Dear girl in the blue car from clifton,
you were gang raped. by people you probably met at the party. you pissed them off, your own morals are in question, but the crime - the most heinous that can happen to a woman - has happened to you. this is the darkest time in your life, and you will never be the same again. your life will be forever effected by this, and for many many many years to come you will re-live this in your head. i do not know if you have a family, or friends, or a support system. but i do know this - something that you cannot see surrounded by corruption, and stupidity, and immorality and death threats - there is a silent mass around you, people like me, parents, peers, and normal human beings in general, who have heard this story and have been as shocked as i am. we support you. we want to help you. and in the absence of knowing you, we are sending you our prayers and wishes that you get over this trauma. that you realize that you have the power from the very thing that has robbed you entirely it. get even. go public. come out of the closet and the dark basement you are locked in. name the m*therf*ckers. get their photographs to the media. tell your story, no matter how macabre. they are wrong. what they did was wrong. accuse them and hold them for what they did publicly through every forum known to you. and you will turn the tables on them. drag their names. the names of their families. and the names of their friends and anyone who knows them. no matter who or what they throw at you, you will come out victorious because the truth is on your side.
or you can wait. gather strength. and deal with this yourself and in time their karma will catch up with them in this life or the next.
be strong. you have more friends then you think rooting for you.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
she's young. and beautiful. skinny, tall, waif-like neck and impossibly ethereal genes. her thighs - the bitch - are a teeny tiny handspan wide. only youth can achieve that skinniness. something about getting married and getting lots of sex makes you fat. or age. or just a stagnant lifestyle catching up to you. so much work to look like a put together human. have often found myself wearing full makeup in mid-day, in order to just look like i used to when an unwashed ungroomed early twenty yr old with luminescent skin and shiny brown straight hair.
but i digress.
this is the story about love, young love. the kind that makes people feel they've discovered it for the first time. the kind that makes people feel that financial issues are not a problem. that crazy families can be dealt with. that a lack financial management, that stinginess, that the hint of temper that leads to wife beating later on is just a minor character flaw. minor. so minor.
they meet. she wants to use the phone. he's the only one at work at that hour. she's an intern. so is he. so cute. she forgets about him in a second.
he's in front of her. he holds the door open for her. her heart stops and door opening is never ever the same for her again. she is forever greatful to door openers as they remind her of him. forever and always.
he approaches her amidst a group of fellow interns. they've been gossiping about the cute boy, and lo and behold, there he is, adorable, formal pants, white pristine shirt, good shoulders, bass voice, asking her if she could help him out please?
flattered - very flattered - that's she's the chosen one, she goes in, and helps him fix the brochures. takes ages. they start chatting. so cute. SO cute.
he takes her out to the restaurant upstairs. she orders fries, and then watches him snag a friend and beg him silently and ferociously to give him the money to pay the bill. he thinks she can't hear, but she can and she's smarter than average. she laughs inside, but preserves his dignity.
he changes jobs, and takes her to two new restaurants the next day. he doesn't want to drop her home. so sweet.
they drive around for ages. their favorite spot is dunkin donuts. they go there everyday almost, and stay till its closed. he looks heartbreakingly good in a white tshirt. lean. tall good build. and the shoulders. my god the shoulders. they're waiting in line, and she's chattering away about some charity drive she just went to and she looks over and he's staring at the white City FM 89 flood relief bracelet on her wrist, and reaches out a finger - over the span of his personal space and into hers - and touches her wrist, little electric currents coursing through her hand down. the one spark literally fizzles off her, and he's reverently one unmoving fingertip touching her wrist to see if she's real because he loves her so much.
he sits with a cap, shadows from his eyelashes spiking out across his cheek, and he's champing on a red straw, and if she hadn't been in love already, she spins head over heels. she can actually feel the moment in her heart, tumbling painfully. white tshirts. his. forever and always.
they're sitting in the cold - and winters were always special to her, even as a child - and she now knows its because she was to meet him twenty plus winters later, which is why she loves the cold so much. the air is crisp, the wind biting. they're freezing on the outside terrace of a pizzeria, very close to one of the first restaurants they went to, which is now shut down 4 college years onwards. her family is moving, and she's decided that its not enough to be with him. that the lack of financial means, the difference in social standing, it just can't be. she's moving, they can't do long distance, and that's it. her parents have kindly suggested some banker in london, who seemed so nice on paper. so grown up. so marriageable. who was she to think this would work. but the words can't come out. she's sitting there, and there he is, hers. hers entirely even though they haven't done much more than hold hands all this time. the memories reach up and choke her. the words just don't come out. kindly, because he knows her so well, he already knows what her decision is, and helps her. tells her what she was trying to say. and gives her flowers - white roses - and tells her she would be his one and only love always.
she gets home and cries and cries, and knows as fajr resounds at day break that she won't be able to do it.
she tells her mother about him. the parents meet. her parents lovingly try to tell her the difficulties she'll be facing - it will be a tough life baby. are you sure? are you sure they ask. and even years later her throat chokes when she thinks of what they saw, and what they had hoped for her, and how stupid stupid stupid she was at thinking she was the first to discover this feeling. how stupid stupid stupid young she was. how much she cried and thought of that when he fought with her, when the mother in law caused fights, when the sister in law caused fights, when he, her beloved, darling love, when his face and personality twisted beyond all recognition kicked her, slapped her, choked her, and then dragged her out of the house in her pajamas threatening to throw her out.
how far had they come. how different they had become.
the therapy. the separation. months apart for the first time in years. how her heart broke every minute, every hour. when he came back, how relieved she was, because even despite the hate, despite the screaming anger, there was still so much love. how could she let anyone else touch her again without thinking of him? how could she ever imagine comma-ing into someone else at night, without thinking of him? how could she ever go to a home that didn't have him. her heart told her so clearly, so clearly, what her head had hoped she wouldn't see for her own good.
they get back together. it takes years and years and years for the scars to almost heal. the change. his change. his growing up to the man he used to be, maturer, better, loving, forgiving.
they reach their stride, grow comfortable with their flaws. the fights are less now. less bitter. more easily forgiven. his lack of financial management less irritating, she now works around it. her temper less devastating, and he now jokes her out of it.
they try for a baby, and a few bad years later, they have one beautiful beautiful one. three months later, a mistake, and then nine months later, they have the second baby. life changes, completely totally utterly while staying exactly the same. it is no longer her and him, this man, but her and her children. their constant utter demands, the complete and total feelings of fulfillment in when they are fed, diapered, changed and asleep. raising, teaching, loving, feeding. the work. the heartbreaking loss of leaving them for even a few hours. they grow so very fast. husband forgotten. poor man. daddy. baba. not a bread winner, not really an authority figure, but very very good at winning hearts. she is the bad guy, the authoritarian who rules with an iron fist - he is the one who they play pranks with, who they're naughty with, with whom they do impossibly messy things that mama has to clean up later. which she often doesn't. the exhaustion.
