Tell me how am I supposed to breathe with no air?

Its a 4 letter word and a three letter that decides everything.

O'lord!

Vraiment.

Les temps sont durs pour les rêveurs

THE LAST LECTURE

This.

time, where did you go?

I measure time by the number of pages I highlight. How many chapters, passages, homework problems. There are just not enough numbers of hours in the day. Its been harder than I expected. I am walking on egg shells and its not getting any easier. By this time, the shells should have been the least of my worries but thats all I have at the back of my mind.

I really need a corner. A corner to just do this in and not to leave it till I am done. From Israel, exchanges, CNN internships, Mcleans, Law School, Med School, Business School, Carribean vs. Canada vs. US, Atlantic Bridging, Poland. I need that corner just about now.

TRL needs to be less crowded. It does.

If there is ever going to be a way for me,

I really need this to work. You know what it is that I need. You know why I need it. You know how much I need it. I am lost already but this will help me fix me, fix all of this. This mess that I have tucked under the carpet under layers of stuff to cover it up. I really need this to go well. Really, really badly.

I asked myself whether or not I am tough enough for this. After almost 21 years of existing, I really am shocked, ashamed, afraid of that question. There is no die for me, its do. It seriously is do, do, do and no die. I am not weak. You didn't fail. This is going to work. I swear I am going to make it so.

HELP!

Four minutes to save the world.

This summer is going to be crazy. Its pretty major in the grand scheme of things. I have to basically make this the best I have ever had. I have to work till I drop. Study day and night and afternoons. I have to make things right, take good decisions and actually decide about the future, something that I have been avoiding for over a year. I am scared, excited but the thought of afternoons spent at TRL really is exciting. I need lots of luck going into the major leagues and I have to think about T as well. I really think I should go but I have to think about it, pray on it to get some clarity.

M and guys are coming this summer so that should be fun. Abu is also coming. He has a sixth sense about us children, he really does. S and I haven't been talking and none of us told him but he asked me as if he was sure. He is the best and he deserves the best so I hope that the qualifying goes well for S kal and so she can make it into Com. I have a long battle of a summer ahead. Walking into a minefield, seriously.

People really overhyped the new madonna album. Her album actually sucks, no really. I don't understand how she sold millions. The tracks are shit and its the just cheesy. Except 4 minutes. Even that doesn't save the album.

tick. tock.

Run with me through rows of speeding cars.

My mind is racing at a thousand miles per second. I am a total scatterbrain and I seriously can't keep up. I am doing one thing and my brain is running wild at tangents that are miles long in every possible direction. All this uncertainty sucks. It hurts. I can't focus. I have exams and the MCAT coming up. I need to calm the fuck down.

Things have been better. Definitely much better. I just need to patient.

Jane Austen said on page 99 in Northanger Abbey.

"Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she has the misfortune of knowing any thing, should conceal it as well as she can."
Northanger Abbey, volume 1, chapter 14

I don't know. I really don't.

They killed More.

Jeremy Northam=flawless. Such a tear-jerker:(

I can see the flame is gone, gone, gone.

You are the only other who knows and you help me keep it a secret. I need all the help in the world, I do. I do.

I can see the flame is gone.

http://postsecretfrance.blogspot.com/

Salt-wound routine.

I turned off my laptop, put McMurry aside and listened to the cars as they sped north and south on the 404. The cars cutting through the late cold winter wind makes such a harsh, yet beautiful sound. It really is an orchestra out there. The frequency, the amplitude of it changes with the time of day, day of the week and time of the year. The summers are usually just as loud but sound warmer. In the winter, it sounds like a blade cutting through steel, if thats even possible. Sounds malicious though or rather fierce, whichever way you look at it.

I really need a break. I do and while I am away, can we also rewind to the days of 0-three and go back and do it all over again,with the wisedom of today minus the experience of it all. A friend of sometime ago suggested that I needed an epiphany long ago. I believe that I need to wake up, snap out of this hellish nightmare. It all goes back really, to those certain days with shitty dsl, curious teenage minds, bitch-fests and wanting more and trying to be more. I wish I could erase it all off and start again with a fresh, clean white board.

I wouldn't miss anything if I were to go back, except, maybe sleeping to the lullaby of the eversoclose highway and ofcourse the black metal bed by the window peeking over suburbia.

In case I fall off the face of the earth

Austen. Austen.Austen. Austen. Austen. Austen.Austen.

Its like sleep amnesia.

