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Thursday, July 28, 2005

the little girl used to say 7 ayat ul kursis every night. she would say a extra secret 7 ones, would imaging the holy words solidifying into glowing arabic script across the cosmos, and would close her eyes and concentrate with all her being, reach out across the space, and put them in this glowing bag she would lock away in her chest.

she used to pray very often as well. she would go down into sajda and squeeze her eyes shut and her entire being would shrink to one thought and one thought alone: save me from That. Please. Please don't test my faith, I won't be able to stand it. Please God, save me from That.

Then one day, after years and years of planning, the secret bag with the secret holy words was full. she sent her soul to go to God to give it to her mother. she thought it would make a nice surprise when her mother died and then God told her that this is what her daughter had done. it would make her mother less sad about dying.

God immediately told her mothers soul: "this is what your daughter has done. aren't you proud? i will give you the sawab for it, but she will have to wait for her reward" the mother bowed her head in acceptance, even though she had questions, she knew better than to question God.

and then came sad times on the earth, because the little girl grew up and forgot the holy words and forgot about the secret bag that lay empty for so long it lost its glow. and because she started walking the dark path, unprotected by the bag, the words, or any light at all, she fell pray to the devil. he went into her mind, and saw her greatest fear, the one that would make her shatter if she got it. and then he laughed, and sent her That.

but God in His infinite wisdom had obviously forseen this. he stopped time, and called the mothers soul to Him: "you have been praying to save your daughter. you have prayed to save her from any harm because you have seen her walk to the dark path. now is your chance. the cost is one bag of the holy words"
the mother didn't even think. she had created her baby, she would not let That effect her child.
she gave the bag, and in return, bought herself one of That.

it grew in her for seven years before others found it. it started growing outward destroying the tissue and making her sick before they noticed something was wrong. but all that time, her soul had known, and her body was calm in acceptance of her fate.

they gave her surgery and radiotherapy to fix That. and it eventually worked, but at a heavy price.

at a very heavy price.

i wonder what happened to that little girl. i wonder if her life was worth it.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Q&A & W&Z

to You know who you are:
I’ve burnt everything up and then buried the ashes under the carpet. Haha.
It was funny when you tried to lift it up and only gray dust poofed up to mock your face. Haha.

Let me tell you the problem that stuttering awkward silences don’t reveal: you don’t even take off your masks for yourself. when you live in hiding, how do you expect other people to discover you? until you discover the concept of honesty, nothing will make you feel better. Nothing.

I gave you peace even though you don't deserve it. you came back and took one more bloody thing from me i didn't want to give.
but I’m safe now. Too bad, you’re too late.

Why did you call?

Sunday, July 24, 2005

a lion, a witch and a wardrobe

i just reread the first of the chronicals of narnia :)

for me a lion stands for nobility. a panther, a black one with a startling pink tongue licking its paw, stands for aloofness. an eagle, its beaked nose, stands for the breathtaking wheelies it does alone in the wind a million miles above the world.
i think i could be all of them.

Monday, July 18, 2005


why isn't anyone looking into why the bombings happened?
when people have their country destroyed, when people have their families and their lives destroyed by foreign forces, who will they blame? how many terrorists did the devastation in iraq and afghanistan make? how many terrorists from palestine and bosnia are there? when you take everything from an entire nation, what gets left behind?

i hope the british have more evidence than they're letting on. reading the articles it really feels like they just picked a group of four random islamic mullahs and decided to pin in it on them. the only thing they seem to be basing their entire hypothesis on currently is on cctv footage of four guys with bagpacks (woooo terrifying) and that those four guys visited pakistan in 2004 (thats it then! they must be the ones! what are the odds!?).

how will the west get rid of al quaeda? the more people they destroy the more will come and take their place, till the world stands in the ashes of charred nations and smoking guns. how about funding education programs in developing countries? how about "aiding" by not making the guns and bombs the wrong side ends up using?

