about repeating events; it is about giving them life.
Another storyteller who continues to inspire me is my wife, Senait Amare. She has a beautiful gift for remembering people and relationships from her childhood—family members, neighbors, friends, and the emotional texture of those years. I genuinely enjoy listening to her stories. Sometimes she describes Amharic dramas, movies, or simple everyday memories. When I later get the chance to watch the same movie or drama she told me about some time ago, I often realize it is not nearly as beautiful or captivating as the way she described it. That is when I truly appreciate the gift of storytelling—the ability to take a known story, a simple event, or an ordinary moment and make it more meaningful, alive, and enjoyable.
That is her gift.
She can make a quiet story breathe. She can take an ordinary memory and fill it with warmth, emotion, humor, and humanity. She does not merely tell stories—she revives them.
When I reflect on all these people—my father, my aunt, my cousin, my friend, and my wife—I realize storytelling has always surrounded me like a river flowing quietly through life. Perhaps this is why I feel drawn to write now. Perhaps stories have been living inside me for a very long time, waiting patiently for their turn to be told.
Sometimes I wonder why I cannot remember things the way they did—my father, my aunt, and my cousin. They seemed to carry entire worlds in their minds. I often joke that education may fill our heads with formulas and theories, leaving less room for the small, meaningful details of everyday life. Yet what they held—those rich, living memories—was a different kind of wisdom, one that cannot be learned in books.
Why I Started Writing Again
Storytelling, I now realize, is part of who I am. It lives in my family, and it lives in me.
That is why I have started writing again.
I want to capture the moments that might otherwise fade—the journeys, the conversations, the laughter, the struggles, and the quiet reflections. This space, Where Memory Travels, is part of my storytelling journey—a way to preserve those fragments of life and share them with others.
Because we all have stories.
Stories of joy. Stories of pain. Stories of loss, love, growth, and rediscovery.
And perhaps, by writing them, we give them a chance to live a little longer.
Let us keep this journey together.
Storytelling has always been part of human history, shaping cultures and identities across generations.
Running Beside My Son: A Race, A Memory, and a Moment I Will Never Forget
My SWA Run AWAY 5K Race Experience
I made it again at the 2026 SWA Run AWAY 5K—this time on the eve of our Easter celebration. There was something special about that timing, as if the run itself carried a deeper meaning of renewal, effort, and gratitude.
This year, I reached a new milestone. I completed the 5,000 meters (3.1 miles) in 28 minutes—my personal best. It felt like a meaningful improvement from last year’s SWA run and even from my February “Bridge the Gap” 5K.
And then came the surprise: I finished 3rd in my age group. Wow. I didn’t expect that—but it made the moment even more rewarding.
But beyond time and ranking, what truly made this race unforgettable was running alongside my son, Joni.
A Morning to Remember
Race day started early. We woke up before sunrise, had a light breakfast and coffee, and left home around 6:30 a.m. My son grabbed an energy drink; just a few sips, not our usual routine, but enough to feel ready.
When we arrived, the energy was already building. The crowd was larger than I expected. Later, I learned that 365 people participated, across different age groups; young runners, many in mid-age, and even some who looked well into their 60s. It was inspiring just to be among them.
We stood in a long line to pick up our race packages—T-shirts, bags, and our race numbers. I wore mine proudly, but Joni chose not to. I secretly wished we had matched, father and son, running in the same shirt, but I didn’t push him. Some moments are better left natural.
We pinned our race numbers and warmed up together in the parking area. That simple act—stretching, jogging lightly, preparing side by side—was already a win for me.
The Race Begins
After warming up, we made our way to the starting line. The atmosphere was electric. Runners gathered, conversations blended into anticipation, and then came the national anthem. Moments later, the bell rang, and the race began.
I started my timer.
I told Joni, “Don’t wait for me—run your race.” I also gave him my usual advice: start slow, then gradually increase your speed after the first mile.
I put on my Spotify playlist—Ethiopian gym and running music. The first track was powerful, energizing. Combined with the excitement and the warm-up, it pushed me harder than I planned.
And that was my mistake.
