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?

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.

KISS

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

cue

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.

women101

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.

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.

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...

again

warning: you need to be Pakistani to understand the cultural issues being referred to in this post

I’ve been thinking strange all week. I don’t know why.

Currently, 6:16 am, my voice sounds like phatta hua speaker. I’ve spent the night yelling over the music begging my friends to go bloody home because damn, it was an hour long drive back and shit I needed to get home before fajr. Not because I had a deadline or anything, because I wanted to get bloody home before fajr. My parents would be disappointed in the choices I make if I chose to party till then.
On the fourth missed call from my mother (the time it took for me to realize that my phone was ringing, and to then get to distance where I could hear something took four calls). As I dodged sweaty drunken people, avoided patches with sketchy people hanging out in them, stayed clear of a man and a woman who really could not be described as anything other than a hooker, I felt like I was fifteen and I was doing something bad.
When I said hello, I heard my own voice for the first time that night. thats when I found out sounded like a phatta hua speaker. I croaked out a hello, confirmed that I was alive and well, and not raped, kidnapped or being held hostage, and was on my way home from the country club.
The shame propelled me to beg my friends once again to get the hell home, but it was too late, the Absolut was gone, their high was true, and their natural selfishness shone through. Serves me right.
It was a night of dodging drunken acquaintances from school, of warm coke when starving for cold water, of trying on new capris for the first time and realizing they don’t really look nice after hours of dancing, wearing shoes made by satan, and having my hair RUINED by the wall of humidity that defines this city by the sea. It was a night of beautiful moonrise on a brilliant golf course, of an equally brilliant sunrise, of wind blowing sweaty bangs on a break on the roof, of falling in love with a kitten saved from being run over by an armored security truck.
It was a night of finding strangers in good friends, of finding good friends in strangers.

I don’t know why he invited me to this shindig. I think it’s because I’m convenient, because I fit some criteria on his checklist of people to know and that even if he doesn’t feel crap for me he’ll pursue me because there is a severe lack of normal women to hang out with in this city.
Why did I take up his invitation? Why did I spend the night dodging vodka fumes from a mouth too close, from literally dancing out of reach of grabby hands? Maybe because sometimes, it doesn’t matter who it is, anyone will do. (like i said, i've been thinking strange lately)

having written out in black and white this reason for my going to this thing, i can't believe i was capable of that. what a terribly Unpleasant discovery to this strange side to myself.

But i guess its ok, the spell is broken, I’m back to thinking like myself now. I’m six hours too late, but I’m glad I’ve eventually made my way back to being myself.

Welcome back bitch, I’ve missed you.

I’m lying in bed, I just got back from this coffee plan with a good friend I haven’t seen in a long time.
We sat down in the little little café, she had an iced tea, I had a hot chocolate (so much for “coffee”). As we talked the missing months peeled away and the bridges of differing experiences and living worlds apart narrowed, and the hours whirred away and sleep curled my toes deliciously. I dropped her home, and I changed into my pajama’s, the hot milk still sitting happily warming my belly in the chill of the ac.
I lay in bed, and I thought, if I could blink thrice and get any wish I wanted, this is what I would wish for: that I would open my eyes after the third blink, and wake up next to my soulmate, the man of my hopelessly romantic trashy book seduced dreams.
And what if it came true?
He walks in, exhausted after a days work, and I’ve cooked him the perfect meal in our perfect home. I sit and eat with him, like my parents still do everyday after thirty one years of beautiful concoctions. Then there is beautiful dessert, and after that he tosses off his work shirt to beautiful abs and picks me up and throws me on our beautiful four poster bed and we make mad passionate love.
And then come the thankless hours of a housewife, the chafing of unfulfilled ambition, the resentment of untapped potential, the hatred of ungrateful teenage rebellion.
I lie in bed with my husband, our children grown, our rituals old, our passion long spent. And I think, if I could blink thrice and get any wish I wanted, when I opened my eyes on the third blink, this is what I would wish for: that I was young again, starting out in my career, and getting the neat little electronic paychecks and promotion letters, and sitting long hours with my boss and making presentations to accolades.
And what if it came true?
I’m walking into work, I’m late for my breakfast meeting, but that’s ok. I was up at five to my pilates, and then spent the morning reading the reports and doing the groundwork for the presentations. The breakfast meeting was only PR for my firm, and they’re used to my frantic schedule. I get back and before I know it its lunch, and before I know it, its time for the tele-conferencing. But somewhere around nine at night, after six coffees and a pack of cigarettes and eight missed calls from home, I’m nowhere near ready for the presentation I have to make at the regional HQ day after, and my flight is in eight hours and I have no time for the six other things on the agenda.
And as I sit in my private conference room waiting for it to become nine am in Europe, I think to myself, if I could blink thrice and get any wish I wanted, when I opened my eyes on the third blink, this is what I would wish for: that the years wouldn’t have slipped away from one deadline to the next, that the hours would have stretched longer so I could have done all I have to do and slept as well, that I could go by a day doing things only I wanted to do.
And I open my eyes, and I’m getting ready for a party. I’m laughing, we’re giggling, I’m dressed in this fabulous top and I’ve managed to pilate my ass till its perky and my stomach is flat. I walk into the dark and the lights and the shimmering sequins bouncing light, and my heart rises in happiness with the beat of the music.
And then its morning, days later, I think its been three nights since I slept, and I avoid looking in the mirror because I know I’ll look as ashen as I feel. I’ve tried to keep myself hydrated, but the energy drinks viciously sap my strength in a never ending cycle. I have a lunch to go to, and then a get together and then a preparty. I’ve tried telling them I need to stop, I need to sleep, but they don’t seem to listen, and I’m scared of the gaping emptiness when my phone doesn’t ring and the empty conversation isn’t around to block out the meaninglessness of it all. If I piss them off, who else will I party with then?
I remove the two day old makeup, I look at the baggy lids, the empty eyes, the exhausted circles, the raging physical need for a drink to stop the madness.
And I close my eyes, and I wonder, if I blink three times and my wish were to come true, this is what I would wish for:
That I would be lying bed after a quiet evening with a good friend, with a belly full of warm comforting chocolate milk, and be drifting off to sleep.

we all had a one hour "training session" today, where randomly selected people were forced to wake up an hour before normal and get together in the cafeteria. we were thrown sleepily together in a batch on ten. the CEO was there, as sleepy as the rest of us. the finance controller, the new girl, the new guy, the HR head, the HR organizer, the contract chick who just got permanant and a couple people i knew and a couple of people i didn't.
we were told one thing: talk about yourself

a little annoyed, a little harrassed about the time and the presentations and the deadlines, we all furrowed our brows and looked to the end of the table to the oldish guy i didn't know sitting at the end.
he introduced himself. i realized i'd spoken to him several times on the phone. he arranged all the transport for my trips back and forth within karachi. i had no idea who he was.
he started working the year i was born. he talked about the company, what it was, what it had become, and the people that had come and gone and the way the culture had changed. i bit my lip and remembered how i had practically treated him like a peon. someone asked him what it was like to listen to so many complaints in a day. he smiled, and said "thats my job". the HR head, wide eyed, asked him about the two Mergers, what it must have been like to live through them. he smiled "the first thought everyone has is: i'm going to get fired. but you put your head down and continue to do your best, because in the end, thats all you have, that you tried your best".
i found out the contract chick who likes cats was actually from Australia. i had no idea. the chick i said hi to everyday was a chartered accountant. the man i thought was from marketing was actually a CA in finance too. the HR head started her career as an airhostess in the years that pilots were the rockstars of the new generation. the CEO thought he would lose his job too when the merger happened. the girls i thought i knew, the ones i see and work with every day had lives and pasts and aspirations i had no idea about.

the session went on for two hours. we all knew we learnt more from it than we had in the collective 150 years of work experience. and we all walked away wondering how we had managed to forget it in the first place

for i have sinned...

counting from the bottom, i'm pretty far up. i'm not a murderer (i'm sociopathic enough to be), i'm not a rapist, attacker or a molester. i'm haven't defrauded anyone, i haven't skimped my taxes, i haven't ever made a late credit card payment. i'm loyal, i'm honest, i'm princepled. i don't drink, i don't smoke, i don't smoke up (but thats because i saw a man speaking out of a mike because of throat cancer when i was 5).

but counting from the top, i'm pretty far down. i'm pretty strong in my morals and convictions, but feel that my convictions are strong enough to bear with a little bending now and then. i'm not generally a nice person, because people are generally not nice. i don't pray, i don't take vitamins, i don't exercise. i'm lazy, i'm selfish, i'm tired all the time, and when i'm stressed or PMSing i bark at people. everytime i hear the ring of a sony ericsson (my old phone), my heart stops. for every ten minutes on a treadmill, i have twenty minutes of dizziness.

so why do You do this? can't You just give me a B average and let me be? is there something in me You see that i don't? do You think i will triuph after this? do You think i will get my act together, get my life together, start doing all the things i give a vague ounce of thought to and then forget? WHAT DO YOU SEE IN ME!? WHY CAN'T I SEE IT??

testing testing 123

I haven’t eaten in the last two days, and I’m not hungry. Actually that’s not true, I had a mango after eight years. Juice dripped over the pajamas I haven’t gotten out of the last two days. Now work beckons and the luxury of sloth is over.

