tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119034132024-03-23T23:29:42.922+05:00Psychotic BabblingsReej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-18232041141399500822012-06-12T01:28:00.000+05:002012-06-12T01:28:47.797+05:00Long Overdue Rant<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Sometimes life deals you some </span><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: large;">serious</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> crap. Everyone disappoints you and hurts you and makes you feel </span><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: large;">less</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> than </span><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">loved</span></b><span style="color: #cccccc;">. Then you systematically sort through all the </span><span style="color: #d9d2e9; font-size: large;">good</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> memories, filtering out the </span><span style="color: #f4cccc; font-size: large;">bad</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> and still can't identify a single person in any of those moments that hasn't caused you </span><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>heartache</b></span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> and/or left you </span><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-size: large;"><i>stranded</i></span><span style="color: #cccccc;">. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Sometimes life deals you </span><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">another</span></i></b><span style="color: #cccccc;"> hand of crap. Everything that can possibly go wrong, </span><span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;">does</span><span style="color: #cccccc;">. Every good thing that ever happens to you (as small as it may be), </span><span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">ultimately</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> results in yet another few things going wrong. You know there is a God, but you forget that He is </span><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-size: large;"><u>yours</u></span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> too. You can't tell the difference between God's</span><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">tests</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> and His </span><span style="color: #45818e; font-size: x-large;"><i>punishments</i></span><span style="color: #cccccc;">. A wise woman once </span><b><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">shared</span></b><span style="color: #cccccc;"> with me something that another wise woman once told her. There is an easy rule of </span><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><b>differentiation</b></span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> that separates the tests from the punishments so it can be just that little bit easier to act accordingly to </span><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-size: large;"><i>disentangle</i></span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> the mess that is your life. She told me that the only way to know if a certain bout of bad luck is a test or a punishment is by deeply </span><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><i><b>reflecting</b></i></span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> on whether that misfortune brings you </span><u><span style="color: white;"><b>closer </b></span></u><span style="color: #cccccc;">to God or pulls you </span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">away</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> from Him. If it brings you closer to God, than it was a test. If it takes you further from Him, it was either a</span><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;"> failed </span></b><span style="color: #cccccc;">test, or quite simply a punishment - which when you think about it, either way, is really the same thing - a punishment.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">That wise woman is my sister, and the wise woman who told her is her best friend. After my three-year blogging</span><span style="color: #a2c4c9; font-size: large;"> hiatus</span><span style="color: #cccccc;">, I write today to share this slice of </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;"><b>wisdom</b></span></i><span style="color: #cccccc;"> with my own friends, foes (if I have any) and anyone who may chance to read this. If this little thought can pull even one soul out of misery or even a tiny bit of </span><span style="color: #f4cccc;">confusion</span><span style="color: #cccccc;">, than my post has served its purpose. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Here's </span></i><span style="color: #cccccc;">to many more years of ranting - with a purpose and more often, </span><span style="color: #b4a7d6; font-size: large;"><b>without</b></span><span style="color: #cccccc;">!</span></span></div>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-5837891517255437112009-02-28T00:34:00.004+05:002009-02-28T00:39:51.662+05:00Joint<span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>You <span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">dizzy</span> </span>me so</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>I want to know...</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffff00;">Oops</span>.. What was it?</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>Oh! When I <span style="font-size:100%;color:#cc66cc;">hold</span> you so...</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>And so I dropped</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>Just fell like <span style="color:#ff6666;">flop</span>..</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>What are you saying?.. Yes</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>Never mattered <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ccffff;">less</span></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>Stop for a bit</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>Your voice is <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ffffcc;">static</span></em></span><span style="color:#ffffcc;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color:#ffcc33;">Buzzing</span> </span>like a bee</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>A far-<span style="font-size:85%;color:#99ff99;">tuned-out</span> TV</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><em>Can't tell if it's <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ffffff;">true</span></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><em>What would life be </em><span style="color:#3366ff;">without</span><em><span style="color:#3366ff;"> </span>you</em></span><span style="color:#66cccc;"><em>?</em></span></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-46509159447923387312008-09-30T19:54:00.002+06:002008-09-30T19:58:21.081+06:00I can, I can't<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;">I <span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>can</strong></span> </span>forgive you for every time you make an <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ccccff;">excuse</span> not to have to spend time with me and go <span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>traipsing</em></span> off to a friend's house to play a video game or watch a <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ff6666;">mindless</span>, lame excuse of a movie.