she wakes up at 5:00 am every day. packs the lunchboxes. irons the uniforms and the clothes the damn effing maid never does on time. feeds the kids. dresses the kids. drops them to school. comes back. feeds herself. dresses. goes to work. husband somewhere in there using up key bathroom space. making his own breakfast and sometimes hers god bless him. coming home. conference calls on NY time while the babies sleep. movies. some time for snuggling when the children don't want water, or don't have nightmares, or don't want daddy to read to them, or daddy to sleep with them to save them from the monsters.
soon, so very soon, they're old enough. ducklings becoming swans. did she have all these issues when she was 12? she didn't remember asking her mother this till she was 20! so young, so old these kids. so adept with video games. she used to be good at that, when did she lose the hand eye coordination?! she always thought she would be the cool mother - when did they start thinking she didn't know anything! their father sails through their difficult years, and he tells her their secrets at night, as they comma into each other every night and talk in murmurs. the youngest is in love again, but its just an infatuation because he's the most popular boy in school. the son is obsessing about sports, but one his friends apparently made out with a girl. she marvels that the kids tell him these things, can't imagine herself ever telling her beloved parents this kind of stuff at any age.
school, college, alone. they're alone again. joints creaking. her surgery was painful, but he was by her bedside every day every hour, not letting the kids spend the night because that was the key time. post surgical complications, but she pulls through. they curl up on the hospital bed, even though his tummy gets in the way now and there are a lot of tubes going into needles into her arms. they watch the sunrise out of the hospital window, and think of the days gone by, the kids, the internship where they met.
he has a heart attack when he shouldn't have had. the doctors misdiagnose lung disease, and he slips away in a hospital bed very early. she weeps for weeks, railing and screaming like she never has in her life. she lives alone. when the come to visit, their beloved mother is a shell for so long. railing about how he left her. how angry she is at him. she can't sleep at night, where is he? why has he left her? she stacks pillows, six of them, one on her back, one on her right, one to hug, so that in the middle of sleep perhaps in the warmth she will dream of him and they will be together again. where is he, how could he have left her?
then there he is again. there is a little baby boy, her grandson. the first in the family. and there he is again, in the baby. the eyes, genes holding true. her darling. her beloved. how she misses him every second of every day still. they name the baby after him, and then as new life builds within the child, memories of her husband, her true love, her soul mate, ease with each passing moment.
she sits at his grave, years and years of widowhood later. women visiting the graveyard so frowned upon in Pakistan. but there she is. to talk to him. to grow flowers at his grave. and a tree, bursting with flowers the same color as his white tshirt.
one night, a long time later, too long she tells her kids and grand kids and old servants. too long. she quietly suffers a brain hemorrhage, and joins him, her beloved. they rest in peace, finally together, side by side, white flowers dotting their graves.
but i digress.
this is the story about love, young love. the kind that makes people feel they've discovered it for the first time. the kind that makes people feel that financial issues are not a problem. that crazy families can be dealt with. that a lack financial management, that stinginess, that the hint of temper that leads to wife beating later on is just a minor character flaw. minor. so minor.
they meet. she wants to use the phone. he's the only one at work at that hour. she's an intern. so is he. so cute. she forgets about him in a second.
he's in front of her. he holds the door open for her. her heart stops and door opening is never ever the same for her again. she is forever greatful to door openers as they remind her of him. forever and always.
he approaches her amidst a group of fellow interns. they've been gossiping about the cute boy, and lo and behold, there he is, adorable, formal pants, white pristine shirt, good shoulders, bass voice, asking her if she could help him out please?
flattered - very flattered - that's she's the chosen one, she goes in, and helps him fix the brochures. takes ages. they start chatting. so cute. SO cute.
he takes her out to the restaurant upstairs. she orders fries, and then watches him snag a friend and beg him silently and ferociously to give him the money to pay the bill. he thinks she can't hear, but she can and she's smarter than average. she laughs inside, but preserves his dignity.
he changes jobs, and takes her to two new restaurants the next day. he doesn't want to drop her home. so sweet.
they drive around for ages. their favorite spot is dunkin donuts. they go there everyday almost, and stay till its closed. he looks heartbreakingly good in a white tshirt. lean. tall good build. and the shoulders. my god the shoulders. they're waiting in line, and she's chattering away about some charity drive she just went to and she looks over and he's staring at the white City FM 89 flood relief bracelet on her wrist, and reaches out a finger - over the span of his personal space and into hers - and touches her wrist, little electric currents coursing through her hand down. the one spark literally fizzles off her, and he's reverently one unmoving fingertip touching her wrist to see if she's real because he loves her so much.
he sits with a cap, shadows from his eyelashes spiking out across his cheek, and he's champing on a red straw, and if she hadn't been in love already, she spins head over heels. she can actually feel the moment in her heart, tumbling painfully. white tshirts. his. forever and always.
they're sitting in the cold - and winters were always special to her, even as a child - and she now knows its because she was to meet him twenty plus winters later, which is why she loves the cold so much. the air is crisp, the wind biting. they're freezing on the outside terrace of a pizzeria, very close to one of the first restaurants they went to, which is now shut down 4 college years onwards. her family is moving, and she's decided that its not enough to be with him. that the lack of financial means, the difference in social standing, it just can't be. she's moving, they can't do long distance, and that's it. her parents have kindly suggested some banker in london, who seemed so nice on paper. so grown up. so marriageable. who was she to think this would work. but the words can't come out. she's sitting there, and there he is, hers. hers entirely even though they haven't done much more than hold hands all this time. the memories reach up and choke her. the words just don't come out. kindly, because he knows her so well, he already knows what her decision is, and helps her. tells her what she was trying to say. and gives her flowers - white roses - and tells her she would be his one and only love always.
she gets home and cries and cries, and knows as fajr resounds at day break that she won't be able to do it.
she tells her mother about him. the parents meet. her parents lovingly try to tell her the difficulties she'll be facing - it will be a tough life baby. are you sure? are you sure they ask. and even years later her throat chokes when she thinks of what they saw, and what they had hoped for her, and how stupid stupid stupid she was at thinking she was the first to discover this feeling. how stupid stupid stupid young she was. how much she cried and thought of that when he fought with her, when the mother in law caused fights, when the sister in law caused fights, when he, her beloved, darling love, when his face and personality twisted beyond all recognition kicked her, slapped her, choked her, and then dragged her out of the house in her pajamas threatening to throw her out.
how far had they come. how different they had become.
