Withdrawal

I am the kind of person, who needs to write to really know what exactly is running in mind. Things get really hazy when I don’t write for too long. Although I scribbled down incoherent details hastily of how my life is these days in my previous post, there’s still a lot that I missed out; and a lot that happened after it. And to bring it out in proper words seem like quite a task. But I shall try.

Throughout this time, I have been having a sharp transition of perspectives.  I felt bad and I felt miserable; I believed in what I had believed since the first day, but the evidences then compelled me to see what as well seemed pretty much the truth. I fought with people who asserted their judgment on me, and I remained silent. I accepted my vulnerability, and I also overcame it. I have had to make a lot of choices ever since. But it has been quite some time since I’ve stopped telling people my reasons. I only smile now, to whatever theories they propose. When there’s a secret you’ve got to protect, that’s the best you can do. –Yes, it has been over a month, and I still get to receive ‘comments’ and failed-heart-consoling propositions from people who know nothing. Consolations that I don't even need! People around make up things, sometimes I guess to really make me feel good; and sometimes, perhaps, to make themselves. I have all the right to think whatever I wish against or in favor of someone I used to know, but I can’t allow anyone else to speak badly of someone they don’t even know. I have been badly hurt, yes, and I am extremely angry, yes; but I still feel some... Some... I don't know... Some kind of... How do I put it? How do I explain what I feel when I fail to hold up my anger for long? I am essentially not a mean person. I hate it when I see myself failing in holding up my anger for someone who handed me a bouquet of twisted stories and lies, and disappeared without even bidding proper farewell --that's just the tragedy with me; not being able to accept the wrong people can do to your sincerity. But that's my problem, why do people find it so hard to mind their goddamn business?! They would keep asking if I’m OK, which would only remind me that I am not. Hence, the seclusion. I no longer bother about people. I no longer speak to anyone. I absolutely no longer let people talk about it to me. I didn't know I was capable of being rude to people. But then there were many other things of which as well I thought I wasn't capable.

I had my fourth appointment with the doctor just yesterday; he said I’m doing well. Only two more to go and then I’d be done. It has been a long way…

I turned Twenty-One a couple of weeks ago. I was excited and nervous and secretly despairing; but feeling special about my birthday was exceptionally not the deal this year, like I always used to. It feels like yesterday how I used to hold my breath and count the minutes of my birthday only to make sure I thoroughly lived my birth day. Now when I look back, it feels like I’ve come so far, having lost everything behind. I assumed June 19th to feel like… Just another day. Just another day when I would wake up struggling against a shriveling lump in my heart. The plan was to spend the day reading Kahlil Gibran. His writings are out of this world. You would wonder, how a person, perhaps just so ordinary yet too thoughtful, can fathom thoughts so perfectly into ethereal words? Words, those are likely to stay with you for long. But the day did not turn out the way I had thought (like many other things, of course). I couldn’t have the day to myself. I did not know my Chachi and cousins have planned to surprise me with a cake and stuff at midnight; until my mother told me ten minutes before their arrival that they are coming. I was a little disappointed, she ruined my surprise!? But that was because she said "kaheen tum rona nah shuru hojao". I mean... Whatever. So I had to 'act' surprised when they came. It was good anyhow, to see them all screaming happy birthday in my ear. The next day my entire nanihaal (sparing you the pain of reading those long names) landed at our place with a cake (which was heavenly!!!) and just some other ‘party’ stuff. Naani  hugged me, and wished me good health; she said I must make a fresh start this year, and I swear I welled up. Later we went out to the only place that really makes me happy; the beach. I guess it was better that way. Having people around does make it easier. A couple of days later my best friend came home to post-celebrate my birthday. She said she wanted to make this birthday as special for me as she could. How much effort they all put in only to keep our pieces together. My cousins however flew back at the end of my birthday week. They had me engaged long enough to find my way back. But then, they too, left. I’m not going to rant over that though, I had an extremely amazing time with them. In fact, the sole reason why I recovered from my illness was because they were here to help and support me in every possible way. I cried BUCKETS when they left, creating a whole scene at the airport (why does it feel funny now when I replay it in my head?). But it was OK. It was upsetting, but it wasn’t painful, because they weren’t gone.

I also made few new friends on Twitter. The same good people I used to dislike JUST because I saw them through someone else's perspective. They and their lives are opposite of what I was told. It's a pity. You know that feeling, when you see certain contradictory statements unraveling right before your eyes? You are disappointed, angered, despaired. And yet, you can't even go back and throw them in the face. Why? Because not doing that makes you a better person. Knowing that you have a clear conscience is, I tell you, a blessing. 'Cause whether you admit or not, regrets happen to eat your soul. I maintained my limits and was always truthful, that saves my soul. I also resumed interaction with my old followers on Twitter that I had suspended just because I had my priorities sorted, unlike some. It felt good, being back; with my guards multiplied and up.