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;">I <span style="font-size:180%;color:#33ccff;"><strong>can't</strong></span> forgive you for not <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ffcc00;"><em>wanting</em></span> to spend that <span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;">precious</span> time with me. </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-73468661087497474152008-04-09T02:51:00.003+05:002008-04-10T02:55:57.425+05:00BlisssSssss...zZzzzz<span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So maybe I haven't been the</span> <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ffcc00;">happiest</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">person in the world recently. But who needs superficial, sappy, tear-in-the-eye,</span> <span style="color:#336666;"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ccff;"><strong>lump</strong></span>-in-<span style="font-size:100%;color:#339999;"><em>the</em></span>-</span><span style="color:#33ccff;"><strong>throat</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">khushi to update their blog right? Not I, said Areej. In fact, I suppose it's always been the opposite. I only</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"><strong>miss</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">my bloggy in my moments of extreme despair, emotional </span><span style="font-size:180%;color:#ccccff;"><strong>turmoil</strong></span><span style="font-size:100%;">, many-tears-in-the-eyes (and pillow, and blankie, and tissues...) and all that</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffffff;">melodrama</span><span style="font-size:100%;">. I'm sorry bloggy, but it's true :(</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So now I'm writing in my moment of</span> <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff9966;"><strong>ecstasy</strong></span><span style="font-size:100%;">! Weehee, yaay (: Yes yes, after so much of the traumatic, <strong><span style="color:#ff6666;">over</span></strong></span>-<span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">analytical</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">writing that I have so well mastered during my moments (days, weeks, months, years?) of misery; I have experienced (yes me) a moment of</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffffcc;"><em>pure</em></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">bliss. During countless minutes of infuriating</span> <strong><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#66ff99;">*splish*splash*</span></strong> <span style="font-size:100%;">sound effects of my own tears, I have often found myself wondering what it would be like to have someone truly </span><span style="color:#ccffff;"><strong>understand</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">the way I so often feel the way I do when I so often experience the</span> <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ff0000;"><em>extreme</em></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">disappointment in the entire human race and it's world that so often <span style="color:#ffcc00;"><strong>overwhelms</strong></span></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">me... (yes, <strong>ever</strong> so often). Today, my faithful blog-viewers</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">(</span><span style="color:#cc66cc;">hello?</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">is there anybody there?) I am writing to</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#999900;"><strong>gladly</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">inform you that I have again,</span> <span style="font-size:180%;color:#6666cc;">failed</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> in my endeavour to find a</span> <span style="font-size:100%;color:#999999;">kindred</span> <span style="font-size:180%;">spirit</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">like myself who can truly understand the state of misery I was born into the day I awoke to the idea that misery is but</span> <span style="color:#3366ff;">oh-<span style="font-size:100%;">so</span>-<span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;">delicious</span>-and-</span><span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;">addictive</span>. <span style="font-size:100%;">Not only have I failed in finding a soul to share this <span style="color:#99ff99;">psycho-manic-depressive's</span></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">deep love for being </span><em><span style="font-size:130%;">unloved</span></em>; <span style="font-size:100%;">but I have also discovered that I no longer yearn to discover that one kindred being who will one day, truly understand the me-phenomenon </span>(<span style="color:#cccccc;"><strong>hallelujah</strong></span>). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I have not <span style="color:#ffffff;">lost</span> my noodles, for I had</span> <span style="font-size:100%;color:#3333ff;">surrendered</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">those to the Great Father Himself the day he decided to curse the lives of my parents with the likes of me, kindly informing Him that I did not</span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;"><strong><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span>need</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">them. What a beautiful feeling it is to know that the </span><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#999900;">quest</span> </span></strong><span style="font-size:100%;">for sanity has finally ended with no positive (?) results whatsoever. Today, I know that I</span> <span style="font-size:100%;"><strong><span style="color:#ffff99;">never</span> </strong>wanted to be understood at all. Why, I do believe I have given up and fallen astray from the insanely impossible</span> <span style="color:#ff6600;">feat</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">of finding my</span> <strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ccff;">soullll mate</span></strong> <span style="font-size:100%;">(or so to say); or perhaps I have simply altered the <em><span style="color:#6666cc;"><strong>criteria</strong></span></em></span>.<span style="font-size:100%;"> Yup, that sounds about right! *grin* All I ever needed was the</span> <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;">effort</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> that goes hand in hand with the <strong><span style="color:#c0c0c0;">cliched</span></strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">'understanding' bit, and would you believe it, I didn't have a clue! But now I do, and I am in a state of pure, sweeeet bliss. Of course in my life, I have </span><span style="color:#ffcc00;"><em>poooh-pooooohed</em></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">all prospective soul mates that tried stunt upon lowly-yet-in-earnest</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc66cc;">stunt</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">to try and impress me and know me and love me and above all, <em>understand</em> me.</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">Why, you ask? Well because they were</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ccccff;"><em>flawed</em></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">ofcourse, and to have a flawed soul mate just simply wouldn't do. By flawed I mean either too impossibly imperfect, or too </span><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffff33;">absurdly</span></strong> <span style="font-size:100%;">the opposite, both of which just simply -- wouldn't -- do.