the therapy. the separation. months apart for the first time in years. how her heart broke every minute, every hour. when he came back, how relieved she was, because even despite the hate, despite the screaming anger, there was still so much love. how could she let anyone else touch her again without thinking of him? how could she ever imagine comma-ing into someone else at night, without thinking of him? how could she ever go to a home that didn't have him. her heart told her so clearly, so clearly, what her head had hoped she wouldn't see for her own good.
they get back together. it takes years and years and years for the scars to almost heal. the change. his change. his growing up to the man he used to be, maturer, better, loving, forgiving.
they reach their stride, grow comfortable with their flaws. the fights are less now. less bitter. more easily forgiven. his lack of financial management less irritating, she now works around it. her temper less devastating, and he now jokes her out of it.
they try for a baby, and a few bad years later, they have one beautiful beautiful one. three months later, a mistake, and then nine months later, they have the second baby. life changes, completely totally utterly while staying exactly the same. it is no longer her and him, this man, but her and her children. their constant utter demands, the complete and total feelings of fulfillment in when they are fed, diapered, changed and asleep. raising, teaching, loving, feeding. the work. the heartbreaking loss of leaving them for even a few hours. they grow so very fast. husband forgotten. poor man. daddy. baba. not a bread winner, not really an authority figure, but very very good at winning hearts. she is the bad guy, the authoritarian who rules with an iron fist - he is the one who they play pranks with, who they're naughty with, with whom they do impossibly messy things that mama has to clean up later. which she often doesn't. the exhaustion.
she wakes up at 5:00 am every day. packs the lunchboxes. irons the uniforms and the clothes the damn effing maid never does on time. feeds the kids. dresses the kids. drops them to school. comes back. feeds herself. dresses. goes to work. husband somewhere in there using up key bathroom space. making his own breakfast and sometimes hers god bless him. coming home. conference calls on NY time while the babies sleep. movies. some time for snuggling when the children don't want water, or don't have nightmares, or don't want daddy to read to them, or daddy to sleep with them to save them from the monsters.
soon, so very soon, they're old enough. ducklings becoming swans. did she have all these issues when she was 12? she didn't remember asking her mother this till she was 20! so young, so old these kids. so adept with video games. she used to be good at that, when did she lose the hand eye coordination?! she always thought she would be the cool mother - when did they start thinking she didn't know anything! their father sails through their difficult years, and he tells her their secrets at night, as they comma into each other every night and talk in murmurs. the youngest is in love again, but its just an infatuation because he's the most popular boy in school. the son is obsessing about sports, but one his friends apparently made out with a girl. she marvels that the kids tell him these things, can't imagine herself ever telling her beloved parents this kind of stuff at any age.
school, college, alone. they're alone again. joints creaking. her surgery was painful, but he was by her bedside every day every hour, not letting the kids spend the night because that was the key time. post surgical complications, but she pulls through. they curl up on the hospital bed, even though his tummy gets in the way now and there are a lot of tubes going into needles into her arms. they watch the sunrise out of the hospital window, and think of the days gone by, the kids, the internship where they met.
he has a heart attack when he shouldn't have had. the doctors misdiagnose lung disease, and he slips away in a hospital bed very early. she weeps for weeks, railing and screaming like she never has in her life. she lives alone. when the come to visit, their beloved mother is a shell for so long. railing about how he left her. how angry she is at him. she can't sleep at night, where is he? why has he left her? she stacks pillows, six of them, one on her back, one on her right, one to hug, so that in the middle of sleep perhaps in the warmth she will dream of him and they will be together again. where is he, how could he have left her?
then there he is again. there is a little baby boy, her grandson. the first in the family. and there he is again, in the baby. the eyes, genes holding true. her darling. her beloved. how she misses him every second of every day still. they name the baby after him, and then as new life builds within the child, memories of her husband, her true love, her soul mate, ease with each passing moment.
she sits at his grave, years and years of widowhood later. women visiting the graveyard so frowned upon in Pakistan. but there she is. to talk to him. to grow flowers at his grave. and a tree, bursting with flowers the same color as his white tshirt.
one night, a long time later, too long she tells her kids and grand kids and old servants. too long. she quietly suffers a brain hemorrhage, and joins him, her beloved. they rest in peace, finally together, side by side, white flowers dotting their graves.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
2009
happy birthday
We walk into the sunset you and i
We don our wings, fly into the sun
As they melt and we fall into the ocean
Pegasus comes to rescue us
And takes us to the mount where fire is hidden
We kiss, silhouetted against the jewelled expanse of the country
And then on winged sandals race home to the fortress
Where our children grow and play
Gone are the days of adventure
Gone are the days we snuck around stealing food
Making love under the covers
Hands on mouths to keep from giggling
Shushing in secret
Gone are the days of foolish youth
where spending was more important than saving
where winged chariots set fire across the sky
having water fights between cars on main roads
crazed bystanders soaked by accident
gone are the days of internships
I am the hated dept head in a shitty nonprofit
you await your annual bonus
and make your subordinate slaves go through the terrible rites of passage
we kiss, silhouetted against our bed, familiar and kind hands
holding for comfort
each touch a reminder of the millions of other times
play acting
to regain the unfamiliarity
we fight about buying cars and mortgages
not about the rumour she heard from him and told me
or the rumour he heard from her and told you
we have grown up you and i
yet still remain children
nostalgic about our future
Monday, September 20, 2010
who are we. these tortured english speaking and writing minority brown people, pakistani bloggers still subjects of a british crown of the 1700s. unbeknowst to ourselves, hating our browness, hating everything in our country, so that the british could rule us through simply creating an education system that would turn us against ourselves.
much like our BBCD exports, who hold their little version of quaint, dupatta covered, women enslaved version on Pakistan from whatever era they migrated, we, the so called evolved pakistani's hold on our slice of victorian england, where "merchants" or people who actually had to work for a living were totally uncool and actually turning up for college classes and studying was soooo passe. victorian england where there were galas, and balls, and may queens, and formal dresses. where tradition was to rag new students, where peerage or who's family is who was poured over by women hoping to snag a good husband. where family money harkened back generations of landholding, where the people living on the land tilled it for the land "lords" who maintained country seats also maintained a london house for living in the city. where "seasons" in summer and winter months happened, and men were sent after school to a trip of europe to learn of the world before they embarked on their (military) career. where sport was hunting, and wagering on card games, and crazy races of horse chariots. where people of nobel bankrupt families (who the hell would actually pay attention to the farms gods sakes) married into merchant's daughters who came with big dowries. where the worth of a man was not in his worth, but in his name and his income.
how much of this is human nature, and how much our colonial legacy? the world seems to have evolved into a non-smoking, hard working working class reaching to maximize potential.
who are we, these self loathing, english speaking pakistani minority who want to emigrate out to whatever airport will take us.
who will we become?
