but what about the nightmares?

I think it’s the part where I could go to mom and say “I am feeling so sad right now”.

I could TELL that my stomach hurt – there was a hollow feeling – or I’m cryey.

It’s not the same after marriage.

And this adds to the anxiety. Aik ishq ka gham afat us par ye dil afat, y’know?

Because you’re already feelin’ blue but you can also not share the work of art that is your heart. Red and blue. Blue and red. Yuck.

Sometimes I do wish I would go to my saas and say ammi I feel so sad right now. But she won’t exactly get it.

But did mom get it?

Well I think she did, even if she didn’t always have a fix. Sometimes just saying is enough, haina?

But this does give me something more to think about. Did mom get it? How did I feel in those moments? And this would give me insights into what became my coping mechanisms or how deep it runs, and self-awareness etc. y’know.

Because…. well because I remember.

And right now this is not the only thing that matters. There’s so much more stuff, right, and you…. take a deep breath.

Pause.

Yes.

So deep belly breathing is a way of regulating your nervous nervous system. You should try it right now. Thrice.

Ni Sayyun Asa

This blankness is so known. I know you, I have known you for a long time. So reminiscent of my past. It constituted of poetry and blogs and wistful sighs. This was a phase, yes? What are you doing here now?

I am so dissociated I can’t feel the pain. I know I should cry or something, and I also know that I can do it. Here’s how it will go: I will put on my headphones and open my once-forgotten Soundcloud list. And I will turn on those old songs, that were each about this last phase. The blogging phase. The infatuation and the pining and the very emotional phase.

The songs will bring me back to that ‘dark’ sacred place. Which is not dark as in negative, but a mystical place I used to write about in my poems and prose. A place where I met Me. Or You? Us.

But I don’t want to listen to songs at the moment. I might give in to the temptation or direct my attention completely elsewhere. Painting would be productive but the issue is it won’t make me feel.

Is it worth it that you can’t feel pain when it also means you can’t feel joy?

And it’s not like I can’t feel any pain or that I haven’t cried in ages or what. I cried today morning only. Also perhaps yesterday or day before. You know how it is. But I am talking about THIS thing.

I’m not overwhelmed, promise. I’m more than ever trying to be kinder and adjusting to the process: awareness, sit with it, nourish or nurture. Don’t avoid. Don’t distract. And come out stronger, yah?

Ni sayyun asa naina di akhay laggay ni sayyun asa naina di akhhay lagay.

Painting bhi banai thi na is pe. Spiritual Sufi type song hai. Not that I’m recommending a listen. Gunah e jaariya bilawajah.

I found this “hack” in Sufi songs. As if this music was allowed. These songs were okay. But you know the spiral effect, right? It starts and it takes you wherever. Also c’mon this isn’t a Majlis.

Am I talking to you again? I should not; how many times have I written for you. Blasphemy.

Blasphemy because you don’t deserve it. You’re bad enough as is, won’t let this be a pat on your ego.

And returning to myself. Isn’t it amazing how you are the master of your thoughts? You can choose where your attention goes.

My attention at the moment is on these words. I can’t tell you where else. Had to erase because privacy.

But I did call a friend yesterday and told her about things. Not because I wanted to share, honestly I was barely feeling my own story, but because she knew someone who could help.

It felt selfish as I thanked her for being the only one I had confided in. She said it felt nice to talk after so long. I want to remind her today to talk to the person who can help but you know how when you ask help without asking for help and then have to pave a way around it? Wow, sucks. And what if she read this!

I would think she wouldn’t. I know they’re all really busy. And also nothing is the same anymore.

It’s like loadshedding but in my mind. 💡

La lala lala. Should I keep writing or should I stay thinking? Is this even helping?

Memory hoarder (2)

Aqal sawaal uthati hai ishq amal pe dorata hai.

By now I have thrown away more things and (almost-)neatly packed the things I am saving back in the drawer. Can’t say it’s done but sure feels lighter.