</span> </span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So before I get tangled in a</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">web</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">of my own words all over again, which I so often do, as demonstrated above *stops to breathe between sentences*... yes I have found my</span> <strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#00cccc;">perfectly imperfect</span></strong> <span style="font-size:100%;">soul mate who makes the most beautifully <em><span style="color:#ffcc99;">ridiculous</span></em> attempts to pacify my forever changing moods (or just to run along with them at times). I have found my pitifully misunderstood</span> <span style="font-size:100%;color:#3366ff;"><strong>understander</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">and my favorite</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"><strong>manao-fier</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">(yes, that's Urdu) of all times. And I love him to pieces. He is the</span> <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ccccff;"><strong>scar</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">upon my life that I will</span> <span style="font-size:180%;color:#99ffff;"><strong>treasure</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">for eternity without ever applying anti-scar</span> <span style="color:#339999;"><strong>serum</strong></span> <span style="font-size:100%;">to make him <em>fade</em> away, or any make-up to</span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ffffff;">cover</span></strong> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">him up in useless filth. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;">*<span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>M</strong><span style="font-size:100%;">W</span><strong>A</strong></span><span style="font-size:100%;">H</span>* (:</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;color:#ffcccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#ffcccc;">P.S. Sorry for the abnormally long post so full of irrelevant crappety crap. Maafi please.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#ffcccc;">P.P.S. I missed you Bloggy, you're my best friend too. </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-44898191595882390722007-10-23T02:41:00.000+05:002007-10-23T03:07:56.234+05:00Drugs & Crossroads<span style="font-family:courier new;color:#ccccff;">I used to wonder what real <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ff6666;">happiness</span> </span>in the true sense of the word, really meant. I don't wonder anymore. Been there, done that. I wonder if it's true for everybody, or if it's just my <span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc33cc;">warped</span> sense of reality that causes me to believe that once one has been fortunate enough to have achieved a moment, an hour, a day, a month of true happiness (I have serious doubts that it could last longer than that), one lets go of the moment all too quickly. Happiness is not <span style="font-size:130%;color:#00cccc;">addictive</span>, but <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ffcccc;">misery</span> sure is. There lies a certain comfort in being truly, utterly, miserable. If I may put it this way - one begins to develop a <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ffcc33;">drug-like</span> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">dependancy</span> to that feeling of emptiness, loneliness... <span style="font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">helplessness</span>. </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#ccccff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#ccccff;">Just like a drug... not every kind can bring about the same <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">reaction</span>, nor live in the same <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffff00;">timeframe</span>. One can never really get the same <span style="font-size:180%;color:#c0c0c0;">'high'</span>, or so to say, from the same feeling of misery twice. Atleast this one can't. I find myself never being able to make the feeling of misery last as long the next time the same kind comes around (as <span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;">misery </span>tends to do). So I experiment with my mind. My conscious, sub-conscious and unconscious mind. I find ways to see how far I can <span style="font-size:85%;color:#996633;"><strong>push</strong></span> myself... I can now achieve that <span style="font-size:180%;color:#339999;">surreal epitome</span> of misery... that sublime point at which I feel like there is <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc66cc;">nothing</span> there; no expectations, and absolutely no hope of ever coming out of that self-dug <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff99ff;">grave</span> I continually dig deeper into for myself. Maybe I will reach a point where I have dug my grave of misery so deep that I can not come <span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"><strong>out</strong></span> of it. Maybe a night will come when I can not <span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">cry</span> myself to sleep anymore; when I can't achieve my peak of misery... where I can not imagine associating being miserable with lost hope and mistreated, <span style="font-size:180%;color:#6600cc;">abused</span> expectations. I suppose that would be the highest of all highs..... I suppose that would be the day when <strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffff99;">misery</span> </strong>will depart and winter will shower me in all its chilly winds and <span style="font-size:180%;color:#66ffff;"><strong>icy</strong></span> rains.... I suppose that feeling of not being able to achieve even the <span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffccff;"><strong>lowest</strong></span> level of misery, not being able to make oneself <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">hurt </span>anymore, can be called <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ffffcc;"><strong>c<span style="font-size:78%;">o</span>l<span style="font-size:130%;">d</span></strong></span>. We will discover it sooner or later... <span style="font-size:130%;color:#66ff99;">sooner</span>, rather than later in my case. </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#ccccff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#ccccff;">I can't <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff6666;"><strong>wait</strong></span> (:</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-62435773285321603452007-08-29T18:56:00.001+05:002008-09-30T19:54:37.908+06:00Whatever...<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#cc9933;">I hadn't seen it coming. I could never have fathomed that you would drop so low as to poke me with the wand that held my soul. Those countless hours and days and nights and months and years I spent spilling my guts out, pouring the contents of my heart into your already-full-with-memories-of-her heart where they fell into your world like tears, insignificant to the overflowing pool they fell into - I was so foolish. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#cc9933;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#cc9933;">Words don't mean a thing at all and it really is true. To think that I dedicated so many worthless pieces of crappy writing to you, that I lost count of all the words I didn't even know I could write - and you, with the flick of a mere sentence, ruined me. I didn't know you had it in you.</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-71669986482864808772007-07-04T11:32:00.000+05:002007-07-04T11:50:44.294+05:00Febreeze<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;">I haven't written in you for a really long time blogger, and I'm sorry. Boy, have I missed you!