It has been lonely knowing you.

It has been lonely knowing you.

It has been lonely knowing you.

So very lonely.

Too, too lonely.

Remembering You, Falling into my Arms, Crying for the Death of Your Heart

I'm sorry for not having enough belief in my heart. It wouldn't have saved us from this, but you wouldn't ever have felt betrayed or disappointed.



But you never did do the falling-in-my-arms part.

In Other Headlines This Week

Dil ab doobtee kishtiyon ka sawari ban'na nahin mangta 
Mallaah ko keh do keh ab savaar raazi nahin.

Urdu Zabaan ki Shaan Mein Aik Pehli Gustaakhi (Muaf Farmaiyega)

Meri aankhon ka tara,
Meray dil ka suqoon,
Meri ruuh ki piyaas,
Meri shama ka noor.

Meri aag si teizee,
Meri barf si jullan,
Meray dil ki bechayni,
Meri jaan ki tarap.

Meri barsaton ki barish,
Meray geet ka sargam,
Meri kuliyon ki khushbu,
Meri mehndi ka rung.

Meri chaal ki lapak,
Meri zulfon ki chamak,
Meray honton ki mehak,
Meray aasman ki dhanak.

Yeh sub kuchh mera
Lekin mein? Kisi aur ki.

You don't want to hold me back.

You Can't Cure Love

If only it were as easy as attaching locks to doors. That's not what keeps me insside.

I would have walked to you, shoes in hand when they start to pinch my toes. I would have washed and scrubbed and lotioned my feet to presentableness. I would have come to you in the heat of June, July, August. I would have the morning-after pill ready just in case. I would have come if I knew you would take me. If you would have me.

But you won't because you're so good.

On the insside you're so much better than I am.

A Day Without You Is Like A Year Without Rain

Perfect Arrangements of Atoms

Upon every fallen eyelash, birthday candle and shooting star, the same wish.

The Monsters In My Closet

They make it so much easier to be cruel to the people I love.

"Oh Dream Maker, You Heart Breaker, Wherever You're Going, I'm Going Your Way"

Sometimes I wish I were made of sticky tac so once you got close enough you wouldn't ever get away. And even when you tried to leave, you'd always spring back to me.

It's Okay To Steal Things That Are Pretty

I can't write poetry to save myself so I steal things I like and post them here. This is from a movie. Guess which one.

It's called Milkshakes.

Daydream delusion 

Limousine Eyelash 

Oh, baby with your pretty face 

Drop a tear in my wineglass 

Look at those big eyes 

See what you mean to me 

Sweet cakes and milkshakes

 I am a delusion angel 

I am a fantasy parade 

I want you to know what I think 

Don’t want you to guess anymore 

You have no idea where I came from 

We have no idea where we’re going 

Launched in life

Like branches in the river

Flowing downstream

Caught in the current

I’ll carry you. You’ll carry me

That’s how it could be

Don’t you know me? 

Don’t you know me by now?

So boy and girl meet on a train and after roaming the streets of magical European city, learn that they are perfect for each other and together they have the most memorable night of their lives. About as typical as it gets. But sometimes typical is good. And actually a lot of us just want typical, though we can be a bit secretive about it. Typical makes sense and typical feels right. And typical, simple things are often what people remember for the rest of their lives.

Fears

I do not ever like being left alone. 

Is that really so hard to understand?

My bestest friend of over 8 years now, CrazyLady was kind enough to honour me with a blog award known as the Liebster, (a word that means 'dearest' and 'favourite' according to my German dictionary). I've had some of the most memorable crazy inside jokes at school and phone calls with her. And together we've experienced many of what we like to call 'emotional hangovers'. But what makes it most special is the fact that she's the one who got me started writing my own blog. Thanks Sheenie!

But here's the catch, to make myself worthy for the award I have to post 11 random facts about myself, then answer 11 questions that CrazyLady's asked me, then tag 11 other people and give them 11 questions that they should answer. Quite tedious but still fun. And it's summer, I've got lots of time so might as well!

Step 1: 11 Fact About Me

1. I can't wear rings. Every time I wear one I keep switching it from finger to finger and leaving it here and there and then ultimately forget it. I lost one in Pizza Hut once. And I left a very precious one in an air plane toilet. Thank God someone was kind enough to give it to a stewardess and I got it back from her later when I remembered. I guess that means I can't be trusted with any kind of engagement ring whatsoever.