I looked and felt like death and told them I’m not coming, but then was passing by after groceries and thought what the hell why not, got a drop off to the resteraunt. I was in my pajama’s and a shirt so old its torn and see through, and my hair was all poofy because I didn’t blow dry it, but I didn’t care. It turned out it wasn’t the four of us, there were five gloriously dressed aquanitances crashing my personal time with my friends. To make things worse, an old flame who still hasn’t forgiven my rejection in the last ten years (seriously) turned up, and then spent the night telling stories of how many times I was mean to him, and then kept asking why I did that to him. Then as if the evening wasn’t down the toilet as far as my social anxiety disorder goes, he then brought up The Party.

The party of so many lasts, the last time I touched a drink, the last time I had fun, the last time I dressed up and felt so bloody good about myself people said I glowed. The last night I spent with the Drunken Bastard by my side. The last night I spent stopping him from picking fights, the last night I spent listening to him hurl abuses at the guys who talked to me, the last night I spent with an illiterate, stupid, uncouth, mannerless imbecile who abused humanity by existing.

I’m not going out anymore. My cell is on silent, and even though my hair is now ironed straight I’m still in my second pair of pajamas. I’ll live out whatever charade is required of me, with as little grace as possible. Fuck it all.

she sat on her laptop, and chewed her lower lip. she had just come back from this new spa she had discovered. she'd gone shopping in the morning, looked at yet another jewellery store, then picked up the IPod she wanted for her birthday next month. she came back, still feeling empty. even retail therapy couldn't fix it anymore. did she need medication? suddenly, she couldn't take it, she got up, threw the laptop out the window. she tried anyway, it bounced off the pane and shattered on the marble floor. she picked up 5k heel she'd bought last week, and smashed it against the glass till it broke. then she picked up her diamonds, one by one, and flung them as far out into the garden as she could. even that wasn't satisfying. she picked up her DVD player, her DVD collection, and then one by one, her clothes, her shoes, her handbags. gucci, LV mixed with the sana and safinaz and zainab market and itwar bazaar in the garden. when she ran out of things to throw, she stood at the sill, balanced on the ledge on her newly pedicured feet, and willed herself to let go.
the wind blew, a bird chirped, and her intercom buzzed as the sevants and parents discovered her afternoon activity.
she stepped back down to answer the intercom. she chewed her lower lip, and came up with a way to explain the madness.

its one more day i skipped work. i just couldn't drag myself out of bed. i couldn't. it was like i was hollow, my lungs had collapsed in on themselves and there was a giant pink elephant sitting on the space between my ribcage and backbone where God said He blew our spirit in. N would call it a chakra point. whatever.
i spent a minute last night amid my violated blog (i didn't touch the template) with random droppings of bright pink in it, and i went to the Slade and NCA site, browsed the masters program, saw i wasn't eligible for applying for it, and just to torture myself went to the undergrad program site and read about the painting and sculpture majors.
i do this to myself occassionally, i seem to have inherited my mothers matyr gene. as i sit clackling my keyboard to smithereens and ruining my brand new manicure in the process, i can only think of the waste, the indecision, the what ifs and WHY's of where i am and what the fuck i'm doing here, and how the fuck i get out of this wealth encased crap before i drown in it.

i'm on the verge of something. what the fuck is it?

She was a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend. She had a secret.

It started right after her divorce. It was a new apartment, freshly painted walls, newly installed phone line, an empty bed and long hours of solitude.
She was awake till three in the morning, and when she couldn’t stand the ticking clock and whirring pedestal fan any longer, she picked up the phone.
Who to call at three am?
She remembered her three school friends, giggling in hours of afternoon bliss as they crank called the cute senior boys. She remembered how one guy said her voice was the sexiest he had ever heard.
She picked up the phone, and dialled six random digits. Beep beep bop beep beep beep.
A man picked up the phone, a little sharp, a little curious.
She lost nerve. Where was the funny repartee? She remained silent. A little wide eyed, a little breathless (would he mistake her for a deep breather?). She waited for him to hang up.
“I know you’re still there.”
She was a little startled. Panicked,she sunk a little lower in her bed. Then out of sheer curiosity, she stayed on.
“Is it you?”
Puzzled, she stayed silent. It seemed the best option.
“God this I stupid. Is it you? it IS you isn’t it? look, I’m sorry for what I did ok? what I did wasn’t so bad was it?”
She almost asked him what it was he did.
“ok ok, don’t hang up, maybe your leaving was justified. Maybe I was a jerk. I swear I don’t know how it got that way. All those things you said, they were true, and I didn’t realize that I’d lost you. I’m so sorry honey, I’m so sorry. Please come back. Please”
The man’s voice was choked. She felt the sting of familiar tears herself.
“ok I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you. take your own time, but please, please, just talk to me a little while more, I miss you so much, I can’t take the lonliness anymore.”
She nodded into the phone.
After a pause, he started, “God, I found one of your paintings the other day. The one with the green dragon? I remember you hated it and wanted to throw it away, but I snuck it out of the trash and saved it. I’d stuffed it in the laundry drawer because I knew you’d never use it” The man choked out a laugh.
She smiled.
“I’ve tried to keep things clean, I know you hated my mess. Hell, even I hated my mess, i was just too lazy to clean it up you know? I’ve been thinking about my behaviour a lot honey, and I’m not too proud of myself. I took you for granted. I realize that now. Look, I’m sorry, please, please come back. I’m a changed man, I love you, I’ll never do that again.”
The man broke down, and sobs filtered through the phone.
Crying herself, for her, for him, she bent her head, and slowly clicked the phone back in place.

After she had blown her nose and stared at the clock some more, she clicked on her lamp again. Four am. Beep bop bop beep bop beep.
A woman’s groggy voice this time. “Hello?”
She stayed silent. She bit her lip, her eyes a little glassy with anticipation. Was it possible?
“hello?” a little more alert now.
“honey is that you?”
She waited breathlessly. What would unfold next?
“honey, listen to me, listen to me ok? Please please come home. Me and dad still love you very much. We don’t care why you left. We’ll fix it. please come back”. The womans voice cracked.
A murmer in the background. A man’s voice asking who was on the phone.
The click of a phone being shut.

She lies awake in the bed, hugging her little hobby to herself. She had a secret. She was a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend.

i remember a time when i was acutely adolescent, and used to go around with this permanant exruciating feeling of embarassment - EVERYTHING just embarassed me - for no reason.

then comes now. i've been stripped naked and attached to an ECG machine while some technician chick comments on my boobs (i didn't bat an eyelid), i've been given a sponge bath (in retrospect i cringe), and i've also walked around with my pants zip undone on various occassions and taken it all in my stride.

then came last Tuesday.

i was at our fancy gym at work during lunch hour, doing butt crunches with our gym instructor mr. fake saudi/american accent. suddenly i don't feel too well. so i get up (after a measly FIFTEEN MINUTES of exercise) and drink a couple of sips of water, and decide to hit the showers because this weird feeling. unfortunately, i reach the shower area, proceed to puke up my stomach contents plus stomach fluid, then go for a shower and proceed to nearly black out. out of sheer mind over matter i manage to grab a towel (visions of being found naked by coworkers - the horror) i proceed to faint on the bathroom floor at my boss and HR directors feet (erk) - i still managed to clutch the thankfully volumnous towel.

throughout all this time, my legs are frighteningly unwaxed.

then i have to walk the gauntlet of shame from which every security guard, every peon, every maid and every single co-worker asks me how i'm feeling, each and every single one of them with this an expression that can ONLY be described as a SMIRK.

my friend from school even called me, because she heard that i passed out in the gym, and somehow nakedness, fifteen minutes of exercise, and my boss were involved.

yoicks. cringe. humiliation. mortification. i think i'm going to change jobs now. anyone takers?

trashy romances and alias overload

Low, low slung jeans, hastily yanked on as he dives out the bathroom window onto the fire escape. No time. Bare flesh, flat planes of muscle flexing and contracting with each pounding step towards the roof. Breath condensing to steam with each exertion.

