patronus

  I always looked down on people who self-harmed. I couldn't help it but then I realized that I self-harm too. The only difference is that what they do is physical and what I do is psychological and emotional. I do stupid things when I'm hurt. Real-time stupid shit with consequence, things I'll have to face and regret later, like aftershocks of an earthquake or more like knocking on doors that should be left untouched. Detaching and degrading myself into the abyss of darkness until I can't see anything at all. Until I'm so tired that I can't do anything but sleep. A disturbing and exhausting sleep. I self harm too, you see. And you know what, the next time you hate someone or something, know that you will face them soon, either through the mirror or through your eyes. Life always has a way of proving us wrong. It's embarrassing because it's so repetitive.

 There are days when asked: what life is, I'd say it's the moments between the bigger and the important moments. Ok, I'll explain. So it's when you stand by the kitchen door waiting for the rolls to be crispy brown. It's not you eating them with chili garlic sauce, it's you waiting for them to be fried. Makes sense? It's the day your niece starts reading Harry Potter from your copy of Philosopher's Stone. It's the lazier days when you eat the leftover papaya with Ammii, just when it's about to rain. It's listening to Anuv Jain while walking around the campus in December. It's not the destination, it's the rasta you see. Days, when you'd describe life referencing some couplets by Faiz and Faraz. But "Some days are just fillers" You know how we always rush to the rooftops on days when the sky is in pretty colors or when the weather is so good but I was thinking what about the days that are so mundane that they sort of take...

 I traveled for years only to end up in this desert. Thirsty, cruel, uncertain, constantly shifting dunes. There is scorching heat, my insights are displaced, my entire existence disheveled. I try to walk or at least crawl but the sand keeps shifting, even after hours of labor I am where I landed. I struggle and shout on top of my voice to find someone who'd listen but there is nobody with the kind of ears and brains that could receive and interpret the voice that my cords are capable of producing. We are wrong. We are wrong. We can't exist together.  A truck passes by, adorned with art, some poetry about a rude and indifferent beloved, a couplet about the home that's far away. This reminds me my home is lost. So I give up on the effort of walking and start looking for my home instead. I can surprisingly walk now that I have given up on it, the sand is letting me walk but I can't find my home now. I don't even remember how it looks like which makes it almost impossi...

Books. October. Moon. socks. Prayer mats. Pasta. Mountains. Fairy meadows. Rain. Poetry. Purple. Winter evenings. Comfortable shoes. Songs with relatable lyrics. Jhumkay. Androon Lahore. Stars. Twilight. Sunsets. Beaches. Libraries. Kindness. Swings. Bachpan. Hot chocolate. Shams. Poems. Grey. Eid. Fairy lights. Silence. Orange juice. Grandparents. Plants. More books. Early Mornings. Surah Noor Ayat 32. Cooking. Orange skies. Faiz. Wooden doors. Strawberry and Banana shakes. Yellow. Art. Sukoon.  Summers. Closures. Hand Bruises. Bad Footwear. Paper cuts. Financial instability. Nausea. Controlling People. Commitments. Snapchat. Untidy kitchens. Helplessness.  Taurus. July. Channy ki daal. Virgos. Politics. Mysoginy. Expectations. Karaily. No socks. Mangoes. Gatherings. A lot of people. People. Other People. Jealousy. Anxiety. Autism. No windows. Mansehra. Missing Prayers. Waking up late. Ironing clothes. Big busy cities. Privilege. Heartbreak. Life. My life. 

POV: you go for eid shopping but end up spending the amount equal to a limelight shirt on an Emily Bronte classic. You come back home after a very exhausting day, not like a 9am to 5pm uni exhausting day but a real-life exhausting day. You change into comfy clothes. It's raining. Ammi makes pakory which are terribly spicy, so much so that abba has to eat them with yogurt but you eat them without yogurt anyway to make sure amma doesn't feel bad You remove the nail paint from your toes and sit cross-legged on the sofa to narrate the entire day's story to amma before writing some of it in a blog.  Life is good. 

 You know when you're travelling and you have to look for hotels at the end of the day or whenever you travel to a new city in case you're out for more than a couple of days or weeks and no matter how comfortable the room is or how pretty the view is, you still miss your home. Home. Feel this word, its aroma and warmth, no matter how exhausting it gets, its still your home, a place you're sure about, a place you can go back to no matter what. home. a place you know will always be there for you.  I always thought it to be very cliché when people made homes out of other people.  "this person is my home" nausea.  "my home is that person" nausea. But today, on a motorway between two unknown cities, i needed a person i could call my home, the thought was preceded by anger at first then some nausea of course, my go to emotion at things that are cliché, some sad hollow feeling and finally some heartache. So I ran through the list of the people who could qualify...

When I was in the middle of the semester, drowning in work, I used to think that I will write daily when the semester will end. lol. Today I realized that I almost always come here either to rant or vent, which is obviously not bad but we can try and change the narrative right? A friend called today when I was about to make Rotis for the dinner. I put her up on the speaker and went to the kitchen. I turned on my camera to show her how the noodles packet is getting smaller day by day and then we didn't turn off our cameras until I settled the table for dinner. I got off the phone and later thought about I was to have friends that I don't have to pretend in front of. I don't have to pay heed to how I am looking, what I am wearing, or if the kitchen is messed up. a blessing indeed, to have real people around you!