You and Me

It isn't mine, nor his. It's ours. For the first time in my life, It's ours. I think...no...I know...i'm in love.

There is an image, in my mind. He is lying on his bed, awaiting me. The filtered sunshine is falling on his back from the window. He is wearing that shirt I love and a smile. I could sit and stare for a lifetime.

I think of you. You make me sit. You catch the stray hair falling on my face and place them behind my ears. You hold my face in your palm and stare. I want to capture that look in your eyes.

I love the way you look at me.

I sometimes fear waking up. Maybe he doesn't exist. Maybe I needed someone like him so much, I created him from thin air. But then I touch him, I lye in his arms, i feel his lips on my face and I know he's real. I know he's mine.

I didn't think love like this existed. We aren't in a rush. Everything is smooth and easy. I help him get along in life, he pushes me on my way. Yet, we wait a while to stare into each others eyes for what seems like forever.

I don't care how long you and I last. I've already had the time of my life.

Debaters and Co: sounding like they know everything even if they don't since 1963

So after two hectic days, LUMS IV is finally over. No wait today are the semis and the final. Over for me that is.

After two tears of training for debates, we realized two weeks ago that there was no point if we didn't go to competitions. The academic year thus started with LUMS IV 2010.

In the afternoon on Friday, the two teams assembled. The usual enthusiasm was evident. No one had read any newspaper in the previous week, I had forgotten hoe my debates notebook and our only resource were two TIME magazine copies that Saman had found in the trash. While Nada located the driver and the car, we read those. North Korea was facing new sanctions from the US and china had become the 2nd largest economy in the world. That was enough for the day. After Osheen prepared for the long trip to LUMS with 10 Bubble Your Name chewing gums, 3 fruit juices and a bottle of water, we were off. On the way we discussed every one's non existent love affairs with some male debaters we could name, with the usual loud and clear 'fuck' and 'sex' for the driver to hear.

Upon arriving, we were dropped in the parking lot. We stood in the sun, acting like tourists, even though three out of the four of us had spend significant amount of time on the campus. Luckily we found a KC teacher there (weird I know). As she happily approached us from afar, I quickly narrated a fart joke that involved that very same teacher. Only I laughed. Apparently no one finds fart jokes funny. Not even if they are cracked in the staffroom.

Three hours and 5.5 million perverted jokes later, we were given the topic.

THW allow political parties to designate certain pre-election clams as binding promise, the breaking of which would trigger immediate free elections.

Total prep time was 15 minutes. 6 and a half minutes we spent trying to note the long topic down. For the next 3 and a half minutes we looked for the room (which was actually a closet) and so prepared our case in 5 minutes. We got third and after that we were free. I hung out with a friend and discussed the usual girl stuff about evolutionary biology and the co-relation between intelligence and aptitude.

Early the next morning the second round started.

THW give foreign residents the right to vote in general elections.

The only issue was that the only research i had done the previous night was how good the KFC hotshots taste. The debate was about foreign residents, I talked about immigrants. I had a bad case, plus the unpleasant FC boys were standing in their seats and laughing loudly at every word I said. Can be distracting. Anyway we got 4th that time. Sorry, my bad.

Third round began after 2 slices of pizza.

THW allow doctors to actively lie to their patients in order to create or augment a placebo effect.

Finally I got some form back. Mid way I even got angry and started pointing at those cute little aitchisonian boys who're just so annoying with their pink faces, annoying interjections and simplistic arguments that one could thrash but can't.

With the fourth round came the real fun.

THBT the answer to democracy is more democracy.

Now mischief was in the air and I decided, lets play wit the topic because we're totally cool awesome experienced debaters. After some outside help (ahem), we decided, lets define democracy as free trade......FREE TRADE!!!!!

With a blank page I sat, thinking how to go through with this. Apparently the judge had been looking for us for the past 10 minutes. He found us, scolded us and called us in the room. I entered with a blank page. Inside the room, I took the only line of argument we had and broke it in two. Off I went to speak, being the opening speaker of the debate. As soon as i said 'and we define democracy as free trade', the whole closet, i mean room, made that 'KC does it again' face. Our partner team almost fainted while the opposition couldn't help but laugh out loud. I completed my 7 minutes and sat down. On came LGS kinder garden and gave us a definitional challenge. I sat back with a big smile and thought to myself 'now i will enjoy this debate'. The fainting GIKI-A team kept whispering to me 'you have killed us', 'your case is utterly flawed' 'why did you have to drag us down with you' hahahhaa. Man that was hilarious. Anyway the new definition was that democracy is a democratic form of government in Pakistan. On came LSE-D.

'Ladies and gentlemen, This is a fan. A fan is like a cricket ball. and a cricket ball is like democracy because it's for the people, by the people and to the people and essentially that was the case presented by KC.'

LOL I mean shit! I laughed so much my guts came out. Anyway, I didn't like the case they prepared but I was in no position, NO POSITION, to say anything. They claimed Pakistan needed a socialist dictator like Lenin and Castro.

There was no critique so we went off. We could here people talking here and there 'free trade? wtf?', 'oh my god def challenge?', 'who? KC-B?'. So yeah but anyway I found the whole thing to be really funny. Couldn't hide from the coach too long. He didn't cut off our pinkies and hang us upside down though. So all ended well. well..kind of..yeah.

Impressionable Pakistani youth

During the past few years, everything has gone wrong in Pakistan. Our antics in Afghanistan during the 1980s are finally surfacing. Military coups are back in fashion. Every new Democratic rule is making people lose faith in democracy itself. We are stuck in a vicious cycle. Rigid military rule after a coup, a shameful departure, new elections, a corrupt democratic rule, public discontentment, military coup. Then there's the natural disasters. It started with an earthquake in 2005, followed by flood in Sindh, breakage of hunza jheel, and now a country wide devastating flood in 2010. This year the monsoon gave us all it had. In the coming years, it might not have anything to give at all. It doesn't take a Nostradamus to foresee that the future has more troubles in store.

