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.

oh yes!

edit.

Temporary peace, somewhat.phew.

Drift away.

This song, oh man. I have been hearing this at different places for the past four years. Every mall that I have ever been to(okay maybe not ALL of them but most of them) have played this. I only knew the chorus and after finally googling it, I finally found it=D. I thought today would be hell, it was hell, hell at work. Argh. But school was awesome, haha, not such a great sleep bio lecture followed by an awesome 2 hour physio haul, I came out feeling relieved/happy/smarter. Hehehe. Tuesdays are such the hell.

And oh this song!!!It feels like warm white chocolate mocca on 7am winter mornings:):)

confessions of a kaamchor.

Ramzan and days are flying past me like a total blur these days. Wake up for sehri, eat, get ready for work, go to work, go to class, come home for iftar, homework and then off to bed. WTH, what happened to being lazy:( ??!!

I need to start praying, at least now. seriously.

labour day weekend.

This long weekend was lovely. Cousins came by and we went over. Finally went to demetres and had 75 dollars worth of desserts(yikes!, shopped for back-to-school. It was a nice relaxing weekend with lots of telly, granola bars, ludo and failed attempts at learning chess. Since my talk with Abu and M that day, I am trying to keep my head leveled and myself calm. Things have a strange way of unfolding themselves so I/we shall see what happens next. For now, I am a little calm. I just finished watching The Hills, washed my hair and seen that the girlies are ready for school tommorow. I absolutely love the time for back to school, I just hope that this year isn't any different from all the other years:).

Oh no I've said too much.

Every whisper
Of every waking hour I'm
Choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no I've said too much
I set it up

This is the fourth blog post I have started writing in the past two days. I don't quite know how to say I feel. I had a chat with M after a very long time yesterday and she made me realise something, something I knew forever but never acted on. I just HAVE to stop drowning in self pity right about now. Whats done is done eh, and can't do anything to mend the past so fucking move on better, brighter things. Ofcourse, that doesmn't mean that moving on overrides your guilt of what you could have stopped but to look past it and not let it come in the way of the life you need(and want). Repeat: get over it, get over it. I am listening to REM's losing my religon and I know that I can't be sure of what happens until I try to live beyond whats happened. The song ends now. I still feel the way you feel after you cry your eyes out and your eyes are burning red and your nose is puffy and stuffy. I start the start over again.

Life is bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no I've said too much
I set it up

I haven't said enough.

I am exhausted and can definitely do with a vacation right about now.

I hate how we have all become fragments.

We burried truth under playgrounds.

At the end of the day, you are alone with the things you have done.

(asofterworld)

Not stuck in reverse!

Yesterday, Poshi got her O level marks. She did brilliantly, that girl. She deserved it and SO much more. I remember it like yesterday when I went home after IB and there she was running around Mara Api and I debating between doing Matric or its british equivelent. She couldnt make her mind up, heh. Deep down, though, it was obvious that she was bound to do the Os and pass them flying colours. Never did she nor I think that years later, when she would be done, she would be in Islamabad and not Muzaffarabad in the comfort of her Upper Chattar home, getting phone calls and best wishes from cousins, aunts and friends, alike. We would have been driving around in Chachu's or Masood Uncle's gaari, going down to Madina Market, spending the last of every penny in our pockets for junk we didnt need and then going up to Chinari and pigging out while watching our serene little town.

Now our houses are rented out by NGOs who have been sitting on their asses and not doing anything to mend the cracks(literal ones) in our walls, roads, schools. Islamabad is (apparently) the new home now. The thought of it being home was nice before the earthquake, but now, we all just want to be back home. For now, Poshi is settling for a video I-pod, lots of phone calls and happysad tears all around. My youngest phupo is a trooper, she made all the difference.

:)

greysisdefinitelynotmedicinebutthisisit.

"Too often, the thing you want most is the one thing you can't have.Desire leaves us heartbroken, it wears us out. Desire can wreck your life. But as tough as wanting something can be...the people who suffer the most,are those who don't know what they want."

- Grey's Anatomy

I live for yesterdays.

If you know me, you would know how I love to rant about/think about my life currently compared to what it used it be.