I discovered few new places with my creepy cousins too. One was this café, Le Grand Coffee Lounge. Somewhere at… I don’t know, Zamzama? Whatever place it was, it was amazing. Too colorful and lively. I don’t particularly like cafés; one reason honestly being that I have never really been to any except for ghisaa pitaa  Gloria Jean’s (I hate their peach iced tea, blekh!) and Dunkin' Donuts (if you feel like counting it as a cafe). This place was good.  I tried their Chicken Lasagna (although that place is particularly famous for its flavored sheesha), and to be fair, it lacked spices and THE LASAGNA taste. Another place that I liked better than Le Grand, was Espresso. They make some delicious chocolate cookies! And Sattar Buksh, a weird place. But incredibly creative. They have a funny menu. Bhinnot Bun Kabab. Badtameez Burger. Topless Besharam Burger. Dehshatgard Pizza. Lol! We also relived our childhood by paying a visit to the only amusement park we loved; Sindbad. That place contains too many, JUST TOO MANY memories! I don’t know when was the last time I was there… We repeated the tradition of taking double rides of every ride available. The Crazy Bus. Dumbo. Log Slide. Dodging Car. DRAGON TRAIN. There are also many new additions. I guess Sindbad is the only place that still sells Polka cup ice-creams. Oh, the childhood joys!
I might as well mention here the damn load of movies I was forced to watch. Prometheus, Lone Survivor, Wolf of the Wall Street, Holiday, Nightmare at the Elm Street, Olympus has Fallen, Her, Iron-Man, Highway and a couple of which I don’t remember. I avoided re-watching Silver Linings Playbook.  I fell in love with Her, and Highway was beautiful. The rest were so boring, so boring, so boring... I don’t even know how boring. But I watched them anyway only because they watched the movies I had suggested. We completed our Friends marathon and re-watched the Hangover Series thrice to soak in as much Allen Garner as we could.  The time really flew by with them, and I didn’t even realize that I am improving.

In another news, I and my family have moved to a new house. It's only been three days. I have spent a major part of my life in there; it was difficult. That place and that time still lingers in my thoughts. All the change had come so suddenly, I didn't know how to deal with it. I realized I am suffering from withdrawal symptoms when I woke up and it took me some time to register that I am no longer on my gray iron bed, in my old lilac painted room. The walls here are painted silver gray. Everything's new, everything has changed, and I don't exactly know how I feel about it. Also, I no longer share room with my brothers. I thought I'd be happy at this. I'm not.

I had conditioned my mind to leave everything behind in that old house. I wasn't ready, but the time had come. So I pretty much knew I would have to bear withdrawal anxiety, when I finally decided to empty my phone memory. Who was I keeping it all for, when I didn't even for once reread the hollow words after cutting off the last link? It was only a prominent reminder which I was saving just because I wasn't willing to let go. I wanted to believe that maybe, some of it, was really true. I just wanted to see the old reflection. They said getting rid of the reminders is the first step of letting go. I took it. I also got myself a hair cut. Although I had decided I wouldn't get a haircut because I was told not to get it cut short. After a year, I've had it anyway. Because really, whose wish was I adhering to? This was another little step. They also said a new place and open air (since this new house is away from the hustle of main city) will make it much easier for me to get my health back and make a new start. Well.

I vented out all my grievances in a letter to Imam Hussain -we call it areeza- which he received on the 15th of Shaban. Awesome, isn't it? My answers, I have faith, will be delivered soon. And ever since, the pain has substantially lessened, but has not really left. I play well in showing that I am improving, it only hurts when I realize that if there is someone who suffered and is still struggling, it is me. The one responsible has walked away absolutely unaffected. It's a shame, how people fix themselves by breaking others. Why?! I get so agitated when I think of it. What wrong did I do? And what difference did my last few words make anyway? Although I muted the tweets and blocked out all profiles and sources that would, even accidentally, update me of the whereabouts. I have never known in all my life of what I must do; but I have always known what I must not. I am good at avoiding stuff that I know will cause me pain. And yet, it at times hurts; mistake me not, it's no more that sacred feeling. For me, love is rooted in respect. I lost it from my heart the day I realized I am being taken as nothing but an option. And this, in reality, is what aches. It is this betrayal that keeps coming back to me. How I had so effortlessly put someone in priority. I trusted. I vowed to support till the end. I made every effort to convince everyone. Against all, I invested my faith in someone.  And what did I get for my goodwill? Except for countless "I told you so" statements from people? -Not even a single appropriate reason. Only a dreary silence. I just never had wished to remember and be remembered as someone who didn't care, or wasn't willing enough, or changed her mind, or backed off. I can never know how I am remembered, neither do I want to find out; dejection falls on me only when I see myself remembering the time and person in it in all the ways I thought I won't. You can't help feeling bad about things that you revered beautiful once, now, can you? People and the words they say to you don't usually turn out the way they seem and are spoken. People and their plans change, once they're out of danger.