In times like these, the youth seeks meaning. They search for hope. They want to know who's responsible. They need to vent their anger on the culprit. The case here in Pakistan, is that either the culprit is no one or ourselves. Under the circumstances, people need a scape goat. They need someone to point at, an easy way out. They don't wish to blame themselves, nor do they feel the need to collect evidence. Consequently, a new kind of individuals emerge who say what people want to hear. It doesn't have to be true or based on evidence. All that is required is a little rhetoric. Their speeches are charged with emotions. They attract people, specially youth, with their attractive personalities and good oratory skills. They give the masses what they want, not what they need. They openly embrace racism and hatred. With their drawing room discussions and biased knowledge, they try to prove their claims. What needs to be understood, is that they are charmers. We can not afford to become snakes in their baskets and dance to their tunes.
What is wrong with men like Zaid Hamid, Imran Khan, Ali Azmat etc? Firstly, they use data that does not belong to them and do not even acknowledge where it came from. Funny how Zaid hamid is all anti US anti Zionist and yet most of the information he so shamelessly dispels is from Noam Chomsky, a Jewish analyst living in the US. The claims they make about US imperialism and Israel being a terrorist state are more or less true. However, their ultra nationalist ideas about buying rifles and attacking NATO forces head on is both naive and non-sensical. Israel might be a terrorist state with one of the worst Human Rights record, considering the possibility of all Muslims brothers coming together to fight it is absurd. Your Muslim brothers in Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Iraq don't care about you. Nor does your state care about them. OIC has not agreed on one thing since it's creation. But Mr. Zaid Hamid thinks otherwise because his friend said so in their lounge discussion. He plans to go to India and place Pakistan's flag there. Make India ours. You can expect a 5th grader to talk more sense than that. India can slap our asses back to the stone age if it wishes. Plus we've already set a good example by treating Bangladesh the way we did. India must be dying to join a union. Mr. Imran, who is rightly named Taliban Khan, is a mullah with a liberal face. Even though in a country where people like Altaf Hussain, who should be selling balloons in the street, can run parties, Imran seems God sent. However, listen to him closely and objectively and it will become clear that the story is not very different. What kind of a place do we live in where our expectations have sunk so low that we happily accept for president one who can at least read and write, is not a well-known crook and lives in Pakistan.

The point I'm trying to make is that men, like the ones mentioned above, say inspirational things with great vigour. They show us a direction and a purpose. However, everything that sounds nice, is not true. Getting inspired by groundless rhetoric will not provide the solution. Open your eyes and seek what needs to be done.

Impending doom

I must admit, I have never been this productive during summer vacations in all my years. Not only did I finish five books, I also completed a month long internship at HRCP (remind me to comment in detail about that), I won an MUN (yes yes everyone there was at least 5 years my junior), I'm helping the flood affectees through a joint collaboration of the British Council, Faces Pakistan and NCIDE (okay fine not really helping but it's the intention that counts). Also, I'm cooking round chupatees and cutting aloo chips everyday. Quite something for a mere two and a half months?
I will not comment about the flood because a) everyone is doing that and b) I'm not very sad anymore because now I'm doing something for them and c) stress kills.
The books I've read are ones no one really cares about. So I will refrain from commenting on them. I will list them regardless. 1) Wretched of the Earth by Fanon 2) Selected writings of Che 3) Selected writings of Shaheed Bhagat Singh 4) Aam Fiqri Mughaltay. Wait! that's four. I went out the other day and spent bloody Rs 1500 on books (why do we write RS or $ first but pronounce it after the amount?).
The internship at The Human Rights Commission went well. Except, I had to explain to my family what HRCP is. 'Wo jahan Asma Jahangir kaam kerti hein'. and the reply 'oh. wo kisi ka ghar basana nai chahti'. Yeah err. Anyway for the first time in my short and adventure less life, I met a foreigner. Man I've never even met an Indian before. lol. He was Guatemalan. I was inside a cramped room in the basement with him all the time. Then I found out he has a girl friend. Anyway that place, just like everywhere else, was filled with elitist bimbos. While a few of us went to the mess and ate aloo with daal, they ordered in McDonald's. Stupid. I gave my presentation yesterday and it went very well. So that's over and done with.
I'm collecting old newspapers these days. We'll sell them and give that money to the flood affectees. Yes go ahead and laugh. You won't be laughing when we'll be swimming in hundreds of rupees of radee money. No seriously, If you have any, give it to me. I want to win a certificate for most radee collected.
My college starts from the 23rd. On a scale of 1 to 10 of disgust, 10 being the highest, I am definitely feeling a 9 and a half. You ask why. Well here's why. Once upon a time, Kinnaird college hired only teachers with the maximum size of the brain being equal to a peanut. Brain sizes ranging from a grain of sand to a poppy seed were in special demand. Then the principal changed and the new policy demanded that the teachers should at least be homo-sapians. Now the roasted pistachio brains couldn't let that happen so they started a revolt and after false accusation and involvement of thugs, got the principal removed. All this happened last year. So now, on the 23rd, we'll welcome our new principal, who I've heard suffers from sex deprivation. Good luck to me. What awaits is a ban on mobile phones, gate timings as late as 2:30 pm, lesser independent thinking and maybe even shiny white uniforms with head scarves.

Shaad Ama

After reading books and coming across a multitude of interesting characters, I used to wonder why I don't come across such people in my life. They're all around us though, waiting to be discovered.

Perhaps one of the most interesting people in my life has been Mumtaz or Shimshad ki ami, as we called her. She was one of those people who seem like they have lived an eternity. No one remembers her young, not even my grandmother. She always had old, leathery skin, her thin hair were always matted to her head, her veins always stuck out and she never had a complete set of teeth. She came to my grandmother for work in 1967 and never left until she died on 1st January 2008.

She told me once about the partition and he part she played in it. I don't know anything about her childhood. She must've been a troublesome child. She lived within a Sikh community and till the very end loved them through and through. She recounted how she and others would go to fetch water and take care of the herds. People drowned in local canals and chopped their own hands in feed cutters. The village elders did not allow women to roam around outside their houses without a purpose. It was a good life, she said. Her father worked in Australia and sometimes in Canada (she called it kaneida). According to her, they had plenty of money in a bank and land too. In 1947, however, during the freezing of bank accounts and seizure of land, they lost everything. They stopped in a local village near the border till they found a permanent residence. The village folk were kind and welcomed them to their homes. She, and other girls from the village, used to go together to the canal and washed clothes. The young Mumtaz was always the kind who would never swallow their pride. She'd rather starve then borrow. In the village, there was a common wheel for grinding wheat. The women who owned it was a bitter woman and often talked ill to those who came to ask for it. Mumtaz did not like the attitude and refused to tolerate it. Even though she did not have money, she saved up and bought her own wheel. She told me she happily gave it to anyone who asked for it. After a while, a bus moved her to a new and permanent home.

She came into our lives when she moved to Sultan pura on GT road, where my grandfather and grandmother were living with their three children. I'm told that Mumtaz's four children used to come to our house to study. Later, Mumtaz came into our service as well. My dad was in metric.

When I was born in 1988, she was still there. She loved me and my brothers like her own children. Some of my earliest memories are of going out to buy groceries with Shimshaad ki ama. She was known locally as the women with the red basket. She carried this hideous plastic basket everywhere she went. With one hand she held it and with the other, she held my hand. Together, early in the morning, we went together from shop to shop, buying ration for the day. No matter how many trips to the market she took in a day, I always went with her. We never spoke or had any significant conversation during those trips, but I enjoyed it none the less.

