Euphoria: IV

Read Euphoria III here.

The hailstorm was fierce in the immediate days after he left. And yet, it failed to scare her. She had chosen to wait for him right where he had left only so he could find her easily on his return. She remained there, under the storm, unmoved, unshaken. It was after all in the wildest storm of July when she had taken his extended hand, should a fierce hailstorm really scare her? He must not think she’ll fear away from the unforeseen hurricanes when she outstood the unexpected tempest of August. She didn’t let go of his hand even in the most unfavorable weathers, this was no challenge either. The external voices had a lot to say, she chose not to listen to them. She had given her head the permission to follow the heart; she was to remain by it. He might have had a reason, he might be through something. He’d come. She’d gaze up at the grey sky, praying with all her might, hoping to see signs of Light. Hoping to see the birds again that migrated away along with him. Only she didn’t know the grey was here to stay. Longer than she had thought. Long enough, to change her world; and everything she had ever known.

Her heart had been replaced. She was no longer in possession of something that once belonged to her. The void he left between her fingers ached like a wound that deepened with every passing day. His fragrance was fading, so was the memory of his voice. She’d often hold her breath to let it from slipping...

But for how long?

There was so much she wished to say. So much she couldn’t. She kept waiting for the right time. For the time when he’d place her above all his priorities. When he’ll give her full access to his heart. For the time when she wouldn’t have to fear his departure. When she’d finally have a rightful claim on him. The right time, that wasn't ever meant to come... Only she was yet to accept it.

The nature always reflected back how she felt. Day after day, her longing grew, he never came. And the weather worsened… The river failed to bear the pain any longer and out came its emotions with a sudden gush. The current of desolated river was so strong, it pulled down the Great walls, and ruined everything that it contained within and across its radius. The grand fortress of Euphoria was reduced to rubble right before her eye, and all she could do was stare blankly. Miserably. Helplessly. The miniature elephants, the butter lamps, the color trays, all had flown off with the current and were lost somewhere under the debris of what was fondly built… The city where months ago a sacred commitment was celebrated was now abandoned. Ruined. Reduced to nothing. Under the ruins lied the fine sheesham carvings that were now moldered and left like driftwoods after flood… the festivity was long over, she barely got the chance to completely register it...

He was too many miles away to see for himself how she reveled in the misery he had inflicted upon her. Devastated and overwhelmed, in her melting numbness and hopeless denial, she chose to remain by the promises he had made, and held close the memory of words he had given her. He would come, she'd whisper his name in the quietest of nights, hoping that he'd hear her –but so much at a distance was he; he knew nothing.

The mighty Moors have, however, always known. The Moors could always see him; they, of all, knew he wasn't showing up.
... And there was no going back. How was she supposed to find her way back when she never attended to the pathways she’d been crossing all this way? And why should she have bothered anyway? He was holding her hand all along, what else mattered? They had walked together ever since the journey had begun, or so she always thought. He had offered his hand, he had pledged to guide her through all crossroads under all weathers. But now he was gone. And she was lost in the middle of nowhere. It was no longer the place she used to know. She'd often dwell in her sorrow, wondering why must an emotion, so powerful, so huge, be offended by being confined in a box of definition? He had walked by her side, and what was a joy for her greater than that? Walking in silence together with him, saying so much without saying anything at all. Weeping in his tears, smiling in his laughter. Dreaming in his sleep, musing in his speech. He was her first and only memory in this realm, she felt him better than he thought. She had clung to him in a way he never really noticed and cannot ever really know. So much it meant, if only he had understood.

She had so many questions. So many questions, answers to which were all gone with his acquaintance. And all that remained was unidentified pain somewhere in her empty chest...

The pain was a reminder of simple little things. It was a reminder of all that was once said. The why's have successfully consumed her, and over the course, something sank so low, she failed to find it.

But despite the burning agony he left her in, she continued to wait. For something, ANYTHING, that was to ensure her survival. It was a need. A need to belong. She needed a few words; a few words that will pave way for her. She still relied on him. Only a few words from him, so she could go about finding her way on her own. She longed, to hear his voice for one last time… for one last time to hear him speak, she longed…

But that was then. The longing had switched to dread, she was yet to realized.

*.*.*

The time was moving slow… It was only after she had given up all hopes, when the birds returned. It was sudden. It was unexpected. It was a regretful realization. The snowy Egrets came gracefully fluttering their delicate plumes. The moment their shadows fell on her, a petrifying sensation went down her veins. It weren’t the birds alone. It was him. It was he who had come back. Or so she thought at first.

