random blog 496

It’s so frustrating when you’re tryna find something but mil ke na de. I spent some hours I think, right now, just to find that journal first and then those papers from it. Matlab aasman kha gaya zameen nigal gayi. Pfft. It was this thing I wrote and I so badly needed it right now but looks like I tore those pages from that journal lest it gets lost in the pile (I have LOTS of js), and kept them somewhere where I would’ve thought back then ke yahan tou mai dekhungi hi. But now I have that journal and not those pages. Major sigh moment.

I also have thousands of papers so it’s not possible to check them all at least rn but what are my safe places? My drawer? Some folder? Gah man. There aren’t many options. Like I have some bags, this book cabinet and drawer (aka house of mess and treasures) and I’ve checked them all. I couldn’t have given it to my teacher even though we talked sth about it. What could have I done? Where. Tap tap tap.

I did find lots of poems though. Some letters. Doodles. Many lectures. And that kind of writing where you are simply jotting down your complex mind’s oodles. Is oodles a word? Looks like it is. But it doesn’t seem to fit here. You get the point though, no? My university journals are like history books. They contain so much randomness from my life because they had those, um what do you call it, segments kinda thing and I would use one for myself in each because even though I kept a separate notebook at first I realised I didn’t need to keep my journals JUST restricted to notes. Aaye such long sentences do I even make sense. Right now in front of me I have 10 pretty, spiral journals. Or notebooks, whatever you wanna call them. They’re diff sizes but all of them have beautiful covers. Random, traditional, artistic, that sort.

M said make dua agar wo cheez loutni hui tou miljaegi. Y also said ab wo achanak hi milay gi. So I’ve paused my search operation for now and instead wrote about it. Sigh again, isn’t that how we people deal with loss or things that hint of being/becoming unattainable?

Okay whatever. Too late now. Toodles.

UPDATE: FOUND IT. I SUDDENLY REMEMBERED IT WAS ANOTHER JOURNAL, LIKE THE SAME COVER BUT A BIGGER ONE AND THEN I WENT TO MY LIL ART ROOM AND IT WAS IN THAT NEW DRAWER. SAFE AND SOUND. Alhamdulillah ❤

journals_randomlyabstract

I should’ve posted a better photo but you know what time it is?

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the way to you

if difficulty is danger
and so is insecurity
anxiety-ish, that deep twist in the stomach,
if danger means this spikey knife
set in between (standing upright)
to pierce through my self-esteem,
self-confidence, self-whatmore
then the way to you is laced with danger
and I cannot miss the signs anymore

Love grows here

Between night-black and no star,
Cocooned by a quiet that is only suddenly broken sometimes
By a cricket’s cry.
Love lives here
Even when you don’t.

Another gold moment

… except that I haven’t shared the first one yet. But I’m doing it now, okay? Let’s start!

Spoiler: It’s about university. And becoming a gold medalist. Twice.

Okay so remember when I posted that ‘when you’re happy and you know it’ kinda post about happy news and desi reactions and all that? I totally meant to share the news itself as well later but… you know me, and I know me, and well, yeah. So what happened was that I topped from my department in my BA (Honors) course. And then, now that is, I topped again in my Masters. Woohoo, Alhamdulillah!

What were my subjects? Glad you asked. Because it’s funny I never shared anything here. Yikes, I mean. I always meant to, though. Just like how I always meant to write about my vacations last (se bhi last? will have to check) year, about meeting some fav people from the blog, about university life itself, about this and that and everything. I had to write. (And I did, y’know. Just not here. Just not on a paper or a screen.) Also, obviously, I had to write about why I didn’t write any of those or whatever which is getting boriiing now AND ANYWAY WE WERE TALKING ABOUT THIS GOLD MOMENT which means this should be a happy post and yayyy virtual cakes and all that. We were talking about my subjects?