The woman abandoned in the bed stretches sinuously, then wraps the sheet around her naked body. Hair rumpled, make-up seductively smudged, her bare feet lazily make their way to the window with long legged grace. She laughs silently. Gooseflesh ripples down her arms as the night wind chills the steamy room. Unbothered, she looks beyond the neighboring high rises and miles of urban landscape. She’s counting the time he’ll be taking in the bathroom. Her eyes rest briefly on the second building from the left. She lifts her palm, and places it on the cool glass, a silent salute.
The third window on the second floor acknowledges the signal with a flicker, then all goes black.
Still laughing softly, she strolls over to the bar, and fills a long flute with straight cranberry juice. She grabs a few strawberries from a nearby bowl, then drops the sheet. Taking a juicy bite and a long sip, she makes her way back to the bed, She lies on top of the sheets, artfully sprawled over luxorious eiderdown, and awaits his return.

The cold slaps his chest, and instantly condenses to a burn in his lungs. He strains with oxygen debt as he takes the last rung, clears the concrete to the expanse of urban skyline. He sees a movement to his right, and recognition barely registers before the leather clad leg snakes up behind his back, and knocks him face first into the floor. Icy steel snicks past his ear and rests behind his neck. For a split second, he freezes. Then he blindly grabs the shoe heel he has eye contact with and pulls. Manages to flip onto his back, get to his feet.
And finds a gun resting point blank on the center of his forehead.
Completely unruffled, her black ponytail intact, she smiles. Her jump suit leaves little to the imagination. “Hey grey eyes, got a good workout with your girlfriend??”
Instant recognition, black hair against pristine white pillow case. Lamplight on creamy skin. He grins right into the gun barrel, and drawls, “nah honey, that was just a warm up. I’d ask you to join us, but she’s a little particular.”
Eyes narrowed, she opens her mouth to speak, but with a flick of his arm her has her throat between his hands. He anticipates the groin crushing knee, and has already spanned one hand around her waist, shoving her too close to do any damage. Standard issue material imprints onto his exposed chest. Legs entangled, pony tail slightly askew, she’s breathing a little heavily. He cuts off anything she was about to say, “why don’t you just tell me what the hell the old bastard wants me to do, I’m running out of time for your little games”.
She tries pushing him away, then gives in. “He told me to tell you that they know you’re here. Leave in the morning. He’ll see you at plan B on the high street on Tuesday.” She pushes him away again, he traps her hand against his heart.
Black eyes stare into grey. “She’s nothing. I swear. What I asked you that day, it still stands.”
She looks away, tries to snatch her hand back. Reluctantly, he lets her go. Watches as she clips on her safety ropes. She stands at the edge of the precipice, poised, black hair darker than the night sky, strands whipping her pale face. Her eyes glimmer white in the dark. She pauses a second, then mumbles something into her radio, and then jumps off the side of the building. Nylon leaded twine whirs as it carries her weight down forty stories to the lights below.

He turns his back, climbs back down. Enters the warmth. Walks over, deliberately draws the shades over the palm smudged window.

He’d just deal with her right now instead of the morning. To hell with the old man and his bloody instructions.

[on edit: poor character development, weak plot, random story line. better luck next time]

[this is old. there are problems with the tense in the middle. oh well.]

the gash bled spectacularly. bright maroon blood gushed wonderfully down the calf, dripped in rivulets at the heel and puddled underneath limp limbs.

white faced, he blundered down the corridor to her, then stopped. Excruiciatingly forces himself to breath deeply, then gently bend and lift her inert form into his trembling arms.
pristine white shirtfront instantly splotched maroon. rolled up sleeves, the cufflinks she had given him, on the entrance table.

i've tried phrasing this better, and its just not possible.
you asked me in the car what i thought of him, the love of your life, the apple of your eye, the soulmate you swoon over, and after two years of internally strangling myself rather than telling you the truth, i couldn't keep it in anymore and had to spit it out.
it didn't help that you didn't understand what i meant when i said he's out of your league. it didn't help when you asked what a league was.
i work with him on a daily basis, i have probably spent more hours with him than you did at the university where you were going out with someone else.
he is an asshole. he will go far, because it is assholeness that gets rewarded at work. he is part of the cliched boy gang that sits together and talks about SWOT*s and other derogratory terms in its version of locker room talk. i am there when he tells people that you're too conservative to go to "those kind of things" when both of you are invited to balls and fund raisers (when you've been begging me to get invited for the both of you), and i am there when he tells you his boss is bitch (when she is fair minded and reasonable beyond question), i am there when he excludes only three people from the entire floor but takes the rest of the department out for lunch.
i am there when his boss gives him work, and i am there when he is "working nights and weekends" not understanding why its taking him so long to finish three simple tasks to his deadline.
i will also be there to help you do the wedding prep, to help you pick your outfit, and i will also be there dutifully playing the best friend role at the wedding.

To AKU with love

My pupils are dilated to huge gaping holes, my iris a thin brown crescent. Hospitals remind me of beautiful red buildings, sprawling lawns, tiny turquoise tiles set in dark paneling, intricate wooden screens dusted daily with nylon feathers. Most of all, they remind me of the lakes, stretching far and wide in a little artificial oasis amid dusty concrete, with majestic unnamed white birds sitting sedately in trees among the rabble of crows, pigeons and eagles. After today, they remind me of emotional blackmail, of yet another pleasant sleepless morning turned nasty, of parents and their standards and their idealism, of their rights and wrongs and hereafters. A reminder of how I am just another spineless soulless insect in the cosmos, weak and selfish, and strangely proud to finally know it.

On another note: Happy birthday Mehreen. I’ve been trying to get your number since I’ve been back. I’m so sorry for not doing a better job and I'm so sorry for being such an ineffectual friend. Love you!

the ugly duckling

ok i hate this story. i know its badly written, but it was a little therapeutic for me to write it. it was intially a lot longer, and rambled on a lot more about the weird clique-ish "friends", and on the general manic obsessive thought patterns of the awkward adolescent, but i've skipped that because it became boring.

The music is deafening. The wooden floor throbs, vibrations pulsing though to her brain. Her hearing’s been numb for hours. She sighs, then quickly sucks in her stomach again. Her borrowed top would split at the seams if she relaxed (her damn chest is bigger than her friend’s). She has to make sure the top doesn’t ride up from the front though. The zip at the front of her pants turns neon white in the black light. Her mother’s slightly loose shoes make it impossible to move her feet in time to the rhythm. Thank GOD the sixties style is back, or she’d have to wear her flats, which would have been much worse. She discreetly tugs her bra (it was new) but the straps were loose. The granny panties help in sucking in her stomach though. She wistfully looks at her beautiful friends. She wishes she could own clothes like theirs (straight out of teen magazine), but her family spends all their holidays with her grandmother in stupid Lahore.

She sees the class 7 “hunk” pass by in his low slung leather pants and his Valentino shirt. Her heart sinks a little at how good he looks. She feels even more gauche and awkward. She knows that he’d never even give her a second look. He sidles past, through the little gap between her and her friends. He flips them a little hello. They all stare for a second, giggle in unity and say hi back. She feels fat and awkward, and doesn’t say anything because he's dissected the group and has his back to her. Why was he being so rude?
She notices who’s behind him only when he’s almost on top of her. She stifles a groan. “Hi! I’ve been looking for you the whole night! You look beautiful!” She can see her friends snickering behind his back. They get a hello from the most beautiful male on earth, and she gets accosted by his friend. He’s standing too close, she can’t breathe because of his cologne. She can see bits of the fuzz on the side of his lip that he’s missed. She feels like pushing him away, but there isn’t room. A sheen of sweat dots his upper lip. She notices his ears stick out a little, like her cousin's. She suddenly feels desperately sorry for the poor boy, and how scary it must be for him. She smiles at him, but then notices her friends have almost doubled over with laughter. She doesn’t know exactly what they’re laughing at, but she knows it's probably some mean comment about him and her, probably about sitting in a tree or something. She wishes she could change the topic because the poor boy is looking extremely embarrassed, and (even in the dark) his ears are beginning to turn red. He reminds her of her little brother suddenly, who looks like that when he says something he doesn't know is stupid and all the grownups laugh at him. She tells him that she'll dance with him at a better song (to spare him from asking her). Then she turns her back to him and faces her giggling friends, desperately tries to change the topic. She notices that the cute senior they’d noticed at the entrance was coming to their side of the room, and tells them. It works, and they forget about laughing at her.
Unfortunately, the cute senior comes straight for her and asks her to dance. She feels like crying because he didn't ask her friends too, and if she made the mistake for going alone with him they wouldn't talk to her for weeks (for being a bad friend). She tells the cute senior she hates the song and quickly turns her back.
Three boys who's parents rent apartments in London with her friends' parents come by. They don't bother saying hi to her because she told one of them she wouldn't go to the last party with him. Her friends drag her onto the dance floor with them though.