Emma never really knew how to say the right things at the right time. She was accustomed to long pauses, anxiety attacks and being lost for words. Before going to bed each night, she would ponder over the highlights of the day and try to figure out if what she said was all she meant to say. Ofcourse, this was never true. She always had some 'ifs' or 'buts' to add or disagree with something that she previously agreed to. Being double-minded never helped, nor did being a dreamer. She made do with the fact that she thought herself to sleep everynight. Every morning the previous nights' thinking would just be erased.

Speeding cars.

There there baby
it's just text book stuff
it's in the ABC of growing up

- Imogen Heap

delta is greek for change.

I used to remember that long, long ago, I was the person who craved to be anything that I wasn't. I wanted to change everything about me, whether it was the people I was(or rather not hanging out with), the music I liked, the clothes I wore. Basically I wanted so much change in myself and it happened. It took time and some of it was great but you know they say that, 'too much of anything is bad', well it is-bad- if not ugly. It never occured to me, the greatness of all that we were and we could have been, I just wanted it all to be different. changechangechangechange. I wish that it was not the end result that I was in love with but the thrill of that chase for change. Hah, I have lost all compassion for everything that I once held sacred, close to my heart and now I am just a sell-out of what I thought was a 'charmed life'. No fucking way, it isn't. Now I find myself thinking 'what if this' more than a healthy number of times a day and I find myself understanding how the more things change, the more they stay the same. Nothing short of brilliance has happened since 99-till now but nothing less than horrendous has happened too. I am still the same person who craves change, it was once a strength. Now, its just a compulsion. I still want to change to be something else(this time its actually more than necessary) but really, what differs me from that starry eyed 11-year old.

The greeks have a great way of summening things up and change is one letter to them, a mere letter. A little triangle is my life's story.

The bathroom floor never complained.

She walked off the train like a zombie; cold and quiet with one foot in front of the other all the way to the bus platform. The air was getting colder every minute she spent in the middle of that line. Her ears turned red because of the -15 wind chill and her wool gloves weren't helping either. She stared in the direction of the bus route between each breath. It was a long day and rush hour didnt make it end any faster. They say the best way to fix a bad day is to end it. Its always easier said than done. The whole year had been like one, over stretched bad day and there was no ending it. Not only was it painfully long, it was slow, lonely and alienating. Thats one thing about secrets, that is the thing about secrets. The best day to tell it was yesterday, not today and definitely not tommorow. When you stayed quiet in the yesterday, your today and tommorow is served to you on a dark, cold platter. No matter how many buses you wait for, no matter how many excuses you give yourself about keeping things to yourself(the good, the bad and the god forbidden ugly), you are wrong. You can cry for as many hours as you want and no one listens to it. It doesnt matter if every sad lyric of every song relates to you. God is the only one who knows everything you have hidden and your bathroom floor is your comarade through the guilt trips, panick attacks and breakdowns. You lie down on the cold, green tiles and you cry, vent till your feet are numb and your face is drenched in your own saline tears. You are alone and you dont know what to do, so you hide it for another day and sleep for another lonely night and fake another tommorow.

The world indeed is a bigger place than you.

Let December 27, 2007 be witness to you realising that The world is indeed a bigger place than you. May Benazir Bhutto rest in peace and may her family's legacy continue. Regardless of which party you support/supported but as a Pakistani who had the chance of growing up in Pakistan as well as outside, I feel that both PPP and PML-N need to be around to keep a balance, a balance of power.

it's you when I look in the mirror.

Tough, you think you've got the stuff
You're telling me and anyone
You're hard enough

You don't have to put up a fight
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

We fight all the time
You and I...that's alright
We're the same soul

I don't need...I don't need to hear you say
That if we weren't so alike
You'd like me a whole lot more

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

I know that we don't talk
I'm sick of it all
Can - you - hear - me - when - I -
Sing, you're the reason I sing
You're the reason why the opera is in me...

Where are we now?
I've got to let you know
A house still doesn't make a home
Don't leave me here alone...

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you that makes it hard to let go
Sometimes you can't make it on your own
Sometimes you can't make it
The best you can do is to fake it
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

U2.

And How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?

I have a pattern. When times get tough, I crawl back into my shell. I push people away and don't think twice. I know I am doing it and I still don't stop. Never been the sharing kind, never, no. The good, I can share and laugh about, but when faced with the bad, the painful, I am my own army.

We are going under the scissor again. December 10 seems light years away and we hope to not fall apart.

I think the dealing alone with the bad and the horrible really makes you stay unmoved. This IS horrible.