where does this post go?



Let me Peck you mind

I might not be the one who’d walk around wearing a huge grin and speaking to all my relatives that I’ve seen after years, but that doesn’t mean I know them any less. I know them just as much as you do. I know what’s going on in your mind even if you’re pretending to look as if you care about me. The only bit you care tells me that you think I’m impolite. Rude. Uncivilized… But, am I really? Say, I can’t speak at all… you’d feel sorry for me. But being able to but not choosing to makes me rude in your opinion. Maybe it never crossed your mind why I prefer listening to you that speaking. Maybe that’s why you look at me that way. I hope you’d learn one day and realize you were wrong to think that way. To some people, I’m a joke. An entertainment, something to laugh at. I like to make people forget their woes but it hurts when they do so by hurting me. But then again, I’m guessing you don’t know why I am who I am today. My words will reach an ear or too… they’d say I’m just a drama queen, the other would ponder on the words for a few minutes and maybe even like this post. There’d be someone who reads this and likes the way the words portray a picture of a wounded girl. They wouldn’t click on the ‘like’ button or comment because they’d be afraid of revealing themselves to me… But at the end of this post, I haven’t got an explanation for any of this or why you shouldn’t laugh at me or think the way you do. All I’ve got to say is that my life’s a story big enough to me and in this story, I’ve been scarred almost as much as I’ve been surrounded with love. And these scars aren’t going to vanish whether you think I’m rude or not. But I’d rather you not.

It’s Eid time again… so obviously, tonight’s a busy night and the usual things are happening around me. And no matter how many times I’ve seen them happening, I love seeing it all again. My mom’s been the busiest – ironing all the new dresses and making watalapam. Me – this time I tried hennaing my hand and the house is filled with the smell of henna… which is pleasing. Calls have been made up and down exchanging greetings and people asking how many eggs you need to add to 500g of flour and other complicated parts of recipes that I never understand. My brother called and asked me to wish him like he always does and my friends have been bugging for sweetmeats. That cheer that spreads inside of me tells me that Eid is truly back! Excited to meet all my relatives tomorrow! 🙂 Eid Mubarak!

I’ll never let your words shake me, I’ll never cry… What lies I’ve tried to teach myself. I was wrong. Plain wrong. And the worst bit comes to me that your words aren’t shaking me, but my words are doing the job for you.


It doesn’t cost much… a word. Sometimes even nothing.

You’re taking me… one word at a time. And it’s working.

The man in the rocker

If you’ve never spoken to the man, don’t ask other not to

I walked, increasing my pace so that I was running slowly until I reached the stairs. I climbed the half a dozen of stairs and pulled open the glass door to the carpeted, serious-looking office. A man in his late thirties sat behind a glass separator. I bent down so that he’d be able to hear me speak, and in barely more than a whisper I asked him if I could have a word with the person everyone knew better than to speak to. He looked up from the book he was reading and peered from above his spectacles. His eyes warned me but he shrugged as if to show he didn’t have anything to say. I smiled, mentioning my thanks, but he just stared after me. A woman approached me and said “After me, if you will please” and led me to where he sat in his rocker eating an apple. He smiled… and I let go of the breath I was holding.