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!



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.


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?

How To Ruin Your Life by Road Movies


Get stuck. Stay in one place your whole life. Always order vanilla even though the menu is four pages long. Become the type of person who sends back lattes. Save up your money for a plasma TV instead of a plane ticket. Talk a lot about things you know nothing about. Have an affair with someone you don’t even find attractive.

Refuse to forget your ex. Make it impossible for yourself to do anything without remembering that you used to do it with them. Hug your knees under the sheets and think about how safe you felt when they held you at night. Remind yourself daily of how empty you feel. Find new ways to make yourself sad.

Get drunk all the time. Consider no Saturday night, national holiday or extended happy hour complete without a vodka-induced breakdown. Graduate college but keep drinking like you’re still in it. Notice that cheap beer tastes watery and stale when you drink it alone but drink it anyway. Look at old Facebook photos wasted and wonder where everyone went.

Never drink. Never do anything that could potentially be “bad” for you. Treat your body like the temple it is and say no to carbs, yes to wheatgrass, go to bed at ten sharp and turn down cake on your birthday. Take fifteen different dietary supplements. Monitor carefully. Succumb to nothing. Miss out on everything.

Compare yourself constantly, to everyone. Allow the standards of image-obsessed, age-obsessed culture to make you feel decrepit at 25. Scroll through skinny girls on Tumblr feeling wistful and inadequate. Pull at the skin on your hipbones, stomach, and underarms in the mirror. Sigh a lot. Sigh all the time.

Don’t fall in love with anyone or anything. Put an impenetrable wall between yourself and other people. Add a fire-breathing dragon and eight yards of barbed wire. Be suspicious of everyone’s motives. Hold grudges long after you’ve forgotten what for.

Fall in love with everyone and everything. Run after the next best thing like it’s a bus you’re perpetually late for. Throw your heart into every other stranger’s hands and be genuinely surprised to be hurt. Refuse to learn. Refuse to ever learn.

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