In the summer of 1997, my mother had brain hemorrhage. She survived, but barely, so I rarely got to see her. While my mother and father ran around different hospitals in the whole country, I spent my day and night with my grandmother and Shimshaad ki ama. I'm an early riser, so was Shaad ama. She unfailingly came to our house for work and 7 in the morning. On some days I used to be hungry but everyone was asleep. Under the circumstances, Shaad ama took me to her house. There she made me what I desired. She knew I was missing my mother and consequently did all i demanded. I remember the anda parathas and meetha parathas and what not. I wore shirts then because I was hardly 11 years old. The kids in her neighborhood called me 'kuchay wali larki' (the girl in underwear!)

I was inquisitive about her past and would often ask her where she'd come from. She told me she was her first husband's 4th wife. All his earlier wives had died. I'm told that he was one of the most loving men there ever were. The stories she narrated made me fall in love with this man myself. I had never seen him though. He had died before I was born. When she got married, she instantly became sick and did not recover for another 10 years. She could not even bear her husband any children but he still loved her like a man with infinite dignity. She says she had turned into a ghost. She could not walk or do any work because of her weakness. 10 years on a bed. I can not even begin to imagine. Her husband took her to numerous doctors all over the country but nothing helped. She told me that in her desperation, she had even eaten elephant dung! One day,after many years of sickness, her husband uttered the fatal words 'yeh kia museebat hai'. She suddenly felt unwanted and a burden that had to be removed. She secretly packed her bags in the absence of her husband and went off to the train station to go back to her village. Someone called up her husband and informed him that the sickly Mumtaz had left home and gone off somewhere. He instantly remembered what he had said and could guess where his wife could be. Upon arriving at the train station and searching franticly, he found her, sitting alone on a chair. He begged and pleaded and apologized and brought her back home. When finally she recovered, she promised herself to make up for the 10 years she had lost. I must say she did what she planned.

As I grew up, I saw less and less of her because she and her family moved away. She lived with one of her sons, Shimshaad. She had 3 other sons. She refused to talk to one of them because he hadn't payed her back and was mean to her. She was strong enough to not allow him entry into her house when he called. She was a woman of principles, if something's wrong, it's wrong. I admired that so much about her. Sometimes she used to miss us and would then come over to live with us for a while. I will never forget those short lived days. She, my Grandmother and I used to sleep in one room. We all used to laugh together and so hard that often my parents in the next room would get up and scold us. She used to tell us dirty jokes and I swear I felt my insides would explode. Sometimes she used to make turbans with her dupatta and act as a boy. She would sing and act and tell stories. She had learnt this nonsensical line from somewhere and used o say it often 'Hello the bloody fuck ding ding'. To this day I don't know what it meant. One of the funniest things about her was that she was easily surprised and always on the edge of her seat. She absolutely hated snakes and mice and I sadly knew that. Once I got a toy mouse to scare her and she drove everyone insane till it was thrown out of the house. Whenever anyway scared her by throwing something at her or poking her while she was preoccupied, she swore. Loud and clear. Once she was watching national geographic and there was a show on about snakes. She was sitting inches away from the TV and i saw the perfect opportunity. I threw an empty wrapper at her and off she went, flying at least 6 inches off the seat. The profanities she uttered made me blush.

She had a severe heart problem. Two of her valves were blocked. She didn't care though. 80 years old and she'd get off the sofa faster then me. Her heart problem kept growing though. She didn't lose though. She often had insane fits when she'd fight hard to breathe. She asked me to press her heart in rhythmic beats. For about a minute, she looked like she'd die but a minute later she'd get up and proceed with whatever she was doing, like nothing had happened.

We saw her falling apart though,but she wouldn't admit it. When she went home to her village for the last time, she took to the bed immediately. On her death bed, she was restless. The dog was barking constantly and loudly. She called her son and whispered 'let this dog go, he is not letting the death angel in'. Her son went and set the dog loose. Needless to say she died instantly.

For days i dreamt she was still alive. I missed her, I still miss her. I wish she'd come back and share our laughter and achievements. A few weeks after her death, I made my grandmother call her son up. I demanded that he come to our house and bring a certain thing along. I wanted it in my possession. A few days later, he arrived. I saw in his hand instantly the thing i'd ask for; an ugly, badly stitched, red basket.

the future lies ahead

I hate giving titles to my stories or to my blogs or to the songs i write. Anyway I just had leftover chinese rice from last night with desi gheeya. Did i mention my taste buds are dead. I can never tell when something tastes good or not. When i eat too much, i come to the conclusion that the food must taste good.

It's summer time and here I am doing nothing again. Watching movies, re-re-discovering Bob Dylan and biting and kicking every one in the house. Convenient how you spend your year making plans of things to do in the summers an then forget them when the summer arrives. I remember I wanted to write a story but the creative writing course last semester has driven me well away from any form of creative writing what so ever, ofcource assuming that this isn't creative. This summer is all about picking up from where i left off. I've started reading Midnight's children again after I lent it to a friend mistakenly after only reading a few chapters. What a good book. Brilliantly done in my opinion, with a hundred million interpretations. Then theres Bob Dylan. I used to hate him as a child because of his rusty crow like voice. And he looked scary too, considering i was only 10. Then I heard the song rolling stones and thought it sounded nice. He still didnt hit me (what a thicko i was). Then, when i was 19, a friend stumbled across an unknown Dylan track, "If you see her, say hello". When i heard the first verse 'She might think i've forgotten her, dont tell her it isnt so', I was in awe. This guy was amazing. I rummaged through my own hard disk and found his greatest hits. And then it happened, I heard "most of the time". I remember how I couldn't stop thinking about how well written the song was. He had to be one of the best song writers EVER. After describing how he's invincible and in control, the tone with which he says 'most of the time' uhh * dies*. He was in my phone, on my mind and in my heart. Another friend made me a CD, entire Dylan collection. Then i found 'Its alright ma, i'm only bleeding' and 'Pawn in their game' and 'north county girl' and 'Highway 61' etc etc. He's so cool with his 'Dont know and dont care' attitude. How he fusses over a glass thrown in the street and messes up his press conferences with the most random answers and how he rarely laughs. I've also come to really adore that girl Joan. She has everything going for her and yet she has that personality that makes you love her no matter who you are. *sigh* moving on

Every summer I think up a tune while I can't sleep at night. Every time I tell myself, I will make a song. |Needless to say I don't. Last night at 3am, I came up with a tune. It sounded okay so I decided to write a song. Usually I do it the other way round but hey. Anyway I'm on it now. Lets see how it goes. I'm constantly comparing myself to Bob Dylan and thinking 'I should quit before I hurt myself'. Considering that, this will be another one of those fruitless summers.