It’s not that I am not trying. I am trying harder than I thought I am capable of. It might be easy for others, but it is not for me. I am going to take my time. As much as it requires. I decided not to talk about again; but the truth is, I have never had a blow as sharp as this one, and so I can’t help it. In all this mess, however, one thing was clear; if everyone is saying the same thing, there must be at least some truth in it. It is plain stupidity to ignore the evident and believe in superficial propositions just because you want to. My life was pretty simple. But I guess sometimes despite all our goodwill and good intention, fate wins anyway. Now here I am. Drained, but stronger. Paying visits to hospital. For I don’t even know what. For trusting too much, maybe. For expecting too much. For depending too much. For revering promises way to much. And for a lot of other stuff –the reflection on which I’d keep till the New Year ’s Eve. That would be for the last time I’d ever talk about it --(I haven't completely given up my timing habit).

Also, Ramzan has just begun. One year behind the line, I was a genuinely happy person, looking forward to certain promises. Now I have to put in a certain amount of effort to feel happy. I remember how I was eager to master culinary skills. I have given up on that. I remember how I was changing... And sure enough, I did. Just not the way I had thought. The only good change that happened, was that I started praying regularly. And I thankfully still do. Except that I no longer pray for someone the way I always had. I am not as noble to pray with goodwill even after how awfully someone may break my heart, my trust, my promises and pretty much my every belief. I don't know where the limits are anymore. I don't know, what to believe in anymore. Not even a single day passes by when I don't tell God how much it had ached; not even a single day goes by, when I don't tell Him how I am unable to forgive. He listens.

Anyway. I am trying to get used to here, in my new house. It lacks a terrace, but has an open corridor and a spacious roof top; which means I can still see the sky. I was in a hospital when I checked my emails after quite some time, and I was delighted to see messages from people appreciating Euphoria. I really had no idea so many people actually follow it. It was heart warming, really. I have drafted the final two episodes; it is a tragedy how my Euphoria ended within only five posts... But that is just how it was supposed to be. This place inspires me to write. Too much greenery around; too good a therapy. So I think I'd be writing more often now.

I still have a couple of weeks before my final semester begins. Interesting how only a few months ago I had it all decided, and now I am clueless of what would I do after I'm done with my final semester. I am leaving it on time to decide for me, like it always has.

I am back listening to Keane and Snow Patrol. They are doing wonders for me. Pure nostalgia; which is helping find my lost bits and pieces.

2013 --In a nutshell.

I wanted my New Year’s post to be special. As special as 2013 was. But unfortunately, the one that I am about throw out on here is not as I wanted it to be since it is a quick thirty minutes work. Meaningful nonetheless! I managed to sneak out of yet another year, bidding adieu to 2013 forever. It's a strange feeling, I am excited and dejected at the same time and it is very difficult to understand how is that even possible.

I am not going to use clichés such as ‘eventful’ and ‘life changer’, for they wouldn’t do justice to how my year really was. I got to witness and experience the transition of life this year. Some days I thought my life has reached the prime of monotony, but then there were days when I thought my life couldn't be more happening. 2013 was the year full of surprises, with shocks every now and then. I've had some cruel disappointments this year, but I've received pleasant surprises too. I've been betrayed, but I’ve been trusted on too. I've been unfriended for petty reasons, but then I've been loved for my ordinary self too. I've feared away from challenges, but I’ve taken a risk too. Different shades, ying yang. Many things happened, many could not. And many didn’t happen the way I thought, but later I realized it was better that way.

2013 marked the completion of my twentieth year on the face of this earth. I turned twenty. I wasn't yet over the shock of turning nineteen. TWENTY? I always thought twenty was big. Like, BIG. A few months ago while clearing my closet, I found a number of old journals that I used to keep, one of which had a 'list' of stuff that I wanted to do before I cross my teenage. Here’s a quick list of stuff that I remember as for now:

1. Get myself in a medical college

2. Walk miles in pouring rain

3. Go and walk along the seashore at night

4. Attend a concern

5. Visit and spend hours alone in a library

6. Travel alone in a public bus

7. Get my hair dyed

8. Sing; despite having a pathetic vocal cord

9. Write something meaningful

10. Learn baking

11. Move to live with my grandmother

12. Find out about who my real parents were (always thought I am an adopted child)

13. Get rid of my brothers (they used to be the most painful creatures back then. Still are)

14. Wear a Saari

^^^^^DON'T judge me.

