And I wonder

I'm a fairly cynical person as most 20 somethings with a truck load of baggage are. At 23, I consider myself still young and naive (which reverts immediately to 'wise grandma' the moment I come in contact with the species termed as 'male or man' of similar age group).

Yesterday a regular customer and his friend walked into the store I work at and as always I began an inevitable session of winging and moaning about this wretched city. Here's how the conversation goes:

Customer or Hat Dude: You look dressed up. Got plans for tonight?

Me: Ummm... not sure yet. Planning on ditching them to be honest. I'm not excited about hanging out with a bunch of boys younger than me on my Saturday night. This city sucks.

Hat Dude: Oh man you just need to meet the right people to show you around. This city ain't half as bad.

Me: No seriously, it sucks and I barely know anyone.

Hat Dude: Oh enough with the shenanigans!! How long you been here now?

Me: Umm... around a month and a half or two months... maybe.

Hate Dude's Mate: By now you should have a boyfriend.. or better yet be married.

Me: *GASP* Oh dear lord

Hate Dude's Mate: You are in Oklahoma. That's the way it is over here.

(I forget the rest of the conversation)

I was too busy gagging on the boyfriend/marriage comment. Why is it that in this hilly billy town also known as Oklahoma City, everyone is in a dire need to 'hook up' at an early age. Turns out the hat dude is married too.

While in London I struggled to get a decent bloke to hit on me. Here I get everything from 21 year olds to 50+ asking me out to dinner.

Does the metropolitan lifestyle make men selective or reserved? And does the suburban trucker life style makes men desperate or bold?

Paradise City

"Take me down to the paradise city
Where grass is green and the girls are pretty
Oh won't you please take me home?"
- Guns N'Roses

Denial can catch you by surprise. Kiran told me it’s never really going to stop hurting. She reminded me of this again last night and me being me, paused and asked her, 'Really? Well that sucks'.

I am the queen of procrastination. No doubt.

Some believe this is a test, others say life is a bitch. Everyone has their own justification to why things go pear shaped. How many times will I be forced to leave home? Each time I build it up brick by brick, something whether you call it fate or destiny or i-don't-give-a-shit-what-you-label-it comes around and kicks me out on the curb. Only this time I did have the means to stay.

I sat all morning reading his email over and over and over. I came home and continued reading it over and over and over again. The pain hit before the realization of why. Suddenly a building came crashing down on me as I understood what this meant. I could have been home. He lied to me again. The irony being in, it ended because he didn't know when to stop lying. But this? He made me leave home. I'm here. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be there.

I want to scream and cry. But nothing happens. Nothing comes out. Nothing happens. I just feel something dies or maybe wilts. People move on and you're left standing alone wondering how am I going to catch up when moving on simply isn't your forté?

Grizzly Bear - Easier

It’s not so much as relaxing as it is haunting to hear their hollow melody. They appear to be singing the sound track to my life and each echo makes me uneasy. The heart breakingly beautiful vocals makes my soul skip a beat. Clearly, these boys are capable of anything.

The storm cometh

The gods snicker as they hail their wrath on us mortals. The howling winds tear through and we are made all too aware of how minuscule we really are. Tears of a thousand scorned mothers burst from each cloud. The sheer power is made even more mesmerizing by the hypnotic strobes of lights. Proof the skies have a pulse or maybe even the gods. Mortality is challenged each day yet we forget the value of life itself. People come and go and we have accepted how disposable we really are. It is almost like second nature.

Precisely at this moment does the cruel mistress, nostalgia beckons.

It is nearly 9pm and in the typically humid Karachi August of 2004, 'woh lamhey' played in the background. Jal were the new kids on the block and she was only 18. She was naive. She was the epitome of teen love reigned by hormones and fairytales. She had that virginal innocence which almost surrounded her like an aura. He was young and filled with excitement of a new beginning. Together they exuded emotions powerful enough to knock a city out. She was oblivious to the real world or the future, however cautious as she may have been, she was optimistic. He was carefree and had an untamed spirit. He sat on her red and yellow leather love seat. She gazed into his big brown eyes and felt that nervous gut wrenching feeling mixed with butterflies and a whole lot more. He adored her, but more than that he adored the way it felt to be in love, to have your very own happy ending. They had a soundtrack to their beginning. It was poetic. Every little thing from the holding hands to the loving passionate kisses, made them desperate for more. There was lust but that seemed only a bi-product of their bond. It was new love and they were blinded. Sometimes as she blinked, a moment of clarity would hit her and she sensed something did not feel right. But just as quickly as it would happen, things would revert and she was content with uncertainties clawing within.

Five years later the world had changed axis and they were poles apart. The innocence corrupted and the optimism jaded. Somehow the sun stopped shinning and the night grew darker, the moon only a distant memory. She sat in their apartment months after he moved out, ripping each framed picture with such desperation and conviction. As if somehow her actions could undo the disappointment. Her panic attacks caught her unexpectedly. Each day she would kneel in front of Him, praying with her soul, begging, questioning, in vain. After all her failed attempts to save her marriage, she believed in her head all her debts were paid, that somehow this had settled every loose end. Days and months passed. She moved on. Her resentment grew stronger each day and a part of her morphed into her worst nightmare, her mother. Amidst the crazy continent hopping and new beginnings, she went back to the night they sat in her room. He was on the bright red and yellow love seat. She sat on her bed. Coy and oh-so-innocent, she imagined a life far different. She took a deep breath and she could smell his musky cologne. It filled her nostrils and embedded in her brain. She loved the way it comforted her. His gaze always filled with loving mischief.

She looks away, trying hard not to remember each detail. She shakes herself and tries to focus on the present. She slowly falls asleep. It feels forced. She wakes up every few hours. Finally she awakes early in the morning. Its first light outside and the room is still dark. Her blinds are closed and she hopes viciously they can block out the light for as long as possible. She stares at the white ceiling and as she slowly blinks her eyes all she can remember are his soft lips against hers. It was his morning ritual everyday for 5 years. Right before he would leave the house, he would slowly and gently lean over her, his cold face barely touching hers, he’d whisper in her ear, ‘My love!’, his strong cologne filling her each breath as he would kiss her. It’s a gentle peck as to not wake her. But she was always awake, and she treasured this moment each day. For a moment she can almost smell her cologne, but she pushes that thought as far as she can. She fidgets with the sheets and covers her face. Somehow this way she can drown the memories which seem to be screaming at her. Finally, it comes and she off in a parallel world dreaming of sweet nothings and he is nowhere to be found.

'There is a sadness to the sound of trains. They blaze their horns warning others of their presence. It's almost a cry for help, the single track train chasing the end, wanting more. Every night I hear the haunting sounds and a part of me sheds a tear for them'.