The Struggle Within the Run
I started fast—too fast. I passed my son and many others, feeling strong and confident. I finished the first mile at a pace of under 8 minutes.
But soon, reality caught up.
The effort began to weigh on me. My breathing tightened. My legs felt heavier. I realized I had broken my own rule.
Ahead of me, I saw Joni. Occasionally, he turned his head back to check on me. That moment touched me deeply. It reminded me of the great Ethiopian runners—Kenenisa Bekele and Haile Gebrselassie—when Bekele, at his peak, would glance back, watching his hero, wishing he could still lead.
It also brought to mind the emotional songs of Teddy Afro, capturing those moments of respect, connection, and legacy.
In that instant, this wasn’t just a race anymore—it was something deeper.
Running Through Nature
The course itself was beautiful. The race, organized by the Solid Waste Authority of Palm Beach County, took place along the Palmetto Trailhead of the SWA Greenway Trail System.
This wasn’t a typical city run.
We ran through natural trails, surrounded by vegetation. On one side, small ponds reflected the morning light. On the other, calm waters and greenery stretched into the distance. The air felt fresh, clean, alive.
I realized how much I prefer this kind of run—nature over pavement, peace over noise.
Even as I struggled physically, the environment lifted my spirit.
The Final Push
At the start, I had set a goal: finish under 30 minutes.
Now, deep into the race, I pushed myself to hold on.
Around me, runners of all ages and backgrounds moved with determination. Some were younger, some older—but many older runners impressed me the most. They weren’t rushing or slowing—they were steady, consistent, disciplined.
That consistency was powerful.
And then it struck me: in that narrow trail, we were all the same. Men and women. Young and old. Different backgrounds, different stories—but one shared purpose.
To finish.
More Than a Race
Crossing the finish line felt like more than just completing 3.1 miles. It felt like growth, connection, and gratitude.
Running with my son made it unforgettable. Competing with myself made it meaningful. Sharing the space with so many others made it inspiring.
This race reminded me that life, like running, is not just about speed—but about rhythm, resilience, and the people we run alongside.
I truly hope to keep doing this for the rest of my life.
A Moment on the Twelfth Deck: Reflections on Loss, Life, and the Journey Within
An excerpt from an upcoming book exploring the journey of life through loss, love, and rediscovery.
This is an excerpt from my upcoming book—a reflection on the journey of life through loss, resilience, and rediscovery.
A Moment on the Twelfth Deck
It was an amazing experience to be on a Royal Caribbean cruise, sailing across the Caribbean for four days. The ship felt like a floating city, alive with music, laughter, and endless activities. Every hour, something was happening—shows, games, swimming, dancing, and people celebrating life in their own way. It was a wonderful place to be with family.
What surprised me most was that, even surrounded by thousands of people, you could still find your own quiet moment. Your own space. Your own time.
I have always admired nature. Maybe it is instinct, maybe something deeper in my soul. Somehow, I found myself alone in a quiet corner on the twelfth deck, watching the sun slowly sink into the endless blue horizon. The ocean stretched forever, glowing with the golden light of the sunset. The wind was gentle, and for a moment, the noise of the ship faded away.
I drifted into a kind of waking dream.
It was the kind of moment where you begin talking only to yourself. Just you and your thoughts. My struggles, my victories, the easy days, and the hard ones. Memories began to appear one after another, like waves touching the shore.
My childhood.
It was not an easy one.
But it was also a time when I learned the value of the good people who surrounded me—my older siblings, my aunt, my uncle, and so many others who helped carry me through difficult days.
I was only nine years old when I lost my mother.
Even now, I can remember the day when the news came. At such a small age, it was impossible to understand what was happening. The emotions were confusing and overwhelming. We traveled to another city to see what had happened. That story deserves its own chapter someday.
Then, as if life was testing me again, my father passed away when I was only thirteen. Even today, I still feel the weight of that loss. The pain never fully disappears; it simply becomes part of who you are.
But perhaps the most painful loss came many years later.
