The most important fish in the Universe

Dear Zonk.

My nephew got new fish last week. Angel fish. And a cave to go into the fish tank  too. And he’s been asking me to go over and see it all for a while now. I said I’d go Monday evening, but I couldn’t really make it. I said I’d go Tuesday night, on my way home from work, and he called to ask what time I’d get there and everything. But I didn’t get home till after 10 and my mom told me she was pretty sure he’d forgotten all about it; so I didn’t go yesterday either.

But I checked my phone this morning on my way to work and found this message on it:

Good nigth. Kitu and come to my home and go to your home<3

I called my sister and she told me he’d typed the message in himself and tried to send it to me in the night yesterday, telling me to stop by his place on my way home. But he hadn’t managed to send it right and by the time my sister realized and sent it again, it was already morning.

My six year old nephew sent me an sms heart on Valentine’s day and nobody taught him how to do it. He figured it out all by himself.
I didn’t get home till after 10 again today. But I went straight to my sister’s house to look at the fish and exclaim loudly at their awesomeness.

I don’t know if you have any kids around you, Zonk, but if you do, I hope you get tons of time to spend with them. Paint with them, read with them, play your music to them and ask for their opinion. Because kids have really interesting opinions about most things. And every time they tell you one I hope you’re taking notes. Because they’ll grow up someday and you’ll forget that it’s possible to believe in tsunamis that are caused when sharks push water out of the sea. Or friendly ATMs that dole out money indiscriminately to absolutely anybody. Or aunts or older sisters that are the epitome of awesomeness.

My nephew will grow up someday and realize that I am not as Everything as he believes me to be. He will know that I am human and fleeting and flawed. And lazy and unaware. And scared of my own shadow.

But until then,
I hope I always find time for fish.

Love always,
K.

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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