When I was twelve, I thought I’d know everything when I’d turn twenty. I'd be an efficient worker, pro at about everything and most probably be married by then. Twenty was this big for me. But I feel no different. I still feel like I’m twelve. As lazy, as senseless and as typical as I ever was. I still find bliss in staying ignorant from things that I know are sure to cause me pain. Nothing has changed much, but then again, quite a lot has changed. I am not as expressive as I used to be. I’ve learnt to hold back how I feel. I am very careful now about opening up to people. My whys have been replaced now accompanied with a few what ifs this time. Many people I thought would come along with me till here, drifted away; many others have come close. People I thought would never let me down, eventually did. People I never imagined would ever cross my way are now a major part of my life. Certain things I was sure would never happen to me, actually really happened. Certain things I intentionally avoided from knowing, in due course came into my knowledge. And my reaction to each was surprising, even for myself. I am essentially submissive by nature, everyone knows that. But I've been calm and understanding about certain things that came my way this year to change the course of my life. Somebody this year told me, "when life unfolds something very good to us, almost as if it is too good to be true, we tend to overlook it JUST because it came our way too easy. Let’s not be ungrateful to life for sometimes being easy on us." Sometimes, a few words from someone can make you rethink the entire course you had sketched for yourself which, initially, had no space for chances. Valuing what you've been offered, perhaps this is what turning twenty is about...

This year also brought an end to my 2nd year of honors in the University of Karachi. Which leaves me with just one more year in hand and I’d be done with my graduation. I don't even want to go there. Not yet. The thought of it gives me a sinking feeling… Unbelievable how just a year ago I was ready to give up and trade off everything just to get away from here. Now, it feels insane. Two years behind the line, the picture I had in mind of today was not as such. I treated university very differently, and so in return, I expected it to treat me differently too. When I joined in here, I thought I’d have a group of super-girly friends, who would admire hot pink and so I’d have to admire hot pink too. Who would share everything with me and we would party all the time and other students would envy us. Well. Except for the envy part, nothing really happened. Like I said, a lot of things didn't happen the way I had thought. But I carry no bag of regret, just a few pebbles of mistakes that somehow shaped me for good. Where a lot of things didn't happen, nevertheless, a lot many things did. I managed to gather a bunch of awesome people who're always there to pick me up when I fall, making my life so much easier.

In other news, I started praying. Out of guilt of being the most ungrateful of God’s creatures. But more importantly, out of love for Hussain (a.s). I started praying regularly from the August of this year, because I needed light which would guide me home, and that I was granted. I learnt this year how greatly blessed I am. I learnt, that an earnest prayer never goes unanswered.

This year, I also dared to pluck out the unnecessary parasitic weeds out of my life and let the useful herbs flourish. 2013 strengthened my belief in destiny and fate. I most probably would’ve been in some random university majoring in something that barely interested me had I not accepted things as they were. It’s all clear now. There was a reason why I got late for applying in Iqra and Szabist. There was a reason why I suddenly thought of writing a letter. There was a reason why the signals all directed me here. Because this is where I was meant to be. Over the course, I jumbled up my pieces. It is all sorted now. Along with bad experiences, 2013 brought me good luck. Along with gloominess, it brought me motivation. Along with disappointments and rude revelations, this year brought me love and good friends. And above all, it brought me hope. As clichéd as this might sound, end of the year is always the most ideal time for reflection. I am still having difficulty figuring how is it that time slipped out of my hand and despite everything, I did absolutely nothing. I am not going to rant about that though. I’d rather stop now. This post is longggggg already. I like writing long posts. Just as I like typing (and reading) long texts. It makes me happy. I can see a reflection of myself in the face of those immortal words.

So. Tew Thouzaand Fortewn. Can’t even pronounce it properly. Two Thousand Fourteen. Really? I never thought life after 2012 –not because I believed in the Mayans –but because… I don’t know? Perhaps that was why I couldn’t clearly register 2013 either. And just when I was beginning to, it is gone. Too soon. 2013 brought me a bunch of valuable possessions, few of which are absolutely irreplaceable. I managed to squeeze out a number of pleasant memories and a handful of genuine people. I’d like to start my New Year holding on to these two. :)

Reminiscence

As I sit here, listening intently to the sound of the sheeting rain outside, I recall those interesting tales we used to hear during those pleasant rainy days, sitting around Naano...