Why is it that young people are so enthusiastic about everything? I feel i never was a teenager. Wonder where that part went. Now I want to help. In anyway I can. Something tells me the enthusiasm is short lived.

I wish to go abroad for post-Grad. But, so does everyone else. I dream about if often. How id be surrounded by books and multi-cultural friends (what a strange dream to have). Id be able to have fun, stay out late, do whatever I want. Seems to good to be true. Probably is even. I can't even sleep alone at night. I'm scared of the dark and I hate standing in line. I'm this over-protected bum, They'll kill me out there. I'm not scared and am willing to learn how to survive on the streets but whose gonna let me. 21 years old and still dreaming about freedom. What a life we Muslim kids lead. Muslims as in born to Muslim parents. Don't get ideas.

I hate relationships and I know I can't work in them. The moment I step into one, I start having second thoughts. I always have one foot out the door. They aren't my thing, I know for sure.

Ive seen a few good movies too. Need to watch Alice in Wonderland though. Heres a list along with rating out of 10.

a. Whisper of the heart (jap anime) 7/10

b. Grave of the fireflies (jap anime) 8/10

c. Wrath of god (german) 7.5/10

d. The other side of the mirror (on Dylan) 6/10

e. Don't look back (on Dylan) 6.5/10

f. Duck soup (Marx brothers) 8.5/10

g. Religulous (Bil Maher) 7.5/10

Still have Russian ark, Le fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain, Dr. Strangelove, Amadeus and City lights left. A few more german and Bengali ones. I'm all set for the next one week.

So I have become addicted to this mind rotting game called World of Warcraft. I'm level 41 now, i think. I have died more times then the number of quests i've completed. Pathetic I know. Most of the time My soup is just running around trying to find the corpse. Sometimes I get fed up and ask the spirit healer for help. I'd rather bear with the resurrection sickness. though that too is annoying as hell. I've got a new horse and I can wear plate now which is cool. I have a fear of tanking eventhough thats what I'm supposed to be doing. It's just a fear of leading people. What if I pull too many, what if I cant focus the enemy's attack on myself and some bastards kills the healer. Its only a game I know.

My shoulder hurts. Good bye.

Tonight, I am me

Beethoven plays somewhere in the background. He distracts me from my thoughts. The symphony rises and falls. It sounds well composed. But not today. not right now. The joke is funny, but i'll laugh tomorrow. I'm patient, but not tonight. not for you.

I feel a child growing inside me. Every time I feel it, realization dawns. I have grown up. It's time to start worrying. It doesn't feel any different. The child is silent though. Silent and stable. It will feed on my flesh and blood. and one day, when I have fulfilled my only purpose of giving birth to it, it will leave me. and i will force myself to be happy. I have already lived that life.

Should I die ignorant and happy, or aware and mad? Should I care or should I blame evolution and put my mind to rest. There is so much to learn and yet, my mind is cleaning up to make room. I will rise, or i will fall. I will shine or i will fade. There would be no in betweens.

My thoughts are at war. I can hear the clamor, the squeals. there can be no winner. There lies twice promised glory at the heart of it all. There is no wrong. There is no right. Who should lose? and why?

We are all the same. Like five sparrows or seven lizards. Yet, we all wish to be so different. So, at the end of the day, we are merely satisfying ourselves by make beliefs and fairies. Is happiness all you want? even at the cost of the truth? I feel my thoughts wandering.

Love is worth the pain. It's a bunch of chemical signals in the brain. but it's love. Why do we glorify it? Why do I want to be in love at this very moment? Why is my love not sexual in nature when that is all every species on earth is here to do? Why do I feel my heart sink? Why do I miss him when I know better? He smiled at me once. I have that image in my head still. alive. breathing. I never wish to lose it.

Beethoven is distracting me. Making an effort to get rid of him will distract me further.

How does it feel, I wonder, to slip from a height and watch your own death approaching you? When you have time to think. When you have time to grasp the idea of whats about to happen in its totality. Do you die before you hit the ground? I wonder often..

Don't take me wrong.. I'm not suicidal, never was, never will be. The prospect of tomorrow keeps you going. I may not be optimistic, but good things will happen anyway if they have to. I'm sure god will not punish me for not having faith in him.

Staying human around terrorism

I wonder how many of us now consider bomb blasts just another inconvenience. Just another uncomfortable incident that has happened to someone else, someone we didn't know or care about. The death tolls keep rising. One below 30 is considered minor, nothing significant. If you need attention, you have to kill at least a 100 these days. Every news channel runs the same story, the same grotesque images over and over again. Journalists and reporters interviewing injured people, asking them what they feel about the incident. People like us watching back home can read the silence in their eyes, but the reporters can't. People avenging their murdered loved ones by killing other people's loved ones. It's almost like we have ceased to be human. One stops before even starting to make sense of the world around them. After five minutes of coverage, a reporter repeats 'So and so channel was the first channel to bring you this exclusive news.' Their insensitivity disgusts me. How they manage to think money while people die makes me lose faith in the world.

I remember the Marriot blasts. It had followed many before it aswell, except this time I felt uneasy. I said to myself 'these people are one of us.' I am ashamed, for it took a blast that killed the rich, for me to realise that much was wrong around us. As if the poor, who die everyday, are anything but one of us. They are less human with lesser rights to exist and live a full life.

I could not utter a single word for an entire day after the Islamic university blasts. So many of my friend's friends had died. These were young individuals with hopes and dreams. Young girls with expressions that told a story being driven to the hospital were shown on all channels. Yet, the event wasn't brutal enough to keep students from enjoying the unexpected holidays. Facebook was full of cheerful messages about how the youth had decided to spend these days off. People are dying. It's about time you start caring.

I recall a Bob Dylan song in which he sings 'How many deaths will it take till we see, that too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.' Joseph Stalin put it in words that make us cringe; 'One death is a tragedy, a million are just statistics'. Close your eyes and think about it. There are stories behind every single death; A women with a young child waiting at home, A boy engaged to be married, A grandfather who loves his grandhchildren, An only child studying to save her family from the slums. Who are we to treat them all like a figure. They are gone. Their loved ones will never see them again. never. We don't have the right to forget about them the next day. We don't deserve to move on.

I sit here thinking, there is nothing I can do. I can sit at home and wait it out while students just like me are being killed. It can happen to you, and to me. The one thing you can do is hope. You can hope that innocent civilians cease to pay the price for the mistakes of their leaders

Woman and things in general

I'ts been a long time coming. Don't seem to find the time to sit and write things down. General things really but, they've been nagging me for quite a while and I wish to finally let them out. After all, writing has always been my vent.

