Monotony

Far from reality, in her head she hears that voice, telling her, 'Remember what we said about sorting your life out? Well this is it'. She had learnt to ignore her own voice as she spoke the words. She bites hard on her lip till she could taste blood. It reminded her of rust. Back in Pakistan everything smelt of rust. It was the humidity which consumed anything metal and left a carcass of shades of brown. She felt her body go rigid. She realized this was a lot bigger than she imagined and this was going to take everything from her. The walls of her room suddenly seemed lifeless. The string of emotions that followed each day was draining her. Today, she could feel the weight of her emotions physically. Sometimes she would sit and remember how her apartment smelt. The coffee brewing in her tiny kitchen, the smell of warm pecans and maple. She loved those lazy weekend mornings. She would be on her own, her music playing in the background. That was her sanctuary. Even as she lived the memory in her head, her chest aches and her lips trembles. It was beyond perfect what she had. Then she would open her eyes. His house was beautiful and airy but it felt like prison to her. Her tiny cramped apartment in the city over the chicken shop with the smell of fried chicken that wafted through her windows each day gave her more comfort than this grand suburban castle. Her head felt heavy and she realized she had forgotten how to laugh. It was simply easier to fake a smile or a laugh and pretend than to let her emotions show. Emotional expression was somehow a childhood game. Now, it meant nothing.

B*ll Sh**

It seems quiet.

But I’ve come to understand that we're embraced the sounds of humming machinery. Beeps and blips, miniature fans and clicks as silence. The tires rolling on wet concrete. I can almost hear the headlights before I see a faint light against the window. I think that’s what drives me to the edge sometimes not being able to shut everything down and out, not being able to hear myself breath. We slowly morph into mechanical objects. Clock in and out, constantly ticking away, thoughts racing at a millionth of a second, never ending ticking.

'When did we grow up and how do we make it stop'

Every day at some random time I teleport in time and I’m 5 for 20 seconds. Wide eyed I sit next to her and she smiles and I think of nothing. I don’t analyze or assess. I don’t wonder or wish. I think of nothing, yet somehow now I know I could live my entire life in that moment. Knowing my mind has no thoughts but isn’t blank. I am happy but without knowing the concept of happiness. I’m just a being in a moment that’s nothing yet is perfect.

Time brings experience. The thought of the future brings the fear of more time which brings more experiences which makes me think do we ever stop? Are we physically and most importantly mentally ever able to stop? Does the thought process ever stop or do we have to learn to control it?

Silence. It’s a beautiful thing. If u can silence your own thoughts then everything is clear. The war in your head is over.

If we are all energy, atoms vibrating creating energy creating reality then how do u press pause? How do we create a reality with no energy just. . . . s p a c e. . . . When u die the energy is still there. So theoretically u never really die and there is no end, just a loop except you don’t go back to the beginning?

The war within

Who decides what is wrong or right? Is it our parents who from the day we are born struggle to instil their values and morals on us? Is it the company we surround ourselves with as teenagers? Or is it simply something we learn along the way from people who touch or inspire us in some way?

As a child I never quite grasped the concept of being an individual. I was constantly being thrown into situations and I only reacted the way I was trained to, not able to analyze my actions. This, I would only understand once I was a fully blossomed woman. Family plays a key role in our lives. Whether its genes or plain old fashioned influence, they help shape us to be who we are. My mother is a religious woman but she never imposed extremism on her children. She encouraged us to pray and taught us to be kind and giving to the poor. However, her actions screamed a different lesson. Her heart is kind but her mind is not. It is not a simple task to raise a daughter in a hypocritical Islamic society. Here men are at liberty to do anything and their word is the final. My mother fought hard against such hypocrisy with aggression and without wit.

People come and go in our lives. We are blinded with excitement of a new spell of colours. New perceptions seem to tempt us which we periodically believe is an inspiration. We form unstable foundations and crumble at every turn without grasping the moral of each obstacle. We are ignorant and primitive at best. However, amidst the rat race we hit a wall which at closer inspection unveils a revelation. Each time it varies and the unveiling bears an unnerving divinity of sorts. As we approach a crucial epoch in our personal lives, we take a nervous glance at the foregoing years. This is where I gather my strength and face the demons of my past errors and wonder would they judge with such belligerence.

The strange fact is we all are brain washed. Whether it is by society or by family, it is part of the fabric of life today. Maybe this all part of growing up. They say as you mature, consequences whether good or bad become anti-climactic. The entire spectrums of emotions tend to phase out and fade drastically. We become accepting. Now, the dilemma I face is how do I settle for anything when I only just have begun to understand the concept of opinion and individuality. Should this revelation not empower us as we are exposed to a new light? Or is that considered as extremism? As a Muslim, I often question my fellow brothers and sisters of faith and their loosely defined boundaries. Today, I question my own.

It has begun

It’s far too late in the night and I can only hear strange bumps and buzzing. Possibly due to the wind or rowdy neighbours. I refrain from the urge to sit and guess. Somewhere in the distance you hear a fox and I can only relate it to a possessed dog. There is a moment of hard hitting reality damaging me for life and as I keep blinking my exhausted eyes I am somewhat aware the image in front will clear up, eventually.

Ironically when you are an adolescent, a parent teaches you to survive with a crucial lesson; 'you must learn to mask the truth'. Somewhere along the way I forgot all about it. I glided past half a decade with no real recollection of who, why or where. Surely I would understand at some point how detrimental this to my very existence. Correct?

Sitting at the table surrounded by random nothings, I pause, take a step back and observe. She sits staring blankly around her. Her hands rubbing her eyes as she squints at the dim overhead light. Her skin covered in goose bumps, she isn't entirely sure whether it’s the cold or exhaustion or something else altogether. Growing up is strange. You forget what it truly feels to be happy or sad. Numb feels familiar.

She feels that all too familiar kick in her gut looking at her clock. It’s still on the old time. She gazes at the seconds hand and wonders why it won't slow down like before. It’s early and she hears the birds chirping in excitement for a new day. She closes her eyes and tries to remember waking up for school as a child and the only birds she could hear were crows. Bizarrely that still soothes her senses. She clicks right back to the present and she knows its time but this time she can't plead for five more minutes. Another reminder she is no more that little girl who would kick and scream to get her way for now no one would listen. She gathers herself and pauses to breathe. It’s a long savouring gasp of air which hurts her chest; she holds it in and tilts her head at the grey sky. Finally a pout and a frown results in her breathing out. It’s loud and she is aware of herself. She steps out of the door in a rush, gathering all that she can messily as if to not remember to forget. She quietly sits in the car and takes one last look. Her eyes hurt taking in the sight, knowing its time. Its rather poetic how the car gently rolls off the slope, letting her absorbs each detail as she aches within.

Silently they flow from her eyes and she is painfully reminded why she fell in love. This saviour was always enough. People were simply sights in a city which needed no enhancement or facades. She begins a daily ritual of a conversation with herself. There is no mirror but she sees herself sitting by her side. Today there were no words. Just silence. Another chapter has ended and another shall begin. She drifts into another persona in the same dimension and continues as she is meant to.