much like our BBCD exports, who hold their little version of quaint, dupatta covered, women enslaved version on Pakistan from whatever era they migrated, we, the so called evolved pakistani's hold on our slice of victorian england, where "merchants" or people who actually had to work for a living were totally uncool and actually turning up for college classes and studying was soooo passe. victorian england where there were galas, and balls, and may queens, and formal dresses. where tradition was to rag new students, where peerage or who's family is who was poured over by women hoping to snag a good husband. where family money harkened back generations of landholding, where the people living on the land tilled it for the land "lords" who maintained country seats also maintained a london house for living in the city. where "seasons" in summer and winter months happened, and men were sent after school to a trip of europe to learn of the world before they embarked on their (military) career. where sport was hunting, and wagering on card games, and crazy races of horse chariots. where people of nobel bankrupt families (who the hell would actually pay attention to the farms gods sakes) married into merchant's daughters who came with big dowries. where the worth of a man was not in his worth, but in his name and his income.
how much of this is human nature, and how much our colonial legacy? the world seems to have evolved into a non-smoking, hard working working class reaching to maximize potential.
who are we, these self loathing, english speaking pakistani minority who want to emigrate out to whatever airport will take us.
who will we become?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
we're driving down a main road, and z says "who the hell is that" i turn and see nothing, except for a servant on a cycle gone wobbly
"should i turn around? i think its a girl"
"ok i guess"
she's in the dark, on the road, in the way of servant cycles. she's wearing skinny jeans, regular tshirt, and is high on something. she stands up, tries to walk, and then sits on the island in the middle of the road. we stop the car - "do you need help?" i ask
she doesn't understand me
i try in urdu
she says "what?" in a british accent
"do you need help" i try again
"f**k off i don't need any of you 'elp b***h" like oliver twist and his bad cockney accent
at a loss as to what to do, we sit in the car for a second. then helplessly, we start driving. then we reach a checkpoint, and against every single instinct, z goes in to tell them about her. terrified they'll accuse him of being involved. i call 15, and in a shaky voice, tell them about her. maybe that would be some kind of check, hoping i'm not condemning her to something worse than servants the road. then cars of drunk men looking for a good time in tinted cars with loud disco music reverberating on woofers. your average rapist out for a good time on the weekend.
an hour later, shocking me out of the niggling m my evening has sunk into, the police call back. "this is inspector blah blah, from sector boat basin. they've sent her to an eidi home for women, its the third time they've found her. her family is in canada.
and too shocked that the police actually called back, all i can ask is "if she was in DHA, why does she come under your jurisdiction"
he pauses amid happy resolution report in surprise, and then says "umMm" embarrassed, i answer for him "you must have been the closest one available?" another pause "yes yes" pause "i was the closest one available"
i shut the phone.
"should i turn around? i think its a girl"
"ok i guess"
she's in the dark, on the road, in the way of servant cycles. she's wearing skinny jeans, regular tshirt, and is high on something. she stands up, tries to walk, and then sits on the island in the middle of the road. we stop the car - "do you need help?" i ask
she doesn't understand me
i try in urdu
she says "what?" in a british accent
"do you need help" i try again
"f**k off i don't need any of you 'elp b***h" like oliver twist and his bad cockney accent
at a loss as to what to do, we sit in the car for a second. then helplessly, we start driving. then we reach a checkpoint, and against every single instinct, z goes in to tell them about her. terrified they'll accuse him of being involved. i call 15, and in a shaky voice, tell them about her. maybe that would be some kind of check, hoping i'm not condemning her to something worse than servants the road. then cars of drunk men looking for a good time in tinted cars with loud disco music reverberating on woofers. your average rapist out for a good time on the weekend.
an hour later, shocking me out of the niggling m my evening has sunk into, the police call back. "this is inspector blah blah, from sector boat basin. they've sent her to an eidi home for women, its the third time they've found her. her family is in canada.
and too shocked that the police actually called back, all i can ask is "if she was in DHA, why does she come under your jurisdiction"
he pauses amid happy resolution report in surprise, and then says "umMm" embarrassed, i answer for him "you must have been the closest one available?" another pause "yes yes" pause "i was the closest one available"
i shut the phone.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
shes's wearing a rizwan beg, traditional red for the mehndi, walking into this beautiful old song that belongs to the times of black & white tvs, elegant women with dupattas on heads and regal matriarchs who ruled with fists of iron over havelis. the decor theme is large, extravagant and beyond, new age maharaja's, combined with mogul architecture and imported flowers. she is surrounded by family, and clusters of friends, over-averagely stunning good looks associated with the rich & privileged. on stage stand the groom and his friends, he is regal in the deep cream white and rich red stole that signals the grooms side. as the girl and entourage walk in, dignified, solemn, girl looking down, held by brother. they reach the crux of the stage, a few steps away from the steps. startling everyone, he walks down, past the initial people. he meets her face to face under the dupatta. she looks up, eyes kohled against tradition. he holds out a hand. startled, her eyes fly to her parents, finding her father away from the crowd. then, without any hesitation, she holds out her own hand, the mehndi colored feligree meeting the cream white of the sherwani to the beautiful tune of chalte chalte. the friends let out a collective sigh. they walk up together to the stage, and sit down to hold court to their well wishers.
Monday, October 26, 2009
passing of a stranger
my first day at tbc i went to yousuf sahib khan goth an hour so out of karachi. we were on this road destroyed by wheel deep sewage, and then we turned off into the jharis. there was matti everywhere, all sand no buildings for as far as the eye could see. there was a building in the distance, and because there was no road to speak off, we were making our way through the bushes any way we could manage.
i got off once we reached the site, and a blast of desert air hit me. the sky was blue, it was very hot. and in front of me was this stunning breathtaking beautiful four story bright red building. rising out of the desert where there was nothing for miles.
next to it were some very small mud huts, and a few children in uniform were nearby.
i couldn't speak. to have this amazing piece of architecture here. it spoke of love. every wall, every curve of the staircase, every window, was designed with aspect of beauty but sustainability and functionality as well. The classrooms were full of light and air. Perfect.
I didn't know Arshad sb at all, I have probably met him two or three times in the time i have worked at tbc. however, i feel like i know him through his work, through the 500 school buildings he's designed as a labor of love across Pakistan. And I feel privileged to have come across them. You are all extremely lucky to have known and shared a life with him. He has left his legacy, and a great one at that. May God bless his soul. Ameen.
i got off once we reached the site, and a blast of desert air hit me. the sky was blue, it was very hot. and in front of me was this stunning breathtaking beautiful four story bright red building. rising out of the desert where there was nothing for miles.
next to it were some very small mud huts, and a few children in uniform were nearby.
i couldn't speak. to have this amazing piece of architecture here. it spoke of love. every wall, every curve of the staircase, every window, was designed with aspect of beauty but sustainability and functionality as well. The classrooms were full of light and air. Perfect.
