I am writing this while listening to Peter Mawanga's Meditation song . I am busy thinking; but about writing. These days, I hardly write serious things: short stories, essays, features and such. Even Facebook status updates. These days, it is as if I have hit a dead end. I get an idea, beam at the prospect of writing it but once I sit to write it, I slump into confusion. I most likely abandon that project or, if not, the end result hardly makes me proud. My friends tell me how much they write per day and I can only envy them. For me, even writing a proper text message seems a tall order. Even now, as I have no energy with which to respond to WhatsApp texts, I have logged off. Pretending to be asleep. But sleeping I am not. Instead, I am here. Thinking. I am thinking about my situation. Wondering how that little boy who would write a story, an essay, in a day metamorphosed into this grumpy unfocused me…when did that even happen? As I am thinking, Mawanga and h
...writings and recollections; thoughts too.