Everly

The day after tomorrow, HSC starts, NIGHTMARE. I don't know if I'd still be available on writing my innermost poetic deepest cheesiest untold stories and things crapping my life. But If I do appear right at the night before exam, don't get surprised. You know what torture is? Not having to sleep – is 7 on scale to 10, but be an insomniac at night when your exam’s just the day after tomorrow,  is definitely a 10. It’s 3 in the morning, and I can’t sleep. I have tried for hours just to reverse the weird sleeping cycle but here I am. Besides, I’m not studying as I should be. And I have an urgency, to go to the restroom but a big trouble just got in. There are two restrooms in our house. One is close to the bedroom. The other is on the way to the living room which I always prefer cause it’s kind of clean. A while ago, when I went to brush my teeth and I discovered a giant cockroach. The size didn’t matter but the real trouble there is, that it can fly. So I decided to u...

SO recently, I mean today, I've joined this WritersCafe  site where you can post stories and writing and all that shit. I kind of posted one of my writings - "A Beautiful Mess" from here. And guess what? I got a review!! My first review!!! And it's a very positive one! I know this is a tiny little thing, not something I should brag about but what the hell. This is pure joy. Knowing that, someone, a person from south Africa read your story, and reviewed it, spend some time on it is an amazing feeling. I don't tempt to be an author, if my one piece of amateur writing gets to one person let alone be it someone from a different continent is enough for me. Because I'm no author. There's no expectations attached to it. HSC has got me freaky on writing more stuffs. And I'm kind of enjoying it.

What I do when I'm going through emotional distress?  I sit with my coloring pencils, a shitty note pad and a pen to quote the moment and play some crummy music. Warning: Some of these quotes/drawings are way to cheesy. I'm a hopeless romantic. I collect love poems, cheesy-squishy lines from internet. Made a habit out of it. Sorry. I'm going to share some of the pics from my not-so-artistry-doodle-notebook; here they are! 

I did my prayer (namaz) today. I felt like I was trying to connect someone on the other side who might or might not exist. I mean in my heart at some point, I feel obligated to believe that he exists but … I just can’t face him, for I’ve done such wrong things, I’m a sinner. Every day. I’m a sinner. I feel like even how much I pray and bow my head to him, He’s gonna look at me as someone to be punished. Maybe it’s not lack of believing, it’s just fear that keeps me away from Him.

In a perfect world, I’m lying on my queen-size bed, snuggling with my newly adopted cat. Manicuring my hands. Having a perfect view of the sunset through my windows that have seats built in. In a perfect world, I have plenty of time to practice literacy and appreciate life. I have the perfectly long hair and the perfect pitch to my voice. A natural glow in my face. In a perfect world, I have the pimple free skin. A perfect round of diet, with the consistency of ice-cream. In a perfect world, my surroundings are vital. I have someone who loves the sound when I giggle. In a perfect world, there’s sickness, caring and letting go of things. There’s messing up, there’s failure. There’s sweet- sweet torture of missing someone close to my heart. In a perfect world there’s everything, yet there’s desire. Desire. There’s fantasies. But there’s no- regrets. In a perfect world I’m a traveler. Who’s also passionate about music and art. In a perfect kind of world, I am feminine effortlessly. In...

“Maybe happiness didn't have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures. Wearing slippers and watching the Miss Universe contest. Eating a brownie with vanilla ice cream. Getting to level seven in Dragon Master and knowing there were twenty more levels to go. Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks- the traffic signal that said "Walk" the second you go there- and downticks- the itch tag at the back of your collar- that happened to every person in the course of the day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day. Maybe the truth is, there's a little bit of loser in all of us. Being happy isn't having everything in your life be perfect. Maybe it's about stringing together all the little things.”  ―  Ann Brashares ,  The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

I'm afraid this post is gonna be entirely about him. And I know it since last night. When I couldn't sleep thinking, that was the last class he took of us. And even I talk frequently enough of him in this blog, I don't think it's ever enough...to sum him up. Nothing I write will ever be enough. He will always be my favorite teacher. I know at times, I didn't pay attention to his class but it doesn't change the fact how amazing he is. You must be wondering why I'm using pronouns, why haven't I mentioned his name ever when I am crushing in all sort of way on him. I don't say his name because that's how respective I am of him. You see, I never picture him as my boyfriend or a life-partner, I just picture him as he is. He is someone whom I developed a sophisticated fondness in. And I will never get over it. It's like he's on a stage or something, doing a play. And I'm watching him. Falling in love with every line, every detail. Like ...