I didn't know Arshad sb at all, I have probably met him two or three times in the time i have worked at tbc. however, i feel like i know him through his work, through the 500 school buildings he's designed as a labor of love across Pakistan. And I feel privileged to have come across them. You are all extremely lucky to have known and shared a life with him. He has left his legacy, and a great one at that. May God bless his soul. Ameen.
passing of a stranger
"Excuse me. Can I speak? Thank you.
I'm sorry to interrupt the proceedings. I didn't know A at all, I have probably met him two or three times in the time i have worked at here. however, i feel like i know him through his work, through the 500 buildings he's designed across Pakistan.
my first day at tbc i went to yousuf sahib khan goth an hour so out of karachi. we were on this road destroyed by wheel deep sewage, and then we turned off into the jharis. there was matti everywhere, all sand no buildings for as far as the eye could see. there was a building in the distance, and because there was no road to speak off, we were making our way through the bushes any way we pleased.
i got off once we reached the site, and a blast of desert air hit me. the sky was blue, it was very hot. and in front of me was this stunning - no breathtaking - beautiful four story bright red building. rising out of the desert where there was nothing for miles.
next to it were some very small mud huts, and a few children in uniform were nearby.
i couldn't speak. to have this amazing piece of architecture here. it spoke of love. every wall, every curve of the staircase, every piece of tile. it spoke so much of how much he has left behind, so for those loved ones today, I would urge you to think of all the wealth he left behind, the long lasting legacy, and be re-assured that he will live on in his work. Thank you.
I'm sorry to interrupt the proceedings. I didn't know A at all, I have probably met him two or three times in the time i have worked at here. however, i feel like i know him through his work, through the 500 buildings he's designed across Pakistan.
my first day at tbc i went to yousuf sahib khan goth an hour so out of karachi. we were on this road destroyed by wheel deep sewage, and then we turned off into the jharis. there was matti everywhere, all sand no buildings for as far as the eye could see. there was a building in the distance, and because there was no road to speak off, we were making our way through the bushes any way we pleased.
i got off once we reached the site, and a blast of desert air hit me. the sky was blue, it was very hot. and in front of me was this stunning - no breathtaking - beautiful four story bright red building. rising out of the desert where there was nothing for miles.
next to it were some very small mud huts, and a few children in uniform were nearby.
i couldn't speak. to have this amazing piece of architecture here. it spoke of love. every wall, every curve of the staircase, every piece of tile. it spoke so much of how much he has left behind, so for those loved ones today, I would urge you to think of all the wealth he left behind, the long lasting legacy, and be re-assured that he will live on in his work. Thank you.
Friday, August 21, 2009
.
027.016 And Solomon was David's heir. He said: "O ye people! We have been taught the speech of birds, and on us has been bestowed (a little) of all things: this is indeed Grace manifest (from God.)"
027.017 And before Solomon were marshalled his hosts,- of Jinns and men and birds, and they were all kept in order and ranks.
027.018 At length, when they came to a (lowly) valley of ants, one of the ants said: "O ye ants, get into your habitations, lest Solomon and his hosts crush you (under foot) without knowing it."
027.019 So he smiled, amused at her speech; and he said: "O my Lord! so order me that I may be grateful for Thy favours, which thou hast bestowed on me and on my parents, and that I may work the righteousness that will please Thee: And admit me, by Thy Grace, to the ranks of Thy righteous Servants."
027.020 And he took a muster of the Birds; and he said: "Why is it I see not the Hoopoe? Or is he among the absentees?
027.021 "I will certainly punish him with a severe penalty, or execute him, unless he bring me a clear reason (for absence)."
027.022 But the Hoopoe tarried not far: he (came up and) said: "I have compassed (territory) which thou hast not compassed, and I have come to thee from Saba with tidings true.
027.023 "I found (there) a woman ruling over them and provided with every requisite; and she has a magnificent throne.
027.024 "I found her and her people worshipping the sun besides God: Satan has made their deeds seem pleasing in their eyes, and has kept them away from the Path,- so they receive no guidance,-
027.025 "(Kept them away from the Path), that they should not worship God, Who brings to light what is hidden in the heavens and the earth, and knows what ye hide and what ye reveal.
027.026 "God!- there is no god but He!- Lord of the Throne Supreme!"
027.027 (Solomon) said: "Soon shall we see whether thou hast told the truth or lied!
027.028 "Go thou, with this letter of mine, and deliver it to them: then draw back from them, and (wait to) see what answer they return"...
027.029 (The queen) said: "Ye chiefs! here is delivered to me - a letter worthy of respect.
027.030 "It is from Solomon, and is (as follows): 'In the name of God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful:
027.031 "'Be ye not arrogant against me, but come to me in submission (to the true Religion).'"
027.032 She said: "Ye chiefs! advise me in (this) my affair: no affair have I decided except in your presence."
027.033 They said: "We are endued with strength, and given to vehement war: but the command is with thee; so consider what thou wilt command."
027.034 She said: "Kings, when they enter a country, despoil it, and make the noblest of its people its meanest thus do they behave.
027.035 "But I am going to send him a present, and (wait) to see with what (answer) return (my) ambassadors."
027.036 Now when (the embassy) came to Solomon, he said: "Will ye give me abundance in wealth? But that which God has given me is better than that which He has given you! Nay it is ye who rejoice in your gift!
027.037 "Go back to them, and be sure we shall come to them with such hosts as they will never be able to meet: We shall expel them from there in disgrace, and they will feel humbled (indeed)."
027.038 He said (to his own men): "Ye chiefs! which of you can bring me her throne before they come to me in submission?"
027.039 Said an 'Ifrit, of the Jinns: "I will bring it to thee before thou rise from thy council: indeed I have full strength for the purpose, and may be trusted."
027.040 Said one who had knowledge of the Book: "I will bring it to thee within the twinkling of an eye!" Then when (Solomon) saw it placed firmly before him, he said: "This is by the Grace of my Lord!- to test me whether I am grateful or ungrateful! and if any is grateful, truly his gratitude is (a gain) for his own soul; but if any is ungrateful, truly my Lord is Free of all Needs, Supreme in Honour !"
027.041 He said: "Transform her throne out of all recognition by her: let us see whether she is guided (to the truth) or is one of those who receive no guidance."
027.042 So when she arrived, she was asked, "Is this thy throne?" She said, "It was just like this; and knowledge was bestowed on us in advance of this, and we have submitted to God (in Islam)."
027.043 And he diverted her from the worship of others besides God: for she was (sprung) of a people that had no faith.
027.044 She was asked to enter the lofty Palace: but when she saw it, she thought it was a lake of water, and she (tucked up her skirts), uncovering her legs. He said: "This is but a palace paved smooth with slabs of glass." She said: "O my Lord! I have indeed wronged my soul: I do (now) submit (in Islam), with Solomon, to the Lord of the Worlds."
