I used to wonder what real happiness 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 warped 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 addictive, but misery sure is. There lies a certain comfort in being truly, utterly, miserable. If I may put it this way - one begins to develop a drug-like dependancy to that feeling of emptiness, loneliness... helplessness.
Just like a drug... not every kind can bring about the same reaction, nor live in the same timeframe. One can never really get the same 'high', 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 misery 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 push myself... I can now achieve that surreal epitome of misery... that sublime point at which I feel like there is nothing there; no expectations, and absolutely no hope of ever coming out of that self-dug grave 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 out of it. Maybe a night will come when I can not cry 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, abused expectations. I suppose that would be the highest of all highs..... I suppose that would be the day when misery will depart and winter will shower me in all its chilly winds and icy rains.... I suppose that feeling of not being able to achieve even the lowest level of misery, not being able to make oneself hurt anymore, can be called cold. We will discover it sooner or later... sooner, rather than later in my case.
I can't wait (:
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Whatever...
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Febreeze
I haven't written in you for a really long time blogger, and I'm sorry. Boy, have I missed you!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Multiple Fate Syndrome
I.
The biggest, strongest, most adamantly-sticky-to-the-theory, believer in fate.
Why do I feel like there are a million things in store for me that are just 'meant to be', or at the very least (if I really narrow it down), two. Two situations, the mere existences of which should be mutually exclusive of one another... i.e. no overlapping.
Overlapping of two very diverse, yet horrifyingly similar situations, from which I can only choose one and neither is better than the other!
I wonder. Does this happen to everyone or am I the only one with this disease?
The biggest, strongest, most adamantly-sticky-to-the-theory, believer in fate.
Why do I feel like there are a million things in store for me that are just 'meant to be', or at the very least (if I really narrow it down), two. Two situations, the mere existences of which should be mutually exclusive of one another... i.e. no overlapping.
Overlapping of two very diverse, yet horrifyingly similar situations, from which I can only choose one and neither is better than the other!
I wonder. Does this happen to everyone or am I the only one with this disease?
A Secret Rendezvous
The Fray - How to Save a Life...
Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitternessA
nd I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Bloody Paper
Paper...
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.
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.
I am a frequent visitor and she knows she hasn't seen the last of me.
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.
This time though.. the wind is tired of me.
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.
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.
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.
I am a frequent visitor and she knows she hasn't seen the last of me.
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.
This time though.. the wind is tired of me.
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.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
I wonder
I wonder if everything related to you exists for another, parallel reason of a perpendicular philosophy than the one I've convinced myself to think on the lines of.
I wonder if your perfection is directly proportional to my ability to see outside the box of 'you'.
I wonder if maybe... just maybe... my idealization 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 when you're not around.
I wonder if someday I will be the box that someone will find themselves not being able to see, think, act and love outside of.
I wonder if your perfection is directly proportional to my ability to see outside the box of 'you'.
I wonder if maybe... just maybe... my idealization 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 when you're not around.
I wonder if someday I will be the box that someone will find themselves not being able to see, think, act and love outside of.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
*grumble*grumble*
I'm fat, ugly and demotivated. That's all I am.
De... moti-waited... :/ Yes, I'm lame too. Do you have a problem with that?
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 icy 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 dead useless ball of accumulated fat if you so much as say a word hereafter'...
I wish that when someone was annoying the hell out of me by constantly yacking on and on and on and on about all the happinesses in their life, and causing puffs of silent, invisible smoke to escape my rather large ears, I could say 'Please shut up. Can you not see that I have a gazillion not-necessarily-better, but definitely more-interestingly-dull things to do with my life at this point in time?'...
I just half-heartedly took an online IQ Test to raise my spirits slightly, and it turns out that I'm some kind of a 'Word Warrior' 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 Banshees Unanimous. Instead I become 'Meek Mousy'.
The most disappointing factor in this whole scenario is that this, is the first problem I've ever come across in my entire 22 years... that can not be solved (even partially) by chocolate.
*sigh*
De... moti-waited... :/ Yes, I'm lame too. Do you have a problem with that?
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 icy 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 dead useless ball of accumulated fat if you so much as say a word hereafter'...
I wish that when someone was annoying the hell out of me by constantly yacking on and on and on and on about all the happinesses in their life, and causing puffs of silent, invisible smoke to escape my rather large ears, I could say 'Please shut up. Can you not see that I have a gazillion not-necessarily-better, but definitely more-interestingly-dull things to do with my life at this point in time?'...
I just half-heartedly took an online IQ Test to raise my spirits slightly, and it turns out that I'm some kind of a 'Word Warrior' 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 Banshees Unanimous. Instead I become 'Meek Mousy'.
The most disappointing factor in this whole scenario is that this, is the first problem I've ever come across in my entire 22 years... that can not be solved (even partially) by chocolate.
*sigh*
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Tagged
I am thinking about...
Running away
I said...
Something unintelligible under my breath that could pass off as a *mumble*mumble*
I want to...
Fly. Breathe underwater. Get thinner
I wish...
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
I miss...
PFB and my childhood
I hear...
Voices in my head
I wonder...
Too much, and know too little
I regret...
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
I am...
A classic idiot. By dictionary definition.
I dance...
To every beat that chances to touch my eardrums
I sing...
Uninvited and Wonderwall. I can sing, pretty much anything and everything. I'm glad no one knows it though
I cry...
myself to sleep too many nights, unnecessarily
I am not always...
as motivating for myself as I am for other people when it comes to thinking clearly and taking smart decisions
I write...
Exactly the way I think
I confuse...
Every single person I know (myself included)
I need...
A lot of attention. Acceptance. Mystery. Madness.
I should try...
