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People talk people scream, sooner or later it all becomes interchangeable. It’s a hazy sort of existence, where rules and boundaries are stretched and distorted like old dirty rubber bands that are tightly bound around loaves of bread. You live, you exist, but after a while you stop caring- numb and unfeeling, you soon learn to block out the strained voices, the tear soaked cheeks. They say the media makes you desensitized to blood and carnage, but it’s really just the entire process of living. Images and pain that would once cause you to breakdown at the age of eight rouse a slight flutter at the age of seventeen and are quickly forgotten before you really start to feel. Behind closed doors there are muffled voices, people in grief, people sobbing salty nothingness into toilet roll and pillows. But reality comes a knocking, and its no longer ok to just be depressed and self pitying anymore. There’s simply not enough time for all that fluff. You flush the tissue, gasp at how ugly you look in the mirror, wash your face and join the living once again- slowly stifling all evidence of feeling in you.

Its amazing what great actors we all are.

...indeed

A true friend will spend his last 3 minutes of credit on you, even if its just to reply to a message like – ‘what’s that song with the heavy guitar and the drunk guy?’ with a ‘ a song not worth listening to’ type comment.

They wont listen to you when your going through an emotional breakdown, but will grudgingly pick up their phone at 4 in the morning when your having a caffeine induced laughing fit.

A friend wont buy you dinner, but they’ll pay when you fall short.

He’ll drop hot and spicy at your house when your having a garlic mayo roll craving but will make fun of how fat you are for a good week.

A true friend can get away with horrible nicknames.

They’ll always remember to remind you about someone’s birthday the next day because they’ll know you’ll forget otherwise.

They’ll be your human alarm clock when you fall asleep during Ahsnuddins marathon literature classes.

A friend will tell you when your being stupid or irrational, and will tell you to shut the hell up when your being downright irritating.

They’ll tell you its ok to bunk tuitions if you need to nap at home, but will scream at you nonetheless for messing up a test in the same subject.
They’ll tell you your looking ugly when you truly are, but will be the first to compliment a good hair day.

A friend will stay back to watch your match, but will laugh the loudest when you trip and fall flat on your face.

They’ll laugh at your lame joke when no one else will.

They’ll stand up for you when no one else will.

They’ll sing along to your favourite song even if they don’t know the words.

They’ll watch you fall, tell you they told you so, and then give you their hand to pick you back up.

Happy Birthday W, its been a good 17 years together (

nobody said it was easy

nobody said it would be this hard


Ive become les couch potato. Its Tuesday, and ive not attended school for five days, not because im sick, but because I don’t want to, plus my parents have absolutely no clue as to my whereabouts. One would think I would sit home and study, but no, I don’t do that either. Sure, an hour or two of inane Sat literature (which is hard, so very very very hard) but nothing substantial. I don’t pick up my phone anymore, don’t step out of the house, my hair lies in a tangled bunch, and im wearing my glasses instead of my 24/7 addiction to contacts. I move from one set of pajamas to another. Days are spent mindlessly staring at my college admission essay, which is well horrible. The question, on first glance, seems blissfully easy, but after going through the damn thing thoroughly, its not as straightforward as it seems.

‘Who are you?’

1st reaction- I don’t know. I mean, who really does? And what is the point of living if you DO know? Why bother, at the age of 17, to live through the other 60 odd years and go about your business when you know that in essence your all that you will ever be? I cant accept that im going to continue being the stubborn and eccentric little lost girl that I am for the rest of my life. It just wont happen, at least I hope it wont.

2nd reaction- (more serious, as deadline is nearly approaching) I appeal to friends and family. I ask people what they think of me, and all I get is ‘perpetually laughing, moody, random, pure entertainment and sometimes overly philosophical.’ One even went as far as calling me a ‘rebel’ probably the most generic term ever used. Jesus Christ. Not to mention, that I cant be laughing perpetually and still be moody. I then make a list of what components make up the madness that is me. Stupid things, like I was a vegetarian for three years, or how I have a tattoo, or how I practically worship Marx, or how I feel Dali could have changed the world just through his collective works.

But nothing fits, nothing comes together, there are no flash bulb moments, no surges of inspiration.

And to think, I want to be a writer for the rest of my life.

3rd Reaction- Fuck this im going for a marathon shower.

Writers block S-U-C-K-S.

weird moment of the week-

And there we all stood in the stadium, hangs holding onto the railing, screaming our schools name above everyone else. It was a moment of pride, of glory, of shrieks and chants, of true happiness. After all that’s happened, it was good to find an excuse to smile after so very long. The earthquake effort must have been boosted, there were so many people there, loads of money must have been raised. Our words soared over the lush green, raised through the voices of so many, all towards one collective goal. Amidst the hysteria, the human wave and the random bits of bhangra comes someone who I don’t really know, but I had seen around enough to know him pretty damn well.

He walks up to me, compliments my ‘orkut testimonial writing skills’. Says they are the funniest pieces of prose he has ever written, especially the one liners. He actually confessed to going onto my profile, seeing who has written me a testimonial and then going on to their profile and reading the reciprocal one that I wrote for them.

What a raging lunatic.

