African sun
Burn me
Taint my skin
Into a shade no – one could love
Yet it matters not
For I love me.




Starry Night

Once upon a time I was kid, shocker I know. I had to take a flight by myself.

I’ll have you know that since birth I’ve always been an over-thinker so the prospects of flying were not as exciting as they should be.

I did however manage to get onto the flight and locate my row without much struggle.

My heart sank. There sat man in the seat that I had so wished to have, the window seat, and I was doomed to the aisle seat of death ( I very much detest it).

To my surprise the man, whose name eludes me now, offered up his seat.

His act of kindness did not stop there.

He asked for blanket to be provided to me ( it was a night flight), offered to buy hot chocolate and ensured my over-thinking tendencies did not worry me too much.

I remember him so vividly for the conversation he gifted me.

Mid-flight when turbulence hit, this is how the conversation ran:

“What are stars K?”

“Little lights?”

He proceeded to tell me how the stars, my ‘lights’, were in essence like guardians for each person in the world. That each star belongs to someone and that the stars which shone dimmer were people in need. That I should always remember that we could always meet a dim star’s person, so act with kindness and love. More importantly, we all stars regardless of which shape, make, colour and even brightness we possess.

I’ve always regarded him as a star that fell into the plane for me that night. Wherever you are red-headed star with those eyes that seemed to hold the world, thank you.

Your small acts of kindness have been giant to me.


River running

River running

Okay, I’ll be perfectly honest with you.

My name is K and I have an ugly crying face.

As in my face contorts into an expression scarier than any Halloween mask invented. So quite often than not, you may feel the need to run from me than comfort me. Which is okay because one look in the mirror while crying my guts out, can send me from bawling to being deadly silent.

It got me thinking about the hilarity of crying itself, for women and men alike.

Sometimes you don’t actually want to cry.

I mean one second you’re okay and the next your eyes are leaking. Then you sort of go like ‘Okay body, why are we crying? Did I miss a meeting or…?”

Other times you really wish you could not cry.

You’re in a not so favouring situation and you need to come across as strong but your tears are here for the emotion festival. “No stop it tears! Go back! Oh great look what you’ve done, now I have to try and downplay this one.”

How about those ninja tears?
The ones that sneak out during that sad scene of the film? It’s so unexpected and you’re left thinking -“ Is this how it feelings feel like?”

Oh and my favourite of them all, anger and/or frustration tears.

I have no way to form a coherent sentence in which I can tell you how much you infuriate me, that my body has started to malfunction.

The beauty about tears though, is the fact that not everyone cries nor does everyone know how to react while someone is crying.

Pro tip if you do ever find me crying, cover your eyes and slowly back away. I’ll close the flood gates and will shortly resume in normal functioning order.

Question for those who dare… What would you describe your crying to be?

I would describe mine to be the sound of a dinosaur dying – loud and unbearable.



Boiling everywhere

Boiling everywhere.

I killed a family member and I still have 3 bullets left over – who’s next?

Granted it was only in my mind and out of annoyance but still, it felt great while it lasted.

Okay before you start calling the psycho cops on me, allow me to plead my case.

I have the right to remain silent but for once let’s indulge in this moment, where I can tell you that I have dreamed of finding the off switch.

Off switch?

To the family and them doing ‘unexpected visits’.

This is how my mind bubbles over when they are there – with me:

It was great and all to see you but I’d like to go back to not caring whether I have matching socks on or if your tea is warm.

Give me back my peaceful sleep mornings, sans the sound of your scolding of “ It’s 8am in the morning and you haven’t started making breakfast”.

I beg for my couch space back, where I can sit clad in the most raggedy shirt I own and with my feet over the armrest. I’d rather have the TV back so I can binge watch on my ‘weird’ and ‘too educational’ shows. Let me watch Billions or Masterchef Australia without hearing , “What happens next?”

God I don’t want to have another conversation about my future, “I have no Idea where I’m headed” can only said so many times( quite frankly I’m tired of saying it).

For future reference, that’s why it’s called the future and not the present.

Yes that guy seems like a nice suitor and no I would not like to go speak to him – leave it alone (stop waving him over).

Also I would like to get through a packet of chips or slice of pizza without you going through a detailed analysis of my eating habits dating back to the 90’s.

Yes I still do that writing ‘thing’. No it wasn’t just a phase.

Let’s save each other some arguments and just buy both cakes; chocolate and vanilla.

Matter of fact, Iceland is now just ‘land’, even the heat of my frustration has melted the ice there.

Oh and lastly, oh my I have grown! Must be why my height has gone from 164.4 cm to 164.4 cm since you’ve last seen me.

Such is life, else it will all go up in smokes.

I love you so much but I have 3 bullets left and who’s next?