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;">Life has been a series of ups and downs lately. Being in a different country, not knowing what's going on and what all you left behind, not knowing what lies ahead of you, and not knowing how to cope with both can be the most difficult and confusing task in the world. Recent developments in my so-called life (or half-death) have left me feeling betrayed and unsure of what to expect. I know I don't deserve to dream. I also know I don't deserve to desire something that can never be mine, but it still hurts to see it about to belong to someone else. Does that make sense? I don't think it does. Lately, nothing makes sense. Okay, let's scratch the 'lately'. I think I say lately, lately, so it's not lately anymore... it's more like... all-the-time-ly. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;">How can you want two entirely diversely different, insanely opposite, utterly nonsensically impossible things at the very same time? I don't know if you can, but I know I sure do. And I also know that I have been the most focused, straight-thinking, crazily SANE person in the world all my life. And now I'm not. Or maybe I always was, and now I'm normal. I really don't know which way it applies, but nonetheless, I am at crossroads with what my life is offering me on one end (which is not so bad), and what I want to take from my life (which is just ooooh wow). I have my entire life waiting for me back in Pakistan and it's not like I've forgotten it or don't want to go back. I just want to stay here or go somewhere else and never look back again. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;">Only once in my life did I get to do what I really wanted to, with no boundaries or limitations or any form of guilt or regret or remorse for what could easily be classified as sin in the normal world. Only once in my life did I chance to meet a person who like me, was the most normal person in the world - who always stuck to the rules and made sure nobody got hurt. Yet, this normal person also became me in that instance and we together became two different people in one beautifully different world from the one we live in. Two people who lived their lives by the rules of others managed to do just the opposite. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;">I don't have the right to dream. But just for a moment in time, glazed in ice and freeze dried for eternity in the forever ticking clockwork of my mind - I caught a glimpse of heaven. You are my heaven and I will take you wherever I go. I might feel guilty for it for the rest of my life, but you belong here and no one can take you away. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><span style="color:#ffffcc;">Memories are like sugar-glazed cinnamon buns that finish up all too quickly, but leave that sweet stickiness on your fingers and in your mind for you to cherish and remember them for as long as you want to. Only, you can't lick them off or wash them away. Not even if you want to.</span> </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-56333385681295017932007-05-01T01:12:00.001+05:002007-05-01T01:12:45.747+05:00My Visual DNA<embed name="widget" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" align="middle" src="http://dna.imagini.net/friends/swf/widget.swf" width="340" height="240" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="bgcolor=#000000&i1=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_3E2C1F8F.jpeg&c1=&i2=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-52E88052.jpeg&c2=&i3=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_276D3B22.jpeg&c3=&i4=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-1A769636.jpeg&c4=&i5=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-35BAE085.jpeg&c5=&i6=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_60BD8C5F.jpeg&c6=&i7=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-5BFB07FF.jpeg&c7=&i8=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_2170B234.jpeg&c8=&i9=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_761F2B14.jpeg&c9=&i10=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-79837A73.jpeg&c10=&i11=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_3BBA58B3.jpeg&c11=&i12=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_17D8F487.jpeg&c12=&i13=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_791C6076.jpeg&c13=&moodlabel=WILD CAT&lovelabel=NICE N? CHEESY&funlabel=THRILLER&habitslabel=NEW WAVE PURITAN&uid=688165-b310&srv=iwebhd3" bgcolor="#000000" quality="best" enablejavascript="false" allownetworking="internal" allowscriptaccess="never"></embed> <div style="PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: rgb(150,150,150) 1px solid; MARGIN-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; FONT-SIZE: 11px; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; WIDTH: 340px; PADDING-TOP: 5px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; HEIGHT: 25px; BACKGROUND-COLOR: rgb(0,0,0); TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,255)" href="http://networking.imagini.blueorange.co.uk/vdna.php?uid=688165-b310&srv=iwebhd3">Read my VisualDNA</a><span style="font-size:10;color:#cccccc;">™</span> <a style="COLOR: rgb(255,255,255)" href="http://dna.imagini.net/friends/">Get your own VisualDNA™</a></div>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-42569199220756950432007-04-28T16:44:00.000+05:002007-04-28T16:54:24.461+05:00Multiple Fate Syndrome<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#ffffff;">I</span>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;">The biggest, strongest, most adamantly-sticky-to-the-theory, believer in <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">fate</span>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;">Why do I feel like there are a million things in store for me that are just <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">'</span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#999900;">meant</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">to</span> </span><span style="font-size:100%;color:#ff6666;">be</span><span style="font-size:85%;">'</span>, or at the very least (if I really narrow it down), <span style="font-size:180%;color:#00cccc;">two</span>. Two situations, the mere existences of which <em>should</em> be <span style="font-size:100%;">mutually </span><span style="color:#ff99ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">exclusive</span> </span>of one another... i.e. no overlapping. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Overlapping</span> of two very diverse, yet horrifyingly similar situations, from which I can only choose one and <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ccccff;">neither</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">is</span> </span><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffcc00;">better</span> than the other! </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6600;">I wonder. Does this happen to everyone or am I the only one with this <span style="font-size:100%;color:#cc0000;"><strong>disease</strong></span>?</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-56645253769877952822007-04-28T16:23:00.000+05:002007-04-28T16:43:54.099+05:00A Secret Rendezvous<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JHg2q5M6WnY" width="425" height="350" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"><strong><em></em></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"><strong><em>The Fray - How to Save a Life...