Besides that [literally] grey old diary that I didn’t bother reading, there are all these papers – mostly poems that I wrote (even those sad Urdu ones), and then other handwritten accounts of things like our regional Spelling Bee contest that we won, my ninth grade result, an essay on “My most memorable day of life” where there is McFlurry by the sea, last school exam and a really fun night ending with dramatic sentences like ‘I bid farewell to my family and the full moon.’ Not just mine but I also used to give my brothers topics to write on, then I would check them and sometimes reward them. That was a whole system. Look at this part from Ibad’s story about a ‘mejician’s whose spell was ORAME SIM SIM where O is for Omnivorous animal, R is ramp, A is and, M is maar do, and E is eel. The omnivorous animal walk on ramp and eel eat the omnivorous animal. And magic were not worked the people laughed. He did spell 3, 4 times but his magic did not work. Moral:- We dont want to be a mejician.

There’s also a super adorable sorry card. Lined paper and pencil, a highly decorative spelling of my name, a bag of 5o rs drawn as a gift. You will accept such apologies with a kiss.

I used to write essays and speeches. There is this one I won a competition for. Starts with a stanza I learned from Sam and very much adored. I had read it with a lot of energy.

Then I am looking at these goals I had, and it’s neither saddening nor surprising but there but there’s still a hole – and you wish it was big enough – that we don’t think like that anymore. There are more screens and more individual chaos than deeper thinking, or better yet, practical anything.

And I think you feel it too
What I no longer try to hide
It’s buried beneath the scars
Truth behind the lies.

7 July 2019. My most recent material in that drawer is a bag of gifts and Eidi. The space that wasn’t there before reeks of maturity.

1:20 AM

I do wish I could tell you about this but I dont know you.

We three are in some transition modes. Or like, some major life points. All three. Very different, some you would call more important than the other and youd be right. But dil hai na. Dil feels enough all the time. Like how they say about pain. Ke you cant say one suffered more than the other. I mean you can actually. But if you drop the comparison thing altogether…. then we can come to our second point:

We are all pretty empathetic. We dont blame each other. At least thats what I think and believe. About them too. So we give each other the space even when we need it so much but in our own spheres this all-of-it is hurting and messing up.

So I would know that I am hurting. But I also know theirs can be bigger in magnitude because of course. I think the thing is that we can’t all be with each other this time. We know it will settle but letting it settle like this is a lesson itself.

( We are unaware of each others background stories this time. Ideally we should be with amd without in it but realistically things run not like that. I edited to add this bit as well as cut one word from above. Because shit )

How fake am I? If I was head to toe fake, I would become unreal. And that isnt possible. So I am being hard on myself.

But in this world in this time, fake and real are so mixed up. Ethereal matters. You think your head is one and your heart another. Yo soul what was your game?

Things have of course changed.

My phones battery is low and I have an alarm set on it. Pity. I couldn’t even write about the important things. Such drama. And here I choose the title of this post. Or not.

I am not even thinking. Or am I?

Bless you, wild/torn heart

I never told you and never heard it. But when morning sun rises its especially assigned metaphor does too. Bless hope. Burn hope.

I never told you but I wonder if you kind of knew. You know, kind of. And wonder is the keyword. Because what else are we capable of? Oh existential dread.

I want to write something poetic. If I thought of you long enough, maybe I could. But who has the energy? I mean, even you would know that. Neither of us.

VOICE

Ouay huay huay yaar. What sadness mashaAllah. Like not exactly sadness – and here I am tryna put on a nice and decent facade – honestly well I don’t like this pronunciation of the word and would rather it be called faCAde please. Acha khair.

So basically I have been somewhat stressed. This time I’m not even talking to the anonymous listener kinda thing though the fact that I was reminded of them today speaks to me about the obvious halat. Other things also remind me of that because I remember being in this phase before. For other reasons but I remember this and I am imagining if this is stronger in any sense now. Because of any and everything at its root.

Do you mind talking about sadness? Is it a hard topic for you? I have been teaching some Japanese students and I give them a few personal writing exercises and man, what an experience that is. Like I am allowed to do that but I won’t cross that line and still enjoy a glimpse into THAT creative side. Pretty wow you know.

Also what else. We have another book fair at university these days, tomorrow being its last day. My voice is kharab suddenly, the kind of it some people like especially. Today we went to a mall. I don’t like malls I dunno why. But we had fun. I guess it’s shopping that I don’t like. And whatever. Etc means ends of thinking capacity aka spare me because I’m not bound to complete this sentence. Uff.

Okay anyway. Here’s to speaking better some other day. Allah bhailay.