My main one was URDU. YEP. Could have you guessed? I actually just tried to master (like, well technically I did just that so yeah?) my own language and I am super happy about that right now. My side subjects (also called minors/ subsidiary subs) were English literature and Psychology. And in the same duration I also did a two-year certificate and diploma course in Persian language. So as it looks, I was completely surrounded (entangled? absorbed?) with languages and literature, and then cultures and histories and zindagis and everything. It was a good time. Wait. I miss university.

But I also can’t wait for the good adventures ahead Inshaa Allah, and some day I’ll update you on that. Sup, you?

Diary of a 3:12 AM-er

Bohat arsay baad aik nazm likhnay lagi thi. Balkay likhnay kia lagi thi, wo nazm hi mujhay likh rahi thi. Unwaan tha ‘be-dili’. Aur phir pehla misra tumhe be-dili se sochnay par tha. Uskay bad aik khayal ata lekin shaam ke dhal janay aur khuwab ke ban janay ka darr… agay aik lafz kam reh gaya. Jo cigarette ka sar hota hai na? Usay masalna tha. Lekin na lafz aya na baat bani. Hath jo kehtay kehtay uper utha tha phir hawa me hi reh gaya. Bhai ne dekh kar poocha, “you are in love, right?” Mai munh bana ke reh gai.

I am in love, right? Duh I’m in love. With what, I don’t know. I am so disconnected from myself, or maybe I’m just so connected with myself that I’ve lost the ability to touch on the surface of things (or thoughts?) and say this is this and that is that. I can’t say these words are true. I can’t say they are not. I don’t know.

Kuch zamana beeta hai mai araam se nazmen likh sakti thi. Araam se tou nahi khair, jahan shairi hai wahan aaraam kahan. Magar phir bhi kabhi na kabhi. Aik khaas kefiyat hoti thi. Aisay tou mai pehlay kitabain bhi bohat parh leti thi ab arsa hua.

I just cannot. I haven’t read a proper book in a proper sitting like a proper reader since ages. The last was All the light we cannot see which is now in my taaaaaall pile of unfinished ones. I did translate a huge chapter though. It was on Islam and science and reason and modernism and everything like that. A good experience – both in terms of subject and skill.

It’s gonna be sehri time here. I made a fruit-oatmeal smoothie yesterday jiska oatmeal part no one liked and smoothie they all did. Lol. I heard it was healthy like that but I guess I’ll omit the oatmeal now.

Nah, I’m not much of a kitchen person. But it’s Ramadan, so… oh, happy Ramadan to you!

Letting go

Hello, you.

My friend texted me to say she saw me in a dream and misses me. I couldn’t help but feel awfully helpless remembering I saw you in a dream too. How I wish I could tell you.

I want you to know that it’s been immensely long but I am going strong, and yep, it’s because I crafted another challenge for myself of which already a large part has been spent but still, still your name comes up everyday in my mind, and though I’m trying, I cannot forget you enough because I heard enough means letting go.

Letting go means cutting open and slicing out a part I’ve kept so close.

It’s amazing how this is! Because there’s no real string (like a real tangible truth) binding these. These, as in, this thing in the heart and your place in the…heart? and the future that holds neither. Wow, what a thing to bear.

Hello, you.

The only way this can really reach you is when you claim it yourself. Which is another way of saying: agar wo pooch len hum se kaho kis baat ka gham hai// tou phir kis baat ka gham hai agar wo pooch lain hum se. Oh okay, I just added this one because it wouldn’t leave me otherwise. You get the point.

I sometimes search for you amid crowds When I write again it won’t be about you.

#490

It’s night and still hot. I am sitting cross-legged on the balcony’s floor, this black diary on my lap, and vibrant blues, orange and yellow underneath it: the colors of my shirt. Before me is a silent city even though it’s only after-dinner time. It’s only too soon to be writing this.

Or is it?

I am almost tired of using different words to say the same thing: I miss you. Here, take it from me. Jaan jati hai jab uth ke jatay ho tum.