She suddenly notices the time. She almost falls over on the floor. She quickly says bye, then RUNS (loose shoes and neon zip and all) out the house, through the lawn, through the massive driveway to the gate, just in time to stop the bouncer from going in and announcing to everyone her mother is here to pick her up and could she please come to the gate. She jumps in the rattling car, prays no one will be coming out to notice her leaving.

Her mother, clueless, is happily humming along to the tape.
"Did you have fun sweetie?"

diamonds are forever?

from http://uk.tickle.com/inv.html?inv=3338291767196029092
(stupid link isn't posting as hypertext):

"You're in the market for a sweet-talking, smooth-moving, fit Casanova. This hottie knows exactly what to do and say in any situation. He's quite the charmer. Put him in a room, and everyone flocks to him. He's quick-witted, incredibly stylish, and runs with the right crowd. Is this man ever left waiting in a queue? Not a bit of it. Does he look as though he just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine? Always. This super-suave man is not only a laugh to be around, but he's part of the coolest scene. Whether it's a trendy restaurant or the hottest new club, your man is there. He's a real ladies man. When you're around him, you feel as though you're the centre of the universe. This hip, fit man has got the slick moves and smart lines that keep you coming back for more!"

this is inspired by the comment suggesting men like this can be bought for a couple of lacs. anyone want to apply? i know a client interested in above specs :)

on guilt, disillusion and somesuch sentiments

i had to get up, have a bottle of blood wrested away from the gross spot on my arm, had to take a crap into a plastic cup and pee (midstream) into a bottle, and then had to deal with the rest of the business in a disgusting bathroom i couldn't even LOOK at. there was obviously no toilet paper, and the blue harpic bottle on the counter that said "leave specimen here" blurred in and out of focus as i contemplated the sadism of fasting and then giving blood.
then came the wonderful experience of dealing with HR morons on the phone about the case of the lost chest xray, and then it was my turn for an ECG. i had all my metal wrestled off me, ("gold is not a metal, you can leave it on" said the extremely well informed technician who had indubitably inflicted her wisdom on a million ECG's yet), and had to have my poor ribs molested by some chatty chick who knew all about my life by the end of it.
my parents missed their morning gym routine for me (guilt number 1), without even asking (they were in their gym cothes and everthing - SO cute). i came home after it was over to drop my mom off (i take her with me as a moral support/verbal punching bag to these occasions - guilt 2), to find my poor cook sweltering in the sun outside the gate, (my dad made him stand there and wait for us) to give me my orange juice box (guilt number 3). my mother insists i come in and eat a sandwich, so i - in a foul mood - do as she says. wait ten minutes (tick tock, an hour late for work - guilt 4), and then comes this beautiful three layer artistic concoction (my mother is a bit like Bree from desperate housewives) with protien, grain, carbs all healthily encased in it. its really nice of her - as usual - and i take a bite but SPIT it out because it has sandwich spread somewhere in it (i can TASTE IT). vomit.
so guilt 5, i have a tantrum, refuse to eat the damn sandwich and its disgusting, fattening, mayo filled secret ingrediant, and storm out. i forget that i'm supposed to leave the driver at home (the bloody fool is sitting in the back seat and i don't even notice he's there), so now my dad will have to find parking on his own when he goes for the meeting (guilt 6). the driver will have to sit in the sun somewhere in the parking lot (guilt 7) for the next four hours till i leave for my lunch plan.
i hate mornings. i hate medicals. i hate the bandaid on my arm, my genreal wooziness because i still haven't eaten after losing my pint of blood (seriously) and i also hate the deep ancient guilt my parents can evoke in me like a sore tooth.
i'm flying out tomorrow, won't be in the city for another week.
happy mothers day mom.

I am now the proud owner of the earrings I nearly orgasmed over (on the trip I accidently stole the bracelet). What is it about diamonds that is so much hotter than any man?

Indocti discant et ament meminisse periti

She was sitting in her study having her afternoon tea amid her books and cats, when the fax came in.
“Darling, I’ll be in Fiji when you get this. I’m not coming back. Don’t come after me.”
She stares at it for a few seconds longer than necessary, then goes to his bedroom, unlocks his left bed side drawer, takes out the pistol. There is a rude bang, then a ruder shock, then blessed blackness.

I enter the room late, my eyes are swollen from fever, exhaustion and too much caffeine, and everyone in the meeting turns to stare. He pauses mid-drone for a split second of relief, then continues his presentation.

“Mommy mommy! There’s a man at the door, he says your name is Sarah. I told him he was a stupid head, your name is mommy.”
“Darling, I told you not to talk to strangers, let Beth answer the door.” She goes over to the foyer, and the maid is letting him in. She pauses, a greeting frozen on her lips, lungs freezing in recognition. The twelve steps she has to walk to the door suddenly disappear, and she’s there, right in front of him, then she’s in his arms.
“Mommy! Why are you hugging a strange man! I’m going to tell daddy!”

I snap to attention at the question addressed to me. I shuffle through my papers busily, and say “Do you want X or Y?” I say, shooting blind, because I haven’t heard anything. I hope the man to my left can’t see the doodles in the place where my notes should be. I give the answer, the meeting ends, and we all shuffle to the backlog of immense piles of paperwork.

She’s in an alleyway, its dark. She’s on her knees, screaming. There’s blood spreading beneath him, too much, too fast. The man in grey, the one who shot him, is long gone. She should run, she should try to get away. She knows she only has seconds. But she has to tell him, so she ignores the footsteps hurrying on the pavement. “Darling, darling! They said I had no choice! They have her!! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Then arms are grabbing her, cold steel manacling her wrists, face shoved into the concrete, into his blood. They hit her hard on the back of her neck, she feels a sting of a needle, and then nothing. Mommy! Mommy! Are the last shrieks she hears.

The screen blurs in front of me, the dull ache at the base of my spine spreads slowly upwards. I hit print, the writeup finally done, and put the papers in my out tray and breath a sigh of relief so I can finally head home.

He’s supposed to ignore her, just plant the device in her jacket pocket, then rendezvous with her husband later. Her husband dealt with the business, she was just a carrier. But for some reason, he fumbles at the last second, and she looks up at his startling grey eyes.

They meet again later, as he hides in the trunk of her car as they cross borders. Moonlit nights and furtively exchanged code words, and she almost giggles at how theatrical it all is if it wasn’t so serious.
They laugh plenty later. Laugh irreverently at the irony of having met because of him. Laugh in a bed stolen from a loveless marriage of convenience. Laugh at necessities and promises of youth. Their moments apart become more and more like voids of waiting till they meet up again. Life turned to grey and breath eagerly anticipating mingling with each other in stolen secrecy. The Assignments became more and more difficult to handle because the more they were apart the more they yearned for one another, and the more reckless they became.

I walk on the pavement, and it feels odd not to take a car. The night air is crisp, and stings my nose and cheeks as I huddle into my coat. I stare at the sidewalk as street lamps phase in and out as my boots rhythmically stamp the concrete on my way home.

Was it recklessness or love? Or both? Or was it just burnout, just an escape from the hell they routinely put themselves through for their country? Why had he suddenly learnt to fear the bombs and the snipers, and why did every prayer start with her face and every night end with a silent kiss across the night to her lips?
Why was he standing on her doorstep when he knew it would kill both of them? Why was he selfishly putting her in danger, just because he couldn’t live for another second without holding her, without loving her, without sharing the rest of his life with her, country and agency and secrets be damned?

And he knocks, and a little girl with his grey eyes and black hair stands at the door, and his breath freezes and knees feel weak. And then he knows why he came back.

I open the front door, and don’t bother turning on the lights. The memories wait in lighted corners and I avoid them and scuttle in the darkness to my bedroom and pray for oblivion.

She cautiously decides to meet him again. She’s been dead so long, she needs him to make her live again. Cozy evenings in stolen restaurants and hotel rooms hours out of the way of ordinary life.
The little girl is like him in so many ways. Already at ten, her grey eyes hold his secrets. So grownup she’s almost frightening sometimes..

And then one day she comes home to disaster. They’ve taken away her life, her baby, her only link to him.
A voice on the phone tells her what to do.
She does what they say.
But, even as she betrays her one and only love, she manages to whisper and tell him where to go. Where he will be safe, where he can grow old happy, and she can live knowing that he is alive and well in some corner of the world. She knows she will never share it with him, because she loves him too much, and he husband loves her too much to let her go. The eternal power struggle.
One day, when the child some of age, she tells her. Tells her the secret she has so long harbored, awaiting the time when there can be a memory shared, of one to tell of the memory, and another to hear of it, so that he may live again.

I avoid my eyes in the mirror. The grey is bloodshot, my hair stark black again the pallor of my skin. How long can I live with the knowledge? I look at my face, and remember the man who ruined my family. I stare at my face, as always, and try in vain to find some trace of the brown chocolate gaze and silver hair of the man I truly loved as my father. The bathroom mirror disappoints me once again. My father is gone, and only I am to blame. I look at myself, and see the guilt claw its way through my veins, and I know its only a matter of time before it consumes me.