OH ALSO I read a book after AGES matlab can you believe that? I had 100% stopped reading – actually not hundred because I tried and all that but it must’ve been like do saal or so. And I read Dan Brown this week. Such a good feel, seriously.

Also I WROTE after so long. Matlab I was going back home and chaltay chaltay I change my direction and there is this huge sports ground and I start in its direction and then I am sitting on that stair type (mundair? but better) and I open my bag, take out enough content until I can pick this black notebook and WRITE. I write in roman angraizi because it’s really a mix of Urdu and English and I vent. Like now but more secretive. And I get it off (only to that very extent as it goes) and bus. I put it all back and continue on my way and take a bus and go home.

Acha khair. Allah bhailay for reals now

Chaos

I mean if you didn’t pronounce Chaos as ˈkeɪɒs you would of course call it cha-os.

Hello weirdness and lack of presence. Internal presence. LITERALLY, I mean, I could very well call it quits now. Where it = this thing I am thinking about aka with a blank mind.

I don’t wanna call it ˈkeɪɒs now. Chios. Cheyaus. Tch tch.

First day at KU

First day after four years of being a student, i return to your premises with a role reversed.

I notice you with new eyes, and a very conscious emotionality.

You carry so many stories. And a piece of my heart.

Erasure

I am erasing every remnant of you because:

a) it doesn’t matter anymore?

b) I hope it would stop mattering like this?

22-Aug-2016

by the roaring waves

Is it cold where you are? Old question. My fingers are so cold right now I would say they are freezing but it sounds so extra.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE I mean my life is full on doing things with and about me and I’m like what? Am I not supposed to FEEL human and TAKE actions but then I AM taking actions and trying to feel so what is this… SIYAAAAAAAAAPA. What does siyapa mean though? Okay just checked, safe to use.

ANYWAY thank God you don’t get notifs here like on Instagram. Falana posted in a long while. Story omg check it. I remember how awkward it was in the beginning when they introduced hearts instead of plain (y) likes on Twitter and there. Like…. no bro I am not EXACTLY doing that but you know me. Maybe I am.

Lah time flies. This new year is so new so new ke bus. Everything is changing mashaAllah se. Jabhi ye haal hai but then wesay bhi ye haal hai. I can’t wait to announce all three things that are happening but then where should I do that first? Facebook, Insta, Blog? My choice would be tanha bara sa maidan, maybe in front of the beach. NO ONE ELSE. Wahan mai cheekh cheekh ke pooray aasmaan ko batadungi. We all wanna run away at certain points in our lives. There was a cool word for it too. Khair whatever, what was this blog about again?

 

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 ❤

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

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. 

Midnight call.

Hello. I need help again today.

How many people ask you for help on this very day?

Well, hey, don’t put down the phone during any minute. I have so much to say.

I feel like crying today. I feel like crying a lot. I don’t know. Remember that person?

You know, I was very happy today. I was very happy until later when this started. You know, I would have closed everything down, shut myself to the sweet escape but right now, I am talking to you. Because I’m so done with running away. I run to reach the same place every freaking time. I am so done.

Hello? Please say something else. I know you get me. I know you understand. I am already breathing, I am not dying. And by the way, I can never actually commit suicide, like ever. Inshaa Allah as well but like never.

Okay, I am listening. But I am not done yet?

You listen to me. I wrote my first poem today. It was so painful it was exhilarating. 

You listen to me. I wrote my last poem today. It was only painful.

You listen to me. I never intended to take it all so seriously.

You listen to me. I miss every dead person on earth tonight. I can feel the graveyard wind inside me. The sad laughter of the sister killed for honor. The sad laughter of the struggling maid. The sad laughter of the parents of the raped child. The sad laughter of the fallen bird. The hollow dread of a Justin Cronin novel.

I haven’t read in ages. I have a viva tomorrow. Remember I told you I loved exams for their distracting power? I don’t right now because it’s not working.

I can hear his chair creaking. I know he is sitting in the last room by the staircase with a pack of cigarettes. You know I hate cigarettes. But how would you know? You’re just a therapist. A listener, that’s all. A dead phone line.

half a string

On the third floor of the building, halfway through the long, long corridor were two connecting stairs. When we sat there, the sun was almost setting. We felt tired, and another mix of emotions with no particular name. A feeling of togetherness, a feeling of uncertainty, of hope, of struggle, of what it meant to us. Everything. It was like we were on one of the most important points in our respective lives, one that didn’t have much to do with the other — in fact, nothing — save for the fact that we were friends. And we were in it together.

