Something To Happen

I need something to happen…

I now understand why people don’t stop. Don’t get off the carousel. Don’t take a pause or a break.

It’s a bad idea. Because getting back on the carousel is infinitely harder than getting off.

I’m stuck in this ‘relaxed mode’ and I don’t know how to get out.

I was to take a year off initially. Because. Well Because.

It’s been 3 years.

yep. Almost exactly to the day.

I had such a great time, I’m still having a great time.

But I desperately want to get back to having passion. Passion for my career, for life, for creating something.

I need something to happen.

I know I probably need to put in the work. But sometimes things just….work. If you wish for it hard enough?

I want to work. I just want that push. That shove. That divine intervention in the right direction.

I love writing. I love radio. I love looking after kids.

I want some kind of combination of those things to enjoy and make a career with. And lots of money. Money would be nice. Success.


I feel something on the horizon. I just got to get off my butt and make it work 😉

Love you all.



Posts In My Head

I run around dreaming of writing.

Day in, day out, I walk around composing posts in my head.

I formulate paragraphs and sentences. Fill in the gaps with funny anecdotes.

All day. All in my head.

Why don’t I put pen to paper (or hand to keyboard)?

Well. Good question.

A baby, a full time job, and a husband, a house. A few reasons.

None, entirely good enough.

Hello writing! I’ve missed you.

I have much to say. And I will attempt to start from where we last left of.

I had a baby! His name is Simba. And he is the cutest little boy you ever saw. Alhamdulillah.

Readers, be prepared for lots of baby posts 😉

Lets …BEGIN!


The Glass Half Empty

Maybe I’m this way.


Always seeing the sad side of the situation.

Like how I never write when Im happy.

And I’ve stopped taking pictures of when I’m happy.

Like I don’t deserve too much happiness.

Or if I enjoy it too much, it will just hurt all that more when it goes away.


Writing is Cathartic

I write in bursts.

I don’t know why.

I bottle it in. And bottle it in.

And suddenly, I can’t keep it in anymore.

It spills out of my fingers and onto the page, like spidery whisperings of my heart.

My heart aches sometimes.

And nowadays, the ache doesn’t run down my face, it… can’t.

No relief.

Just a constant ache of living.

Like living, REALLY living is so painful that I need to anaesthetise myself oftentimes in a book, a movie, inconsequential acquaintances.

Yes, I’m sure those with real trauma in their lives feel that way.

But that’s not what I’m talking about. 

Not that kind of running away.

Its running away, from the painfulness of normal, everyday, mundane life.

Don’t you see it?

How our bodies age softly, quietly. How we walk slowly, and willingly to our graves.

Prisoners in this day to day existence.

How we do by rote, the waking up, the going to work, the breakfast and lunches, while the rest of the world falls apart at our feet.

How we don’t notice the beggars, don’t try to ask how sad their lives really are. Where they sleep at night. And what bugs bite at their feet.

How we don’t ask the doorman, the maid, the waiter, how they get by.

How we don’t look beyond our noses. Coz we are afraid of what we will see.

No, this isn’t a rant against the middle class, bourgeoisie life. 

Everyone has a waiter/maid/ someone less fortunate in their lives, they don’t care to ask about. No matter what rung of the social ladder they are on.


Can you hear the sound of the whole world turning their backs on each other?

So they can continue to wake up and go to work.

I do it too.


Crazy In Love

‘You are my downfall

You are my muse

My worst distraction.

My heads underwater but I’m breathing fire.

Your crazy and I’m out of my mind.

Coz all of me, loves all of you.’

Do you think about that kind of love that people write about?

The love that makes you crazy.

Makes everything spin. Makes you do crazy out of this world things.

Gives you the strength to be whatever you THINK you can be?

Remember that love?

Then remember how you gave it up.

Some kinds of love are too hot to hold in your heart.

It exhilarates and sets free, just as much as it burns and hurts.

The types of love that makes you cry just as much as it makes you laugh.

Yes it exists.

Not exactly like the movies. Or the novels.

Coz memories and imagination likes rounded out curves.

But love is nothing LIKE rounded out.

Its jagged. And cruel. And kind. And beautiful. So beautiful, it hurts to look at.

Kind of like an Orchid.

Ever thought of how something so beautiful, is so ugly?

Ever look at an Orchid really closely?

If you look from afar, with a half-glance, you see the unbelievable beauty.

But look too closely, and you see the ANIMAL nature of the markings on the petals. The cruel patterns, that look like open, jagged mouths. Or faces of some kind of alien creature. And it makes you feel so uncomfortable your skin crawls.

That’s love.

Its animal. And its ugly. But its beautiful all the same.

Not for everyone ey?

Which is why most of us, we settle for puppy love.

The kind that warms your heart, and tickles your feet.

That other kind, it wants to crack open your skull and bring out the crazy.

And ain’t nobody got time for that

All Of Me

All Of Me

John Legend

The Sum Of Our Lives

What is the absolute point of living?

We forget.

Everything goes blurry around the edges.

What if this idea of the ‘purpose’ is just a myth to keep us going?

You know? That idea, that we can do something. That there is a purpose for us here on this earth? That we can make a difference?

What if the reality, is that we cry, eat, s***, and ****, get bald, get old, and die.

Life is fleeting. 

Its sad.

And sometimes, maybe, its just purposeless.

Im sure a poet or a writer has written about this feeling. In fact I’m certain it even has a name.

So if life is just a mess of half remembered moments, what about making those moments count?

What about getting your head out of that book, your eyes away from that TV series, and ….make some memorable moments. Its all you have.

That time we spend wasting away time, it fades away. The time, fades away.

What if time was an illusion.

A big trick.

Sad ain’t it?

Writing Is Like Riding A Bike

You don’t forget.

You just get rusty.

Writing is like riding a bike.

We were in La Rochelle, France. Me and my bestie, Munirah. We had rented bright silver velos (bicycles) and were going to cycle round this beautiful island surrounded by azure blue seas.

Mine had a giant basket, and I felt the taste of adventure in the wind.

Until I got on the bike, wobbled, and fell.


Munirah was laughing her butt off.

She said: ‘I thought people can’t forget how to ride a bike!’

Well, they can’t. But they do get rusty.

I hadn’t ridden since I was 12 years old. Thats a certain number of long, long years ago.

So, I got back on the bike, fell a few more times and garnered several pitiful looks from the calm bike-riding Frenchies cycling past me.

But, I eventually stopped wobbling, stopped falling (Thank God!) and got the hang of it!

Hello, writing!

Bear with me, as I wobble over my sentences, and trip over my phrases.

I will eventually get back into the swing of writing.

As I will, into the swing of READING, which of course, is the life-partner of writing.

Love you all.


It’s easy to fall in love, but its special to STAY in love’ Unknown


Marriage Is For Losers

Marriage Is For Losers

The third kind of marriage is not perfect, not even close. But a decision has been made, and two people have decided to love each other to the limit, and to sacrifice the most important thing of all—themselves. In these marriages, losing becomes a way of life, a competition to see who can listen to, care for, serve, forgive, and accept the other the most. The marriage becomes a competition to see who can change in ways that are most healing to the other, to see who can give of themselves in ways that most increase the dignity and strength of the other.  These marriages form people who can be small and humble and merciful and loving and peaceful.

And they are revolutionary, in the purest sense of the word.

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