All good things come to an end.

You can never prepare yourself for goodbyes. Even if you do p
repare yourself, you can never predict the outcome. But I'll give it a shot anyway. Since school's almost ending and everything's changing. Big decisions need to be made. I need to make a plan for myself, I need to plan exactly what I want to do with my life. But right now, I'm predicting what goodbyes for me are going to be like.

I'm obviously going to be extremely emotional, and I can't really put emotions into words... So I'm going to draw instead.

This is a Patatu. A sad patatu.

Stop playing games with my heart!

I had three slices of pizza for dinner, and two slices of cake because I was starving before dinner. And now I'm having trouble farting. Probably shouldn't be writing about this, but all hail freedom of speech.

I feel impregnated by gas, probably because I'm trying too hard to push it out. And this is all too much information, but just so you know, gas gives terrible heart aches, the kind that make Shehbaz Sharif feel like he's having a heart attack.

Too. Much. Pain.

C'est la vie: Such is life.

"Something that you say when something happens that you do not like but which you have to accept because you cannot change it."

The sun's rising, wind blows your hair onto your face, you're walking alone, you're wishing to find yourself but all that surrounds you is nothing. You're tired, you've been soul searching for days now. Solace is just an illusion, your heart tells you to stop because there's only dead ends ahead. But you can't stop because you're too numb to feel what your heart wants you to feel. 

You can't stop because you like it. You like walking through the dusk. You feel invincible. You like the humidity gently touching your cheeks, and you like the grass tickle your feet. You whisper, "la vie est belle: life is beautiful". But is it really?

The grass is no longer beneath your bare feet because you've been walking for too long. You're far ahead from where you started. 

The sun is out now. You find it harder to breathe but you keep on going. You're walking on cold white cement, one step at a time. You're slowing down. Steps become smaller, baby steps. You're there. On top of the world, facing the sun. How does it feel? You don't know. You're just standing there. Looking down on empty streets then looking up at the sky. You take a step ahead, ask yourself if you're sure. You step back.

You're not afraid of heights, are you? You can't remember the last time you felt this good, like you could do anything. Like you could fly. You take a step back. 

You're over the sun. You're walking forward now. You ask yourself if you're sure. 

Are you?

Aap kay chacha jaan nay aap ki saalgirah pur aapko aik ghardee tuhfay main dee. Khat likh kar un ka shukriya adaa karain.

I miss O'level urdu classes. And I miss eleventh grade.

Kamra-e-Imtihan,
Dawood Public School, Karachi.

10- February-2011.

Muhtaram Chacha jaan, Asalam Alaikum.

Umeed hai aap aur aapkay ghar walay yaani meray rishaty daar khairiay say hongay. Aap meri saalgirah per aye mujhay bohat khushi hui. Aapka tohfa bhee bohat pasand aya.
Pehlay tou mainay socha nahen kholun kyun kay uska dabba bohat khubsuurat tha, laikin phir socha khol lun, aur jab mainay khola tou usmain say aik ghardi niklee. Mainay phir usay band kar kay rakh diya. Aap kay tohfay ka bohat bohat bohat bohat bohat shukriya.
Iss saalgirah par meray paas 86 ghardiyan jamaa hogayen hain. Laikin mai sirf aapki waali pehen kay phirtee hun. Kyunkay woh mujhay bohat achee lagti hai.
Aap mujhay meri aanay waali saalgirah par bhee ghardi hee dejiye ga. Aur mai woh bhee pehen kar phiruungi.
Shukriya.

faqat, aapki bhateeji.

Zubairi the Berry. 

Title? What title?

It was last month when I had to go to the bank to get a draft made to LUMS. No, I'm not going to LUMS as a student, I'm going as a participant. It was little before the bank lady fired at me with the question I often ask myself along with everyone else, "So, what do you want to be studying after college?" And then I killed her in my head. Because I don't know what I want to study or what I want to be or where I want to go. I don't know if it's supposed to be easy, or is it always this hard for everyone. Because if it isn't, hating everyone is completely justified.

So far, I've wanted to be a surgeon, because I've watched Grey's Anatomy for long enough to learn a few fancy terms and a few diagnosis of a few diseases. And because surgery looks amazing on the screen. Then I wanted to be an FBI behaviour analyst, because Criminal Minds is honestly the best show ever. Not even going to bring Dexter here because serial killers don't get paid. Then I wanted to be a lawyer, because Suits inspired me, but I hate talking, but I like thrashing people and badassery.

Or I could be a writer, and I could write shows about twisted people who have no direction in life, because all they do is watch TV shows and listen to music, and they're too busy hating people.

Or I could doodle for eternity.

1. Afros are the easiest to draw.

2. Ears are the hardest to draw.

3. I can draw better on paper.

4. I bothered making eyebrows, but the afro ate 'em.

New Year's Resolution #3: Write more.

I've been so far away from writing lately, I've forgotten how this is done. How to start off and what to write. But I have my excuse, I was busy studying for me exams, even though I wasn't. But it doesn't matter.

On the bright side, I have an awesome background. This way, I will always be prepared for a zombie apocolypse. 

New Year's Resolution #2: Never Write Poetry.

I gave a shot at poetry. This is what I came up with. The title is more like a caution note. This resolution is for the greater good, so you will want to thank me.

Poetic Injustice

Roses are red,

violets are blue,

you probably think I'm random,

well, I do too.

I was supposed to be looking for a background for this blog, 

but I changed my mind, 

Interest in poetry, I am trying to find.