I'm beginning to judge women who aern't feminists. How can you not be? How can you get used to something thats so infinitely unfair, so obviously unjust and so painfully perminent. It is because you are born in those chains that you are unable to see? Are you unsure as to what it might mean if you stood up for your rights? What rights? whose rights? The only thing you will see in the eyes of justice is laughter and you will hear it say 'human rights are for humans. Stop wasting my time.' Ironic how the statues on every judges table is that of a blindfolded woman holding the balance.

Everytime you feel a wrong has been done to you, do you die a little inside, untill you have completely departed and are marely a hollow shell who has thrown away her dreams like letters from a boy you once loved. Do you crush your heart in your palm and put a stopper in your brain when you yourself blame a woman for a crime she hasn't committed? Does every woman forget? Do they all die inside? Do they not wish to give their daughters a better life? Do they not wish for things to change? And yet we are running in circles. We are silent spectators. We have become guilty of the crime we had to fight against. We are teaching our daughters to close their eyes and stop dreaming. We are but like a begger tapping on the men's car's windows. A short lived inconvenience that goes away once you ignore it. We need to become a noise, a shout, a scream.

I wonder why women don't wish to let go of their little heaven in the kitchen to go out and work. Some don't get the permission because their men can't allow a loosening of control, even if the family is financially crumbling. Others lack enough education to get a decent job. But there are those who don't fit into these categories and yet are sitting at home, wasting their capabilities. They proudly work in the kitchen and discourage their sons and husbands to lend a hand (when they rarely do decide to do something themselves). I believe women feel like queens in their kitchens. It's the one place where they are sure they know more then the men in the house. But these women feel they belong in the house, even when their children have grown up. What a waste. I wonder what other utterly unproductive and senselessly irrational things can become a part of our beliefs if they are taught from an early age. Actually I don't wonder, I know.

If being a feminist is believing in the notion that women are not doormats, then by all means i'm one. I am a man-hater, not because all men are born assholes, but because they are too busy enjoying a status higher then women that they conform to traditions without bothering as to what the consequences are. I'm too moderate a feminist to even give men the small amount of credit I do give. I wonder if, in the baking heat of Pakistani summers, they think about us women everytime they wear shorts. Obviously not.

One of these days I wish to stop waxing my arms and legs. I hope I find enough courage in myself to block all the 'yucks' and 'ewws' thrown my way. All women reading this, think about it for a minute. What benefit do you achieve from going through enormous amounts of pain every 20, 25 days? It's not like a one time painful procedure which will rid you of hair. NO. They will grow back. every month. again and again. You will bear the pain and waste money every month. The wax will burn your skin and you will clench your teeth. Yet, you will sit through it again, happily. Why? For what? Just so that men think you look better? The women who say 'it makes me feel good and clean', sit down and think about where that feeling comes from. So tomorrow, if men tell you to chop your arm off because you look sexy, will you do it? How convenient that men 'look great natural' and we have to thread our eyebrows, wax our entire bodies just so that they can tell us how great we look. Puck that.

Breath-taking is the word

My grandmother was sick, so was my mother and I was over worked. Dad came home and told me we were going to Kashmir. I stood there, trying not to feel too good because i knew it was an impossible plan. 'But dado? the car? your work?'. everything worked out in the end though. We were to leave on thursday, 25th june, at 6pm.

Our first stop was Pindi, my nano's place. Three of my mamos live there. One of them is rather odd. We arrived at around 10pm, had dinner and sat around for a bit. Suddenly everyone got up to go to their respective beds. Knowing I was to sleep downstairs, I said 'lets go upstairs'. Obviously we weren't going to sleep. We just had one night. In comes my wierd mamo. 'Beta, achay buchay raat ko nai jaagte. shaabaash, sou jao ja ke.' So yeah I turned around and went upstairs. My favourite cousin and I sat down to complain about boys and our parents double standards, how marriages were crap and why i had no scars and she seemed to have too many. i was lying awake when a friend messaged to inform me about Michael Jackson's death. dead. Just like that. One image came to my mind in that moment. check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWeyLLzyIUw&feature=related @ 2:47. I haven't seen that much emotion squeezed into a name. Well afterwards we stole food from our mami's fridge and stuffed ourselves. Slept for an hour and in came ama to wake me up. Seven am on Friday, we set out for Kashmir. It was a 5 hour journey from Islamabad. We got lost in Islamabad and luckily found men who had the best sense of direction ever. My dad asks this particularly wise wagon driver 'Rawlakot jane ke liyay kis teref jayien?', and the genius answers 'Gujrat jayein, wahan sey left turn ley lein'. We laughed for half and hour after that. Our first destination was Kahuta. It's the area where the atomic energy plant is located. Apparently it's hidden between mountains. All we could spot were snipers and anti aircrafts along the mountain top. The road that led to Kahuta was smooth and beautiful. Covered with trees on both sides (awsome moment no.1). We stoped for breakfast. The locals were nice enough to play english songs for us. Must've been thinking 'burgers from the city'. There I ate oil with bits of omellete thrown in. Promise.

We continued our journey from there to Rawalakot. In between we stopped for petrol. I really had to pee and there was only a washroom for guys. In the mountain areas, women don't even pee. Thats how cool they are. So i went in and sat down on the comode. Then it started to rain. Actually the shower had automatically opened. Since it had opened automatically, there was no way to shut it down. So i pee'd and took a shower there. came out with the right side of my body wet.

Throughout the way, I could see the damage done by the earthquake. Broken bridges, cracks in houses, land slides. One half of most mountains had broken up. Most of the road was blocked with boulders. I could'nt help but imagine the sound of a hundred mountains cracking, bridges falling, concrete breaking. all within a few seconds.

On the way, we found Kishore Kumar's CD. It was badly scratched but we managed to listen to one complete song. 'Chingari koi bhurke'. It was one of those songs which you've heard many times, you even remember the lyrics and yet, you've never really payed attention to whats being said. So I payed attention and fell in love. (awsome moment no.2).

After 5 long hours, we reached our destination. Lake Banjousa. I have to admit, I was a little disapointed by it when I arrived. I think I was drunk, blind and mentally retarded then. It was beautiful. We went to our rooms, rested for a bit and came out. Our hotel was on a separate hill. There was a path between the woods that led to the lake from our rooms. Hidden between trees, It gave you that feeling of being on an adventure. Met a bunch of ducks. Fed them frenchfries. The food was okay. We couldn't complain though because there was only one hotel in the whole Banjousa area which served food. The menu was 'chanay ki daal, anything with chicken and thats it'. There was Biryani, Kurhai and Broast. So we had kurhai and daal. Both sucked ass. after sufficiently stuffing ourselves, we decided to trek. There was a 1 foot long track along the edge of the lake. In someplaces it was extremely steep and I felt i'd slip and fall into the lake and die but that didn't happen. dad held on to my hand everytime i slipped (awsome moment no.3). Sohaib, my brother, slipped slightly though and ended up wetting is shoe and sock. Gave me a heartattack. At night time, we played pictionary. Me and dad, Sohaib and our cousin. Dad and I lost everytime.