When Abba was posted in Jehlum city, we were allotted a house opposite to the river. It was one beautiful place. The exterior of the house was made of sheesham (timber) with sloping roof. The house had a spacious garden stretched at its front. The garden had almost every sort of fruit and every kind of flower. Walking idly through the vast concrete road, every evening, with our tea cups in hand, we would go and sit by the river. The soft reflection of the sun shining at the river like a pearl, cool breeze teasing the branches of tall neem trees… Peace and tranquility. Life back then was so much simpler than it is now.

When it used to rain in Jehlum, a great number of tiny lady birds used to creep out of nowhere occupying the washed shrubs and grass, like little red beads scattered over dark green silk. Fluttering their colorful wings, would come the butterflies. Playing their mischievous games, flying from flower to flower, welcoming monsoon exactly in a manner like it deserves.
When it used to rain, I used to hear Ammi miss those early days when she was young and beautiful, and the priceless time she had spent in India. She used to tell us how gorgeous their gardens they had back in Naitor (one of the districts of India) used to look whenever it would rain; and I would always ask, “Even more gorgeous than our garden?” And she’d proudly reply, “Yes, even more gorgeous than this garden.” Naana Abba used to order the maids to install swings at the back garden for his daughters – “I have a question, Naano! Your Naana Abba? Or your mother’s Naana Abba?”
–“Ari larki! Hamaray Naana Abba. (Oh you silly girl! My grandfather). As Naana Abba would order the maids to install the swings for Ammi and my other Khala’s, he would also strictly instruct all the male servants to not enter the back garden. Where Ammi and Khaala’s would play around with the butterflies and fly high on the swings, Naani Amma would set about cooking the typical monsoon delights. Pakoray, Gulgulay, and Jalebi. Back then, there was no trend of getting food from the market. Almost everything was prepared at home, and the taste? It used to be unmatchable. Deliciously delicious. The kind seldom found today. –‘’Naah, you do have it in your hands, Naano! I love everything that you cook, even those vegetables!”  – (laughing) “Achhaa, larki! Naani ko itnaa makkhan nah lagaya karo. (Fine, young girl. Don’t you flatter your grandmother).
As Naani Amma would go about frying Pakoray and Gulgulay, the aroma would stir in the air spreading through the entire neighborhood. Maamu Saahab’s friends, as Ammi used to explain, were like family. No later would the whiff of the aromatic food reach them, they’d gather up at the mansion. The servants would then arrange for chairs and table at the front garden for them to sit, and together they’d sit and devour the appetizing cuisine, followed by a round of hookah.
Apiyaa Khaala, Ammi’s eldest sister, had a friend who lived blocks away from their mansion. Their father had a business of dying yarn and cotton. Here the clouds would gather up all ready to pour down, and there they would set about for the procedure of tie and dye at their backyard. Apiyaa Khaala would plead, as Ammi used to humorously recount, Maamu Saahab to escort them to her friend’s place. The request would eventually be fulfilled only after Apiyaa Khaala would make Maamu Saahab a cup of pink tea. Making pink tea for Maamu Saahab meant making pink tea for the entire family, including Maamu Saahab’s friends.

Naani Amma used to pack pakoray and gulgulay and jalebi for Apiyaa Khala’s friend’s family, considering that it is against etiquettes to go at somebody’s place empty handed.—“One question, Naano? Why would your mother and aunts be so desperate to be there? What was so special about it? I didn’t get it.” –“Tahammul rakho, baysabri. Hum woh hee batanay arahay thaay.” (Have patience, you impatient girl. I was just coming to that). Ammi would always reveal the reason of that desperation to be there at the tie and dye enthusiastically; because there they used to get to play with ‘rung’, lots and lots of rung. There used to be a whole lot of big copper dishes with powder rung mounted at them; all shades of blue and green and pink and red and orange and yellow. ”We would go at the front garden of their house, Baano would bring the rung in smaller dishes, and then the running would begin.” Ammi used to have that forlorn look at her face when telling the story and I could always pick that she missed her time. And so when it would rain, I would insist Abba to get us rung too, to which he’d say, “Rung se khelna hindu’aana rasam hai.” (Playing with colors is a practice of hindu culture/tradition). At this remark, Ammi would always take offense and there they’d both go in an argument that was but a gesture of their love for each other…

The forlorn look that Naano used to notice at her mother’s face, I would notice the same at her’s when she’d be too engrossed in telling the tales. Seeing her narrate,  I used to wonder; now that she has grown old, she tells us stories of her past. Perhaps, I’d be doing the same someday…