She was sitting in her study having her afternoon tea amid her books and cats, when the fax came in.
“Darling, I’ll be in Fiji when you get this. I’m not coming back. Don’t come after me.”
She stares at it for a few seconds longer than necessary, then goes to his bedroom, unlocks his left bed side drawer, takes out the pistol. There is a rude bang, then a ruder shock, then blessed blackness.

Caffeine high and no where to go

the white spaces on web pages are still coming up as grey, and its one more day where i lose my battle with demotivation. my boss can see my screen from where i sit, but i don't care. after five days of spinning out my work much longer than it should last, in redoing all my filing, in checking all my emails and rereading all my blog posts, i return to swatting this one pesky fly that my slightly unhygienic but really nice cubicle sharing person has attracted.
everyone else in the world is busy, and i'm the only idiot in this bustling city who is getting paid to do nothing, and hating it.
i hate having only little insignificant things to do. i'm scared of starting them and having them finish too soon. i hate it. but not enough to actually ask for work, because this little interlude hasn't lasted long enough for me to be masochistic. its a waiting game, me and my boss playing chicken, but i'm going to break down and beg her to let me run her errands soon. someone stop me.

sunday has almost ended, the hatred of monday has already begun. the dream has almost faded, and i sit in the ever present wind, and my heart hurts in memory.

the insanity spills over into the week, the sameness of work looms, the never ending project deadline filled days continue relentlessly, and slowly i lose the numbness despite higher and higher doses of caffiene.

there has to be more somewhere out there. there has to be a third alternative.

i think i should be careful what i wish for.

can i scrounge together an ounce of remose for one more dead person? for one more tragedy, for one more torn apart dream and family and lovers. how many more must there be before we realize?

every saturday party seems to be the only one happening in karachi, and unfortunately that means running into the "yuppie" crowd from the social pages. my biggest fear is that i'll accidently be included in the social pages pictures, and then either be labelled "[insert not so famous name here] and guest" (the "and guest" being me). "and guest" is the biggest insult possible, its like saying "yes we have no idea why this weirdo is in the pic, but we can't cut him/her out, and so we're just going to label him/her as the faceless non entity that they are". or even worse, i'll be in the background (so i literally won't even come into the picture) but my absolutely straight unspiked drink in my hand would gain all sorts of sinister connotations when viewed by all and sundry relatives and housewives poring over the Pages every Sunday.
anyway.
they've been trying to set me up with S since New Years. from Z (at one end of my acquaintanceship spectrum), to M of my college buddy days. Z and M don't even know each other, but they both mutually think this dude is "it" for me (whatever). i've been avoiding him entirely, because any decision i make will jepordize my friendship with either one of these girls, and i really don't want to bother.

usually getting dressed gets me in the party mood. I love it, I love my scanty party tops, I love wearing high high heels, I love putting on make up. The more naked the top, the sexier I feel. Its my one way of showing the finger to society, it’s the one way I can break social convention and toss away my full sleeved shalloo work clothes and still not fuck up my lungs or screw my liver.
i was wearing a backless shirt today, and it was shiny and silver. When I first bought it, I tried it on and modelled it in my room every day for a week (it’s SUCH a fun top). Was having an ok-yet-slightly-bored time, S my apparent soul mate was one of the organizers and so was pretty much stuck on bouncer duty (the WHOLE night). T and M wanted to leave early, so MAA volunteered to do driver duty. Except instead of dropping me home (I was last) he kidnapped me, and took me back to the party, and refused to leave until he had danced his high away. And even then, when we were sweaty and exhausted, some idiot handed him a cigar and so I had to sit with him while he smoked it. I was thoroughly entertained by the sheer numbers of pathetic people lining the driveway, wrestling to get in. occasionally some drunk moron locked outside would run screaming through the crowd and toss himself over the gate, or the wall, and then S and his buddies would all intently chase him down and toss the poor sucker right back out on wounded dignity.

We were finally ready to leave (well I was at any rate, forced him to drop me home), and we were leaving, and passed poor S battling back the sea of humanity trying to roll into the vacuum we left. I paused to give him a “oh poor you, don’t envy your job, good luck”, and I can’t begin to describe the look on the poor guy’s face. I don’t even think he heard what I was saying, he just looked at me, with this crap-I-HATE-this-I-wish-I-was-with-you look. I didn’t know whether to laugh or not, so I just said good luck again. Even when MAA behind me came up and thumped his shoulder, wished him luck, and shook his hand goodbye, he was still looking at me. I walked through the driveway (MAA’s sheer size creating a wake I was following), I sneaked a look behind, and some guard was shaking S's arm trying to say something to him, but S was still just standing there, a little dumbstruck, still looking.
it was a little strange actually. I don’t know what to make of it. does he or doesn't he?

dear diary

This is the third time I’ve tried writing here. I need to write about:
(1) my flat tire and how I can change one (in theory anyway)
(2) working, and how if I have to crunch some numbers from this database we maintain and analyze results A, B and C, I will inevitably use a million worksheets, several obscure excel functions no one knows about, thoroughly comment and record all procedures, make process maps, make a new color coded file and update it, and then automate all the bottlenecks till I have one smooth operation which can be updated in five minutes the next time either A, B or C are required. I do this every single time, justifying the initial time investment because of all the time I’d save later. But really, do I really need to be so efficient all the time? I’ve come up with this word “technolge” (the verb form of technology. My question is: “to technolge or not to technolge?”. Next time, I’ll just waste time blogging and orkut-ing, catch up on my emails, do the job in some old fashioned inefficient manner that abuses the beauty of excel, and just give the thing in. just not be so personally invested in everything.
(3) finally got an email from “best” friend M. (saying the word best friend makes me feel like I’m in class 2). We used to be alike; think being mistaken for sisters, finishing the others sentences, having exactly the same opinion, the works. Post ivy league and NY life, she’s become this total absolute, self involved americanized BURGER (I hate that word), who wants to do nothing other than live off daddy’s money and party/shop in NY, with absolutely no motivation to come back home and try to make the difference she can with her resources and education. Its people like her, my best friend, who selfishly chose to waste important potential by living in a world only because it has better clubs. She could use her stupid architectural degree and help design the stupid millions of hideously made town houses and apartment blocks that are clearly made by mazdoors who’ve only lived in palm tree jhompri’s their whole lives. She could do the fund raisers she’s so good at, or just stay in NY and paint and because famous like she would if she only wanted to, and just bring up Pakistan’s name in some context other than bombs and death. But no, her only mission in life is to get married because she’s about to be put “on the shelf” at 24. She thinks I’m gay for not wanting to settle into a relationship with the first rich fuck who proposes. Did I mention a self involved american burger anywhere?
(4) hung out with good old N, J and T. asked J if he has any sisters (ARGH.. WHAT is WRONG with me – his sisters death thingie is tomorrow). Sat for three hours over one cup of hot chocolate as I went on my soap box about how we’re all children of a fucked up education system that gears us to go abroad, leaving us with the mentality of clerks, forever trapped in the paradox of yearning for white skin and good english speaking skills because of one massive ass colonial hangover. J makes totally stupid naïve statements like we’re a nation of law less people because “we have self esteem issues because we were downtrodden from post mughlai era” and I feel like smacking him because that’s some U of W development econ professor talking who’s clearly never stepped foot in the third world. We also talked about our exes, and nearly depressed ourselves into a coma, till T came and shrieked us out of melancholy. The Caffeine sofa’s are really comfortable, if a little incondusive to passionate debate :).