2. I hate ironing with a vengeance. More than I hate all other stupid household chores combined. Besides it's totally useless; I don't see why wearing wrinkly clothes once in a while is such a problem.

3. I can make a mean lasagne. Actually I can make a mean anything. Partly credited to the treasure trove of recipes available online and partly due to my awesome cooking skills which I've been honing for years now. It's my blog I can show off, right?

4. I love Math. I'm happiest surrounded by my 3-d vectors, complex numbers, reduced row echelon matrices, differentiation and integration.

5. Eggy yellow lemon tarts from Shezan are my guilty pleasure.

6. I'm very impatient.

7. I love putting together jigsaw puzzles and have currently embarked upon my first 1000-piece adventure.

8. I have a strange inability to say names. Only of certain people, things, movies, songs. And there's no explanation behind names I can say and those I can't. I'm a lot more comfortable typing them. It's worse when someone forces me to say a certain name; then things just get awkward and strained.

9. Instead of the normal 32 teeth, I have only 28.

10. I am in love.

11. Aaaand I love dressing up for costume parties. I've done Cowgirl, 50 Cent, Vivian from Legally Blonde who was the douche-y guys Harvard girlfriend, a daakoo and an Elvisy kind of man from the 60's complete with ascot and flapper pants.

Step 2: Answers to the 11 questions


1. Your favourite song lyric and why?

That would have to be 'honey's got a booty like powpowpow, honey's got some boobies like wowohwow' from O.M.G by Usher. This song is super fun to listen to and if it was me he was talking about, I'd be the happiest woman on earth. 'Lady how you do dat make a grown man cry?' SO LOVELY.

Or it could be some lyric from either 'Deep Inside of You - Third Eye Blind' or 'Pictures of You - The Cure'. All time favourites. I am such a teenager.

2. Secret ambition in life?

To bring joy to my family happy and make up for all my brattiness.

3. Who is your best friend and why do you love her/him so much?

I'm super exited to answer this one. My best friend has the ability to make everything better, from stomach aches to pmsy hormonal manic bouts of depression. He's always the voice of reason when I'm being stupid and most of my best memories are with him. He's always making me laugh, he's smart (really good at mental arithmetic) and really cute. In a pet lizard kind of way. And really no number of words is enough to describe how wonderful he is, though I've tried many times on this blog.

But most of all he's my best friend because he believes me when I say that I'm sure there are electric eels and mugger-muchh at the bottom of the lake in Model Town Park which come out at night and bight people's legs off so they can't walk and they die before they can get home.

I owe him a lot more than a few strawberry sundaes.

If you're wondering who I've been on about, you can find him at Gravity Eyelids, though he doesn't blog much anymore. (I hope you don't mind me advertising your blog Foofie! A blow to masculinity or whatever)

I miss him so much now, dammit.

4. Most vivid memory growing up? Or, if you aren't done growing up, best day of your life?

I have a good memory (other than with school work, of course) so lots of vivid memories growing up. One that comes to mind right now, is the time I was around 6 and had my tooth pulled out by the dentist when it had been wobbling for weeks but refused to come out loose. The best part was the strawberry ripple ice cream later from the cuboid cardboard box. Back when Polka still existed.

5. Book character, or movie/TV show character if you don't read, that you can relate to the most?

This is a difficult one. Maybe the lead girl character in the movie 'An Education' because I just watched that recently. I could relate to her at times. Hey, don't judge!

6.Favourite restaurant and what's good on the menu? I swear I'm not using this as an excuse to find new places to eat. I really genuinely like to hear about food.

EASY! Fav place to eat is Zouk. Pretty fairy lights and amazing food. The best part is that it's good value for money and everything on the menu is yummy (except the fried chicken strips, which are as bland as baby food). Must go to Zouk again soon.

7.What would be your last words, ideally?

I don't think about my own death. Too scary.

8.Craziest thing you've ever done? Conversely, if you're not a crazy person or you are Sylvia Plath and the craziest thing you've done is stick your head in the oven and I don't want to know about that, most embarrassing moment?

