Amonranella
amonranella.bsky.social
Amonranella
@amonranella.bsky.social
I am at home, preparing goods for the journey. Once my basket has been filled, it will begin.

https://youtube.com/@amonranella
The passionfruit doesn’t pretend. It is what it is—chaotic, unashamed. I stare at it too long, feeling something I can’t name.
April 4, 2025 at 10:32 AM
The best laughter is that of a donkey and child. The mango was a portal.

Juice ran down my fingers like melted sunlight. Nothing else mattered.
March 27, 2025 at 3:22 PM
I wasn’t in my kitchen anymore. The air shifted. The world softened.

youtu.be/Eyz3PnwvtTY
March 26, 2025 at 12:22 PM
A slice on my tongue—bright, sharp, real. Even the smallest things offer something. Even me. Even you.
March 22, 2025 at 6:26 AM
The world is waiting. The basket is filling. The fruit does not fear transformation. I wonder if I could be like that.

youtu.be/aBJsPrne82s
March 20, 2025 at 9:02 AM
A severed pineapple crown still holds its shape, waiting. A mandarin peel curls in on itself, stiff with memory. The kiwi? It surrenders. Some things fight becoming. Others know it is inevitable.
March 17, 2025 at 3:20 PM
The fuzz gave way, the green split open—vivid, alive, unafraid. I wonder what it’s like to exist without resistance.
March 16, 2025 at 8:00 PM
The way my mother’s hands peeled these so easily, like she knew how to make the world soft. I try. It opens. A quiet kind of love.
March 10, 2025 at 3:59 PM
A message I don’t open. A fruit I do. The past and the present, peeling away.
This is going to be sweet. Sharp, alive.
March 9, 2025 at 2:24 PM
The Weight of Small Things—
a mandarin in my palm. Light, too light. A tiny planet, a secret, a soul. I peel it. It doesn’t resist. Some things are meant to be let go of.
March 8, 2025 at 9:09 AM
I press the knife to its skin. It resists—just enough to make me wonder. The blade sinks in. The pineapple shudders. Maybe it’s my imagination. Juice wells up, thick and golden. Almost red.
I should stop. But stopping is the same as losing…
March 2, 2025 at 11:33 AM
The kitchen hums with uneasy silence. A fan whirs. The knife waits. The pineapple sits, armored and ancient, daring me to make the first move. This is no ordinary fruit. This is something older. Something that knows.
March 1, 2025 at 8:56 PM