It was only to his arrival, that she realized she no longer had the courage to face what she’d been waiting for since so long. The birds brought with them what at one point was all she wished for; they brought with them, what she no longer needed.

It was him. After seasons of heart wrenching silence, he had returned.

What for?

She couldn’t follow.

Had he brought cure?

Time would unravel.

He wasn’t the same. She could hardly hear his voice. He was cloaked in a familiar blue robe which he had worn that evening when he had first come. He spoke to her, staying at a distance, unrevealed by the shadow of a tree. Barely visible. When he spoke, he spoke in a hurry. He spoke strangely with a retreating edge to his disembodied voice.

It was clear, he hadn’t come to stay. He had come to lessen his burden and finish the business he had begun a spring ago.

He had a separate city where his Euphoria lived; of which he never fully told her, of which she learned in his absence. He had his own fortress where he originally belonged, long before he crossed her way. He had his own stories, –of which she had no knowledge, of which he had hardly ever told her.

He went on, making no reference to what he had done. He spoke of his pain, which was probably too engaging for him to even notice hers. He showed no regard to the magic they shared. She hopelessly hoped, he was too occupied. He remained behind the shadow, hidden, oblivious of her situation occupied by his own. It was yet another blow to her shaken soul. She didn’t know how to deal with it. It was a broken heart’s misery; the kind of where it was hard to decide what ached more; the knowledge of her broken soul, or the image of his anguished spirit. How was it that a few words washed away all the anger she was fostering ever since he had left? How was it, that now when she finally had the chance to release the rage of despair she’d been holding inside, she felt too weak and vulnerable?

Would hurting him when he was already wounded make her feel any better about her own misery? Was it really so easy, to hurt the one she’d loved so much? It was pain, and who else but she would know better of its torment?

Having said all he had come to say, he waited with subtle impatience for her to believe --all together, all at once. A decision was to be made --one that was to set her free and bring her peace; one, that was to decide the course her life would take from here on.

Believing was a choice she had made a year ago. She made it again.

She made herself realize his pain. She realized he had his own stories of which he never completely made her a part. She let herself follow her heart, once again –for one last time… For the sake of those hollow words that were gone with the wind; for the sake of those forgotten promises that evaporated with the first ray of the burning sun; for the sake of her own self, which was too frail, and yet too strong; but most of all, for him. She realized he had his own miles to travel and his separate wounds that he no longer needed her to cure.

Would not one have asked, who gave him the right to break her in the process of mending himself? There was no denying that he was in pain, but she was in no less. The nature of their pain was different; and it was unsettling for her on several levels. But quiet. It is hearts who have held love close, that remain quiet and let their tormentors walk away, if that is what they desire; regardless of whatever blow they may have dealt.

But no later had she answered, that he returned back from the shadow into the mysterious abyss where he had come from, showing no regard to the journey they had covered together. Too engrossed in his own justifications, too occupied by himself, he didn’t even once look up to see how she was keeping up… He didn’t waste another second and disappeared back into the realm of his own. He disappeared, again, without even giving her a chance to say proper good bye. He hurried back, without letting her bid proper farewell. Why, was the need not felt? Did it not matter? Such was his notion of love; easy to walk in, convenient to walk out… To her, however, love had not come easy, like some sweet feeling bound to come and go away quickly. To her, love was a sacred state. It was an inspiration. To her, love was a fixed mark. It was a defining force that had given her wings; she flew as high as she could, assured that he wouldn’t let her fall. It was faith she was holding close. A faith that he had given her himself. He walked out of her life as conveniently he had walked in.

His delay didn’t hurt as much as his disregard did. His turning away without even looking back at her for the last time explained how much she concerned him. He was gone, with the wind… Gone as if he never existed. Having her deeply diseased in the process of finding cure for him, he was gone…

***

Holding her heart with both her hands, she sat by the river side, wallowing in her sorrow. The prayer she had sent was returned unanswered in the form of heavy sleet.

It was a dream. A dream so fragile, she shouldn’t even have whispered it.


Read Euphoria V here

Too many ice cubes in my Pepsi!

... But, I am going to talk about milk, and cookies. Cookies and rusks, to be specific. But more about tea.
We have this special tradition of relishing cookies and rusks on weekends in the dining hall with milk after dinner around 11. I usually skip milk and get myself a cup of tea, for reasons I will happily reveal some other time. Often our conversations take a very interesting turn; we shift from general topics to personal opinions to political debates to historical analyses to past recounts. The number of quotable moments is plenty, and it's funny how I never thought of keeping a proper record of all of them.