- Surah Al Naml
Monday, July 20, 2009
we're stopped at a traffic light. i watch as a girl walks to middle of a patch of sunlight next to the road, and starts taking her clothes off (!). she wriggles out of her pants, pulls off her sweat shirt and tshirt, and revelas a teeny tiny bikini. then, just as you please, she casually takes out a book, flops down on the grass, and then, of all things, starts to study (!).
by the time the light changes and we drive off, i am a little awed, a little scandalized, and mostly feeling fat and very very covered.
***
i'm so used to being polite and smiley, i automatically wave a thank you to the car that stops as i pass it on the zebra crossing. the man stops, puts the car in park, rolls down the window, says something terribly sleazy, and whistles (like in the comic books) for the next 20 unbearable seconds it takes me to reach the end of the street. i hope no one else notices, but i am the only one jay walking and the crowd on both sides watches me walk the guantlet in indifferent amusement.
***
we're in a bus in a meaner city, i'm with my mother and her friend who is baby sitting us today. a man asks "hey are those real diamonds on your sunglasses?". my good old city girl reflex screams that the man wants to rob me, so i politely but firmly say "no no" and tense for combat. even when he says "whachu doin later tonight?" i'm still poised for pepper spraying him, and very honestly say "i'm with my mother right there" and there is ami beaming oblivious to our interchange in all her mommy-esque glory. his jaw drops slightly, looks at me and thats when i realize he was trying for witty repartee and not telling me to hand over my wallet.
it takes me two stops more before i see the humor in that foiled conversation.
by the time the light changes and we drive off, i am a little awed, a little scandalized, and mostly feeling fat and very very covered.
***
i'm so used to being polite and smiley, i automatically wave a thank you to the car that stops as i pass it on the zebra crossing. the man stops, puts the car in park, rolls down the window, says something terribly sleazy, and whistles (like in the comic books) for the next 20 unbearable seconds it takes me to reach the end of the street. i hope no one else notices, but i am the only one jay walking and the crowd on both sides watches me walk the guantlet in indifferent amusement.
***
we're in a bus in a meaner city, i'm with my mother and her friend who is baby sitting us today. a man asks "hey are those real diamonds on your sunglasses?". my good old city girl reflex screams that the man wants to rob me, so i politely but firmly say "no no" and tense for combat. even when he says "whachu doin later tonight?" i'm still poised for pepper spraying him, and very honestly say "i'm with my mother right there" and there is ami beaming oblivious to our interchange in all her mommy-esque glory. his jaw drops slightly, looks at me and thats when i realize he was trying for witty repartee and not telling me to hand over my wallet.
it takes me two stops more before i see the humor in that foiled conversation.
Friday, October 31, 2008
i don't understand
you bastard motherfuckr
you cunt faced bitch
you bhenchod haramzaday
you randi kanjri chootia
fuck you fuck the party i'm not going, you fucking asshole
you fucking bitch you think i'd go with you anywhere!?
two very pissed off people sitting in two different rooms, one awake with rage and fatigue for most of the night, and ill with lack of sleep the next day
--------------------
what the hell are you wearing? i'm not going with you anywhere dressed like that!!
what are you fucking talking about!! i'm wearing SHALWAR KAMEEZ to a WORK DINNER you fucking moron. stop making excuses and get the fuck dressed we're late.
fuck you i'm not going.
FUCK YOU!
she goes alone fuming
--------------------
she's lying flat on the bed in her shaadi clothes staring at the ceiling.
a cousin walks in: ' z is asking why you're taking so long?'
she says: 'tell z to go to hell'
cousin gapes, mother in law gapes, mother freaks internally but calm outward. warning eyes falling unheedful on stubborn rebellious daughter
daughter goes with friends to wedding, selfish bastard stays at home
-------------
10:30 am: ring ring
my heart. my love. you need to be ready by 9:30 today do NOT be late pumpkin
fine
12:30 pm: teet teet
just a reminder. 9:00 today. love!
ok
3:28 pm : ring ring
what!
what time will you be getting home my baby we'll need to be on time
you call me one more time i'm slashing your tyres tonight
6:00pm
you really need to leave my love? its cutting it close
(you *&@"!?,#$) its important baby just 10 minutes
745 pm
you're late! i told you you'll get stuck in traffic! how vould u hurry hurry hurry!
830 pm
they leave, her hair unstraight ironed and social anxiety ignored
--------------
1045 pm another day
she's trying on her 8th outfit
stressed
annoyed
is it the pink or the white you annoying man
pink baby
the glass of disgusting scotch in his hand clinks a bit as he appraises the view
she makes an annoyed tsk decides to wear the white and slaps on some make up. aware they had to be there by 1030 pm.
she's just finished her eyes and is holding her lipstick when he come behind her to use the bathroom
she opens her mouth to make a guilty sniping comment before he starts the usual lecturing, when lips meet warm mouth
words muffle into her throat
they back into the cupboard lipstick falls to the floor and hands come up and enmesh into his collar
her consciousness reduces to one puddle of need
'whenever u're ready let me know i'll be in the living room'
And then 4 days later, he says he wants a divorce.
you cunt faced bitch
you bhenchod haramzaday
you randi kanjri chootia
fuck you fuck the party i'm not going, you fucking asshole
you fucking bitch you think i'd go with you anywhere!?
two very pissed off people sitting in two different rooms, one awake with rage and fatigue for most of the night, and ill with lack of sleep the next day
--------------------
what the hell are you wearing? i'm not going with you anywhere dressed like that!!
what are you fucking talking about!! i'm wearing SHALWAR KAMEEZ to a WORK DINNER you fucking moron. stop making excuses and get the fuck dressed we're late.
fuck you i'm not going.
FUCK YOU!
she goes alone fuming
--------------------
she's lying flat on the bed in her shaadi clothes staring at the ceiling.
a cousin walks in: ' z is asking why you're taking so long?'
she says: 'tell z to go to hell'
cousin gapes, mother in law gapes, mother freaks internally but calm outward. warning eyes falling unheedful on stubborn rebellious daughter
daughter goes with friends to wedding, selfish bastard stays at home
-------------
10:30 am: ring ring
my heart. my love. you need to be ready by 9:30 today do NOT be late pumpkin
fine
12:30 pm: teet teet
just a reminder. 9:00 today. love!
ok
3:28 pm : ring ring
what!
what time will you be getting home my baby we'll need to be on time
you call me one more time i'm slashing your tyres tonight
6:00pm
you really need to leave my love? its cutting it close
(you *&@"!?,#$) its important baby just 10 minutes
745 pm
you're late! i told you you'll get stuck in traffic! how vould u hurry hurry hurry!