Everything atleast once in my life
I finish...
an unhealthy amount of chocolate every day (: *yum*
Okay... people I want to tag........ Xeb, Unaiza, Ozair and Rooj (: Whoever has the time and patience ;)
Running away
I said...
Something unintelligible under my breath that could pass off as a *mumble*mumble*
I want to...
Fly. Breathe underwater. Get thinner
I wish...
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
I miss...
PFB and my childhood
I hear...
Voices in my head
I wonder...
Too much, and know too little
I regret...
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
I am...
A classic idiot. By dictionary definition.
I dance...
To every beat that chances to touch my eardrums
I sing...
Uninvited and Wonderwall. I can sing, pretty much anything and everything. I'm glad no one knows it though
I cry...
myself to sleep too many nights, unnecessarily
I am not always...
as motivating for myself as I am for other people when it comes to thinking clearly and taking smart decisions
I write...
Exactly the way I think
I confuse...
Every single person I know (myself included)
I need...
A lot of attention. Acceptance. Mystery. Madness.
I should try...
Everything atleast once in my life
I finish...
an unhealthy amount of chocolate every day (: *yum*
Okay... people I want to tag........ Xeb, Unaiza, Ozair and Rooj (: Whoever has the time and patience ;)
Monday, October 02, 2006
Jeej / Uss Ki Yaad Mein
woh ik pagal si larki thi
khuaab they usskey barey barey
din bhar woh sapnay bunti thi
rung o khushboo sey bharey huey
umeed ka dia jala ker woh
aanch per uss ki jalti thi
uss ki shamma key dhalney per
shaam uss ki bhi dhalti thi
woh ik masoom si larki thi
barishoon mein nahati thi
per badaloon key garajney per
thori woh dar si jati thi
woh ik nadaan si larki thi
khuahishoon sey ghabrati thi
sachai ka daman tham key woh
jhoot uss key nibhati thi
ab sochoon to yaad buhat ati hai
iss soch mein shaam dhal jati hai hai
kioon usko na jan saka koi
kioon usko kisi ney na dekha
un hathoon ki bayrang mehndi mein
kitnay they wadey basay huey
un hontoon ki uss khamosh larzish mein
kitnay they raz chuipay huay
un ankhoon key behtay kajal mein
kitnay sapnay they samey huey
woh ik pagal si larki thi.........
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 (:
khuaab they usskey barey barey
din bhar woh sapnay bunti thi
rung o khushboo sey bharey huey
umeed ka dia jala ker woh
aanch per uss ki jalti thi
uss ki shamma key dhalney per
shaam uss ki bhi dhalti thi
woh ik masoom si larki thi
barishoon mein nahati thi
per badaloon key garajney per
thori woh dar si jati thi
woh ik nadaan si larki thi
khuahishoon sey ghabrati thi
sachai ka daman tham key woh
jhoot uss key nibhati thi
ab sochoon to yaad buhat ati hai
iss soch mein shaam dhal jati hai hai
kioon usko na jan saka koi
kioon usko kisi ney na dekha
un hathoon ki bayrang mehndi mein
kitnay they wadey basay huey
un hontoon ki uss khamosh larzish mein
kitnay they raz chuipay huay
un ankhoon key behtay kajal mein
kitnay sapnay they samey huey
woh ik pagal si larki thi.........
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 (:
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Romance?
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.
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.
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, really interested - someone who will love me for the very wackiness of my thinking abilities!
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.
Overuse of the word 'romance', people. I'm ditzy. Could I be in love?
A love affair with life. Hmmm.
Now that is one affair I'll never feel guilty about saying 'yes' to...
Indulge ;)
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.
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, really interested - someone who will love me for the very wackiness of my thinking abilities!
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.
Overuse of the word 'romance', people. I'm ditzy. Could I be in love?
A love affair with life. Hmmm.
Now that is one affair I'll never feel guilty about saying 'yes' to...
Indulge ;)
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Random Psychobabble
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.
'Uh oh,' she thinks. 'Never thought I'd see you 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 read it,' she ponders as she scans page after page.
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.
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.
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.
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...
She awakens in the morning, with a heavy heart and reaches for the phone.
'Wound, Stain, Rinse, Repeat' is the schedule of the day... every day.
'Uh oh,' she thinks. 'Never thought I'd see you 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 read it,' she ponders as she scans page after page.
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.
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.
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.
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...
She awakens in the morning, with a heavy heart and reaches for the phone.
'Wound, Stain, Rinse, Repeat' is the schedule of the day... every day.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Dance with me baybee
I haven't blogged in years, it seems.
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!
The more I get, the more I want..
Human nature is quite a bitch, you know. Blame her, not me.. ;)
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!
The more I get, the more I want..
Human nature is quite a bitch, you know. Blame her, not me.. ;)
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Soul, where art thou?
I seem to have lost my conscience.
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.
Conscience = lacking
Empathy = negative
Religion = very little / none
Are you there?
High, high, higher
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.
Conscience = lacking
Empathy = negative
Religion = very little / none
Are you there?
High, high, higher
Friday, June 23, 2006
Phooey
I'm scared of the prospect of marriage.
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.
I'm worried of being on the other end of this story :P
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.
I'm worried of being on the other end of this story :P
Monday, May 22, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Hence proven
Shani
'Please don’t let any Fashion Guru define your wardrobes' -- okay and so, we should let you define our wardrobes instead?
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)?
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.
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.
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!!!
Phew!
'Please don’t let any Fashion Guru define your wardrobes' -- okay and so, we should let you define our wardrobes instead?
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)?
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.
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.
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!!!
Phew!
Monday, May 15, 2006
One love?
Do you think it's possible that we only fall in love only once? - A question posed by Xeb that made me pause for a moment and think.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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