In 2019, I lost my beloved oldest brother. That was the deepest pain of all. After our parents passed away, he carried their responsibility on his shoulders while he himself was still very young. He became more than a brother—he became a guardian, a guide, and a source of strength for the entire family. Yet life took him from us too soon, and he passed away in August of 2019. Even today, the memory of him brings both tears and gratitude.
My thoughts moved between the past, the present, and the future. Yet even through the struggles, there were always moments of laughter and joy.
Life continued.
The struggles and hard work eventually began to pay off. I began my career as an engineer and program coordinator for an international NGO, where I had the invaluable opportunity to work closely with both local and expatriate professionals. During this time, I managed multiple projects and collaborated with various agencies and government counterparts. After completing my master’s degree, I joined the faculty at an Ethiopian university—then known as Debub University, now Hawassa University. I was deeply grateful for the opportunity to teach and contribute to the academic community there.
Soon after, I received a full scholarship to pursue my Ph.D. at the Royal Institute of Technology (KTH) in Stockholm, Sweden. That period of our lives was filled with joy and discovery. As a student, I was able to bring my wife and our two children with me. Those years in Europe were among the sweetest and most memorable moments of our lives. We traveled across Europe, visiting many beautiful places and experiencing new cultures, landscapes, and histories together as a family.
And then came America.
Like many immigrants, my journey here was filled with both hope and hardship. I became a postdoctoral scientist, working to build my career by writing research papers, publishing books, and seeking opportunities. There were successes, but also many challenges.
There were moments of uncertainty—late nights, difficult decisions, financial worries, deadlines, and responsibilities that never seemed to end. Life had its share of ups and downs.
I was still deep inside these thoughts when suddenly someone gently shook my shoulder.
“Dad…”
It was my older daughter.
She had somehow found me in that quiet corner of the ship. Her voice pulled me out of my daydream, back to the present moment, back to the beautiful sunset and the ocean stretching endlessly around us.
I smiled.
The story in my mind was not finished.
Perhaps that is the beauty of life—there are always more chapters waiting to be written.
And someday, perhaps soon, I will tell the rest of the story.
Oslo, Norway: Where Beauty, Simplicity, and Memory Come Together
By Dr. Shimelis Setegn
There are journeys we take to see the world—and then there are journeys that stay with us forever. This Oslo, Norway travel memo captures one of those rare moments, when travel becomes more than movement—it becomes memory.
In August 2023, I traveled to Oslo with my eldest daughter, marking a moment that was both joyful and emotional. She was on her way to begin a new chapter—studying abroad at ICN Business School in Paris. As a father, I felt immense pride watching her step into her dreams with courage and determination.
But before Paris, we paused in Oslo—a city that offered us something unexpected: stillness, beauty, and connection.
✈️ A Journey Filled with Emotion
Our trip began late at night from Fort Lauderdale, flying with Norse Atlantic Airways. The flight itself was simple, even minimal—but our excitement made it unforgettable.
One moment remains vivid in my memory: saying goodbye at the airport. Her younger siblings stood behind us, emotional, especially her little sister who struggled to hold back tears. It was a reminder that while travel expands our world, it also stretches the heart.
Yet my daughter stood strong—ready to embrace the opportunity ahead.
🌿 First Impressions of Oslo
Arriving in Oslo felt like stepping into a calm, living painting. The Scandinavian landscape unfolded around us—water shimmering through the city, green spaces blending effortlessly with urban life, and roads that seemed to follow nature rather than interrupt it. There is a quiet beauty in Norway, one that does not demand attention but naturally captures it.
Our stay at Moxy Oslo X introduced us to the simplicity of Scandinavian design—compact, clean, and purposeful. It reminded me that travel is not about the size of the room, but the depth of the experience.
🚍 A City That Moves with Purpose
One of the most remarkable aspects of Oslo is its transportation system.
Public transport is not just an option—it is the backbone of daily life. Buses and trains run on time, are exceptionally clean, and connect every part of the city with ease.
Coming from South Florida, where driving is essential, this felt refreshing.
But even more inspiring is what happens after people arrive: they walk.
They walk to cafés, to shops, to the waterfront. The streets are alive—not with noise, but with presence. Oslo invites you to slow down and truly experience the moment.