The next morning, dad woke me and mum up at 5 am. it was the perfect time for

photography. I doubt I can explain that scene in words. There was no human being in sight

for miles and miles. Lush green mountains fading in the mist. Clear, sky blue water. Birds

chirping. (awesome moment no. 4). Went further up to the streams which lead to the lake.

The water was ice cold. dad said it'll make me sick so i refrained from diping my feet into it.

I came back then and took a cold cold shower. We prepared to go furthur up the hill to a place

and sadly I can't remember it's name. On the way, we turned on the radio. Due to the height

of the area, we could catch FM 89 signals. Luckily, Michael Jacksons tribute was on (awsome

moment no. 5) It was a tough, steep climb and cars could'nt reach it. At the top, there was a

buffalo. She didn't seem all that happy to see me, considering the wierd

noises she was making. I became all phunay khan and went close, shwoing her my tongue along

the way. They say 'Aqel bhuri ke bhains?' well the bhains was totally larger in this case. I, being

such a genius, did'nt notice where the darned thing was tied, or how long the rope was. So

yeah I was chased to madness. At the very top, we met a local family. Nicets folks around.

They saw us coming and made orange juice for us. They even asked us to stay with them and

have dinner. Mum even made one of the aunties pray for my rishta. Cheap, I know.

It was getting dark so we decided to head back. Drunk though we were from orange

juice, we took the wrong turn and ended up in a starnge place where the road ended entirely.

The road was broken and it was getting dark and I pooped in my pants. Like a toy car, honda

City bounced around on the rocks and I vomited my heart out. We all came back alive though.

Then in the evening we had hot fries near the lake. It was dark though and dad missed a step

on the stairs. He twisted his ankle pretty bad. I pee'd again. We stayed up playing pictionary as

dad rubbed huldi and hot oil on his ankle. It smelled like shit.

On the third day, we were supposed to return home. Dad decided to wake me up early

though. We decided to walk to the lake. It was 7 am. Dad and I rarely go anywhere alone so

this was a complete nature-loving-father-daughter-experience. He photographed, I looked

around. He asked me to pose, I made faces. He climbed rocks with a twisted ankle, my heart

stopped. For the second time in my life, I realised I'd die if anything ever happened to him.

Later everyone woke up and packed to head home. We decided to stop at duriya-e-jhelum

for a bit before we headed to islamabad. When we reached the place, Sohaib decided to climb

down to the edge of the river. I started following, acting all cool and adventurous. Midway, I

suddenly cme back to my senses ans realised the path I was walking to was less then 1 foot wide

and on my right side was the raging river. Beneath my feet was slippery dirt which often slipped

from under my feet. I managed to reach the edge though. The river was dangerously beautiful

(awsome moment no. 6). It was really hot at the time and the rocks there were burning hot. As

soon as i touched the water with my feet, i withrew them however. The water was so cold, It

could freeze you to death within minutes. I turned a deaf ear to my parents screaming from

the top, demanding that we step back. I kept standing for a while, staring at this flat rock

that I felt like sitting on. I decided I should sit and stop being a whuss. The second my bum

touched the rock, a heaver wave came soaked the whole rock. I screamed and got up and

Sohaib laughed his ass off. It was time to head back. Climbing up that foot wide path was harder

I decided to Hold onto the rocks on the side. Just in case. I stepped on the dirt path, midway,

Hld on to the rock (or so I thought). AS soon as i lifted myself, the rock in my hand turned out

to be dirt. It broke off and I slipped. (Awesome moment no.7) I didn't die though. So I didn't

slip all the way down. dad held onto my hand and I climbed back up.

Dadi had called to tell us the weather in Lahore was excruciating. Luckily though, through

out the way back, the sky ws covered with clouds. Perect end to a perfect trip.

..End of year one..

Often people look back an say 'Hey, it wasn't so bad at all'. My thoughts are slightly different; 'Down with the fucking bastards. Rot and burn in hell and i hope the devil farts in your face while you're at it.'(apologies but one needs to be informal for that impact). I have to admit the year has passed rather quickly. I had heard that days spent in jail are long and painful, so i am naturally surprised here. But i guess the pain made up for it. 

I have never in my life seen such incompetence, irrationality, arrogance and lack of organisation. Except ofcource in the government ID card office. The same lack of interest in the work being done, the same unexplained arrogance. Like a clerk who is over-worked and under-paid. I still don't get where the arrogance comes from. I have to admit, the college is teaching us how to face the world because this is what the world is like. Suddenly there is a serious deficiency of air conditioners, everyone is unnecesarily rude to you, you have to stand in line for everything and, most importantly, nobody gives a shit.

I remember the first week so well. The first two days went by with a general excitement that comes with new things. I was prepared to put everything behind me and take Kinnaird up as a challenge. I wore a constant smile, ignoring the shit thrown my way. On the third day came the realisation. It struck me like a knockout punch from a heavy weight boxer who had a special reason to be mad at me. Four years. Four years. Four years.

I will never foget the day i sat near the fountain and cried like the sky was falling. The free bird had to wait a little longer. I just sat and watched from behind the big iron locks with rude guards patrolling and unneccesary rules to keep you in line. This couldn't be right. Couldn't be.

Rules. rules. rules. For every move i made, every word i said, every turn i took. Teachers telling you what to wear, guards telling you where to sit and where to go, aunties telling you what to eat and where to eat it. I was in grade school again. A frown here and an abuse under the breath there and all was fine. Every day i went home thinking 'I won't come tomorrow'. I did though.

I passed the first semester with 3A's, 1B and 1C. Grandma called from pindi, Khala from peshawar, to congratulate me on my great achievements. All I had achieved was a trophy for using 1 brain cell and still passing everything. I just waited for inspiration to come.

I must be blind for I fail to see the bright side. First year is over and i'm at home, knitting mufflers. I'm wishing to attend art lessons but the decision now neatly lies in my Dad's file of all things his daughter isn't allowed to do. *smirk* i'll have my way one day.

" Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard"

Alone

I walk alone. I can feel the cold rain on my shoulders. Raindrops that were resting between my hair are sliding down my head, onto my neck and down my spine now. Like a tear that no one wants to wipe away. You let it fall because you don't wish to hide them anymore. The rain is cold, but my skin is colder. It's like my body does not even bother warming itself up anymore. It lets me merge with the cold wind. I become invisible and unfelt. It reminds me of the fact that I can' hold someones hand and make them feel warm and cared for. I'm in need of warmth myself. I stare at the ground. Follow brick patterns with my eyes. I look at my shoes. I hold my bag close to my body, like a pillow thats armed to protect me. I'm not sure from what. I walk back and forth. I walk fast, pretending i'm actually going somewhere. In actuallity, i never am. I keep checking my phone, pretending to be busy. In reality i just check and recheck my empty call history. I store msgs, so I can read them when i get sick of having nothing to do.
They tell me they saw me reading in a corner. They ask me why i was reading on a funfare of all the days. When everyone else was dancing and eating. I just laugh, never answer. Maybe because even i'm not sure. Maybe that fact that i'm a social outcast is still hard to accept. Maybe dancing and eating is really all there is to life.
The what-ifs that clog my brain have brought me to a point where over-thinking has become a habit. I have to come up with the most novel idea. it has to be perfect. Otherwise i deserve to burn at the stake. Maybe i'm too hard on myself. Maybe I've punished myself for too long. Maybe it wasn't my fault.
I clasp my hands together. Each one feels colder then the other. They want to be held by someone who can melt them. On second thought, they'd rather freeze to death.
I can hear the cold, loud wind. I can see the bamboo tree being shouted at. I can see the leftover rain on my window. The freezing cold sends shivers down my spine. Ones you feel when you hear a song that reminds you of something forgotten. Maybe it's trying to remind me of something too.

The lesser sex

I can't possibly say anything that has never been said before. Call it my ignorance but i've never read one convincing piece of work which made me smile because it touched my heart. I look around and i think twice before blaming men for not bringing enough women issues into the light. Nobody cares. Women are equally eager to quickly hide inconvenient incidents in thier subconscious, to ask their own daughters to become immune and to do it as early as possible. They are so oblivious that they themselves preech silent obedience. They despise any form of rebellion. They scare you into believeing that it will never change and for that reason alone, everything almost becomes...fair.
Throughout history, one hasto dig deep to find traces of any women who did something significant. You can count them on your fingers if you tried. Has it always been this way? Being an athiest, i guess i have the tendency to blame everything on religion. But correct me if i'm wrong. Religion IS to blame. Religion says 'Hey that guy before me hit her with slippers thrice. I just slapped her once.' No one thought along the way that the slap still existed. Not even women.
A rape case requires 3 male witnesses. Or maybe 2. Doesnt matter anyway.
I have never lived abroad but people tell me it's better there. I can thus only tell you what i see and experience evey single day here in Pakistan. I wake up with my phone on silent untill my dad leaves for work. Girls getting msgs all the time is highly suspicious. I stay inside the house with the curtains closed because labourers work in the house facing ours. They might see me walking around the house which can be a disgrace. I take refuge inside a bedroom because the driver hasto come in for a second to check the switches. I go to the market next door while men sitting comfortably in their lawns under the sun stare from head to toe. I keep my eyes down and wear a serious expression. A smile or laughter among girls can suggest we are up for anonymous sex. I go out shopping and they stare, make comments and even touch you mistakenly if they're feeling confident enough. If i've bin out, i come home, wash my makeup and change clothes before my dad arrives. If i get late, i delete all pictures of my strictly female friends from my camera, just incase he decides to check it. If he finds out, he goes to my mother. shouts at her a little and tells her to keep an eye on me. Then he covers it all with a facade before he faces me again. The lovable, understanding dad act. Whose daughter can never do anything wrong. like having friends who wear sleeveless. All this, and i belong to an upper middle class family.
Men can never know what it's like to be a women. Most women don't know either. You only know you're miserable when you have known something better. Women all around me are slaves and they don't even know it. Sometimes i feel they know. They know it can't possibly be right. But they're scared about what it would mean if they admitted it. It might mean you're anti religion. Or worst still, an improper woman.
I cringe and i whine not because it's unfair but because there is nothing i can do about it. I see how my brothers are allowed all that im denied and yet i wear a dumb expression on my face and abstain from saying anything at all. I wish to scream and throw things about but that would get me nowhere. I've tried talking to my father but they all put up a wall and pretend they don't get it. He broke my heart into pieces that day. I can't run away with no money and no degree in my hand. I can't get married to escape my father because marriage is another cage, just larger. I'm left with no options. No ways to vent my anger and let it flow so it would not hamper my judgment and rational thinking.
i wish to become one of those who spend thier life reading and learning. All for themselves. Never marry.Never bother anyone. With no boundries and no rules. What are the chances i'll become that person?
I sometimes sit and wonder why we ended up this way. Why have we accepted this fate as a perminent part of society? Why it is passed down from generation to generation? Women lack in physical strenth as compared to men. I believe this led us to where we stand now. Physical strenth gives a person a feeling of self confidence. Incases where someone weaker then you exists, it gives the feeling of dominence aswell. Its not that she was not mentally as capable as men. It's just that men could not allow her to question their authority. she bowed down because words could not hit back as hard. Physical abuse could not be beared just because the right thing had to be said. She gave up. We all gave up.