Made my day though.

its one of those again

(im sorry, I promised myself I would never blog about this stuff again. I don’t know what im doing .)


Maybe, somethings just happen at their own speed, and some people, some thoughts need to leave when they are ready to leave. Or maybe, when im ready to let them go.

We weren’t worthy of a cowboy with his two bit guitar and tattered jeans who would croon out love songs and sing of two hearts and compare anything genuine to symbols so pathetically trashy. We weren’t worth truck loads of money spent recklessly on gifts and chocolate and roses and other synthetic pieces of nothingness that crowd the shelves of love struck cupid mongers. We didn’t deserve to celebrate anything on the fourteenth of any month in any year, in any measure of imaginable time or space or effort. We were less than long yawns at dawn when late night conversations ended not with goodbyes but with the abrupt click of an exhausted phone that had run out of battery. We earned no prizes or medals or moments of recognition. We received no praise, no help, we had no guardian angels. We didn’t have stolen verses, no settings dotted with winking stars and no blighted juevenille promises of a forever that lasted for no one.

There was no background music when we were together.

in transit

Someone’s cried over the city. Its dotted with forgotten yesterdays and worsening tomorrows. No one is presumptuous enough to reckon that life will ever be the same, or that any sort of sanity will return anytime soon. Hours of packing and volunteering, giving blood, chasing after people for donations, it all seems so futile in the larger context of things. Im exhausted, the flickering tv has been abandoned, I don’t want to know the death toll, I don’t want to hear another helpless story.

Why?

Because its profoundly troubling that I cant do anything about it. Its an odd sort of humbling experience, you cant blame anyone, you cant accuse anyone. Things happen, and all of a sudden, your not as invincible as you thought you were. There will always be things bigger than you. I guess you just have to search for meaning, in a nation that is groping for anything that resembles hope.

There’s is no ray of light, no end of the tunnel, no silver lining.

When did it all get so grey?

I need hope, I need someone to tell me that it will be ok, that everything happens for a reason. I need to be fed lies, anything that will make it all seem worthwhile again.

and it was all..

It was way too early, I refused to accept the fact that it was already six in the morning. It truly felt that I had crashed into bed just a few minutes ago. I heard the bell of the driver, and my deepest fears were confirmed, life was waiting while I tried to stretch every last second of indolence that I had left. I got out of the wrong side of the bed and tripped over my shoes on the way to the bathroom, only to stumble in, my eyes blinded by the streaks of yellow light shining through. I blinked a couple of times, ignored the light completely and put down my blinds, blocking out the yellow with a thick black.

When I walked into school, your yellow school bag banged into me. I turned around to see who the hell it was and grinned and slowed down so you could catch up. The yellow was burning a hole in my eye. I looked away and taught myself to stare blindly at the terracotta cobbled pavement. I hid your yellow behind a concrete road.

I got back with a heavy migraine, the sun had really taken its toll on us. I opened up the ointment I had picked up on the way back and quickly emptied some out onto the palm of my hand. The ashen yellow of the bottle cap stirred something in me and I shivered, my jerk causing some ointment into my eye. My red eyes mixed with salt water as I lay down in a dark room only disturbed by the red tint of the tv on standby. I let myself sink into nothingness, while the tingling sensation of the ointment led me into fitful slumber.

I promised myself to never think of you again. Ive stopped watching tv, with the sheer fear that in some moment of unguarded channel surfing I would come across your face again, blushed by the redness of the ground you’ve been sleeping on for the past couple of days. Clothes dotted with blood of an entire family trapped beneath rubbish and concrete and other frozen paraphernalia. Wisps of golden brown hair circled your almond eyes as you searched for compassion in the reporters eyes, telling him how you didn’t have a home anymore, no one to call your own anymore. In haste, you pushed your hair behind a tattered yellow dupatta, while wiping a rogue tear of your left cheek. You paused, looked at that camera, and in that yellow moment, you broke my heart.

A thankyou to everyone whos doing so much to help those who are in desperate need.. Ive never felt more pride in being a Pakistani.

...a killer from a saviour

Fuck quitting, im too emotionally attached to this black background and grey text.

(Sorry for the fleeting goodbye, and the melodramatic departure.)


I feel about half a foot higher than my body, watching my life from a comfortable plush red velvet seat while some idiot makes rash decisions and isolates all who mean the world to her, and who once were all that mattered. Translucent stars half-shine upon the bittersweet smiles and hidden agendas, its so difficult to figure out what people really mean anymore. You reach a point in which you almost plead for an honest answer, but then treat it with disdain when its acutely accurate and uncomfortably insightful. Truth is often discarded for a well crafted disguise that suits the external environment that one converses in, insulating you from heat and all that might hurt, prick or seek to decieve. Songs play on repeat, evidence that change doesn’t have to exist in every aspect of life. Sometimes, its easier to stay in a rut, at least its familiar, awkwardly comfortable, and comprehensible. Evolution is fine with fossils and apes, but what happens when you
sprint through a million years of self development to land at an unfamiliar dusty deserted place in your mind?

What if you woke up one morning and realized that you hated that person you have become?

What if you can clearly pinpoint what’s wrong with you but are clueless as to how to go about fixing any of it?