It is an utterly carefree and comfortable feeling, to talk about whatever you wish with people who know tiny little things about each others lives and recall and laugh about it all. My mum getting annoyed 'cause of us getting into useless debates, my brothers pulling my leg, my father teaming up with me in teasing mum, my unrealistic and inconsequential musings... My father telling us all for the millionth time how he felt when I was born and he held me in his arms for the first time. My mum recounting how difficult I was when my twins brothers were born. Oh I remember that. I always wanted a sister, and so I was greatly disappointed knowing I am going to take home TWO brothers with me. We used to fight like arch enemies. They were hell naughty twins, and extremely evil.

Recently we have been having heated political arguments over Pakistan’s current chaotic situation. All of us agreed how illogical the call of civil disobedience was; my father said Qadri’s speech relatively made more sense than Imran Khan’s. He however thinks somebody’s backing him. Well. He also reasoned with me that army may seem a good option right now but has its adverse affects in the long run. I was mildly convinced. None of us is a PML-N supporter, but my mother argues over what is constitutionally correct and what isn't. She says nobody should be allowed to sit in the state capital and direct mayhem across the country on his whim. She also finds Imran Khan's contradictory statements unsettling. My father of course presents counter arguments trying to describe IK’s agenda, which is honestly still not-so-clear to me, and then it gets interesting.

I remember a couple of weeks ago the round of hilarious laughter over an incident of my sloth-lazy brother wearing dirty socks to school and the confusion that ran through over who-stole-the-socks-from-the-washing-machine. When even one of us three siblings is being laughed at, it is a must for the remaining two of us to be sequentially targeted as well. The topic of course shifted to my other brother, consequently leading to me.

Conversations shift to considerably serious topics too. A week ago we got into discussing how everything that God does has good in it, only we don't know it at times; and sooner or later, we get our answer to almost every 'why' we had initially deemed unanswerable. It was in context to a message from a close friend who found the answer to her 'why' after almost three years. Strange how life works out sometimes, no? My mum generally said -which wasn't said in general, by the way; I knew it was specifically for me - how we should focus more on what can be rather than sulking over what could have been. She said everything that happens has a reason behind. My father, quoting a different incident from his experiences said, 'Allah ki karni sab se behtar hoti hai.' I literally had to fight back my tears, because it made so much sense! I wouldn't have agreed with this had I been told this a couple of months ago. Now I do. Wholeheartedly.

Sometimes the rounds begin with Abbu sharing stories from his childhood and the ones his parents had told him. I love such sessions the most. He shares with us tales of people who are now dead; which is our way of keeping from completely losing them. Isn’t it amazing, how we learn to love people we have never met just by listening to their stories? Isn't it like, having closely known them? Feels like I saw them when they were happy. I felt it when their heart broke into two. I was there when they secretly cried, and I was there when the universe chimed with their laughter. From being able to listen, to being able to share; I impatiently look forward to these two nights of the week that we all get to spend together. That is when every other thought process in my head is at halt. I can be extremely silly and nobody would judge me. I can share the deepest of my crazy concepts and laugh about them. Home. I can be anything at home. I can dance at Honey Singh’s crazy music or sing a Himesh Reshamiya song in my husky voice. I can go around all day in my PJs watching Phineas and Ferb, and nobody would tell me that I shouldn’t be watching Disney cartoons at the age of 21. I am home and with people who know tiny insignificant things about me. At home I feel like a complete kid again. And that’s the best part.

Family, I believe, holds you up safely. You may never know what they endured. And it is a mistake, to keep things from them. Because nobody, nobody can give you a better advice than them. Or if nothing at all, at least you’ll know that there's a place called home, and there are people in it, who will keep your back, no matter what trouble you get yourself into. They always have, and they always will.

My father had told me, in one of our milk-cookie sessions, that you will end up wasting your entire life should you keep waiting to be ready. Ready never comes because ready doesn’t exist. Everything is now. Do it today, do it now. Be what you want to be and set about getting what you want, now in this very moment; because that is all you have. He said that we should act fast, because now, too, is constantly slipping. I nodded. Nods could be distrustful. My father seems to know that too well. I nodded nervously, because:

What if you don’t know what you want anymore?

I have roughly 4 months to figure out and decide.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps, I just want to be. Perhaps I want to enjoy my final few months as a student and let paths unfold all by themselves.

A little something

One year behind the line, these days were perfect. I don't even have to try to remember how it was. Every minute detail of each day is crystal clear, like it was only yesterday. The Eid day when a certain truth was revealed. And the drizzly evening when a choice was made; staying by which was the easiest decision to live with. Funny how I have never identified with people who associate rain with sorrow. The sound of sheeting rain against the window pane was overwhelming. So beautiful, to sit in the dark and let the sound and fragrance of rain fill your senses... The first blast of rain on my skin brought back the memory of a time gone by. Feels like it is the only memory of rain I am left with. It was beautiful, I am going to keep it; regardless of the consequences it brought.