Uhhh...Crazy. I once was crazy enough not to listen to my friend when she told me to stay away from her dog who has issues with strangers. Consequently the canine pinned me against her car and bit me on my arm. I didn't feel any pain though, but that might be because I was too busy laughing my head off at what had just happened. The tetanus shot on the other hand was a bitch.

9.Biggest celebrity, not accessible human, crush?

I'm sadly crushless. But Jay Baruchel? James Franco? Ranbir Kapoor? So nice to look at.

10. Favourite blog?

The flower child..

11. Describe yourself in a sentence, and this blog in a sentence.

Me - I'm more than just a sentence. (That's a sentence, right?)

Crazylady's blog Another Way to Avoid Reality - A step into a place we want to both run away from and stay in forever. (Lame. I hope your awesome blog can forgive me)

Step 3: 11 questions for people I shall tag


1. What's the most embarrassing nickname that has ever been given to you?

2. Have you ever been in luhrve? Trulymadlydeeply in love?

3. What one habit would you change about yourself?

4. What one dish could you eat for the rest of your life if all other food stopped existing and why?

5. One blog you enjoy reading the most. Or more if you'd like to tell.

6. Your greatest talent is...?

7. What career do you want for yourself/ What do you want to spend the rest of your life doing?

8. Do you endorse Lady Gaga-esque fashion trends? Meat dress?

9. What one item have you spent/you want to spend most money on in your lifetime?

10. Why and how did you enter bloggosphere? And have you made any good friends here?

11. You most enjoy music from what era/genre? Give examples of your favourite songs.

FINALLY Step 4: 11 wonderful bloggers I'm tagging are

1. (Ms.) Mina @ I am the master evil genius!

2. Cynthia @ 69 Mementos Of Love

3. Rahima @ It Sounds Better With A British Accent

4. That random chick person @ That Millionth One

5. Moonie @ A head, some Pain, and a little bit of Happiness

6. Mehvish Abubakar @ Journal of a Foodaholic

7. The Me @ Psych Rant

8. Tulika @ Indulgence

9. Zeebs @ Zebra Talk

10. Furqan @ Gravity Eyelids

And last but not least

11. Thoth @ Avaunt Afflatus Absurdus

SO MUCH MEHNAT! Just look at my flawless tagging despite my lack of skill with computers. You lot better leave comments unless you want me heartbroken for life.

Cherry Clafoutis and Vanilla Custard Crème

Feels like summer now.

And in the Dark We Guessed the Colours of Each Others' Clothes

Now and forever, every man I know and ever meet I'll be comparing to you.

Did I Say That I Loathe You?

I find it so disconcerting that every few weeks he keeps crossing my mind, despite the brevity of our acquaintance. Perhaps it's the reminders: pictures uploaded by mutual friends that include the girl he was yearning for at the time we first talked, since her parents had forbidden her from talking to or seeing him. Or maybe it's the stories I hear now through the grapevine, the ones about girls my age from elitist families, stealing their fathers' vodka to give to him. Or maybe that e-mail in my inbox, overridden by piles of other virtual messages that I came across again a few days ago.

It was between talk of families, his Shia beliefs and humanism. He asked me what I was listening to, and I blurted out Damien Rice which wasn't entirely true but I didn't want to appear childish. It was the first name that came to mind since I had recently also studied Volcano in a Hermeneutics class at school. And he sang it to me the colder water. The blower's daughter. And I wasn't in love with him or anything, but in that moment he fixed everything. Just by singing to me, something he did for countless other girls, countless people, even made money out of it. But he was doing it for me then, the strum of his guitar, the hum of his 'd's and 'r's and it made me forget the nastiness of the words he had read out to me just moments ago, in that same voice. Words at the thought of which even now I can feel the ground slipping from beneath my feet. The words in the e-mail.

I know whatever he did was out of revenge. He told me the truth to get back at someone else. But if he hadn't decided to do it I could've been in the dark forever. And for what he did that night I will be indebted forever.

Did I say that I loathe you,
Did I say that I want to
Leave it all behind?


And then there's another memory associated with this song. A 3 a.m text message lullaby from 3 years ago.