"with great power comes great responsibility peter"
its sad that even comic book writers know the basic things the leaders of the free world don't

Sunday, July 17, 2005


for self involved monologue:

(1) my scars: there are three obvious ones. the biggest one i don't bother talking about, the second one is a tiny perfect dead circle on my arm a little below where my elbow bends from the inside (wasp sting: payphone, falling into hair then onto arm, being bit, entire being shrinking to vicious burning circle, hanging up payphone because couldn't speak, then sitting on bench to catch breath, couple of days later hearing girl screaming so loud people took her to hospital when it was actually the same type of wasp sting). the third one is a group of tiny half cresents that were made by my sister trying to gouge out a piece of my hand while we were fighting. there are several unobvious ones, most of which effect me in ways i haven't figured out for myself.

(2) my friends: theres a part in war of the worlds (watched the Pakistan "premiere" on friday) where tom cruise and his beautiful butt look out onto a vast vast landscape with nothing, absolutely nothing in sight, except for red bloody guts and dead people entrails. sitting in one corolla packed with nine healthy adults half an hour later, i felt exactly like him sans the butt. i feel like that standing in the middle of a "totally rocking" party, i feel like that sitting in my soulless cubical churning out golden jelly for the queen bee. the only time i manage to erase that feeling somewhat is with a few people, very few people, none of who ease it away totally, but who manage to make the time pass and the loss of someone who understands me easier to bear.

(3) my life: its probably never going to be better, i'll probably look back with envy at the 'golden days' i am defining blah blah. i wake up every morning and look in the proverbial mirror and i know i can say two things: "i love my life" and believe it. in exactly the same tone i could also say: "i hate my life" and i would be able to convince myself of that too. the fact is i am Jaded. I am indifferent to my life to an extent where the indifference consumes on my energy and my enthusiasm and my passion, and pisses on every thing i could ever be interested in. i lie there and make the motions and put up pretenses and society is happy, and every day i think to myself: "one day..."

one day.


10 easy steps to avoid revealing you're an asshole:

(1) don't tell women stories that start with: "one time i got so wasted i .. ". this isn't high school or college. we're not interested. grow up.
(2) don't tell women stories that end with "and so i beat that guy up". just dont.
(3) don't talk about a movie or a book if you don't understand it. really. don't.
(4) avoid the word "steal". do not share stories about shop lifting, stealing in a resteraunt, or taking stuff out of someones else washer at a laundromat. not cool. not cool at all.
(5) if your driving involves (a) ANY hand gestures (yours or others), (b) horns blaring in your wake (c) you honking at little old ladies driving (d) agressively high beaming the guy in front of you, you need to stay OFF the road. do not have women in the car. they WILL get pissed off.
(6) do not share stories about how you were mean to the nerd kid school. we'd rather go out with him than hang out with you. really.
(7) resist the urge to talk about yourself. resist it. RESIST.
(8) do not scratch any area covered by underwear. none.
(9) wear underwear. please.
(10) shower regularly. anything involving less than fifteen minutes and no soap doesn't count.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Cause: Effect, Socialites: Sleep Vomit, Rumor: Amusement

Act I: Cause
I’m sleepy, had a horrendous hectic brain sapping day at work and still got nothing done, have to work tonight and throughout the weekend before E gets back on Monday. Am out for ‘coffee’ with A and T1.

(Background: A is highly accomplished, she has the best schooling, ivy league education, filthy rich parents, a fantastic job at the frightening multi national that would have killed the average (wo)man, and is SO nice (comes from being abroad all the time – hi hello thank you, oh I’m so sorry, please, really, hahahaha, like.. totally, like.. maaan, aW…) that its weird. However, I discovered one more thing about her tonight – she is an absolute and total no holds barred Ditz. With her wide eyed, american accented perfect polite small talk is a sweet empty EMPTY head. Oh well)

After two hours of mind numbing non conversation, I tuned out, and am sleepy. I get bitchy without knowing it when I’m sleepy. Which is why maybe its excusable.
We’re about to leave (finally) when A gets a call “oh those guys are coming to pick me up”.
“Guys” enter, sit at our table
(hi long time, yea I know! hello, oh I’m M, I’m S, blah blah)
[insert random chit chat about moving back after getting shot in the leg during a stint in the Marines (non warfare related), polite smiles about stupid jokes by drunk moron who is not funny at all)]