🍽️ Evenings in the City
That first evening, we explored downtown Oslo on foot.
The city was vibrant—people enjoying the summer air, dining outdoors, laughing, and connecting. There is something special about European cities: they encourage life to be lived outside.
We found a beautiful restaurant and shared a meaningful dinner. I enjoyed Norwegian grilled salmon paired with local beer, while my daughter chose lasagna. The food was excellent—but what made it unforgettable was the moment itself.
It was one of those rare father-daughter evenings that you wish you could pause forever.
☕ Mornings, Coffee, and Culture
The next morning began with a rich European breakfast.
We enjoyed fresh breads, cheeses, and strong coffee.
For me, the coffee was special. It reminded me of Ethiopia, where coffee is deeply rooted in culture.
As someone born in Ethiopia—the birthplace of coffee—this experience carries deep meaning for me. Coffee is not just a drink; it is a cultural ritual, a moment of connection, a space for conversation.
In Oslo, I found that same appreciation for coffee—simple, strong, and authentic.
🤝 Reconnecting Across Continents
One of the most special parts of our visit was reconnecting with a close friend—my son’s godfather—who has lived in Norway for many years.
We met in the city, shared coffee and pastries, and spent hours talking about life, family, and memories. My daughter was especially happy to see him again.
Travel has a beautiful way of bringing people together, even across time and distance.
✨ A Memorable Departure
As our short stay came to an end, Oslo left us with a sense of calm fulfillment.
At the airport, we experienced an unexpected upgrade—access to a business-class lounge. It was a small luxury, but it perfectly closed our time in Norway with comfort and gratitude.
Soon, we were on our way to Stockholm—but Oslo had already carved its place in our hearts.
🌍 Reflections on Oslo
Oslo is not a city that overwhelms you—it gently stays with you.
It is a place where:
- Nature and city exist in harmony
- Systems work efficiently and quietly
- People value simplicity and quality of life
For me, it was also deeply personal. Years ago, my daughter lived in Scandinavia while I pursued my PhD at KTH Royal Institute of Technology. Returning to this region felt like reconnecting with a part of our shared past.
❤️ Final Thought
Oslo is not just a destination—it is a feeling.
A quiet, beautiful pause in life.
A place where memories deepen.
A city that reminds you what truly matters.
And for me, it will always be remembered as the place where I walked beside my daughter—just before she began her own journey into the world.
Unforgettable Love Under the Florida Storm
Unforgettable Love Under the Florida Storm
Inspired by real moments.
It was the spring season of a year, the kind of season that usually drifts in gently over South Florida, soft sunlight spilling across the water, warm breezes moving without urgency, days unfolding as if time itself had decided to slow down.
But that year, something felt different.
Far out at sea, beyond the calm horizon, the sky was quietly changing its mind. A storm was beginning to take shape, subtle at first, almost hesitant, then gathering strength with a quiet determination. It moved slowly, deliberately, as if it knew exactly where it was going.
No one noticed at first. The days still looked the same, the light still golden, the air still warm. But beneath that familiar calm, something restless was drawing closer, steady, unseen, and impossible to stop.
Neither of them knew yet that it would become part of their story.
Antony was twenty-three, standing somewhere between boyhood and the weight of what comes next. He carried quiet confidence, steady, unspoken. And then there was her, a college senior, bright and curious, the kind of person who felt everything deeply. They had been together for a year and a half, though it felt longer, as if time had stretched just enough to hold them. Their love wasn’t loud; It didn’t need to be. It was certain.
Just days earlier, they had returned from Quebec, a place that felt like stepping into another world. Snow stretched endlessly in every direction, soft and quiet, as if the earth had been wrapped in a dream. The mountains stood distant and unmoving, their silence almost sacred. And the cold, so unfamiliar to two people from Florida, did not bite as much as it surprised them, turning every breath into laughter instead of shivers.
They skied badly, fell often, and laughed each time they hit the ground, clinging to each other as if balance did not belong to either of them alone, but only existed in the space between them.