830 pm
they leave, her hair unstraight ironed and social anxiety ignored
--------------
1045 pm another day
she's trying on her 8th outfit
stressed
annoyed
is it the pink or the white you annoying man
pink baby
the glass of disgusting scotch in his hand clinks a bit as he appraises the view
she makes an annoyed tsk decides to wear the white and slaps on some make up. aware they had to be there by 1030 pm.
she's just finished her eyes and is holding her lipstick when he come behind her to use the bathroom
she opens her mouth to make a guilty sniping comment before he starts the usual lecturing, when lips meet warm mouth
words muffle into her throat
they back into the cupboard lipstick falls to the floor and hands come up and enmesh into his collar
her consciousness reduces to one puddle of need
'whenever u're ready let me know i'll be in the living room'
And then 4 days later, he says he wants a divorce.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
since no one seems to be writing, i'll just have to do it myself. humph.
the trees forked across the line of sight, a web of criss crossing birds, leaves and oak. she lay listlessly in the heat horizontal on the sofa, watching disinterestedly as two beetles in holy matrimony slowly, painfully crawled their way across the glass. clouds rolled past, beautiful blessed relief, stunning in the weather change they bring.
rain. rain rain rain and the skies weeping, in joy not sorrow as the world rejoiced with it. i would like to think that men, sweaty and tired after back breaking minimum wage labor also looked up from their dusty bread winning and looked up at the sky and smiled as the first drops broke loose and provided amazing coolness in the oppressive waves of heat. I know for a fact that children broke out from their roles as adult street hawkers, as primary household earners, as naan wallas and seven year old fridge repairmen, broke free and ran, ran ran stripping their tiny man sized kameezes and throwing them at the side of the nehr and jumping, canonballing their first world counter parts would call it, shalwars huge and inflated with comical effect as water and air met in places where the sun doesn't shine, and abandoned the vestiges of hard labor that the third world enforces on them, and they became just that - kids in the rain, washed of all responsibilities.
the trees forked across the line of sight, a web of criss crossing birds, leaves and oak. she lay listlessly in the heat horizontal on the sofa, watching disinterestedly as two beetles in holy matrimony slowly, painfully crawled their way across the glass. clouds rolled past, beautiful blessed relief, stunning in the weather change they bring.
rain. rain rain rain and the skies weeping, in joy not sorrow as the world rejoiced with it. i would like to think that men, sweaty and tired after back breaking minimum wage labor also looked up from their dusty bread winning and looked up at the sky and smiled as the first drops broke loose and provided amazing coolness in the oppressive waves of heat. I know for a fact that children broke out from their roles as adult street hawkers, as primary household earners, as naan wallas and seven year old fridge repairmen, broke free and ran, ran ran stripping their tiny man sized kameezes and throwing them at the side of the nehr and jumping, canonballing their first world counter parts would call it, shalwars huge and inflated with comical effect as water and air met in places where the sun doesn't shine, and abandoned the vestiges of hard labor that the third world enforces on them, and they became just that - kids in the rain, washed of all responsibilities.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I’m not the sort of person
Who falls in and quickly out of love
But to you I gave my affection
Right from the start
- The weakness in me, Joan Armatrading
She’s working elbow deep in clay. Sweat drips off her forehead, which she doesn’t notice. She is intent on the impending figure that will emerge from the clay. She’s trying to spend herself, emotionally, physically, so she falls exhausted into dreamless sleep.
So she can’t think.
******************
The electricity goes around 4 times at night. She is woken up by a thunderstorm, beautiful wild rain pounding amid lightning on old brick roofs and 300 year old trees.
She walks the house at night with a flashlight, checking doors and windows. Drenched in sweat, not a drop of breeze in the house, she lies on the sweltering mattress and kicks off the 6 pillows and spread eagles herself so that there is no overlapping flesh to cause puddles of sweat.
Dreams of going back to school, a reunion, but its actually just him. In a room in the beautiful old building that haunted her childhood. Holding her, swearing he loved her, so convincing her foolish stupid heart believes him again.
And again, every time she lies down, she feels the gaping void. She can feel, feel him on the other side of the bed, where she used to reach an arm out to reassure herself he was there, and be unbearably comforted by his solid warmth.
Freezing in a too cold AC, and rolling over to him in the middle of the night so she could be find warmth. Persuading him to open lift an arm, and be enveloped in delicious heat, held safe between hard lines of stomach muscle and bicep while he snored unbearably reassuring in her ear.
Of waking up in the middle of a dream with a smile, because two three pillows hugged back.
Of going to sleep tangled together, of trying to escape to a quieter corner of the bed where snores didn’t crash so close, and have his arms tighten around her, not letting her go. Of lying awake and staying right where she was, because it felt so right.
Of waking up to the perfect breakfast in bed every day, a prayer and time to do pursue every dream she could ever have wanted. Of being back and being so taken care of, so unconditionally loved and supported, that she never wanted to leave to the awful place that broke her wings and her heart.
How can you have everything yet still want something so bad for you?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
you fucking bastard give me my money and my life back
----
the police come to the door. she opens it, and blocks their way. they show her a piece of paper. she shakes her head. they don't believe her, and have to firmly come in.
there is the sound of crying, a shout, something breaking. a man yelling, cursing. they come out again, with him sandwiched in the middle. the woman is crying in huge silent gasps, burying her face in the the yellow kitchen duster in her hand.
the neighbours are watching.
"can you believe the broad? he clocks her one, gives her a fresh black eye, and she's crying for him!"
- nora roberts
------
bastard
----
the police come to the door. she opens it, and blocks their way. they show her a piece of paper. she shakes her head. they don't believe her, and have to firmly come in.
there is the sound of crying, a shout, something breaking. a man yelling, cursing. they come out again, with him sandwiched in the middle. the woman is crying in huge silent gasps, burying her face in the the yellow kitchen duster in her hand.
the neighbours are watching.
"can you believe the broad? he clocks her one, gives her a fresh black eye, and she's crying for him!"
