Showing posts sorted by relevance for query by Judith Taburet. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query by Judith Taburet. Sort by date Show all posts

Breath With a Broken Schedule

Photo by Rowen Smith on Unsplash

by Judith Taburet

My aunt died in France.

Death broke the schedule.

Suddenly, I don’t have time disappeared, wiped clean like chalk from a board.

My mother crossed the sea from Madagascar. I hadn’t seen her for years—years measured not in days, but in distance in silence, in voice notes saved and never deleted.

How could my face show happiness and sadness at the same time?

Sadness.

Joy.

Sun.

Cloud.

Shadow.

Weight—not lightness.

The sun argued with the clouds. Light spilled anyway. Shadow stayed. Weight existed without gravity. I felt heavy and floating, carried by something larger than myself—solitude wrapped inside enormous solidarity.

Family gathered the way weather does: sudden, inevitable. Hugs came from everywhere—lightning, wind, pressure. Death had done what only love could resist: it forced us into the same room, the same moment, the same breath.

Time was confused in the heart’s country.

Hours bent. Minutes refused to give their names.

Tic. Tac.

Happiness began blowing pink balloons, timidly, as if asking permission. Christmas lurked in the corner, unsure whether to enter. Sadness put on a swimsuit and crossed the sea of tears slowly, refusing to rush. Doubt dressed with care—black shirt, red pants—ready for whatever would happen next.

Hail fell outside.

Sharp.

Brief.

Honest.

When my mother finally stood in front of me, she said, "Sweetheart, how are you?" Her voice was soft. Grief stepped aside. Not gone—just quieter. My face learned something new then: how to breathe with a broken schedule, how to hold joy inside great sadness, how to welcome love even when it arrives carrying death.

Tic.

Toc.

Love.

━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━

Judy T is a writer and photographer hailing from Madagascar, now based in France. Drawing from a rich legacy of advocacy, she infuses her art with a sense of purpose. Inspired by her father, an influential writer who courgeously fought against prejudice and racism in their homeland . Judy T channels her creative voice to shed light on women's stories and Malagasy culture. Her work, both in prose and photography, delves into strong experiences, ensuring they are told with unflinching honesty and strength.

 

If Love is a Battle

by Judith Taburet

She sat on her bed in the dark, gasping from the same nightmare.

He had shoved her hard against the wall. Then came the kick—sharp, brutal—straight to her stomach. She remembered falling, crumpling to the ground with her daughter clinging to her. “Mam! Mam!” her daughter screamed. But the sound grew distant, as if it were being pulled away. She couldn’t see clearly—only her daughter’s mouth, open in a silent cry, and blood trickling from her lips.

She jolted awake, heart pounding. Air scraped her throat. Her world was spinning. She pressed her palm to her stomach, “Hhhkk! Hhhkk!!”

She wanted to vomit, vomit the suffering, vomit her womb. Her heart swelled, fighting with herself.

Moonlight slanted through the cracked shutters. A breeze stirred the curtain. Then in quiet, she made a vow: Never again.

She rose, barefoot. Crept through the hallway. The house was old, too full of ghosts. Full of him.

At least I can protect my child. She thought.

She went to her mother. She reached the bedroom door. And paused. She swallowed hard. Then knocked.

Toc! Toc! It's me! She whispered. Toc! Breath!

Her mother was sitting upright in bed. Candlelight flickered on the desk by the window, Casting a soft glow across the room.

"I need your help, Mother," she said softly. "Take her. Raise her far from all of this. She needs a safe place—away from my world."

Her mother looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. "Then you have to leave him," she said. "You have to let him go."

"But I love him," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Love. Hate. Love. Kiss. Kick. Kiss.

Her heart was swelling and bleeding. Then she made a vow.

If love is a battle, I would be the last one standing.

━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━

Judy T is a writer and photographer hailing from Madagascar, now based in France. Drawing from a rich legacy of advocacy, she infuses her art with a sense of purpose. Inspired by her father, an influential writer who courgeously fought against prejudice and racism in their homeland . Judy T channels her creative voice to shed light on women's stories and Malagasy culture. Her work, both in prose and photography, delves into strong experiences, ensuring they are told with unflinching honesty and strength.