</em></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Step one you say we need to talk</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">He walks you say sit down it's just a talk</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">He smiles politely back at you</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">You stare politely right on through</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Some sort of window to your right</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">As he goes left and you stay right</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Between the lines of fear and blame</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">And you begin to wonder why you came</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Somewhere along in the bitterness</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">And I would have stayed up with you all night</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Had I known how to save a life</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Let him know that you know best</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Cause after all you do know best</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Try to slip past his defense</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Without granting innocence</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Lay down a list of what is wrong</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">The things you've told him all along</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">And pray to God he hears you</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Somewhere along in the bitternessA</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">nd I would have stayed up with you all night</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Had I known how to save a life</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">As he begins to raise his voice</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">You lower yours and grant him one last choice</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Drive until you lose the road</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Or break with the ones you've followed</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">He will do one of two things </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">He will admit to everything</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Or he'll say he's just not the same</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">And you'll begin to wonder why you came</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">Somewhere along in the bitterness</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;">And I would have stayed up with you all night</span><br /><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Had I known how to save a life</span> </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1169318350444711152007-01-20T23:26:00.000+05:002007-01-20T23:49:03.930+05:00Bloody Paper<span style="font-size:85%;color:#cc0000;"><strong>Paper...<br /><br />One picks me up, tears me into large, rough scraps and leaves me in a pile to wait for the wind, who obviously doesn't want me either, to blow my ragged pieces far and wide.<br /><br />Another comes along and reads what is written on me... he finds me intriguing and tries to pick up the scraps of me, unable to trace a few that have hidden themselves amongst the surroundings. After a bit, he gets bored and tore my larger scraps into smaller bits with rough, burnt edges. He too leaves me to the wind, and she again dutifully scatters me far and wide.<br /><br />I am a frequent visitor and she knows she hasn't seen the last of me.<br /><br />Yet another comes along and gathers up my pieces - or what he is able to find of them. There are now all shapes and sizes in the pile he is able to compile. He too bores of me soon and tears me further, into tiny, irrepairable scraps of paper with random, illegible, fading bits of insight scrawled on a few.<br /><br />This time though.. the wind is tired of me.<br />She collects all my parts; big, small and tiny, and hides me. She leaves me in a corner to fade and die with age as she knows I am now of no use.. or value... to anyone. </strong></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1166364732081226122006-12-17T18:54:00.000+05:002006-12-17T19:19:18.273+05:00I wonder<span style="font-family:verdana;color:#99cc99;">I wonder if everything related to you exists for another, parallel reason of a perpendicular <span style="font-size:85%;color:#9999cc;">philosophy</span> than the one I've convinced myself to think on the lines of.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#99cc99;">I wonder if your <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc99cc;"><strong>perfection</strong></span> is directly proportional to my ability to see outside the <strong><span style="color:#ccccff;">box</span></strong> of '<span style="font-size:180%;color:#3399cc;">you</span>'. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#99cc99;">I</span><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#99cc99;"> wonder if maybe... just maybe... my <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">idealization</span> of you, branches from the mere reason that I've never opened my eyes to anyone or anything else outside your world where I reside and wait for you <span style="color:#cc0066;">when you're not around</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#99cc99;">I wonder if someday <span style="font-size:180%;color:#339999;"><strong>I</strong></span> will be the box that someone will find themselves not being able to <span style="color:#336666;"><span style="font-size:130%;">see</span><span style="color:#99cc99;">,</span><strong> <span style="color:#ff9999;">think</span></strong><span style="color:#99cc99;">,</span> <span style="font-size:85%;">act</span><strong> <span style="color:#99cc99;">and</span> <span style="font-size:180%;color:#009999;">love</span></strong></span> outside of.</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1166302692712733862006-12-17T01:47:00.000+05:002006-12-17T01:59:10.456+05:00<span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><span style="color:#ffffff;">)</span></span><span style="color:#339999;"><strong>:</strong></span></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1161113451040379922006-10-18T00:00:00.000+05:002006-10-18T00:30:51.166+05:00*grumble*grumble*<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">I'm <span style="font-size:130%;">fat</span>, <strong>ugly</strong> and <span style="font-size:180%;color:#c0c0c0;">demotivated</span>. That's all I am. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">De... moti-waited... :/ Yes, I'm <span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">lame</span> too. Do you have a problem with that? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">I wish that I was a 'tez-larki'... I wish that I could perfect the art of the 'cold stare' that shuts people up when they are rattling on about one (often more) of your incompetencies infront of the entire world. I wish I could do the <span style="font-size:180%;color:#ffffff;">icy</span> gaze my friends are so good at... the one that says 'I may be a useless ball of accumulating fat (ew)... but you're a <strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcc66;">dead</span></strong> useless ball of accumulat<strong><em>ed</em> </strong>fat if you so much as say a <span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>word</strong></span> hereafter'... </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">I wish that when someone was <span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">annoying</span> the hell out of me by constantly yacking on and on and on and on about all the <span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>happinesses</strong></span> in their life, and causing <span style="font-size:130%;color:#00cccc;">puffs</span> of silent, invisible smoke to escape my rather large ears, I could say '<span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc9933;">Please</span> shut up. Can you not see that I have a gazillion not-necessarily-better, but definitely more-<span style="font-size:100%;color:#33ccff;"><strong>interestingly</strong></span>-dull things to do with my life at this point in time?'