Have a training session on a Saturday :(, till 8 pm. They’ve tried to make it sound fun and funky, but that’s still a Saturday, and its still a five hour training session. Can I mention Saturday again?
And yes this is self involved, but hey, this thing is supposed to be a diary substitute right?

you got mail

random update 2: got my first flat tyre today. had six men stop and offer to help. God bless this country and its men (what can i say: today was a day of firsts). i vow not to find the uncle who talks to my chest sleazy anymore, he was very polite and well brought up to offer to help in 50 degree heat with his friday prayers on the line. i watched some random driver change the tyre and i think i can repeat the process, except wrestling it off might take more strength than i have. oh well. another strange thing: i'm turning down my TGIF plan to go for dinner with my parents. i'm actually willingly subjecting myself to quality time. wow.

i got an email from M. we were inseperable in school, to a point where our clique was almost unhealthy. we always knew what the other was thinking, and we both placed each other above even family. she helped me survive the terrible Teenage Angst years.
and for the first time, after seeing it in black and white, i couldn't ignore the fact that we were SO different now her i actually found her thought processes absolutely incomprehensible.

the only contributor to change: her ivy league education, my desi degree.
she's started viewing the world through the incomprehensible lens of an all-american idiot. i'm the all pakistani desi. the twain shall never meet again i guess. sad.

random update vomited out into the recesses of cyberspace: today all the whitespaces on webpages are coming up as gray. all the printers are on the blink. my cd rom drive is a big toothless hole in my pc. i cut my nails last night and typing is satisfying again.

we went bowling yesterday (didn't have the worst score thank God - i love N), and i invited JAS to the saturday night party but then remembered that N told me that saturday was going to be the day his sister died 6 years ago. oops. i remember we all went to the janaza even though we weren't shia and we didn't know him too well, and then J and M proceeded to have a giggling fit till they cried because an old aunty next to them fell asleep amid the chest thumping and snored really loud.

we tended to do that. the times we were supposed to be most reverent and silent were the times when we always broke into helpless manic giggle fits.
J's mamoo had just been shot because he was about to testify against zardari (in anti PPP glory days), and everyone had stepped out of the social pages to come to the soyem. J was there totally unfazed, stuck a pin in my ass when Aunty came over and i was saying my salaams and some sorry-for-your-loss type line. then we sat down under the oil painting of Jamil's pigeons and wife, and M took a hair pin and pretended to put it up her nose, and all four of us cracked up, then tried to muffle it, and the more we tried to stifle the giggles the more we laughed, till we were crying in pain and hilarity. and then some aunty came by to J (who was in helpless hysterical giggles), and thought J was upset over the death and crying about that, and hugged her against her pointy conical bosom, making J go "ouch, my EYE!" really loudly. and that made us explode into a vicious cycle of never ending side splitting PAINFUL heaves which we tried to hide (i bit on my fist - even that didn't really work).
then i only heard about the time when K's mom passed away. and N got the giggle fits on that one (thank GOD i wasn't there), to a point where she was hiding under a dupatta, silently shaking, looking like she was getting electrocuted or something, and A came up and lifted her dupatta to see what the hell was wrong with her and she ended up spitting up a fountain of rooh afza through her mouth and nose all over him, herself and some poor bystander.

i would like to think that i now have more control over my funny button. i have to confess i almost had a bad moment a couple of weeks ago in the middle of a meeting, but i bit the inside of my cheek till i practically tasted blood. so i guess its been four years, eight months and twenty eight days since my last manic giggle fit, and i'm proud of it :)

"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts. "
Bertrand Arthur William Russell




NB: this is *so* going to be my new mantra

I’m back to not sleeping again. I know I’m going to snap again. Its like being locked in a rollercoaster in a waking dream, knowing its going to end in disaster, unable to stop it.


I’ve gone through the scene so many times I’m almost sick of it. I’m in a room full of glittering strangers, and I have naked feet. Actually, I’ve kicked my shoes off so they can get the fitting right. Theres a whole entourage of them, they're all six feet tall and skinny and beautiful and have this AURA about them that speaks of their navy blue blood lines, fithly disgustingly stinking wealth, and their georgeous georgeous bubble encased lives. I obviously look horrendous because I’ve only just barely managed to sneak out of work, and instead of having the luxury of my car (my mother is having some lunch at our place) I come downstairs to find my father, ten miles and forty minutes out of his way just to pick me up from work, take me to the fitting, wait outside, then drop me back and then go on his way. Its so sweet, I can’t even say anything about his repulsive cigars choking me. I briefly mourne the days of arrogant youth, where I took such kindnesses as de rigeur. Maybe I have grown up a little.
They’re all having some bitchy conversation in between wasted and underutilized apple laptops and ciggarettes, and my fitting is all wrong, and the fucker of a tailor deliberately misses the zip and brushes my breast, then “accidently” fumbles with the measuring tape and gropes my ass. The third time he tries to bend his stupid white haired bony head to an inch of my chest, I tell him to back off. But I say it through gritted teeth, and in a low voice. Because I’m paying 25 grand for this bloody outfit, and he’s the bastard who has to stitch it. Because I don’t want to make a scene in front of the bitch parade. Because i need to come back here in the summer, and stand in line to order stuff for next year.
I almost wish he did something more concrete than shadowly fumblngs so I could then REACT and kick him in the balls or something. But he’s obviously been doing this a long long time, and I’m way out of my league.

I get dropped back, I’ve missed my lunch hour, and feel filthy beyond the humidity and general sweatiness of the weather.

And its yet another night where I lie awake, thinking.

insomnia

I’m obsessed. I’ve started thinking in paragraphs.I need to stop. I need to sleep.

I have another reason fueling my sociopath-ism. I had a pretty good day today, was all happy, well fed, smugly exercised, was looking forward to the book I had gotten sucked into. my kid brother gets online, and I’m looking forward to talking to him.
then T calls.
to go any further I need to give a little background on T. first off, she has this really SHRILL voice. its like she's permanently on helium. second, she’s a megalomaniac. she only talks to me to have a person on the other end of the phone. I tried having a conversation with her once, and she thought I was picking a fight with her. as long as I make the requisite hums and haws and yeses (hoping she just shuts the hell up and finally leaves me alone), get her invites and chauffer her to social occasions with MY friends, our relationship miraculously stays on good terms. third, she's genuinely stupid. she's one of those people really medium high on text book learning, but doesn't have an ounce of sense otherwise. she's one of those people who is the WORST combination of stupidity and gigantic disproportionate ego. but since she has my phone number and knows where I live, I’m nice to her because I’m a non confrontational type of person. plus I’m generally tolerant of people's flaws, because eventually she's not a nasty person. that goes a long way with me.

she vomits out her entire day. like literally she says: "I woke up at 7:45. I said, OH MY GOD I’m late for my meeting... I got dressed.. I drove to work.. I was ten minutes late for the Monday morning meeting.. I was carrying folders.. I put the folders on the table and everyone looked at me...." (I’m not kidding) and she goes on and on and ON about her day and her job and her work buddies, and I hem and haw at the appropriate moments in good humor because hell, I’m in a good mood why not.
then after wasting a good amount of my time (I am NOT a phone person, anyone who cares to know me knows that.. in six years she hasn't bothered to find out... or she knows and doesn't care.. ), she's FINALLY down to nine thirty and she's finally leaving work and driving back exhausted (yeah.. SHE was exhausted.. ), and then she suddenly changes the topic so fast I kept hemming and hawing till I realized she had actually spoken a statement and required my response.
T: "I’m really pissed off at you for leaving early from my dinner"
me: "hmm"
after a pause
me: "oh. but O had to drop me home. everyone was leaving" (I’m totally confused here, because FOUR of us left together, and we were the last fuckers to leave the damn place, and umM WHY is this an issue!?)
T: "I’m not pissed off at them. actually I am. but I’m more pissed off at you. why did YOU leave. you should have..." (and she continues her monologue of my flaws)

speechless, I continue to hem and haw out of habit, but then get a little annoyed and tell her that my brother has been waiting for me come online for ages now, and I have to leave. And I mentally shake my head, because now by hanging up on her I just gave her fodder to not talk to me, then bitch me out to our mutual friends, then make a bitchy phone call to me demanding an apology a painful long drawn out process map later. this will haunt me for the rest of the fucking week.

My god. the more I expand my social circle, the more I remember why I was such a snob about hanging out with only my friends in the first place.

And I’m still a little speechless. why do women as a species have so many danda’s up their asses?

"I went into a McDonald's yesterday and said, "I'd like some fries." The girl at the counter said, "Would you like some fries with that?"
Jay Leno

hahahhahhahhaha

i take it back, we are all NOT the same (re: building a mystery).

i remembered why i don't like people. its because the more you meet, the more you realize that there are some truely ridiculous idea's out there, and there are people who base their entire lives on them.

and that just makes me feel tired.

i'm going back to screening my calls and msn.

I Believe

I stayed up the whole night after a very long time. this marks the true circle I have completed since I moved away from this house a very long time ago. the pattern is now complete, the thread is now tied, the lines have now been redrawn.
I have re-realized that I believe a lot of strange things:

(1) I believe my entire being can be divided into two elemental wholes. One related to art, I am consumed by it, I am it. the center of my being follows the line of that pastel. a part of me breaks off and is forever encased in the medium I choose to use. Gulgee once said that he doesn’t pray, that he doesn’t need to because “with every stroke of his brush he worships the Almighty”. I think I can understand that.

the other half of my being: numbers. the mental click of rightness when you reach QED. Like a complex dance, the click of the heels, the gesture of the arm, the tilt of the head. The epiphany of reaching the end, bending down, throwing your head down and taking an elaborate bow. That is what I remember of this other part of my being.

These are both fissures that constituent me. Writing is a byproduct, a skill I have learnt by being a lover of words. It only deserves a footnote to who I am.

