Kamna's Blog

I am, and always have been, for as long as I can recall, utterly smitten by the moon. Nothing else is quite shocking, that blatantly reminding of the fact that we are a part of something beyond daily absurdities. Why I'm writing about my Moon Affinity (Moonity)? Because I am awake much earlier than expected on a public holiday and I've had a message from my sister asking me why both my status and profile picture on WhatsApp is about the moon. And because I gave her such a detailed reply, it only triggered the writer in me and I knew I would have to come and spew it all on this vastly ignored blog. My relationship with the moon has been cultivating itself from a very young age. My earliest memory of the moon is reading about it with my sister in this cute children's book. It was probably a different story or poem but I keep thinking it was in the same book or part of the story where there is a shoehouse where the house is a big boot, and people, or some kind of animals, w...

Why I made my blog private for so many months Why I woke up one day and felt like it was something to hide Why I felt like it wasn't readable Just because it felt private all of a sudden? To share with the world so openly my musings To tell stories To write garbled songs of seemingly meaningless (or meaningful) meaning Maybe. But tonight I was reading a post. A really good post I wrote. And I felt like I couldn't relate to the talent that was the writing. The sheer volume of humour. The snide wit. The sneaky punnage. I felt ashamed. And I felt like I shyed away from that writer. And in doing so I forgot how to write. Readership or not, writing doesn't have to stop. But in my case, my writing did stop. My writing depended on the blog being private or public. I think. I really don't know though.

The thing with a love so lovely is that it gives and gives That it refuses to take is so beautifully endearing Such love is purging and ever so sanct It makes you rather than breaks you It releases you rather than freezes you It is wide and deep and calm like the ocean Not like the rapidly flowing river Poor thing never gets to dry her hair The love makes you alive It lets you breathe It never seeks approval, forgiveness or reassurance And it opens your soul It sharpens your mind It is bright like light And it is warm. Like a freshly baked cookie.

With paralleling realities, there are infinite yet uninevitable possibilities of collision. If life was a boat people are passengers on it. Consistently documenting their journeys in anticipation of being read. Like tourists, taking snapshots and screenshots to share amongst themselves. The streams steadily meet the little rivers. Brave little hopefuls blindingly reaching out to vast unknown oceans. Only to be gobbled up and forgotten. Brains have grey coloured matter. That unfortunately does not grey the thoughts within. If it would. Every thing would be as it could. But, to settle it for good, every thing is as it should.

Poetic, I find it: the fact that I am wearing pink Polish nail polish. Absurd, I find it: the fact that I have nothing to write about for months on end and then write this. Funny, I find it: the fact that I like where this whatever-this-is is going Sleepy, so not continuing this whatever-this-is Okay Bye

Happiness, unlike so strongly believed to be earlier by me is not a state of divine discontent. It is a state of calm. Of wanting to prove nothing. And being sure about what you want, when you want it, and WHY you want it. It is being content with everything you already have. And being realistic and living so totally in the present that there is very little premise to fall back on to a version of a you in the past you no longer relate to and very little premise to aspire to a version of you in the future you refuse to reimagine. Happiness is love and being in love and what it does to your soul with the passing of each day. It is smiling for no reason and letting go of daily trivialities that was earlier such strong stimuli for reaction. Happiness is feeling good about yourself and because of that feeling amazing about everything. Happiness is finding happiness in things and places and faces and sceneries unexpected. Happiness is writing after months and months and not feeling li...

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