Archive for November, 2007



The first rain of winter has left me blued and flued which in my current state of being swamped with things to do is so not what I wanted.  I love the rain.  The way the sky changes colour, the scent of winter in the air…  It always soothes me…  Today it left me with the incomprehensible urge to weep even as the heavens rained down…

Have spent the last two days being poked, prodded and peeked at by people in white coats.  If that wasn’t enough had to undergo the awkwardness that goes with being injected and having blood drawn and tested.  All this has only reminded me how much I absolutely hate dealing with doctors…  (Yes!  I know they are people too!).  Have a very bad feeling will have to disclose visits to doc to mama dearest…  Had been avoiding that so far since mama is an expert at stressing and she has enough on her plate with papa leaving for Hajj Insha’allah next week and issues with her sister but me thinks all is not right in my world right now and disclosure would be better.

My research paper is now hanging over my head while I splash about in the sea of papers, notes and miscellaneous trash trying to figure out where to start writing it.  The interviews are more or less done with although do have another meeting on Monday but sitting down and then putting words to paper when it’s academics and not a story is not as easy I would expect it to be.

Spent yesterday evening at the neighbours.  Not that my ex-crush was there but had been fielding off invitations to visit by the parents for the last couple of months.  It was an interesting couple of hours with honest to goodness sweet people (stirred the desire in me to have them for in-laws :-p) where I was regaled with tales of their family history, their coming to Pakistan and their only son.  Had a wonderful dinner with the dear old things going all out offering me one thing and then another even while they interrogated me quite thoroughly.  The closing of the dinner was most interesting though.  Strong Turkish coffee served with Turkish Delight (Psyched!  A-hem!  Do not even go there!) in these wonderful little coffee cups and saucers.   Tradition holds that once the coffee has been drunk, the cup is turned over in the saucer and the swills, swirls and patterns apparently can tell your future.  His mother and I had an entertaining time trying to explain our interpretations of what my coffee said using a little English, a lot of sign language and even more laughter while his father who knows English fluently decided to stay out of the conversation itself and proceeded to look most amused at our antics.

Weekend tomorrow, thank goodness!  I just want to pull the blanket up over my head and sleep the day away!  Although, do need to seriously think about starting my write up on Sunday.  Also, have just realized approaching deadlines for admissions and my utter lack of preparation in terms of getting hoards of documents attested, verified and what not!

This procrastination is going to be the death of me!


Letter 3…

Dear God,

Am I lost?  Or have I lost it?

I keep thinking the world is worth losing…

Tell you a secret?  I’m really scared I’m losing you…

I miss you!


Just One More Time…

Come to me,

In a dream if you will.

Bring a half forgotten touch of your hand on mine;

The echo of a soft laugh in the dark of the night;

And the memory of a gentle kiss…

You see, ’tis all I need any more.

Shades of you,

In the shadow of the life I live.


Wedding Aggravations!!

After attending a double wedding and making trips from Islamabad to Kohat to Peshawar to Kohat to Peshawar to Islamabad in three days with prospects of reliving every moment of these past 3 days for the next week or so, my mood is completely euphoric!!

And if you took that statement at face value, you’ve not quite been enrolled in the academy of life for too long and may God preserve you from it!

I have met people who moan about a lack of relatives and extended family.  Yet, at every gathering that has me greeting droves of people who’re connected to me from generations, I swear I come away thinking if I never meet some of them again, it will be way too soon!

I have no other issues with them except that they have a sworn duty to uphold of reminding me of my greatest failure (in their opinion) in getting married and producing the certificate of marriage in the form of a baby 9 months to the day.  And then they compound and further this discussion in front of my mother.  Mothers, who everybody knows are made of different stuff than the rest of us and tend to take things differently.

I just don’t get it!  It has nothing to do with them.  And it’s not as if I am in line for their oh so eligible sons!  Ugh!  Perish the thought!  I don’t live in their house, don’t eat from their tables and sure as hell don’t go boohooing in front of them ‘coz I don’t have a husband to accessorise at weddings and a baby to dress in colour coordinated outfits!