(2) I believe that there is method to the madness in the universe, that if anyone cares to look there is a hand driving it all, that there are left so many clear cut signs our own insignificance in the cosmos becomes frightening. That we are all part of a cliched massive cosmic struggle of good and evil, which rules every single decision we ever make in our lives if we could just laser off our myopia and see the Whole.

(3) I believe that our habits, personalities and decisions are so ingrained in us that if we woke up with total amnesia we would still think say and do exactly how we do it now without the knowledge and bigotries we have picked up along the way. Because the knowledge and the bigotries reflect us, we shape them, not vice versa.

(4) I believe that people are either Good or not. That it is possible to be flawed and stupid and have several personality defects yet still be Good. There are people behind whose words lies the hiss of a serpant, behind whose gaze lies the black pits of rotting evil. I believe that they can hide behind empty gestures of goodness, but not for long.

(5) I believe (and this one is difficult to say out loud because of the sheer naiveté, the sheer ingénue-ness that is so not me) that someone out there has been labelled as Mine. I will find him. Its not the mission of my life or anything, but it will happen when the time is right. I have seen Too Much to not believe this.

(6) i also believe it is a bad bad idea to eat strawberries right after brushing your teeth :)

Yeah, I do believe in a lot of strange things.

strange

i went to a jewellery store to check out some stuff, and accidently walked out with a sample diamond bracelet worth 2 lacs or so.
no alarm bells went off, in fact, i strolled through two armed guards and three triple locked doors to get out.

i didn't notice it till half an hour later on the other side of the city.

i realized i had picked up an extra trinket, freaked out, like, FREAKED OUT. i cannot explain the utter horror, embarassment and panic i felt when i saw those rocks calmly nestled in my watch and wrist band type thingies i wear. my heart stopped, my vision shrank to the blinding glitter of 10 pointers. my first instinct was to rip it off and THROW it out the first window because of the sheer embarassment at having been such an idiot. i SHOT up from the chair i was sitting in, upsetting the second jeweller i was at. i immediately wanted to return as FAST as i could so i could get the damn thing off my hands ASAP. my mother stuck around to finish the deal with the second guy while my heart literally stopped in horror as i paced up and down the lobby. i DRAGGED my mother to the car, and drove as FAST as i could back to where we had come from. i was furious at that idiot man at the store for not noticing the bloody thing on me. the irresponsibility! the gall at putting me through the humiliation! the EMBARASSMENT. the STUPIDITY.

i got to the store, practically ran in, overwrought with emotional turmoil, and the jewellery guy is totally unfazed. he hadn't even noticed it was missing. he smiled, calmly took the bracelet, and looked at my freaked out expression and said "don't worry madam, hota hai ".

my mother just looked at me extremely amused by the strange strange daughter she'd raised.

i'm not strange! THEY'RE STRANGE!! karachi is strange!!!!

it never even occured to me to keep the damn thing. maybe i AM strange.

UPDATE:

the problem: men

the description (stolen from T): men want women to be pamela anderson's in bed and mother teresa's out of it.

the situation: the character traits that would go with either personality types are in opposition.

the question: will the twain ever meet?

you lying cheating fork tongued REFLECTION of a man
i can't BELIEVE i was EVER that desperate

the problem: the main issue arises when you have two different criteria for being attracted to someone (Attraction) vs. someone you want to marry (Husband).

the description: the very nature of being an unstable non-husband person is what makes you most Attractive. i.e. opposite of Attraction is Husband.

the situation: we spend our early years looking for Attraction and find only Husbands, and then start looking for a husband and only find Attraction.

the question: will the twain ever meet?

friends

they were sitting in the bed together, his 6 2 lanky frame intertwined with her stunning 5 10. i had stolen the blanket because i was freezing, and was vegging out on the bean bag and the floor. i love her room, her walls are flourescent orange and look like they're out of a magazine (the rest of it is out of a bad college dorm but anyway). we had a girle bitching out session over cold thin crust pizza with extra jalepenpos and mushrooms, where i confessed my annoyance at my family and she confessed her fear of "settling" with N.

then of course N came over and they both settled their lazy asses on the bed and *refused* to get off to go get a drink or a second helping unless the other promised to go the next time round. they both had enough alcohol to floor an elephant, and were *still* more sober than me even though i only stuck to Nestle. (i'm getting this one hideous beginnings of a zit -survive adolescence without a blemish only to get one NOW- the TRAGEDY!).

we're watching jay leno, i'm drooling over ashton kutcher (who is SO beautiful it hurts to look at him), and N is impressed by the fact i know the ecuador president got kicked out today. i'm wearing my red capris, and the color just makes me smile everytime i look at the sheer fun of it.

we do nothing, absolutely nothing, and it was one of the most fun evenings ever.

i miss all of us being together! T, N, F if and when you read this, COME BACK SOON and STAY FOREVER. its terrible of you guys to happily abandon us. i lowe yew all *muah*

scavenger hunt

we ran into another team when we were hunting for the second last item on our list - the orange bra.
it was a trainer bra at a toy store (go figure) and it was a beigy shade that had been left out in the sun so had become a browny orange hue. we were desperate. we drew straws and S had to go buy it, but another group saw our car in the parking lot and plagiarized our idea. there was a brief scuttle, sana was cornered by 4 enemy boys, but then she broke through, tossed the bright orange lingerie as hard as she could, and A broke all records dodging families, shopkeepers and cars, picked it up mid flight and that was that (people thought we were mad and gave us wide berth).

we had to literally kick A in the butt to get him to go get condoms from the nearby store.
peer pressure glaring at him from behind, he closed his eyes, ducked his head, and made a run for it:

A(puffing and panting, shoves housewife out of way): "mujhay condoms chahiyay.. ABHI"

shopkeeper: "hain? woh kiya hota hay?"

A: "condom! CONDOM! kaun-doom"

housewife giving A dirty look

A: "woh cheez jo log pehntay hain jab woh .. jab wo.. WOH kar rahey hotay hain"
shopkeeper: *blank look*

A makes universal gesture of banging a woman with one hand and a hip thrust

horrified aunty leaves the store, shopkeeper shows illumination

two girls from school walk in at inopportune moment, say hi to A.

we all collapse laughing from our hiding position in the cereal aisle.

A is mortified, about to run out store but they're blocking the exit

storekeeper: "bhai sab, yeh lo, rough rider" hands A an unmistakable box of a local flavored version

A grabs the box, throws all the money he has, and RUNS

we're still laughing in the aisle.

A takes off with the car and leaves us in the store.

we have to call M's latest beau to take us to the house. he brings his stupid RED CONVERTIBLE (to impress her no doubt - idiot boy) which is from some previous century and keeps stalling after every five minutes. the wolf whistles and horrendous cat calls (convertibles have that effect on Karachi pedestrians and bus passengers) echo in our ears long after we reach the rendezvous point.

and we didn’t even win because we didn't get a REAL hijra (we dressed A up, in lipstick and orange bra and everything, but apparently that didn't count).

:) it was a fun time.

i'm cursed with the ability to think
thinking ruins everything

why not

We were in a courtyard at the back of his house. We’d come in through the back entrance, it was dark, we were trying to keep it quiet. It felt naughty, yet completely right. It always felt completely right with him. The bastard.

It was November, the perfect month. The stars were out, Orion twinkling its blessing. I had my LV bag in my hand, and we had to lean against the wall in case someone glanced out the first floor window. My last coherent thought was about how the white might rub off onto my grey t-shirt, and how my bag should NOT get on the floor because damn, it was bloody expensive.

Then I stopped thinking, because he had that effect, even though I tried to keep my eyes open and my mind working, even though I tried to keep from leaning too hard against the wall and even though I tried to think about holding onto the bag. I tried. When we came up for air, £100 of my savings were squashed somewhere at our feet.
He was breathing so hard I had to smile. He got aggrieved at my lack of reverence.
“Its infuriating that you can laugh, when my knees are weak”
Which of course made me laugh even more.
From an inch away I saw his yummy brown eyes widen as I grabbed him and turned him against the wall. And of course I had the giggle fits by then, even though we managed to do a pretty good job despite that.

Then the beautiful dog started barking, and then it wanted to play as well, so we both laughed and then I had to leave.

That’s why not. That’s what happened the last time I decided to be selfish. I was the one that had to end things and simultaneously felt like I had taken a crowbar to my chest. As we get older crushes get more dangerous, and unimportant things start becoming important. In the long run we might all be dead, but its what the short run becomes all too soon.

why?

I'm actually thinking about it. I'm sitting abosolutely bored at work, because everyone is somewhere else, and I'm thinking about it.

Is it because i'm getting desperate? Is it because the more time I have to think, the more I feel I need to fill in the blanks with a picture of happily ever after starting with a maroon glitter shamiana and ending with a mansion with a pool and tennis courts and three boys and one girl?