Infidels

It will never stop. The moral duty of every thiest to try and convert us athiests. To make sure we don't go to hell. To make sure we don't rot for eternity the way we have rotten on earth. They despise the way we have left our morals behind and have become devout satanists or any other fancy religion someone or the other has come up with by now. They pity us. They laugh because the west has not yet rotten thier souls and stripped them off their morals.
'everyone goes through this phase. you'll be alright when you grow up.'
Notice the tone. you'll be 'alright' when you 'grow up'. So right now we are mentaly handicapped and undeveloped children.
'where did the trees come from? or this earth?'
I'm no botanist or physicist. If it's too complex today, it may not be tomorrow. Throughout my life, i have learned how to differentiate between lounge chit chat and hard facts. I'm a politics student after all. Call me a realist at heart. If we start to have faith, then anything can be real. The distinction between not real and real siezes to exist. All human knowledge to date becomes void. I'm no philosopher either so i'll stop here.
One does not become an athiest because he has unlocked all the secrets of life and has given it the name 'nature' instead of God. Athiests don't know everything. They're human if you look real hard and deep. They look at the world from another perspective and make a guess. A calculated one however.
I have met many different types of athiests in my life. There are those who become athiests because they're angry with God for treating them too harshly.
'How can God let this happen to me. It is because he doesnt exist.'
I personally feel ups and downs are a part of life. Life is not fair. Never was. Never will be. Face it. God never had anything to do with it.
Then there are those who oppose their religion particularly or other religions aswell. But rarely.
Mainly due to lack of enough knowledge of other religions to effectively oppose it. That statement does not, by any means, imply that they have sufficient knowledge about thier own religion!
'islam descriminates against women. It's too rigid and resistant to change. It breeds extremism...'
The allegations may be true but with religions, specially islam, anything can be justified or unjustified due to various sources of islamic law. Interpretation and translation are two problematic issues which are very difficult to solve. Most athiests consider their lack of faith 'a phase' in later life because it's easy to change back. When these athiests decide to take a deeper look, the peices fall into place and they realise they had been wrong about their religion all along. Only because anything can be a matter of interpretation.
I refuse to discuss the ones who are athiests because it's cool. It will pollute my essay. I would, however, like to address the problem of stereotyping here. I have been called 'trying to be cool' by many. Maybe because i did feel being an athiest was cool. However, i didnt actually become an athiest because it was cool. I turned athiest before i even knew what cool was.
I avoid telling people about my scandelous beliefs. I add in a 'mashallah, inshallah, allah kere, shuker hai' to make sure no one notices. I don't want people to tell me i'll 'grow up'.
I'm an athiest who has no particular issues with any religion. They may be perfect, which they are not. They may be a source of inner peace and tranquility. They may be a source of law which does not even require an active coercive force. It is just a costless voice in your head telling you what to do and what to avoid. I have never denied that. Some people claim that religions cause conflict. In my opinion, a religion is just another group. As is a country, a race, a sex. Groups compete with each other. It's human nature. Eradication of groups completely is impossible. So groups are all the same when it comes to conflict.
One must feel that i'm defending my thiest beliefs instead of athiest but that's not correct. I'm an athiest because i feel the idea of God is a lump of sugar which helps you swallow the bitter pill of life. No matter how easy it makes life for you, it is still a lie. God is still Santa claus. I have learned that Man feels he needs God to live positively. If it works for you, by all means believe. Athiests are not out on a mission to convert the world, unlike some thiest religions. I on the other hand, dont need God. I feel i'm rational and can make distinctions between right an wrong. I do not need the prospect of heaven or the dread of hell to make me do what needs to be done. I do what is right for myself.
Man has not yet reached a conclusion whether God exists or not. I'm sure even if they find out, they'll never let the world know. Considering the chaos it would cause. So since the arguments are more or less balanced, both have a 50/50 chance. What difference does it make which side you're on. In the end the chance is still 50%. So why not believe in something that makes sense to you and helps you lead a balanced life.
I would like to add in a question or two to the thiests who say 'being an athiest is easy because you get a free hand to do what ever the heck you want'.
Is it easy to know that no one is out there looking after you?
Is it easy to do the right thing when you know there will be no reward or punishment?
And most importantly, Is it easy to believe that death will mark the end of everything you ever were?

Reality check

I love how the bent branches of old trees touch the surface of the water. They leave traces which disappear as they move away. The water adjusts itself quickly and the ripples seize to exist. Rocks and boulders disturb water as well but somehow the mere subtleness of a branch forces me to stare. They somehow remind me of myself. I’m just a ripple which will disappear before anyone gets the time to notice or care.
I wonder, like many before me, whether anyone will care. I know the answer but for the sake of a moments ignorant bliss I let myself pretend. I feel ‘truth’ is an old whore. Every ones busy dressing her up so she looks presentable, even attractive. She dazzles and amazes. Every one’s willing to make love to her. She’s just an old whore to me.
So many people have died. People like you. People like me. There comes a point when one says to himself ‘what the hell is going on’. A time when lies are wrapped up in ribbons and delivered to your doorstep. All you have to do is keep your eyes closed and feed them to your brain. They taste great. So many people will never stop and say ‘hey! Wait a minute.’ A time when you feel like a soldier who doesn’t know the way to the battlefield. That time is here.
I sit and stare. The muscles of my tongue have grown stiff and cold. They’re dying. I don’t wish to save them. My replies merely consist of a nod of the head now. There is nothing to say. I only know how to be quietly angry now. Some things in life are so outrageous that one is forced into complete and utter silence. A disturbingly loud one. I hope no one can hear it.
I’m torn in two. God is out of thread.

Here we are once more..torn between what we are and what we should be..what we have done and what was supposed to be done..between the one we love and the one who loves us...
i regret the time i spent waiting for someone i expected to come out of you..to break this shell of insecurity and carelessness..to help me have faith in you..so that the world could see what i saw..and right when you, as promised, changed just to make me happier, i turned away..eventhough in the debths of my heart i knew you cared..and now, thinking about everything you do and did, aggrevates me..and yet i'm always impatiently waiting for any news from your side..to know that you're alright..i know i can hate you, in time...
I have a comforting voice in my head..the only thing that comforts now..'you know you're right'
It's never about what you are obsessively working for..the whole point of pushing yourself is to achieve something..nomatter how irrelivent the reward may seem to everyone around you..I'ts about proving something to yourself..I don't care how big a nerd i may seem at this point in time..i know i want this.

!!

Aernt we surrounded by confused faggots..who control our lives..from the head of the country to the head of the house..I'm disappointed and heart broken and no words can make me feel otherwise..It sure is easy to complain.
and tommorow we'll all forget..but why..are we not strong enough?..somethings are supposed to haunt us for the rest of our lives.
You failed to protect me..I'ts hard to believe that you forget so easily..that social image means so much more to you..that i have exceeded your expectations and yet i am no 1.
Yes! i admit..it is my fault..i spoiled you..you were mine..thus i was supposed to choose what you were to me..you were everything at one point in time..but nothing at another..you were wrong, but were you wrong to me..i'm so proud! i stood up for myself..I can let go, but should i?
I cannot trust anyone..or maybe i trust too much..I cannot stand anyone for more then a year*.
*conditions applied

I'm so indecisive...It almost sucks ass..emphasis on almost..my friends claim that i used to be so much cooler..with my outrageous vocabulary and 'i can kick your ass' attitude and the 'cool' music that i listened to..it's strange how priorities change..how everything changes..barely for the better..and you strive to find an optimistic view point for it...so you can look back and say, everything happens for a reason.
i hate my optimism...i never learn do i?
They just come and go like men...all men are birds..minus the grace!
I feel like shit right now...exams i assume...don't hav anything to look forward to anymore...end up having too much faith in things that just can't satisfy you..i'm so naive, its not even funny..well not eaxacly naive..hmm
I'm just not a party girl..i do'nt like going out..i don't like doing outrageous thngs in public..it's a disorder, really! and i'm okay with that..i love bieng in my own shell..i love minding my own business, as long as everyone around me does so aswell..i don't like too much attention.
i'm such an unsatisfied bitch...
blehh!