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.

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.

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.