What is their issue in looking at me as if I’m abnormal?  So, I’m not married!  Does that make my life incomplete?  Or has it now been deemed that I so absolutely cannot be content with my lot and satisfied in my life as it is?

Apparently, I need to get my head looked at!   Sheeesshhhh!!!


Letter 2…

Dear God,

I fell again today.  My hands are bleeding and my knees are scraped raw.  There is dust in my face and in my hair.

It hurts…

I miss you…


Jab ‘Me’ Met

Quandary!!  What does this mean?

Professor to Me:  “I was watching Jab We Met last night and was reminded of you…”

How complimentary is it when your professor tells you that he was reminded of you while watching ‘Jab We Met’ when the only impressions that stayed with you of the movie when you watched it was how talkative Kareena Kapoor’s character was?



Letter 1…

Dear God,

When did simply feeling happy become so hard?

I miss you…

Unforgiven Me!


Got Tagged!

After eons by dear Psyched… and somehow the excitement that I used to feel at a tag in my early days of blogging barely a year ago has so blah-ed down…  Nonetheless, never let it be said that I did not tackle any tag thrown my way…  Here goes…

1.Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it? The ring finger of my left hand carries no diamond rings but a reminder of when I used a tin opener to try and open my hand…

2. What does your phone look like? Scratched, bruised and on its last legs

3.What is on the walls of your bedroom? A Venetian Costume Mask, A lousy T-shirt that is all I got from my bro’s visit there, and a framed pic of a baby with an attitude!

4. What is your current desktop picture? Gary Barlow from Take That!  (It is my desk top!!!)

5. Do you believe in gay marriage? To each their own! 

6. What do you want more than anything right now? A one way ticket out of here!

7. What time were you born? 0645

8. Last person who made you cry? I can manage that task well enough on my own, thank you very much!

9. What is your favorite perfume/cologne? Tommy Girl, Contradiction, Femme

10. What kind of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex? Blonde hair, Blue or Gray eyes.  (Okay okay… don’t give me that look ladies… So I may have a death wish…)

11. What are you listening to? Patience (Take That)

12. Do you get scared of the dark? Hell No

13. Do you like pain killers? Name one reasonable sane person who actually ‘likes’ pain killers!!!  Who came up with tag anyhoo????

14. Are you too shy to ask someone out? No but I’d rather not simply to avoid the mess.

15. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be? Am craving crisp fried chicken and fries

16. Who was the last person you made mad? You want me to name one?  

17. Who was the last person who made you smile? Mama 

18. Is anyone in love with you? It would be just that little bit arrogant would it not, for me to answer that…  but hey, I’m self sure enough to say yes! :p  

X, Samar and whoever else fancies it, consider yourself tagged!


Inner Voice…

Please Hear What I’m Not Saying

Don’t be fooled by me.
Don’t be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
Masks that I’m afraid to take off
And none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me,
but don’t be fooled,
for God’s sake don’t be fooled.
I give you the impression that I’m secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water’s calm and I’m in command
and that I need no one,
but don’t believe me.

My surface may be smooth but
my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don’t want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only hope, and I know it.
That is, if it is followed by acceptance,
If it is followed by love.
It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls
from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.
It’s the only thing that will assure me
of what I can’t assure myself,
that I’m really worth something.
But I don’t tell you this. I don’t dare to. I’m afraid to.

I’m afraid you’ll think less of me,
that you’ll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I’m afraid that deep-down I’m nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a façade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of Masks,
And my life becomes a front.
I tell you everything that’s really nothing,
and nothing of what’s everything,
of what’s crying within me.
So when I’m going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I’m saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m not saying,
what I’d like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can’t say.

I don’t like hiding.
I don’t like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you’ve got to help me.
You’ve got to hold out your hand
even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you’re kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings —
very small wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator–an honest-to-God creator —
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from the shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me
the blinder I may strike back.
It’s irrational, but despite what the books may say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

By Charles C. Finn

November 2007