Instant

It’s when those scars start to bleed again,
When old wounds come back to life,
When the flesh around your ribs contract,
Sucking the very bit of air you’d hoped to get in,
The air that would help you not drown,
Like weak ships engulfed by the monstrous ocean.

 

The masochism doesn’t help.
Nor do the teas.
Nor do conversations laced with laughter,
Lift the freight clouding your little mind.
Behind closed doors, your face is wet,
The soreness in your chest worsens.

 

Each day, you tell yourself today will be different.
Each night, you promise yourself tonight is the last.
The hours pass by, consuming your resilience,
Sending you crumbling when darkness materialises.
Your misery taunts you as you close your eyes,
Dancing the dance of despair.

 

‘Tis only slumber that sets you free,
Pulling away from the dread,
Releasing you to an abyss of imagination,
Where everything works,
And the tears come from howling too hard,
And your stomach hurts till you can’t breathe.

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FINALLY!

Unless you’ve been following me on Snapchat/Instagram, you probably don’t know this cuz I haven’t bugged you about it, BUT….

I’M FINALLY LIVE ON YOUTUBE.

After an extremely long contemplation, I grew the encourage and went ahead and filmed! Of course it was a very basic video (and I actually got real hate from a rather butthurt person LOL), but can’t say I was nervous as heck. Hopefully, whenever the next video is in motion, it will be tons better than this one. Had to test the waters before jumping into the sea. 😛

Soooooooooooo, if you’re interested in watching me rant, go ahead and click on THIS LINK!

Aaaaaand if you like it, you know what to do! 😀

 

also, subscribe plz.

 

THANKYOUUUUU

LOVEYOUUUUUUUUU xxxxxxxx

Um..hello

WOW. I have been AWOL for so long, I didn’t know how to come back on WordPress. My mind is a little rusty from not trying to be creative.

I don’t even remember when I had posted last, feels like an eternity ago. But in my defence, lots of things have happened- I got married (al7mdulillah), I moved to Dubai with the hubs and I’ve basically been living off junk food and bebsi. #NoRagrets

 

But I do hope to be more regular on my blog, kinda miss it. I’ve also been working to get my YouTube channel up and ready as I feel that I might be more expressive related to certain topics if I’m talking about them. Anyway Insha’Allah, I hope everything works out for me and you, reader.  😀

 

 

Let’s get back on track, shall we?

“KHAMOSHI”

A couple of days ago, during my usual Facebook procrastination, I came across this image which a friend had shared, and my nerve endings went numb. Not because the image was painful or NSFW, or even gory, but because it resonated with me on a deeper level.

I shared the image with another friend who called it “unsettling”, but I believe that the image had to be the most powerful one I had ever seen.

 

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A lot of you might have already seen it, and after a little research I found out that this image dawned from “Khamoshi”, a bridal couture collection by designer Ali Xeeshan, which apparently addressed the taboo of child marriage, and also is a part of a small film by Abdullah Haris.

You can watch the film here!

 

Now, I’m not here to talk about child marriage or the horrors of the situation itself. I’m here to talk about something else- another crucial yet sad thing this image reflects.

 

Notice the bride’s expressionless, tired, sorrowful face. Notice the happy, bustling people surrounding her, and manhandling her. And most importantly, notice the lock placed on her lips.

The lock signifies the silence that is forced on a bride, regardless of the situation, or the standard. It tells you about how the bride-to-be isn’t allowed a say in her own wedding festivities- ranging from not getting to choose her spouse to not being allowed to arbitrate the wedding party. What’s worse is that her smile (God forbid one exists) is shamed on during the proceeds of her OWN wedding.

And this injustice hails from continuation of bland, rusted cultural marital pressures- both on the family, and on the victim.

And desi families are so accustomed to these pressures and expectations, that they’ve blurred the line between necessary and pathetic. In desi cultures, it is never about the bride (or the groom). It is first and foremost and ALWAYS about society. Each action, each function, each decision is only finalised after weighing it on a societal importance scale, which we are more familiar with as, “log kya kahenge?”

According to some people (and unfortunately people I know), they believe that you can only function as a part of society if you’re willing to accept everything they believe in, no questions asked. And I find all of this supremely foolish.

WHY is your hunger for acceptance and admirance so distressing that you’ve allowed yourself to be encompassed in idiocy? WHY is your respect in society so important to you that you’re willing to spend on superficialities rather than essentials? WHY do you think random people who you say hello to in passing hold more substance than the people inside your own home? WHY are other’s amusements more influential than your kid’s?

 

People like me are accustomed to rebuke, especially when we put the words “simple” and “wedding” in the same sentence. Its sad, really. I had read this quote once, on instagram I believe, which went something like this-

“In today’s world if someone were to have a simple wedding, people would think it’s because they’re poor.” (or stingy)

 

I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, having a grand wedding will be robbing me of my credibility. Sure, most people don’t really care about stuff like that. But I do. As a staunch believer and supporter of “No Band. No Baaja. No Baraat.”, it is horrifying to be silenced and blackmailed into accepting and giving into cultural pressure.

 

If only the elders opened their eyes to reality, then maybe, just maybe they’ll reform.

 


 

You can visit Ali Xeeshan’s Instagram at @alixeeshantheaterstudio

Lets Be Honest Here.

I really want to say something.

And I’ve been wanting to say this for a while now.

And each day I’m on Facebook, sifting through posts and reading people’s comments (which happens to be my favourite thing to do), I get an idea of how extremely sensible or how supremely stupid people are.