*.*.*

All those people who keep telling me 'told you so' are the ones whose mouths I knew will be shut forever when the time would come. I knew they'll get their answer when my faith will win and they will see for themselves how I was right all along.

I wasn't.

I no longer have anything to say in defense like all other times. The last bit of confidence I had was crushed when my sincerity was insulted. JUST when I was beginning to improve, someone from recent past showed up, yet again, only to blame me for all the mess; like all other times. Is it really that difficult to not realize your own mistake? My caution was misunderstood. How is adhering to your limits a mistake? How is a silence of months justifiable? How telling half-truths is right? How audaciously blaming someone for the collapse is correct when you left them all alone in the middle of nowhere? It was silly of me to even think there exists a thing as self realization. I should've known that people lack the courage to accept their mistakes. Which only shows how weak they are. NOBODY has any right to demand justifications from me for their indecisiveness. Who knew, my goodwill will be thrown down the drain so effortlessly. It took me some while to get over the disappointment. But one thing was made clear, when people show up every now and then to blame you for the wrong they did, it is their defensive act of consoling their guilty conscience by projecting their guilt onto others. I no longer stress about it; it has brought me a satisfying peace.

You know what they say for every person you lose, there comes someone else to fill the gap? I don't completely agree; but I do understand what it means. When someone leaves, it creates room for people you had shut out just because you had someone much important in priority. I lost someone special over the time, but I also gained a few genuine friends in due course. I went out to meet them for the second time; Gloria Jean's it was. I'd say again like I have said before, people are not what other people say they are. People are not what they themselves say they are either. Naani would always quote a maxim, 'duniya gol hai.' I never truly understood the meaning of it until recently. Which only made me realize how all those sayings I have been listening to in my childhood are actually VERY true. All those "propositions" I have been boldly denying all these days... Well. Certain unexpected sources came up to validate them, adding more to the bizzarity of a story that is no more my concern; and for that, a simple 'I was wrong' would suffice. No more a part of a twisted story, much thankful.

As I had decided, I wouldn't waste another blog post in defining the tormenting wait and agony I had to go through. A little reflection was necessary, and so it's given.

*.*.*

I was very much sure how boring and gloomy my Eid will be. I was dreading it, literally. My sense of association and nostalgia is stronger than usual. I knew it would come back; I knew I don't want it. Three days before Eid, I looked no less than a zombie. I wasn't well, and I didn't want to see anyone. But as it is said, surprises come when you least expect them. That is why they are called 'surprises', no? My cousins returned to Pakistan for Eid. It was so good, to see them again after a month. Some people are a source of such joy, you can't put it in words. And what do you know, the Eid I was expecting to be boring and upsetting as hell turned out to be so eventful and happening. I might as well mention here the exciting 'Shaadi Week' that is now coming to an end. Don't you think good times pass quick? I think they do. But what they leave behind is a series of cherish-able moments that harbor in the mind forever.

My university began this week. I found myself feeling excited for the first day when only a week ago I was sulking about it. It turned out better than I thought. We kick started our sixth semester with loads of pictures, hilarious laughter at silly jokes and of course, Sufi ke Dhaabay pe Pathan ke parathay ka naashta. I have three Linguistic courses this semester, and Psycho Linguistics is the only one I am looking forward to. Last five months in here, unless of course I choose to come back for Masters. I haven't given much thought to it yet.

In another exciting news, MUN has at last arrived to University of Karachi! Awesome, isn't it? The conference dates will be announced soon. Really looking forward to it. Finally UoK will be having some creative fun, too.

I have friends annoyed with me for not posting Euphoria’s final sequel. Reason being: first, my laziness. I have been however trying to complete and finalize the drafts, but I am unable to; probably because I no longer have it in me. Euphoria always reflected what I felt. How do I coherently put it in symbols when I don’t anymore feel it? But I shall give it a try. Everything deserves to have an ending, Euphoria must have one to.

I have started liking it here in my new house. This place has a very calming surrounding. You know my favorite spot in the entire house? The roof top. My world so perfectly fits in there… I see a chain of images of certain events rolling chronologically at the blank slate of dark sky. It is like living a dream, only with an awakened consciousness. I lie underneath the vast sky and carve random shapes out of the floating clouds. They are empty containers, and it is so pleasing to give meaning to them. Do you know how it feels to have a meaning?...

... Complete. It feels complete.

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.