He said, 'make the right choices'.

Its sad how its easier to quote someone/something than think and come up with something, somewhat original. I have to so much to say that my head can hardly keep it in. If I start writing now, maybe I will write pages, and pages of mere non-sense, or sense. I don't know. Maybe, I would be tongue-tied as I am now. Who do you feel more? The person who fakes/lives a laugh, a happy care-free life just for others around him than for one who is the silent, quite, brooding type. There is no difference in remorse, so how, why do people compare.

I am tired. I really am. There were supposed to be lights. Maybe they are in my blind-spot. Considering that my peripheral vision is deteriorating, I might not be seeing whats already there, in my face, and real.(?)

If A. was there, maybe I would be. Or maybe, I wouldn't be.Some people have a knack for screw-ups, I am just well-versed in that. Um, yeah.

It isn't just surgeons. The truth is, I don't know anyone who isn't haunted by something, or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet, our efforts usually fail. So the only way we can clear out the cobwebs is to turn a new page or put an old story to rest, finally.

Grey's.

Allah!

Ami has surgery tommorow morning.I am really scared, she is the reason for us, for all of us. We just have her so make her okay, more than okay, make her great and healthy!

Please.

Thanksgiving?

Its 5:16pm and I have a 2-hour lecture at 6. I am tired and functioning on less than 3 hours of sleep. Thanksgiving weekend was supposed to be this extravagant affair with four days off from classes and three from work. There was supposed to be excessive sleeping, lazing, relaxing and getting somewhat ready for a somewhat decent eid. However, that was what could have been. Our house is a hub for Geo and ARY that play most if not all the time. Chachu and mom love politics and Musharaff's wardi is everybody's dhukhti rugg. This weekend, though, after avoiding tele for so long(if online tv counts, well then meh, I was glued to tv most of saturday and sunday. They were showing documentaries, newscasts and stories from Muzaffarabad, and other surrounding AK areas. I didn't see much of a change at all since october 8, 2005, People are still living in the ruins of places, they once called home. Its still home but with fewer walls, faith and ofcourse fewer people. The helicopter crash just acted as icing on the fucking cake. Areej and the girls cry louder now, for longer and it didn't help to see mamu's grave. How does a six year old understand that dad isn't coming home and nor are adorable, identical twin bothers that didn't even turn 2 yet?This 'thanksgiving' was to give thanks for what and who are left. The rest?well, the rest is there under a 2 storey house and a beyond extendded, extended, family.

Even the best fall down sometimes.

You are so tired of settling. Its about time that you go ahead and make amends. You so want to just say it and get it out. Its harder to live with everyone knowing than living with the fear of your close ones finding out some way. You always walk with the corner of your eye over your shoulder and even after making sure that all corners are covered, how do you ever be sure?You contend yourself with life, an empty life where you are living day-by-day and getting absolutely nowhere. You can't cry in the day because you are always out. You can't cry in the night because you can't afford to wake anyone up. So, you up this wall. This wall you hide behind all the time. Behind the big brown couches in the guest room, you roll up in the corner and you cry your heart out. You don't scream but weep, and weep and weep. You don't care for how puffy or red your eyes will be the next day. You find comfort and pain, both, in that time when your neck is drenched with saline tears and there is more to where that came from. You bow down your head and still the images of all those dreams and expectations flash by past you. You are a mess, a certified, spineless mess and you have no way to go. You don't know what to do. You can't ask anyone, you can't tell anyone. You are expected to just flatten up your perfect little skirt, get up, wash your puffy. pale face with cold water and go to bed. You sleep on it, on anything, on everything and nothing at the same time. You lie in bed for atleast an hour, flipping your pillow over, turning your head around, counting how many times you have done that. Its not a sleepless night, no being awake is far too painful. You force your circadian to bed.

Maybe just maybe, tommorow, this would all feel like a dream: as if it had never happened. You wish, pray, it never happened.

We burried truth under playgrounds.