And it bothers me a lot when people start blabbering about stuff they hardly even know, especially the Hijab.

 

Rio 2016 is underway and the now famous photo of the Beach Volleyball Competition, Egypt Vs. Germany, has been circulating all day long. And it’s interesting to see how people feel about that. I’m posting the picture below in case you live under a rock and haven’t seen it yet.

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Anyway, the BBC called it a “culture clash” and honestly, it isn’t really all that negative. On one side, people celebrated the differences and called both women amazing for their ability to achieve their dreams, despite their dress codes. And on the other, people talked about how degrading the hijab is to women, of how it wreaks of oppression and weakness of a Muslim woman in her society.

 

But here’s the thing- I would understand it if you said that about uneducated people. The ones who do things per tradition, whether right or wrong, the ones who aren’t aware of their stand in the Islamic world.

Ask yourself this- WHY do educated and professional Muslim women wear the headscarf, if it were actual oppression? I am a graduated dentist, I hail from a family of over achieving doctors- both male and female al7mdulillah- and I still choose to wear my headscarf. Because for me, it is my identity.

I grew up in Saudi Arabia, where it is mandatory to wear the abaya, and I did. All of my non-Muslim friends did- and they did it with happiness. Sure, they didn’t cover their head, because religiously, they didn’t have to. I had friends who prided over wearing the abaya, because not only was it a requirement, it was also a fashion statement. Sure, they took it off when they travelled to their home countries because they didn’t want to wear it (These included Muslims too). And why should they? It’s not in their beliefs. But again, I know they didn’t feel oppressed just because they wore an extra garment, which the outside world replicates as a “cape”.

 

If anything, I feel exposed without my hijab. After wearing it all my life, it became a part of me. A part of me that I was proud of, and willingly chose to continue with it. And insha’Allah I will make the same choice over and over again.

 

The thing is, I understand when you think that when the Hijab is forced it is oppression. It IS. But at the same time, when you want us to take it off, even though we decided on carrying it willingly, THAT is oppression too.

 

Oppression is defined as, “prolonged cruel or unjust treatment or exercise of authority.”

Do you see where the words “excercise of authority” exist? Do you understand that when we are forced to part with our identities, we are being discriminated?

 

I know there are people who will question me over their personal favourite target, Saudi Arabia. So as to why they don’t allow Non Muslims to practice their faith. In all honesty, I don’t know. It’s their country, let them do whatever they feel like. (I’ll have you know that the abaya isn’t a concern for most Non Muslims who choose to work there.)

 

Everybody talks about how a Muslim woman is oppressed, but nobody asks a Muslim woman herself.

 

And really, if there is a Muslim woman out there who identifies with her hijab, let her wear it. Whether she’s battling it out at the Olympics or going out shopping, leave her be. Your opinion of her attire isn’t making you seem any bit smarter than you think you are.

 

In closing I’d like to ask you, sincerely, to not give your opinion on what you don’t know. It helps the minds of others to stay at ease. 😀

 

Hijabi. And proud.

Goodbye

Two steps.
He took two steps towards her.
She hung her head in gloom,
In misery.

Reaching his hand out,
He cupped her face,
And felt hot tears flow into his palm.
Grief was what she concealed.

Swinging the other arm around her,
He pulled her closer,
Embracing her,
Placing his chin on her head.

They stood there for an eternity,
Etching each other’s curves into their memories.
Afraid to let go,
Petrified of separation.

She lifted her head,
And what he saw was more beautiful than sunrise at the hills,
More mesmerising than the plush Ireland fields,
Her smudged kohl, around the circles of her eyes.

Those sparkling brown eyes,
Which he fell in love with,
The first day he lay eyes on her.
Picturing his entire life in those irises.

The lips he wanted to plant multiple kisses on,
Which distracted him whenever she would talk,
Or laugh with those straight set teeth,
Till her stomach hurt and she fell over.

Once on the right cheek,
Then on the left,
On her forehead, and on her nose,
He imprinted his lips.

He brought his mouth closer to her ear,
And whispered slowly,
“I will never give up on us. Ever.
You will always be mine. I promise.”

Old Friends

All throughout our lives, we meet people. Lots of them.

Equals.

Opposites.

Strange.

Unique.

Different.

And we befriend some of them while struggling to get through our existences.

 

Some of them stick around forever.
Most ghost out.
This one’s for them.


 
We might’ve been great friends once.

Inseparable.

Close.

Tight.

But somewhere down the road, we got cut off. We stopped hanging out, stopped talking, stopped enquiring.
We changed paths, went our own separate ways. Probably fell apart. It happens.

But know this.

 

I might’ve tried really hard to get back in touch with you. Maybe you did too.

Maybe you never responded. Maybe I didn’t.

 

But when I think of us, I think happy memories.

I might’ve been angry with you over something. I might’ve been hurt. You probably would’ve been too.

But growing older (and a little wiser), I would rather associate my memories with you as fond, rather than regretful.

After all, we did spend a couple of good years together- laughing till our stomachs hurt, dancing the night away, sharing secrets, sitting together in comfortable silences, wiping each other’s tears, hugging the pain away.

 

giphy

 

For the times I couldn’t be there for you.

For the times I failed you as a friend.

For the times I said hurtful things.

For the times I acted irresponsibly.

For all the times you felt alone.

 

I’m sorry.

 
We might’ve grown apart over the years, might’ve forgotten each other’s numbers, but today I promise you this, if you ever need me, you know where to find me and I’ll be there for you.

 

And I wish you nothing but the best in your life.

 

Take care.

I love you.