Crazy Rambling #10

Lately I’ve been finding extreme fascination in withering flowers, roses, to be specific. I pluck them off from our garden a little before they are about to shed their petals, and arrange them into an oasis. Eventually they become limp and flaccid and dry out in their dropped posture. They are incredibly fascinating if you take your time to look at them, to really see them, not just a glance. They are untold stories, incomplete, yet they hold a charm far more precious than all the finished stories, all the happy endings. Even though they dry out, they are pretty, worth saving. 

I've never understood why people press roses between the pages of a book; there is little beauty in something you are forcing to die. And personally, I find nothing interesting in looking at a rose flower that is pressed until it’s flimsy and lean. It’s a full blown rose that darkens in color, that closes upon itself as it dies and dries that holds my attention. It’s beautiful, still intact. Somehow still living and fragrant. It’s the incomplete story of those roses that fascinates me, and I've always been a sucker for unfinished stories.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #9

When I step out of the house, my first instinct is to look up at the sky, to search for the clouds or feel the rain on my face. Today when I stepped out around four I looked up even before the porch ceiling was out of the way and when I noticed the sky, I sighed. It was beautiful; dotted with random white fluffy clouds overlapped by grey ones that made them look like they had blurry edges that transfused into the sky. It was beautiful, there's no other words for it. I am entranced by clouds, I guess it's pretty obvious considering I write a lot about them. Sigh. The blurry edges presented a different story to me, altogether. Like the stage beyond exhaustion, when tiring becomes funny; when the line between reality and imagination blur, when they merge. Those moments when you can believe what you see, even though whatever you see is probably half your imagination. The moments when everything makes sense, yet the next moment it's all senseless. That absurd, silly state. The wonderful reality of the moment.

-Momina

Crazy Ramblings #8

I rarely like the fizz. It makes me feel weird and it tickles. I like my drinks flat. I mean, it’s pretty senseless since they are called carbonated drinks for a reason and normal people like to drink them when they are fizzy. Normal people; who are they really? Is it being distinct in our own way? Because, no matter what we all are unique in our own sense.
I don’t think there is a normal. It’s an exotic jungle out there, with every distinct specie possible and they are all last in their own way. An exotic jungle of endangered species is what it is. There’s no normal, no average. Never is, was or will be. You are special, but so is every other person. You can’t judge that because you have no right to. There is no limit to how different you are no degree to your specialty. But, you are the one, the only and the last you. There won’t be any like you to follow. You are special.
You can be the one for fizz or the one for flat, or you might like them mixed up, there are endless possibilities but you are something extraordinary. You are special.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #7

I love staring at the clouds; they fascinate me for various weird and crazy reasons. And lying in the sun, gazing at the white cotton like wisps of clouds is very peaceful, or at least I find it so. Also, I find it beautifully deceptive. Like cotton candy. It seems as if a pure white silken thread is being spun in the clear blue skies, yet when we ascend it’ nothing but a fog like thick illusion. Illusions; isn’t life filled with those. If our fate and destiny are written, then aren’t choices just a delusion? Like common sense, said to be so common, but lacking in every other. Illusions we believe in and take them for granted. But what is life without these illusions? Nothing, they are the reason that we construct so many thoughts. And without them, it’s like staring at a perfectly cloudless blue sky, nowhere to look with something different. No choices to make. Clouds, they are important.

-Momina.

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