The Things That Happen To Girls But Never To Boys

She was asked to tell the truth. Unless she wanted to hear it from a gynaecologist in an awkward clinic with awkward potted plants. She swore nothing had happened yet the Quran was brought out, in its sacred yellow lihaaf.


There was no child inside her belly. Only a taint upon her name.

The Place That Exists Between The Boundaries

There are lines drawn between right and wrong, yet they are too hazy and it's pulling me down trying to manoeuvre around. Because every mistake brings with it a lesson that I'm supposed to remember. 

The truth though, is that I've never forgotten the mistakes. I've chosen to repeat them. I've let the priorities get muddled. I've watched indecision taking over. I've seen so many disappointed faces. So many times.

This battle is against boundaries. 

All except one. The boundary of the the place that exists between where I end and you begin in which I could trap myself forever.

Your Secret Is 'Fatally Gorgeous', I'd Die For You

When will the wait end?

How cute is this :D

I wanna be your love

I wanna make you cry

And sweep you off your feet

I wanna hurt your pride

I wanna slap your face

I wanna paint your nails

I wanna make you scream

I wanna braid your hair

I wanna kiss your friends

I wanna make you laugh

I wanna dress the same

I wanna defend you

I wanna squeeze your thighs

I wanna kiss your eyelids

And corrupt your dreams

I wanna crash your car

I wanna scratch your cheeks

I wanna make you sick

I wanna sell you out

Want to expose your flaws

I wanna steal your things

I wanna show you off

I wanna tell you lies

I wanna write you books

I wanna turn you on

I wanna make you come

200 times a day

I wanna dry your tears

Every time you're sad

I wanna be what's happening

I wanna be your only friend

I only go all the way

I want to be a beast

I want to make you proud

And play with your head

I want to take you out

Make you feel adored

And buy you everything

I want to hurt you bad

Make you paranoid

And say the sweetest things

I want to help you grow

And for eternity

I want to be your what's happening

What's happening

Gallery Piece - Of Montreal

The Sleeping Lilies

Orange as the sun at noon
In full bloom and standing tall
Waiting for the night to fall
To hide their faces and call out
To the swirling clouds
In God's wineglass
Like one black shroud
Before the lilies close their
Mouths.

Convoluted Conflicts of the Mind

To what extent is it okay to lie to someone in order to protect their feelings?

Lovely poetry that should be shared with the world

Mad Girl's Love Song - Sylvia Plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:

Exit seraphim and Satan's men:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,

But I grow old and I forget your name.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;

At least when spring comes they roar back again.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Happy Anniversary, Jaan

We never did get a chance to celebrate anything. Not the birthdays. Not my good grades. Not your first job.

But today a year's gone by and we can remember the few surreal moments in which we felt more alive than ever. We can mark this date. We can look back to a time, a place only we really know. 

The anniversary of a secret.

So here's to the Mospel and our love that never died.

Dreams!

They be comin' true!

Suddenly everything be lookin' gooooooooood.

OMG :D 

FUCK I'M GOING TO HELL TOO

You don't need to tell me, I already know.


---


oplurtew.blogspot.com/2011/12/fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-i-am-going-to-hell.html

Shahrukh Is On My Mind

Kiss meeeee
Love meeeee
Marry meeeee


Oh Shahrukh,
Please let me be
In your university
So that I can see
Up-close and carefully
Your infinite beauty.


And
Kiss me
Love me
Marry MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Yellow Dresses

Apparently, smiles, they are a cure for sadness.

Delayed Publishing of Crappy College Essay

I say 'crappy' because I'm not too proud of it but I'm still posting it because it's about something very close to this heart of mine:

"My first memories of growing up are of weekly Sunday puppet shows at the Alhamra on the Mall. I remember pestering my grandmother for leftover bits of cloth as soon as we would return home so I could create my own finger puppets. Later I developed a love for drawing and painting. During a visit to Lahore’s grand Lawrence Gardens, I was captivated by the story of each and every geriatric tree, withered flower and picnicking family. I vowed to return with my sketch book; and I did. When I was old enough to be trusted with a camera on our trips to the Lahore Fort and Jahangir’s Mausoleum, my family were disappointed when they discovered that I had been taking pictures of everything around me except for them.

