'you see, I'm scared no one here will look for me again..'
Dear Zonk,
I’m underslept and vaguely blue today. I expect to be underslept again tomorrow. Sucks.
I’ve been working 3 days a week for 9 months but starting this week, I’ll be working 6 days instead. I did 6-day workweeks for a short while back in 2012. It was awful. But right now, I think it’s what I need to do.
I wonder if I still have that kind of stamina. I wonder if I’ll miss my 4-day weekends.
Oh well. We’ll see.
Love always,
K.
Dear Zonk,
I blinked and now it’s 2025. And for the first time in a long time, I have no resolutions at all. None that I would want to talk about anyhow, and I think that’s alright.
I have always been committed to celebrating the 31st of December properly. Alas, I am now also committed to starting the new year off mindfully and healthfully. That’s a difficult combination. It means you’ll have 3 drinks of gin and stay up till 2.30 in the morning and sleep really little and still try to run the next evening.
I did not have a very good run. I had to cut it short and I crashed hard after. 8 hours of sleep and 3 coffees later, I still feel only half-awake.
And so it is that I give up on my “workday” to talk here. In a bit, I will go build my new not-lego instead.
Happy New Year, Zonk. I hope 2025 is kind.
Love always,
K :)
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Dear Zonk,
I woke up late and bleary today but determined to run, on account of having barely run this whole week. I knew it would rain and I like running in a little rain. But it’s poured.
And so it is that I’m having a coffee and a bagel with cream cheese instead. Sitting here at Tim Horton’s with suspiciously sluggish flies and sleeping stray dogs. I have nothing to read and nothing to do except watch the rain. The coffee sucks hard.
Oh well.
I like how this morning has turned out anyway.
Love always,
K :)
Dear Zonk,
I miss things. I miss you and I miss how things used to be and I miss past-me. I miss being wispy and insignificant and somehow still buzzing with potential. I miss doors being wide open. I miss the person I no longer am and that I nevermore will be. I hate the feeling of trudging down this tunnel day after day after night.
I’m in Bangalore today. Listening to old songs and trying very hard to get my work done but I seem to be faring rather poorly.
Holler if you’re still around.
Love always,
K.
Dear Zonk,
It’s been a while. Again. And yet, when things begin to feel bleak, here I always am.
My eyes hurt a bit tonight. My nose is all fucked up. My traps are going to be sore tomorrow and my feelings are a little bit sore tonight.
If a tree comes crashing down in a forest and nobody hears it fall — what even is the point of it all?
Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the blueses bite.
Love always,
K.
Dear Zonk,
I should be working, but here I am.
Yesterday was both interesting and fuck-all. I should not carry bad moods over into a run, because it sucks. Running slowly felt like a chore last night and my legs were like cement. Even so. I stumbled around the park doggedly for half an hour and then walked and sat around and listened to some Radiohead before heading home.
Today feels kinda fuck-all too.
Oh well.
Love always,
K.
Dear Zonk,
A lot has happened since my last update here, but we can catch up pretty quick. I recovered from dengue, did a bunch of renovation-related stuff for my mom, booked my trip (to Japan!), went to Delhi and had a lovely time, did a bunch of physical assessments (more later, maybe), and started running and exercising again.
There. You’re all caught up.
I came here to tell you about more pressing matters. But I’m tired tonight. My eyes feel breezy. And also, I must needs gather my thoughts.
And so, goodnight.
Love always,
K :)
Dear Zonk,
It’s been a nice, slow few days here in Thane. I feel like I’ve mostly eaten my way through the past week. There really is nothing like good old Tamilian food. Rice with everything, all the time. And I truly believe nobody can make this stuff like my mom can.
I’ve realised, though, that my body handles food differently in my mom’s house. Back home, I feel my pulse spike instantly every time I have a carby meal. But over the past 3 days, I’ve done nothing but eat rice. Rice and raw mango curry. Rice and sambar. Rice and curd. And the occasional dosa, of course. My body seems to recognise this food, though. It flags it as comfort. My pulse stays at a comfortable 75-85bpm even after I’m done stuffing my face.
I do wish I wouldn’t eat so many chips, though. My mouth feels sore from all this salt. I feel grosser. Kinda bloated.
Oh well.
I’ve also been practising my Japanese every day. And a bit of guitar. I could continue to exist comfortably in this childhood limbo of mine for a long, long time. But I miss my little neko, and my plants and my C. And so, I’ll go home again tomorrow.
Tonight I plan to read, and look for some good headphones, and also have a beer. It’s been a while :)
Love always,
K :)
Dear Zonk,
I woke up super early this morning — to rain. In March. The world is ending, probably, but I’ll take a few unexpected mornings like these, thank you very much.
The lovely thing about waking up at 6:30 am is how the morning seems to stretch out before you for hours. The lovely thing about a suddenly rainy day is how within reach it makes my past self feel. It reminds me of early mornings long ago, getting ready — reluctantly — for school. And then of college. Of being young and full of potential. Of constantly creating. It all feels so recent. Like I could reach out and touch skinny little young Kitu. Like I could lend her the hard-won peace of mind of my older self and maybe borrow some of her creative urges in return.
Young Kitu was desperate for peace of mind. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a bit of a swap.
Instead, I sat on my balcony and had my coffee and watched the rain with Kiki. I let all sorts of now-unnatural urges flit past me. Like the urge to paint a canvas, maybe. The urge to make a song.
And then, finally, I dusted off my guitar and played for a bit. An old song from my past self that always rears its head on a day like this.
It’s songwriting weather, after all.
Happy rain day, Zonk.
Love always,
K :)
Ink 