Is it simply because I can? Why not? Why bother having standards or expectations? Why think about the future its going to suck anyway. Why not just get self centered and think short term and just close my eyes and dumb my mind and play this right and manipulate like i know i can. Why not just not think about it?
Why not just enjoy the moment, enjoy the attention, just not feel guilt, not feel obligation, not feel the need to be honest, just stop thinking so i can feel?

WHY NOT?

Building a Mystery

I snuggle in anonymity. I like it that way.

Pick a blog, any blog, and you feel an instant connection. Not because of some miracle of nature, but by default status of nurture. All the clichés are true. All human beings are alike, have been for centuries. We are just children of the same blanket marketing campaigns that determine what we should want think and feel.
That is why you connect with me, we are all aliens in our own skin. We carry around our inferiority because we ourselves don’t fit anywhere in our own minds.
Absolutely alike, feeling absolutely alone.


If you’re not there already, you will eventually. Time is a patient teacher.

the nutcracker

raw beauty. haunting. grace. power. perfection.
twisting and contorting bodies in positions that should look unnatural, but make your breath become shallower and your heart pound as you sit at the edge of your seat because you can FEEL because you can IMAGINE because you can LEAP right along side him IGNORE the embarassing tights into a grande plie and arabesque.

how long has it been? petit jette, grande bantmound, bantmound taundue, change moun, jete. arms in third, feet in first, thumbs tucked in, back straight!, BEND, SHOW JUST ONE EMOTION with your body, just one!, Two Four beat, on the count of four, take it till eight, HOLD, back again to starting position in eight. bend and POINT. hours and hours in different levels and shades of insinuation.
just one emotion. exhilaration.
just one emotion. happiness.
just one emotion. awe.
just one emotion. suffocating nostalgia, tensed adult muscles, confusion at forgotten dreams, childlike yearning, black and white spliced to grey.

my god. its been too long.

hatred

There are old wounds here. Very old. They date far back to adolescence, as far as I can remember.
I have always dressed in style and good taste. That is what you have taught me. How can you not trust that? Why do you always make me feel ugly, indecent, vulgar? I’m not. The vast majority far outnumbering me are clad in their backless tops with knee length skirts. I know I achieve better effect with far better taste. How dare you accuse me otherwise? I hate you, I hate you for making me what I am and I hate you for realizing what you do and not caring what it does to me. I hate you. This goes far too deep, because your opinion counts the most. I hate you for hurting me with inconcrete callous words so I do not know with what tools to fight back.

I hate you. I hate myself.

sometimes, i think i would do anything, just anything, to have that.

stress + caffiene = fun
stress + caffiene + panadol extra = high
stress + caffiene + panadol extra + meeting with CEO = insanity

the story of black and white

yin yang, love hate, mars venus.
are they really opposites?

it was my first real internship, we were all pretty much the same age, and it was the great days of TGIF, Pizza Express and when all roads led to the Point.
he was interning at another office at the same building, and i'd once gone in and asked to use the phone. my GOD he was cute. kept bumping into him on and off, hormonal enough to feel my blood freeze, breath stop and feet stumble if he was within eye sight.
i was walking towards the large glass entrance doors one day, and he was around ten feet in front of me. I could recognize the back of his head by then. he pushed open the door, gave a backward glance and saw me. and instead of letting it swing shut he waited, and held it open. when i caught up to him, he turned back and smiled, and then walked off towards the parking lot.

it was Indescribable. rock climbing, bungee trampoline, first kiss, nothing, nothing has ever even come close to it.

i wonder if i'm still capable of feeling like that again?

mortality

It was dark. The manouever was fairly simple: I’d parked behind my dad’s car, had to go downstairs, reverse it so the parents could leave, and then park it back in. Got in, started the car, didn’t bother turning the lights on (the lane we live in is rarely used). Backed up, waited for my parents to get into their car. Watch three kids on their bikes zoom past me. Pretty fast, stupid little buggers. Whizz past my side view mirrors. I watch my rear view mirror and three adolescent bottoms wiggle furiously with the exertion of pedalling. Did I ever go that fast? The red back lights of my dad’s SUV flash on. I remember the days on my pink bike, pedalling at night, letting go of the handlebars. The white reverse lights glow as my dad hits the car into reverse. Feeling the wind whoosh past my ears, feeling like I was on top of the world. The SUV is finally reversing. We even used to play tag on our bikes. The kids have turned around, and are now heading back up the street. I take a breath, the SUV rolls back.

The timing is almost flawless. My dad is still reversing, the bikes, coming fast with no reflectors at a beautiful tangent. The point of intersection, my driveway, seven feet left of my car hood. dy/dx = 0.

And stupidly, I just watch it all happen. I forget to exhale.

My dad always had fast reflexes. He breaks right after the first kid zips by, Second and Third still pedalling past. Third has been trying to tag First, and is a little to the right, exactly in the path of the back wheel. Somewhere in the fifth dimension guardian angels of the seven people present all rush forward. I can see the ineveitable crunch, and close my eyes. I hear the thunk, the crunch, the scream. Then I realize that was just my imagination.

I open my eyes, and let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

First, Second and Third are already at the end of the street, father is starting to reverse again and mother is still clutching her heart and has probably just finished saying “hai Allah”.

I can’t believe I was too stupid to honk. Why didn’t I think of it?

Silence. Comfort. Three people watching the glimmering waves crash to shore, recede, then crash again. A few people strolling in the shimmering sand, silhouettes blurring with the reflection of the sun. 6 boats at the horizon. A beautiful line of electricity poles behind me arching, merging into one silent grey smudge into the far distance. From the haze rise some buildings, hopes of construction, perfect ridges to the sky line. The aria in the background perfect. Everything perfect. I sat with them, and for the first time since I left for college 6 years ago my mind was at peace. We shared a couple of old memories, laughed at a couple of jokes, told each other stories we’d forgotten. And we prolonged our eating, our food, our time sitting there, because we knew that whatever our lives, whatever our differences, this is what families are about and this is the oasis where we must shelter and seek nourishment. I return, a little stronger, glad that I touched upon happiness.

******************************

It was the nicest afternoon. Woke up, had a great talk with N after the longest time, ate the best strawberries after a long time, then went grocery shopping at my favorite supermarket where the prime commodities purchased included brie (yummy), special K, and croissants for tomorrows breakfast. Then we went to the drivethrough, then stopped at really secluded spot that looked out at the sea. We sat there, the perfect amount of silent and conversation, absolutely comfortable, absolutely RIGHT. This is what I look for in all my socializing, this is what I find lacking. This is what I wish I could have with others my age, with others I interact with. Intelligence, wit, humor, unconditional love. By asking for nothing from them, do I ask too much of myself?

It almost 4 am and I’m hungry. I’m not getting the nando’s cake I’ve stashed in the fridge for some reason.

Why 1) What did he think? I’d just up and say “yes of coarse I’ll go out with you I barely know you and have spoken to you on three occassions in the last 6 years. We were in school together and spoke a grand total of three sentences then too. so that’s a total of 6 sentances in 16 years, and yes that sure as hell is enough for me to know, just know, that I’m in love with you, that I want you to be the father of my children, that I want to share something as sacred as a band of going out to label us. I was speechless at your audacity, at your stupidity, at your sheer annoyingness at putting me in such an awkward position which I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN PUT IN. we’re NOT in school anymore, we’re ADULTS, in the REAL WORLD. GET REAL.
Idiot

Why 2) why do you not understand that I genuinely do NOT want to get out this saturday? I KNOW you’re literally twisting my arm because YOU want to go out but you don’t know N and J that well and you need ME there so you can hang out with them.

Why 3) WHY do you not understand me after knowing me since we were 6? When I say NO I MEAN NO. you just forced me to go along because you wanted me there, you wanted safety in numbers, you wanted backup.

If you guys were truly my friends you wouldn’t try to make me dance to your internal agenda. I only listen to you because I know I’ll need to use you at some point in the future, and I’m so going to call in this favor. I miss the days when I had M, who I’d do anything for, for absolutely no reason with the knowledge that she would do anything for me. Why did I lose that? When did selfishness and chootianess become priorities on the agenda?

Why 4) dancing hurts. Even wearing flat shoes. I can’t do it. hello, I have TITANIUM in there. i don’t have fun dancing anymore. When I sit, I don’t know anyone there. No one can have a conversation. I’m sick of small talk. I’m not INTERESTED in interacting with random people I don’t know and don’t WANT to know. Sitting around is not fun, talking is not fun, dancing is not fun. In fact, all activities mentioned above are actively painful. HOW do you say you’ve had a great time after hours and hours of all of the above?

Is it the same ability to just simply shut down your mind that makes you good at routine repetitive work that gets you promoted? Is it the same lack of a brain that makes you so easy to get along? Why do the stupid ones have the most uncomplicated hence happy lives? Why is the outcome of thinking such a miserable unhappy life?