- nora roberts
------
bastard
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
its funny how the end of a marriage can mean nothing, and a lot of it
the view is breathtaking
the 12th floor seems quite dizzingly high in the third world landscape
the white lights dot the edge of the water, spinning out to pin pricks of probably frantic fishing activity miles away
standing in the wind, hair and clothes being whipped into pleasing streams behind her, she stands, watching, inhaling the beautiful city.
far far away tiny people go about their night life - a maid closes a curtain in a window far below, a boy walks like a little action figure on the ground to the car.
a little miniature painting, put on for her benefit.
is this how God feels, so high in the sky?
looking down at us little insignificant specks, hurtling, full of self importance and pompous problems which mean nothing, being ground to ash and dust in cosmic seconds, living out a giant chess board of good against evil while happily oblivious in the matrix waiting to get the next quarterly promotion and the next annual bonus
maybe we're all just as pathetic as the spineless bastard.
scary.
the view is breathtaking
the 12th floor seems quite dizzingly high in the third world landscape
the white lights dot the edge of the water, spinning out to pin pricks of probably frantic fishing activity miles away
standing in the wind, hair and clothes being whipped into pleasing streams behind her, she stands, watching, inhaling the beautiful city.
far far away tiny people go about their night life - a maid closes a curtain in a window far below, a boy walks like a little action figure on the ground to the car.
a little miniature painting, put on for her benefit.
is this how God feels, so high in the sky?
looking down at us little insignificant specks, hurtling, full of self importance and pompous problems which mean nothing, being ground to ash and dust in cosmic seconds, living out a giant chess board of good against evil while happily oblivious in the matrix waiting to get the next quarterly promotion and the next annual bonus
maybe we're all just as pathetic as the spineless bastard.
scary.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
as you grow older your knowledge becomes inversely proportional to your assurity that you know everything
nothing, i mean nothing is as bad as this. except maybe for the stuff that led to it.
her pony tail jauntily swung in time to her step. in the awful sweltering heat she was an oasis of cool pink and white, sun blocked and lip glossed, shading eyes behind yummily gaudy Dior. Every single man turned and gaped as the vision passed, and, more discreetly, so did the women.
bravely, she sat outside in the wall of humidity that was May heat. under one tiny umbrella for shelter.
alone. finally. and greatful for it.
bastard.
nothing, i mean nothing is as bad as this. except maybe for the stuff that led to it.
her pony tail jauntily swung in time to her step. in the awful sweltering heat she was an oasis of cool pink and white, sun blocked and lip glossed, shading eyes behind yummily gaudy Dior. Every single man turned and gaped as the vision passed, and, more discreetly, so did the women.
bravely, she sat outside in the wall of humidity that was May heat. under one tiny umbrella for shelter.
alone. finally. and greatful for it.
bastard.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
to picture # 9
it was all still so new and shiny.
i picked out my new and shiny blue jewelled outfit and wore the giant diamond thing from the shaadi.
we made it to the car only half an hour late, you mellowing your annoyance at tardiness with a glass of scotch (ew)
we noticed in the car that your tie matched my outfit (revoltingly honeymoonish coincidence)
we went together. no anxiety of being stranded alone without a table, no making desperate chit chat with wondering strangers.
gelling instantly with a table of friends. the best friend and beautiful makeup and outfit a cherry on the evening. T next to us pointed it and said smile, and we both scrunched together - me giggling like a loon and you - my god - you. smouldering semi smiling, hesitant yet so sure.
of the hole in my heart.
bastard.
i picked out my new and shiny blue jewelled outfit and wore the giant diamond thing from the shaadi.
we made it to the car only half an hour late, you mellowing your annoyance at tardiness with a glass of scotch (ew)
we noticed in the car that your tie matched my outfit (revoltingly honeymoonish coincidence)
we went together. no anxiety of being stranded alone without a table, no making desperate chit chat with wondering strangers.
gelling instantly with a table of friends. the best friend and beautiful makeup and outfit a cherry on the evening. T next to us pointed it and said smile, and we both scrunched together - me giggling like a loon and you - my god - you. smouldering semi smiling, hesitant yet so sure.
of the hole in my heart.
bastard.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
where do i start? where do i begin?
fully sated. clothes hanging in neatly ironed soldier rows in the cupboard. considerate servants, healthy atmosphere of positive well being. four options for each gourment meal, glass walls overlooking breathtaking vistas, pressure pump showers, beautiful 1000 sq yr gardens and fairy benches to sit on in cool grass when the electricity goes. beautiful.
being loved unconditionally.
having people you trust catch you in the safety net of their well wishes.
being cocooned in the womb.
suffocating in the pain and hurt caused to all.
sunday morning i'm waking up / can't even focus on a coffee cup
having time to read all you want. having time to keep up with your friends.
having time to watch all those backlogged movies.
reading, writing, exploring tentative talents.
Don't even know who's bed I'm in
hoping. waiting. gnawing uncertainity. would it? could it?
can someone new be found? is it possible?
memories. delicious thrilling warmth snuggling under covers against the outside world
being kicked outside
suddenly
where do i start? where do i begin?
fully sated. clothes hanging in neatly ironed soldier rows in the cupboard. considerate servants, healthy atmosphere of positive well being. four options for each gourment meal, glass walls overlooking breathtaking vistas, pressure pump showers, beautiful 1000 sq yr gardens and fairy benches to sit on in cool grass when the electricity goes. beautiful.
being loved unconditionally.
having people you trust catch you in the safety net of their well wishes.
being cocooned in the womb.
suffocating in the pain and hurt caused to all.
sunday morning i'm waking up / can't even focus on a coffee cup
having time to read all you want. having time to keep up with your friends.
having time to watch all those backlogged movies.
reading, writing, exploring tentative talents.
Don't even know who's bed I'm in
hoping. waiting. gnawing uncertainity. would it? could it?
can someone new be found? is it possible?
memories. delicious thrilling warmth snuggling under covers against the outside world
being kicked outside
suddenly
where do i start? where do i begin?
Monday, March 31, 2008
I was wearing a silver mask I had made myself that evening – it was shiny silver, flamboyant pink swirls (to match my wonderfully fun & scanty shirt), and over the top sides that winged out way beyond my face.
He had grabbed one of the free masks that they passed out at the entrance.
We hadn’t been out in such a long time, I loved every expensive second of it. I came out of the Ladies (very nice, extremely miraculously huge and clean) and he was waiting. We were having some normal discussion about food and where to find it before we entered the noise and darkness, and to make a point, he grabbed my arms and shook me and said something like “I need food dammit!”. We were standing close as we usually do, I automatically leaned my arms on his chest as his hands slid from my arms to my waist. I was saying something like “well baby we’ll get food first then” and as my face leaned up to his, I noticed the slack jawed stares from the corner of my eye from the people at the entrance desk, gaping at the unaccustomed display right behind them.
He had grabbed one of the free masks that they passed out at the entrance.
We hadn’t been out in such a long time, I loved every expensive second of it. I came out of the Ladies (very nice, extremely miraculously huge and clean) and he was waiting. We were having some normal discussion about food and where to find it before we entered the noise and darkness, and to make a point, he grabbed my arms and shook me and said something like “I need food dammit!”. We were standing close as we usually do, I automatically leaned my arms on his chest as his hands slid from my arms to my waist. I was saying something like “well baby we’ll get food first then” and as my face leaned up to his, I noticed the slack jawed stares from the corner of my eye from the people at the entrance desk, gaping at the unaccustomed display right behind them.
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