 It is hard to find a conclusion,
I am writing in pure confusion.
I thought rhyming was hard, turns out it isn't,
I'm going to rhyme this one with blood transfusion.

New Year's Resolution #1: Harvard.

Hi there, reader.
Sometimes I don't even know who you are because I don't think anyone reads this, but here goes.

If I could deactivate Facebook, I would, but I can't. Because Facebook is oh-so important now. Since the idea of deactivating is still in process, I stumbled upon this when I logged in today, for almost the 14th time or so, and took inspiration. That's the weird thing about inspiration, it hits you. Just like that.

Since it's almost December, this is my first new year's resolution:

Learn to play the guitar. Practice singing (in the bathroom). Perform at a few gigs. Get a Coke Studio session, somehow. Write meaningless songs about lost love. Write more meaningless songs about drowning, flying, sinking, eating, sleeping, etc. And then finally go to Harvard as a performer (because my grades most certainly won't let me.)

Harvard, I'm coming for you. One way, or the other. Definitely the other.

Little Happy Things. #2

I logged into facebook, and this is what appeared in my news feeds.

Mahrukh, I love you.
And Jalebi Productions makes me smile. Yes, it's a link, so yes, you better like it!

I may probably be back to liking people.

Why are Asians normally short?

Answer: Heavy school bags.

Exhibit A. Photo Credits: The Hindu

Exhibit B. Photo Credits: Express Tribune.

Oops.

Sometimes, I wonder about the stupidest thing I've ever done. And I go blank. Now I know, I'll always have a story to tell if somebody other than myself ever asked me that.

November 13th, 2012. The stupidest day of my eighteen year old life. They say smart people learn from the mistakes other people have made, and then there are people who never see it coming. I really hope this post is a lesson to a lot of people. Who am I kidding? This is pretty hilarious.

So, on Tuesday, my friend and I decided to bunk sociology. The thing about bunking is, if you really want to, you have to be very wise about where you decide to hide. That's exactly what we did. We hid in another bloc of the building, determined on how good a hide out it was. And it really was a good hide out. It was the perfect bunk. The only thing that went wrong for us was when we decided to wave to random people passing through the corridor from the first floor. And that's when we got caught. That's when she saw us.



For the sake of putting my sanity under question I will stop here.

Letter #2

Dear person I don't recall adding to my Facebook account,

Well, hello there, stranger. I hope you're fine, blah blah. Let's be honest here. I really don't know who you are and where you came from. A stranger you be.

There's no hope for us to become friends because I'm unfriending you. I'm unfriending you because I do not know you. Also, it's about time "unfriending" and "unfriend" are taken into consideration as words.

Stretching this letter is a waste of time. So is writing this letter. I was probably as drunk as I am now when I may have accepted your friend request. I'm drunk on water because I'm trying to be funny when I'm wasted. You probably don't even deserve a letter...





Bye person I don't recall adding to my Facebook account.



A.

Almost winter.

It's not really winter here in Karachi yet, but I try making myself feel like it is. I've been eating spoons full of peanut butter since ever it got chilly. "Who needs drugs when you have peanut butter?" "Addicts."

Also, I recently found out that shit in past tense is shat. Who knew, right? Nobody knew. Because it isn't.

 

This is something I just came across. Facebook has made life harder on so many levels. I just had to call my dad and ask him if I could get a cat, and he told my to call my mum and she told me to ask my grandmother. Nobody ever told me to get 1,000 likes. Now that I feel old, I also feel happy. Also I feel stupid, because there are better things to write about. I hope these kids get a cat. 

Little happy things.

Because yay! I won a virtual cupcake. And you know what's awesome? It has wings!

Letter #1

Dear unfinished book,

It's been long since I last held you. I thought I'd get through with you. I thought, for once, I had grown up to be responsible enough. I thought I had learned to be better. I thought I'd get through with you.

I'm writing you this letter to let you know I have not forgotten the melancholy and adrenalin we shared.  I have not forgotten my obsession either. Neither have I forgotten the tear drops I left you with and in. Nor the smiles we exchanged. I don't expect you to know the feeling of leaving something behind unfinished. I don't think I can explain that feeling. I don't think you'll understand.

You should know, just last week, I decided I'm going to make friends with poetry. And then I sat there for an hour trying to write a poem, all I could come up with on my notebook were lines and swirls.

You should also know when I say I'm busy, doesn't mean I'm trying to get rid of you. It just means I'm busy. I don't even have enough time to shower twice a day anymore. There's so much going on. Monotony is life now. But I'm writing you this letter anyway. Because you need to know I have not forgotten you, and I never will. And someday, I promise, someday, I will come back.

Dear unfinished book. This letter is left unfinished in your honour.



Love,

A.

Mom's are always or mostly right.

Have you ever had the nightmare where you bring a stranger home from a huge departmental store, you have lunch with her, give her your bed to sleep in, come back to see she's killed your family?

I totally get why ma says don't talk to strangers.

Hi there.

I don't post a lot here, mainly because I don't have a lot to say anymore. So I'm just going to smile like an idiot, because that's what I do now.

This is super-tan school-me. It's not that I forgot to draw glasses, it's just that drawing on a laptop is hard and the tablet is in another room and I'm too lazy.

Bye now.

Escapism.

Get into my car right now, we're about to drive far away, never to return again. Far from where people are. We're going to look for a new home, or just make one on our own. Pack your best clothes, don't pack a lot of shoes. Oh and pack your toothbrush.

Or we can sleep never to wake up again.

Imagination takes you places. Weird, weird places.

I draw like a 5 year old. This drawing lacks birds shaped like the number 7.