You live for yesterdays

, a friend once pointed out to me. I wish that we could go back into that tiny window of time and live some of the good, some of the bad and even some of the nasty, just so that the life we are in today doesn't seem so aweful. I spend hours thinking about how one decision changed our course of life and then another one changed it more and then another brought us through twists and turns and led us to this. My mind has gotten used to multi tasking/thinking now. I can think about 'yesterday's debate' while doing whatever it maybe: work, read, study, panick, have a conversation with a friend about how her ex- and her were just a wrong fit or how your low gpa from first year will not completely screw up your chances of getting into Med School or even how I should be using the tredmill lying uselessly in the garrage.

I feel the change that I have gone through in the last 8 or so years. From being that shy little kashmiri girl to being a loud, outspoken, often corky and (seemingly) well- centered girl. I don't like what the transformation has led to and seeing all this change makes some people very happy and often proud of me. But this change doesn't seem to me as major as people around me feel it to be. I am still the same in-secure person who could(/does) cry at the drop of a hat. I still can't say what I feel and still keep everything botteled up in me. I hate how this 'exterior' change is something that people love to compliment and so I love to dig into old memories, times, things to make myself feel better. Life isn't horrible. Its just me, who can't stop complaining. I hate how post secret has to have the right postcard at the time when my mind is over worked, worried and too tired to let me sleep.

Maybe I should stop- here- now.

make sense?NO!NEVER

I wish I knew how to say what I feel.

I wish I was not a coward and could just say it, despite the consequences that would surely be very un-ordinary. Its scary when you are sitting alone in a brightly lit room, yet see/feel grey around you.


You are as sick as your secrets.

Potter!

Rowling has all of us dancing on the ink of her pen. Even khana can wait whilst we finish chapters and digest each word to the fullest. MCAT prep on hold until the weekend. Work and HP this week:D

666=zero.

The cool basemeet in the Khan household was used to the loud clacker of the ludo dice against the orange tyelenol bottle. It was a noise that was a regular one during sleepless summer nights, full of sloppy indian movies, re-runs of friends and the OC, ludo, cards and ofcourse tonnes and tonnes of junk food.

The ludo posse consisted of the somewhat fantastic and fanatical foursome; Zoya, Hina, Zainab and Mano. The four cousins would spent hours going around those tiny little boxes on a ludo board that they miraculously found at the start of what might have been a boring/quiet summer break. Each game of pawns and dice would be followed by snack time/nap time/ venting time. The most frequent loser, Zoya, would bitch at the other three to the point where the group would rather sleep(like thats any use in the summmer) than play ludo with partners with any of the remaining three in the group. Hence, the only way forward would be individual game, where all four would go head to head against each other.

Cut, cut, cut, cut, runnn mann, runnnnnn, double ko paas ni kar saktay, ohh meri star peh hai, and, the the crowd pleaser, single pawn cutting a triple was everyone's fav. except the one who would get cut. It got an aplause every single time it happened and happened all so very often to Zoya, who previously beleived that ludo was HER thing.These four cousins would battle it out every night all throught the dry and humid june till july. No one kept count of how many times they played but the pile of wrappers of 5 rupee ki jet sport and empty pepsi bottles would be evidence enough of the magnitude of the intensity in the room. Finally, it would be Chachi's scream from the third floor that would send the girls running and off to bed, leaving behind the dice where it was and the pawns lined up exactly the way they were to be picked up again next night.

3 am was the time that Chachi would call out to them. 'Utho warna mein aati hoon' would the curfew and then the loud party room would be left silent and dark. The only sounds getting the room through the rest of the night would be the zrrrrs of all of the individuals ACs that would be on in each of the bed rooms and the drops of water that would drip down from the tiny exit pipes at the back.The formerly lively living room would await life that would come back with nightfall and end to begin the cyle again at sehri.

Get away!

You know that you are beyond helpless when the tv show,you spent your teenage years despising and venting against, becomes the main activity of your time. I never knew that kids in Newport beach would make me re-consider my life. I am stuck in a spiral.

Tearing up to fictional teenage drama!Is this what I am bargaining for now?

twenty.

Its going to be a brand new year and I mean that. I always make promises, which I never end up following through. This year, no more promises - actions. Actions speak louder than words. Its always great to have something old and familiar when you are putting yourself out on the line. The year of the twenty:)