T2: “hey you’re not going to leave I’ve just seen you for the first time in two years man!”
Me: “haha yea right, like we were best buddies before that” (one side order of venomous sarcasm to go please)
T2: “no maaann… we used to.. like.. chill and shit.. ha ha ha”
Me: “well, maybe you should have said hi instead of ignoring me last Saturday.. ‘ha’ ‘ha’ ‘ha’.” (polite smile to go with side order of venom please thank you)
T2 (sheepish.. confused over normal polite tone of slightly bitchy comment): “hey we used to be tight man.. you turned lesbian with my girlfriend! Ha ha ha ha”
Me: “ookkaaay someones really drunk” (oh oh - if he’s brought up M2, then my god he must be gone – time to leave, things get unpleasant when he’s like that) glance at T “lets make a move”
T2: “hey man, great catching up with you you LESBOOO” (T2 yells and people in resteraunt turn to stare)
Me: “you wish sweetie, you wish. bye now” (smile like I just said the most normal thing)
T2: (confused by words and expression disconnect) “bye”
Kisses both cheeks (yuck)

Exit with T, calm, cool and unruffled (sleepy so it helps the indifference)

Act II: Effect
Table with T2, A and M
M: “Hey man she’s hot, set me up with her dude”
A: “hey maaaan, you don’t have a chance. You act like such a weirdo whenever she’s around”
T2: “maaaann she’s a lesboooo, she told meeee”
M: “really? That makes her hotter”
T2: “whatever dude.. she stole my girlfriend”
M: “maan who would have thought”

Rumor spreads, I’m apparently having some wild affair with my (female) best friend.

At least he had the decency to only twist around some weird joke he said to my face. All the other ones have have literally been 200% fiction. In some weird way this was pretty honest and straight up of T2.

Actually wait, he’s too dumb to make something up.

Oh well. So that explains most of the why’s.

Friday, July 01, 2005

random number generator

(1) "rain lashes lahore - three children and two adults dead".
all i can think is: monsoons are hereeeeeee.. yaay... i hope it rains in karachi too!!!!
(yes i know - i'm a Terrible Terrible person)
(2) "appointment book written over, rewritten over, and then re-rewritten over in different colours this week"
social life - check, lunch plans - check, salon apointment - check, gym routine - check, insane drowning in work till about to die and then some work week - check
(3) wrote something sleep deprived and supercharged on red bull last weekend. my schitzopherenia potential was at its scintillating shiniest:
3a - rare: it was a FANTASTIC party. the music was great, and something about having to drive for an hour to get to the venue brought out the raging party monster in everyone.. by 6 am i couldn't feel my feet, my legs, or any other essential limbs but continued to literally tear holes in the dance floor. something about capris and heels and "still looking so ravishingly put together even after everyone else looks like death". at least everyone was Happy if i wasn't.
3b - medium: it was a night of goods and bads. i discovered O, F and A are still the total sweethearts N said they were. and they're insane people on the floor, people actually stop to look at O move. i wish he was gay and my best friend. had a great time on the roof, looking out onto the moonlit golf course. i only wish i had been there with my party buddies though, i missed having T, J and N my social anxiety disorder crutches. damn you summer vacations! actually damn you after you bring back M to this part of of the world.... and after i eventually get Leave and get to go for my own... ok whatever
3c - burnt: am craving meat because i'm pretty sure i have a sore throat (yes its a perfectly logical leap).. probably because of cans too cold, because of smoke filled ballrooms and sittings in close proximity of three tiresome individuals i wished i didn't know.. or maybe it was the sheer exercise it took to dodge M's Absolut dance moves, smiling and waving a million times at the kid who i kind of know but not enough to talk to, of watching TA making a total ass of himself falling on his face the whole night and most of the morning, or digging my heels out of the plywood dancefloor which pretty much collapsed after a night of hard work... all i can think of right now at 8 am after twenty eight hours of artificial wakefullness: i'm getting too old for this...