... </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">I just half-heartedly took an online IQ Test to raise my <span style="font-size:180%;"><strong><span style="color:#ccccff;">spirits</span> </strong></span>slightly, and it turns out that I'm some kind of a <span style="font-size:130%;">'<span style="color:#cc66cc;">Word</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">Warrior</span>'</span> with an IQ that is on average, higher than 80 to 90% of everyone else that's ever taken the test. I wonder where the eff that wordy warriorness goes, when I'm being screamed at by <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;">Banshees</span> Unanimous. Instead I become '<span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Meek</strong></span> Mousy'.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">The most disappointing factor in this whole scenario is that <span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;"><strong>this</strong></span>, is the first problem I've ever come across in my entire 22 years... that can not be solved (even partially) by <span style="font-size:100%;color:#ffffff;"><strong>chocolate</strong></span>. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;color:#66cccc;"><strong>*sigh*</strong></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1160259111107366152006-10-08T02:33:00.000+05:002006-10-08T19:01:06.020+05:00Tagged<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I am thinking about...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Running away</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I said...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Something unintelligible under my breath that could pass off as a *mumble*mumble*</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I want to...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Fly. Breathe underwater. Get thinner</span><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;">I wish...</span><br /></strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">to be able to look myself in the mirror and tell myself and God, I am sorry for every sin I've committed... when I'm not</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I miss...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">PFB and my childhood</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I hear...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Voices in my head</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I wonder...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Too much, and know too little </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I regret...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Getting too attached to anyone I've ever loved that doesn't love me anymore. Well no, not really. I regret not learning a little more than I have from everything I've been a part of</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;">I am...</span><br /></strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">A classic idiot. By dictionary definition.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I dance...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">To every beat that chances to touch my eardrums</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I sing...</strong> </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Uninvited and Wonderwall. I <strong>can</strong> sing, pretty much anything and everything. I'm glad no one knows it though</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I cry...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">myself to sleep too many nights, unnecessarily</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I am not always...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc6699;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><span style="color:#cc6699;">as motivating for myself as I am for other people when it comes to thinking clearly and taking smart decisions</span> </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I write...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Exactly the way I think</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I confuse...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Every single person I know (myself included)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I need...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">A lot of attention. Acceptance. Mystery. Madness. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6699cc;"><strong>I should try...</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">Everything atleast once in my life</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;"><strong><span style="font-size:100%;color:#6699cc;">I finish...</span></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#cc6699;">an unhealthy amount of chocolate every day (: *yum*</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#6699cc;">Okay... people I want to tag........ Xeb, Unaiza, Ozair and Rooj (: Whoever has the time and patience ;) </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1159815751692573592006-10-02T23:51:00.000+05:002006-10-03T00:02:31.706+05:00Jeej / Uss Ki Yaad Mein<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="color:#669999;">woh ik pagal si larki thi<br />khuaab they usskey barey barey<br />din bhar woh sapnay bunti thi<br />rung o khushboo sey bharey huey<br />umeed ka dia jala ker woh<br />aanch per uss ki jalti thi<br />uss ki shamma key dhalney per<br />shaam uss ki bhi dhalti thi<br /><br />woh ik masoom si larki thi<br />barishoon mein nahati thi<br />per badaloon key garajney per<br />thori woh dar si jati thi<br />woh ik nadaan si larki thi<br />khuahishoon sey ghabrati thi<br />sachai ka daman tham key woh<br />jhoot uss key nibhati thi<br /><br />ab sochoon to yaad buhat ati hai<br />iss soch mein shaam dhal jati hai hai<br />kioon usko na jan saka koi<br />kioon usko kisi ney na dekha<br /><br />un hathoon ki bayrang mehndi mein<br />kitnay they wadey basay huey<br />un hontoon ki uss khamosh larzish mein<br />kitnay they raz chuipay huay<br />un ankhoon key behtay kajal mein<br />kitnay sapnay they samey huey<br /><br />woh ik pagal si larki thi.........</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#cc6699;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The most delicious feeling in the world has to be when someone does something for you that renders all arguments of 'I'm not important enough' utterly false. When you thought only you were capable of doing all things 'genuine' and special for someone else because that's been the order for every year preceding this one. Thank you (:</span> </span></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1159662373035094452006-10-01T05:10:00.000+05:002006-10-01T05:33:49.546+05:00Romance?<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">When I was younger, the conceptual definition of 'romance' for me was all about being in the presence of someone who was enticing, in a situation of close proximity with my heart beating all over the place. Someone whom I would look at and a shiver would run up my spine and stars would pour out of my eyes like in the cartoons. I thought 'romance' was something that involved that feeling of butterflies in my tummy right before I met or when I looked into the eyes of someone special (or just a hot guy I'd been eyeing). It was that moment... that 'moment' when everything in the world would just fall into place (or fade into nonexistence) and everything would lose importance over the mere feeling of being in that space and time with that person or thing or place - whichever happened to be the subject of desire at the time. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">Little has changed, I'm afraid. But just a while ago, I discovered a new meaning for romance. Romance isn't about men for women and women for men. Romance really has little and sometimes absolutely nothing to do with the opposite gender! I see it everywhere. Hell yeah. Everywhere.