Lahore is a city of multiple faces. It rushes to keep up with the 21st century, yet its romance and allure remains the same as that which once inspired the likes of Saadat Hasan Manto and Ashfaq Ahmed. Being born and having lived all my life here, the city has had a lot of influence on me as well. So ever since my love affair with Lahore began, I have tried to capture, in any form, the emotions and thoughts its places, people and scenes aroused in me.

My father spent his youth living in the Walled City, the heart and soul of Lahore, so authentic Lahori cuisine is a regular feature in our household.  I was eating spinach with corn meal rotis and broth from curry made of mutton trotters even before I could say the words ‘baby food’. I learned to celebrate food. To savour flavours and to appreciate the way in which it could magically bring people together. And so the kitchen became my playground; the artist’s studio. I began experimenting with ingredients, and making combinations that sometimes worked wonders on my palate, but mostly resulted in disastrous formulations that had to be thrown out.

For a foodie like me Lahore is heaven on earth. The vast array of cuisines found here offers the ultimate opportunity for culinary exploration. Enjoying good food and cooking has now become my passion.

However, the greatest effect of my city upon me is the way in which its contrasts have nurtured the thinker inside of me. Unfortunately, in Lahore, as the number of luxurious multi-story houses with lush green lawns increases, so does the number of slum dwellings surrounded by heaps of trash. The desperate looks of suffering in the eyes of young children selling daffodils at street corners and the stark disparity of one street corner to another are often enough to disturb me throughout the day. But despite rapidly escalating crime rates and intolerance amongst the population, a simple incident restored my faith in the city and its people. I was in a busy market with my family to buy some fruit when we noticed a cart loaded with the choicest fresh, red apples. Two cats sat lazily underneath but the vendor was nowhere to be found. We asked around but no one else knew either. Finally we discovered that he had gone to offer his prayers.

If, in the Lahore of today a common fruit-seller can leave the precious source of his livelihood unattended without fear of theft, then I too can devote myself entirely to this city without any apprehension. Lahore - my home - is my passion and because of it I am myself today. I yearn to give back to it all, and more than, it has given to me."

The Poisoned Touch

I sure hope as hell
that you've learned
from your mistakes
because if you make one again,
you'll be okay but
I can hardly say the same for myself.

The Girls Who Are Not Me

I don't know you but you have everything I want and you are everything I want to be.

Stagnated

The mosquitoes have brought the epidemic back to my city. The lizards are waking from hibernation. The first petunias are peaking.

The moisture from last night's rain has permeated my arid, wintry skin.

Everyone is flourishing about over university acceptances and plans to secure the future but I'm becoming stagnant this spring.

Slowed down by every blooming flower. More indolent by every ripening sickly-sweet fruit.

And ceaselessly drowning in endless desire for you.

You are my spring.

Zero

When syntax and sentences fail to fill the cracks we've created in our foundations; there is still a language for the two of us - and that's the one which doesn't require any words at all.

Everywhere I See These Angels On Earth

It must not always be about boys.

Waking up to tears and this song on repeat from last night

Take me out tonight
Where there's music and there's people
Who are young and alive
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven't got one any more


Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people
And I want to see life
Driving in your car
Oh please don't drop me home
Because it's not my home, it's their home
And I'm welcome no more


And if a double-decker bus
Crashes in to us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine


There is a light and it never goes out

Ha.

Schizophrenia

In the glossy reflections of her red nail varnish my world is summed up into a distortion of curvaceous figures and shapes. My worlds, real and imaginary, align in devotion as I recede deeper into the crevices of insanity. I am crazy, despite their reassurances. For her I want to be crazy. I don't mind being crazy. I like being crazy. For her. 


Schizophrenia.

There is hope for me if I lose my way. But if I'm lost inside my own mind, stuck inside my own head, what can I do?

Why must
sad demises
still come
as surprises?

And when the worrying starts to hurt
And the world feels like graves of dirt
Just close your eyes until
You can imagine this place
Yeah our secret space at will

Shut your eyes

Broken Staircase

New boy in dream tells me that the one I'm with is doing things he's not supposed to be doing. He grabs my hand and on our way upstairs he breaks BREAKS the staircase so we are not followed. I lay the plastic sheet so he can have me in the middle of the destruction.

Blame It On

the teenage a-a-a-a-aa-angst.