Constellations is a Chilling Song

I love Jack Johnson's "Constellation." The lyrics are beautiful, and the sound is damn chilling—it actually shifts my mood. There's a poetic quality to it, a calm, cherishing feeling of those little moments when you're just watching the sunset and staring at the stars. The lyrics carry such deep meaning. It's like he truly understands life—how to live it, the gift of it, and where real beauty lies. His other songs, like "If I Could" and "Breakdown," are must-listens.

It's amazing how "we drew our own constellations." That line feels like a play on "drawing conclusions"—drawing toward an end. This song is amazing, just like every other Jack Johnson track.

And that other line—"listen close enough, all else fades... fades away"—hits me right in the gut. It's chilling because it's true.

This song helps me build and hold onto beautiful memories of my child, my family, and the passing of time.

Jack Johnson is a Hawaiian-folk singer-songwriter. He is a soft rocker, surfer and filmmaker.  

And I would like to leave here with my favorite song, Constellations.

"Constellations"

The light was leaving
In the west it was blue
The children's laughter sang
And skipping just like the stones they threw
Their voices echoed across the way
It's getting late

It was just another night
With a sunset
And a moonrise not so far behind
To give us just enough light
To lay down underneath the stars
Listen to papa's translations
Of the stories across the sky
We drew our own constellations

The west winds often last too long
The wind may calm down
Nothing ever feels the same
Sheltered under the Kamani tree
Waiting for the passing rain
Clouds keep moving to uncover the scene
Stars above us chasing the day away
To find the stories that we sometimes need
Listen close enough
All else fades, fades away

It was just another night
With a sunset
And a moonrise not so far behind
To give us just enough light
To lay down underneath the stars
Listen to all the translations
Of the stories across the sky
We drew our own constellations.

 

My Small Oeuvre

I am a self-taught man of words. And therefore, I am also a self-acclaimed writer.

Let me be honest: I learned by reading, by imitating, by failing, and by trying again. My room was  stack of old books gathering dust to be read.

My world exists somewhere between fantasies and the real me. I am not entirely sure where one ends and the other begins. And honestly? I like it that way.


I have been trying to write for as long as I can remember. But mostly, I write for my own satisfaction. There is a peculiar kind of joy to express feelings.

I have been maintaining my creations since Class VIII. That makes it nearly two decades of scribbling, scratching out, and starting over. As of today, I have seven or eight exercise books filled with stories, poems, letters, songs, and things I cannot easily categorize. They have been my solace. My true friend. The one that listens without interrupting and never judges—well, until I judge myself later.





Some of those early writings are quite shameful to read now.

They are tender in the worst way. Substandard. Shoddy. The ideas falter like a newborn deer learning to walk. The language wobbles. The grammar weeps. Everything is immature—infants dressed up as adults.

I flip through those pages sometimes, and I cringe. I laugh. I groan. I want to reach back through time and whisper to my younger self: Slow down. Read more. And please, for the love of all that is holy, learn what a comma does.

But then I stop myself. Because those awkward, clumsy pages were necessary. They were the practice swings before the real hit. The ugly first drafts of a writer who hadn't yet learned to walk.

And truth be told? I am no better now. Just older. Perhaps a little wiser. But still learning. Still failing. Still trying.



Despite my fears, I gathered some courage and sent a few of those articles to our newspapers. To my astonishment and lasting gratitude, they were kind enough to publish them.


I was also awarded several times for my creations. Those small trophies and certificates meant more to me than any gold. They were proof that someone out there—someone other than my mother—thought I had something worth saying. That encouragement lit a fire under my timid writer's soul.

I also wrote many anonymous articles. Most of them were complaint letters. A few were other things I cannot quite remember now. There is something liberating about writing without a name. You can be braver. Sharper. More honest. Sometimes too honest.


I have photographed a few of those published articles and placed them on this blog. Many articles, unfortunately, were misplaced over the years. Lost to shifting houses, careless hands, and the general chaos of a life not well organized.

The photographs themselves are dark. Unforgivably dark. I shot them recently in a room with poor light—no flash, no patience, no proper setup. The shadows hide half the words. The images look like crime scene evidence from a very minor literary crime.

But they are mine. And I am keeping them anyway.



So here I stand: a self-taught, self-acclaimed, semi-embarrassed, perpetually learning man of words. My exercise books are my biography. My published clippings are my medals. My dark photographs are my confession.

I write because I must. Because the words pile up inside me like unsent letters. Because when I finish a piece—even a bad one—I feel, for a moment, whole.

Thank you for reading this far. And if you write too, keep your old exercise books. Keep your shameful poems. Keep your blurry photographs. One day, they will be the truest map of who you used to be.


From my dark room to your light—
A self-taught man of words

My Country, My Town

I was eager to purchase the DSLR (Digital single-lens reflex camera), and it was my dreamed to have one. And I have this Cam for about 8 months and I have never regretted the decision, though I paid a huge some of Nu.35, 0000/-

MY DSLR

I have this Canon EOS 600D SLR with Kit I EF-S18-55mm IS II Lens Camera with 18 megapixel and 10x zoom. Photography is one of my favorite pastimes, but my SLR has been, most of the time is retained inside the cupboard, as I have been busy with my four classroom walls. I have only a chance to click during celebrations and functions. I love the feel of the camera. It is extremely user-friendly and offers the option of auto as well as manual focus. The camera has full HD recording with an added feature. It has an extraordinary color and image quality. This SLR camera also has auto flash and even an option of mounting external flash for specific photography, ensuring versatile use. And there is more to it. I am new to it.

I am a beginner photographer. And thought of becoming a professional photographer, but I know owing to lots of works it has been laying in the grave. And it will for so many years. I try to click and use my photographs. I try to shoot very unusually, creative, interesting, and thought-provoking scenes and outlooks. I have many collections of such photographs. I try to send some to the National newspaper, Kuensel, which the Kuensel had published those photos in My Country, My Town column. I send some of the common but creative ones. I send it to better something further through critique, and analysis. And if you have any interesting photos, you too can send them. Some of my photos in My Country, My Town are here beneath.
 

My Three Pics I have sent

The Ultimate Almighty

Om Ah Hum Benza Guru Padma Siddhi Hung—
Bless me, my Guru.
Grant me my wish,
for I am praying from my heart.

Om Ah Hum Benza Guru Padma Siddhi Hung—
Blessed to be born
in the land of Buddha.
I thank you, my Guru.

Om Ah Hum Benza Guru Padma Siddhi Hung—
Now I have my Lama
to reach the godly nirvana.
I submit for the rays to attain.

Om Ah Hum Benza Guru Padma Siddhi Hung—
Mind of compassionate humanity,
the good deeds of today
will help now and in the next life.

Om Ah Hum Benza Guru Padma Siddhi Hung—
Engaged in a dreamlike life,
so is the samsaric suffering seems real.
To you, I pray for this liberation.