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">This cliched romance is in dreaming about running off to England to do a Masters, and meeting all kinds of new (and old) people. Romance is in dreaming of a special hug I want to give someone I'll meet there. Romance is in the freedom I dream of. Romance is in the novel I read, in the movie I saw. Romance is in lying in bed and thinking beautiful thoughts about a job I'll have one day that'll pay me thrice what I'm being paid now! Romance is in the walls and in my glow-in-the-dark-star-covered ceiling! Romance is conjuring up the wildest of philosophies about the most pointless of things and conveying them to someone who's really, <em>really</em> interested - someone who will love me for the very wackiness of my thinking abilities! </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">Romance is even in wanting to commit the darkest, most beautiful of sins... and having a conscience too big to allow one to go through with it at the last minute. Romance is in goodbyes, romance is in rejections. Romance is in tears and romance is in uncontrollable, cheek-aching laughter that only some can relate to and fewer can share with me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">Overuse of the word 'romance', people. I'm ditzy. Could I be in love?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">A love affair with life. Hmmm. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">Now that is <em>one </em>affair I'll never feel guilty about saying 'yes' to... </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#996699;">Indulge ;) </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1156681457155279692006-08-27T16:46:00.000+05:002006-08-27T17:32:30.636+05:00Random Psychobabble<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">Another 3:30 a.m. with no signs of sleep and no will to call up a random friend and talk about nothing in particular. Reaching under the bed for a pen, (pens do have a habit of rolling into the unlikeliest of places in the middle of the morning, don't they?) she wonders if the hour of being able to write anything that makes sense has long passed by. Wincing as her hand traces the outline of a stray dustball, her fingers touch the cold, metallic spiral of a ragged-edged.. what is it?.. a paperback it seems. Hooking her finger into the end of the spiral, she pulls it out with careful precision for fear that there will be mucky dirt and crawling spiders tracing their way over her knuckles by the time it reaches eye-level. A surprisingly bright pink notebook makes it's way out with her finger. It has a blue, glittery flower on it and the word 'Journal' printed under a thin film of dust.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">'Uh oh,' she thinks. 'Never thought I'd see <strong>you</strong> again,' she says out loud in a bitter tone, scrunching up her nose as if to brace herself from the stench of faded, old memories. Taking a deep breath, she gingerly raises the front cover to find a name of the present printed on the first page... ... A name that replaces the expression of disgust to a faint hint of a smile. She begins to read the notorious records of memories old and new, that had been stashed clumsily away under her bed during a bout of depression after which she solemnly vowed never to write in that blasted diary again. 'Well, I never said I wouldn't <strong>read</strong> it,' she ponders as she scans page after page. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">Every page is written in an ink of a different color than the last. Every entry has a date and a time written on it and the hint of a thought runs through her mind as she wonders why all the entries are written after one in the morning. At the end of every day's episode, there is a name... the same name printed with the intricate self-designed logo on the front page of the journal... written in a different style, with a different form of art each time. Sometimes the name is joined to hers. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">As she flips through page after page, the entries get shorter. 'As did my hope,' she thinks silently to herself. A tear escapes the corner of her left eye and falls as if preplanned, onto the word 'anniversary' printed in bold black letters on an entry dated '10th Feb, 2006 - 12:01 a.m.'. All of the pages written after that date seem to hold am ambience of melancholy and the tone turns from one of anger and scolding, to one of misery and silent pain. Every page holds the same complaint... the same plea for attention... and in every subsequent entry, it is evident that the plea remains unanswered.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">Through the haze, she can see that the drops of fresh tears are doing nothing to damage the already tear-stained page filled with words of questioning disbelief and hurt written on her birthday. The pages turn blank soon after and she reaches for the phone to call the man who's name is ringing in her mind - the image of the name at the front of the journal flashing through her mind, reminding her of the hours of painstaking effort that went into designing every intricate detail of that journal. It was to be a gift. A gift of love. Every month she would think of handing it over to its rightful owner, and would hesitantly draw back from the thought and postpone it to the next. She fears it would not be valued. She fears it will be laughed at... or worse yet, ignored. Like she has been... what had seemed like a trivial reason for the heartfelt entries of sorrow in her journal, has somehow over the course of time, become the reason for prolonged pain and a distance that can now, never be crossed between the two.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">Replacing the notebook in its place of rest and lying back against her bed with the lights out, she wipes the last tear from her eye. She can't help taking one last, prolonged look at her cell phone to see if maybe she has missed a call. There is no call; but still a question of 'What if...?' lurks in a corner of her heart. 'Maybe tomorrow,' she murmurs under her breath, as a disturbed, restless sleep finally takes over her at 5 a.m. replacing her disturbed thoughts with deafening dreams, drowning out the sorrow in her heart with one of a higher degree...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">She awakens in the morning, with a heavy heart and reaches for the phone. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#0099cc;">'Wound, Stain, Rinse, Repeat' is the schedule of the day... every day.</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1156615863349070892006-08-26T23:04:00.000+05:002006-08-26T23:15:24.123+05:00Dance with me baybee<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0099;">I haven't blogged in years, it seems. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0099;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0099;">My life is full of the kind of happiness only Maltesers, Mc Donald's, sunshine, good friends, a pay that fulfills (even exceeds) my requirements of buying gifts for everyone I love all month, lots of new and interesting music, and of course; lots of lurve - can bring! </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0099;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0099;">The more I get, the more I want.. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc0099;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0099;">Human nature is quite a bitch, you know. Blame her, not me.. ;)</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1151185001342637012006-06-25T02:17:00.000+05:002006-06-28T09:52:54.730+05:00Soul, where art thou?<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color:#996699;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I seem to have lost my <span style="color:#0066cc;"><strong>conscience</strong></span>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If anyone happens to come across it in a neighborhood trashcan, hiding behind a tree, or lurking around somewhere amongst the shadows of time, don't send it back to me - it doesn't belong to or with me. Keep it. It's a good one.