We knew it was either a dream-come-true situation or nothing. We could have it, or we couldn’t. But there was also a third case.

“Maybe, it’s for only one of us. The other will return and later on say that they know it was for the best. They will sound very convincing, will ask you to actually believe them that they are content, that it doesn’t matter, that they’ve realised the wisdom behind ‘why not’…”

“But it won’t be true.”

“Yes, it cannot be. Know that deep down it will hurt them enough to never say a word about it. That something will shatter anyhow.” The same happened.

But there was also a fourth case.

all that

a g i t a t i o n

This time of the year you want to give up. You are so done. You could pack a bag and scurry off to the hills or something… even though this wasn’t what you wanted. But if you could find peace in any form you’ll want to go after it.

You are happy. You are laughing. You are making others laugh. There are fun sounds and dramatic gestures and such a sacred feeling of gratefulness it scares you.

You can see the mess. You know what it is even when you’re tapping your fingers on the keyboard pretending you can’t find the word you know you know the word, you know it’s called s t r u g g l e and sometimes it’s a name and sometimes, it’s a silly count of all your poems you never had the guts to share. When you end a day and begin another, you pat yourself on the shoulder because you can cut one on the self-help calendar in your mind, now it’s just 37 more days. After that, you will probably come up with another idea.

I wish I could tell you your burden is not your own but everyone’s collective burden is hell so yours is yours alone. Though there’s still some hope because – oh, I don’t know. But there is a heaven as well so there should be.

The End

Tomorrow is my last day at university! That is, last class ever. And then I have like (last) five exams (ever) and a thesis to submit and then it’s all O V E R.  Khatam-shudd.

I think… I miss it already. I know I will. Ughsdsd.

 

P.S.

1. The moon looks stunning sorts atm.
2. I cannot explain anything about the university feeling yet but it was worth saving hence the post.

Life of a Happy Girl*

If you’re happy** and you know it and you really want to share it with your family, brace yourselves for comments like:

“What’s the great news? Are you getting married? Already found someone?”

Haha. You really thought I was going to announce just that in front of the entire family?

Then:

“Bohat mubarak ho!! Allah tumharay naseeb achay karay.”

“Ohhh I’m so happy for you! *Insert jhappi* Allah tumhain bohat acha miya de.”

“Haye that’s so wonderful! May Allah give you more success in this life and Hereafter. And may you have a great husband/ married life.”

“I am so happy about your success! Also I was just saying to your uncle that may you get a spouse like —. Then your uncle said, why not a spouse even better than —. I said yes, may so be!”

OH, MY, ALLAH!!! I am looking for presents not husband atm!!

* in a desi aka (blunt stereotype but) obsessed-with-shadi society
** about ANYTHING ELSE LITERALLY
*** not saying these are the only kind of responses cuz there’s an AMAZING variety but you get the point

kāˌäs

The  solid  mass  that  a  jungle  of  scribbled  lines  create.   That  shapeless  bunch  of  black  with  white  gaps,  that  disorderly  pen  creation.   That  is  what  anxiety  forms in heart.   Just puts it there on the floor—the weighty bundle of chaos. I  was  wondering  if  I  could  put this emotion  into  words  while  I  felt  it.  And  if  it  would,  in  any  way,  lessen  it.   Guess  it  didn’t~

harmonize

01:01

A shadow of a portion of trees falling on the road, moving continuously with the wind. And I see two yellow bulbs hanging from the lower branches. For no reason, it makes me think of you.

It rained recently. It was so beautiful, started something around five in the evening. The best, best part was the beginning. You stand there and look from your gallery, and it’s this powerful shower and this serene noise, and this washed green, and happy faces; busy, happy city. It’s the kind of chaos you want to melt into.

I have mixed night and day here in the writing. But it’s kind of like that these days. So mixed. I try and fail, cannot hold any end of this string. It’s not bad but it’s not good either. More like the “middle” of a process. Boring, slow, confusing, but not extremely pathetic. Because you know what comes from a thing like that and well, you’re looking forward to it…