They rented a small Airbnb tucked into the mountains, where each night it felt like a world of its own. Outside, everything lay still beneath a blanket of snow, silent, untouched, almost unreal. But inside, the space glowed with warmth. Laughter filled every corner, rising and falling through shared jokes, late-night conversations, and the quiet comfort of warm drinks in hand. Friends gathered close, and in those moments, stitched together with ease and joy, time seemed to pause, as if nothing beyond those walls could ever matter.
But not everything went smoothly.
At departure, uncertainty lingered, waiting lists, delays, the quiet stress of things slipping out of control. For a moment, her excitement had faltered. All she wanted was time with him, and even that had seemed fragile.
But somehow, they made it.
She called her father from the snowy slopes, her voice bright with adventure. He worried, of course, about the cold, about her falling, but she laughed it off. She was happy.
On the way back, the delay stretched into hours. Five of them, sitting on a plane that refused to move. Restless, tired, but together. And somehow, that was enough. They turned inconvenience into something softer, something that would later feel like part of the memory rather than a disruption to it.
And then they were home.
The very next day, reality returned too quickly. She had to drive back to her college city, three hours away, and just like that, the quiet magic of those days began to fade. Life, as it always does, moved forward without asking, never pausing, not even for love, no matter how strong it was.
Her bags were packed. Keys in hand. She was ready to leave.
Then her phone rang. His voice was calm, but there was something different, something she couldn’t quite place.
“I am coming to see you,” Antony said.
She paused. “Now?”
“It’ll take me about forty-five minutes.”
It didn’t make sense. They had just spent days together—every moment shared. Why now?
But she didn’t argue.
Instead, she turned off the car and walked back inside.
She waited.
Time seemed to slow as the minutes slipped by. She kept glancing at the clock, aware of what she was postponing, her thoughts pulled between responsibility and something deeper she couldn’t quite name. She knew she needed to leave soon if she wanted to make it to class, but still, she stayed, held there by a feeling she couldn’t ignore.
Outside, the sky began to shift.
Clouds rolled in, dark and heavy, swallowing the light. The air thickened. The wind moved differently now, carrying something uncertain. South Florida, unpredictable as ever, was changing.
Antony was already on the road.
At first, it was just a darker sky. Then the rain came, fast, relentless, falling in sheets that blurred everything ahead. Traffic slowed. Then stopped. A long line of cars, unmoving, caught between intention and delay.
Still, he didn’t turn back.
Every minute mattered.
He drove through the storm, through the traffic, through the quiet uncertainty of it all, holding onto a single thought: I need to see her.
Back at home, she stood by the window, watching the sky collapse into rain. Part of her worried. Part of her wondered why he was coming now, after everything they had already shared. But deeper than that, she felt something warm, something certain.
She wanted to see him.
Time stretched again.
Then—
A knock.
Her heart skipped.
She opened the door.
There he was. Slightly soaked, hair unsettled by the wind, breathing just a little heavier than usual.
But smiling.
In his hand, he held a flower.
Simple. Beautiful. Perfect.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Outside, the storm moved with force, wind pressing against the walls, rain falling without pause. But inside, everything felt still.
“You came… for this?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “I couldn’t let you leave without seeing you one more time.”
She smiled, something quiet and certain in her eyes.
In that moment, the storm no longer mattered. Not the traffic, not the distance, not the uncertainty waiting ahead.
Because love isn’t always about what comes next.
Sometimes, it’s simply about showing up.
She stepped closer, taking the flower from his hand. Their fingers lingered, just a second longer than necessary, long enough to understand that this moment, small as it was, would stay.
Outside, the storm continued.
But inside, love was calm, steady, and unforgettable.
Happy Mardi Gras: A Note from Fat Tuesday
Last month, one Tuesday morning, our senior leader greeted us by email with warm wishes for Mardi Gras and invited us to share King Cake. We were also invited to celebrate that evening at Voodoo Bayou in downtown Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. It was a simple workplace gesture, yet it stirred something deeper in me.
I have long believed that one of the quiet keys to living in harmony with the society around us is learning its rhythms, traditions, sacred days, and celebrations. So I took a moment to read about Mardi Gras. I learned that it is also known as Shrove Tuesday, the final day before Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. The phrase means “Fat Tuesday” in French, a day historically set aside to enjoy rich food before the start of a season of fasting and reflection.