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Conscience = lacking </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Empathy = negative</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Religion = very little / none</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#99ccff;">Are you there?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#669999;">High, high, higher</span></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1151044461723026902006-06-23T11:26:00.000+05:002006-06-23T11:34:21.740+05:00Phooey<span style="font-family:arial;color:#33ccff;">I'm scared of the prospect of marriage. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ccff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ccff;">I'm dubious of anybody being able to tolerate me for the rest of their lives while retaining their sanity. I'm curious to know if I'm really interesting enough to keep my hubby amused and interested until he's reached an age where he won't stray. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ccff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#33ccff;">I'm worried of being on the other end of this story :P</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1148324424530789432006-05-22T23:57:00.000+05:002006-05-23T00:00:24.563+05:00-----<span style="font-family:arial;color:#cc6699;">Someone understands me.</span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1147786180725878762006-05-16T18:17:00.000+05:002006-05-16T18:32:13.766+05:00Hence proven<a href="http://sincater.blogspot.com"><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ccccff;">Shani</span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;">'Please don’t let any Fashion Guru define your wardrobes' -- okay and so, we should let <strong><em>you</em></strong> define our wardrobes instead?<br /><br />I wrote a post about the short-shirt phenomenon in my own blog. I commented on how the male species of the population have serious staring issues. Why should we not 'go public' with what we wear? Why should men's staring habits cause us to dress excessively and yes, hideously to hide every curve... when at the end of the day, you men will hunt them out with your spying eyes anyway? Why should women not wear what they want to wear only because the men of Pakistan violate them with their looks... whether they wear long, short or NO shirts(regardless of whether its because of a fashion guru, or a trend, or simple comfort)?<br /><br />If I like my bottom in a short short shirt and a big big shalwar... I shouldn't have to justify it to ANY man in the world. Have you ever heard or of seen women stare the knickers off a man simply because of what he was wearing???? We see teenage wannabe boys standing around all the time with their jeans falling off their behinds and their boxers showing most obscenely from everywhere. Has it ever made a difference to us? Never. Have we ever commented? Never. Have we even cared? Never. Men do not cease to flash the flesh (and the body parts) in teeny tiny shorts and itty bitty sleevelesses, sickeningly tight pants, obscenely baggy ones and WHAT not.<br /><br />But to this day, I have never in my life GAWKED at one until he felt like digging a hole in the ground and burying himself in it to save himself from 'undressing' eyes.... nor have I ever bothered myself with a second look at the details of his clothing, the pleats, the size of his bottom or the unnervingly bare, hairy legs, arms and flashing other things (unless I have an attractive interest in the man and he's making ME look bad)! I might not like it, I might not appreciate it, I may not find it to be 'all that' and I may not want to be caught dead seen with a man dressed so hideously..... but hey! He ain't dressing up for me OR for anyone else.... and even if he is, it's none of my concern. His clothes aren't important enough to give them even a second glance, much less a second thought. You want to push opinions on a woman's clothing.... you do it once you're married to her, if and when she allows you to pass the judgement. No random woman / friend / acquaintance / stranger is going to appreciate your pervy looks.... much less your uncalled for suggestions on what fashion to follow and what not to follow. Some women dress a certain way to follow trends, some to defy them... and others simply don't care.<br /><br />What ANY random person wears is none of my business, nor do I wish to make it mine. I could not care less. It would be REALLY nice if you could share the same respect for a woman's clothing and her right to love the way her bottom looks in any clothing she may choose to complement it!!!<br /><br />Phew! </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1147719928210443172006-05-15T23:54:00.000+05:002006-05-16T00:05:28.230+05:00One love?<span style="font-family:courier new;color:#ff3399;">Do you think it's possible that we only fall in love only once? - A question posed by<span style="color:#ffff33;"> </span><a href="http://xebilicious.blogspot.com"><span style="color:#9966cc;">Xeb</span></a> that made me pause for a moment and think.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#ff3399;">Luv shmuv. A lifetime is a long long time, and I think everyone falls in and out of love a hundred and one times during it! Honestly, I sometimes have trouble deciding if I've never been in love at all, or if I've been in love every single time. I end up getting myself so emotionally attached to things and people that it's hard to figure out whether love exists at all or if it's just all over the place. Hey, what can I say... I'm a very loving person?!! I've been in love every time. Every single time, whether it was a friend, a pet, an acquaintance, an object or a boy.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#ff3399;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;color:#ff3399;">Anyone who says they've never been in love with anyone or that they've only fallen in love once (when put in terms of the notoriously phenomenal boy-girl relationship), is quite frankly, either lying through their teeth... or is just trapped in a maze of eternal denial.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"><span style="color:#ff3399;">Either love doesn't exist at ALL (which would explain why it happens so many times)... or it just isn't as unique and 'one'ly as its cliched to be.</span></span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11903413.post-1147696630316308212006-05-15T17:25:00.000+05:002006-05-15T17:37:10.340+05:00Budday hues<span style="font-family:arial;color:#cc6699;">Lows:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;">Forgotten birthday promises. Broken hearts. Shattered expectations. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;">Sinking feelings. </span><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;">My best friend. Concinving myself he's gone for good. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;">Salty tears of sweet pain. Praying to no avail. Watching the sun rise through a veil of bitter tears. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#cc6699;">Highs:</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;">High resolve. Unexpected phone calls. Coffee mousse cake. New friends. Fan. Love.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#99ccff;">Bittersweet heartache. Feeling emotionally moved. Looking good, feeling gorgeous. Meaningful looks. Special messages. Chinese food. Loving looks. Raindrops where the rain don't pour. Sunshine under the moon. Smiles. Tinkling laughter. Hugs. Kisses. More hugs. Confessions. Apologies. </span>Reej Qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05933917477757060954noreply@blogger.com0