Continue reading “Happy Mardi Gras: A Note from Fat Tuesday”Between Celebration and Reflection: A Family Journey in the Bahamas
A family journey through the Bahamas—celebrating milestones, reflecting on history, and finding gratitude in moments of togetherness and travel.
Celebration, memory, and gratitude on the shores of Nassau.
We spent a wonderful time during our Bahamas family vacation, visiting a beautiful island nation in the Atlantic Ocean just off the coast of the United States. Despite its proximity to the U.S., the Bahamas carries a long and fascinating history shaped by the British Empire. For many years, it remained a British colony before gaining independence in 1973. Even today, it is part of the Commonwealth, and the British monarch is recognized as the ceremonial head of state. Traces of this history are still visible in everyday life, including the custom of driving on the left side of the road.
Read more: Between Celebration and Reflection: A Family Journey in the BahamasOur Bahamas family vacation was more than just a trip; it was a celebration of important milestones. We traveled together to mark our son Joni’s 20th birthday, our daughter Lucy’s 12th birthday, and our 23rd wedding anniversary. Being together with all four of our children made the experience especially meaningful. In the midst of busy schedules and responsibilities, moments like this remind us of the importance of simply being present with one another.
One of the most breathtaking experiences during our Bahamas family vacation was the beach itself. The water had remarkable clarity, clean and calm—glowing in shades of turquoise and deep blue. Standing on the shore, we could see straight through to the white sand beneath, even several meters out. The gentle waves and warm tropical breeze created a peaceful atmosphere that invited us to slow down, breathe deeply, and appreciate the beauty around us.
Vacations like this have a way of refreshing the spirit. My wife, in particular, seemed to come alive during our Bahamas family vacation. Her energy, joy, and appreciation for the moment stood out in a special way. Watching her reminded all of us how important it is to embrace life fully and not postpone happiness.
During our visit to Nassau, we took a taxi from the cruise port to Cable Beach. The driver was friendly and talkative, sharing insights about the island’s history. At one point, he mentioned that he might appear to be driving in the “wrong direction.” For a moment, we were confused—until he explained that in the Bahamas, people drive on the left side of the road, just like in the United Kingdom. It was a small but vivid reminder of the country’s colonial past.
He also pointed out areas near the airport where American influence is strong, reflecting the close economic and travel relationship between the Bahamas and the United States. Yet, despite this proximity, the island maintains a distinct identity shaped by its history.
This experience during our Bahamas family vacation prompted deeper reflection on the nature of history and independence. Many nations around the world experienced colonial rule, and even today, traces of that past remain embedded in their institutions and culture.
It also brought to mind Ethiopia’s powerful history. Unlike many African nations, Ethiopia successfully resisted colonization and preserved its independence. The victory at the Battle of Adwa remains a lasting symbol of resilience, dignity, and self-determination.
As our Bahamas family vacation came to an end, I felt a renewed sense of gratitude—for family, for health, and for the opportunity to travel and learn from different cultures and histories. Moments like this remind us that life is not only about work and responsibility, but also about connection, celebration, and reflection.
For those few days, we enjoyed the sunshine, the ocean breeze, and the beauty of the Bahamas—and carried those memories home with us.
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On the Other Side of the River
A journey through memory, fear, and faith—reflections shaped by place and movement.
A Travel Memo from St. Louis
I traveled to St. Louis, Missouri, to be with my sister/cousin after her father’s passing. He lived to the remarkable age of 104. His name was Workiye Asfaw, though within the family we affectionately called him Goldiye, and sometimes Goldu, a simple English way of capturing the warmth and meaning of his Amharic name.
He is remembered not simply for how long he lived, but for how he chose to live. He was a gentle, disciplined man whose life followed a quiet rhythm of self-confidence and restraint. He was naturally reserved. You rarely hear a word from him that could disappoint or offend anyone. Often, he spoke so little that you could not easily tell where he stood on family matters or disagreements. Yet his silence was never emptiness; it was presence. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, his words carried weight.
Continue reading “On the Other Side of the River”