Hiccups

Remember how Mother would say every time we’d get hiccups, that somewhere somebody must be thinking of you, or missing you, or talking of you. And at the mention of their name, the hiccups will stop. She’d say the hiccups serve as a reminding-tool, making us keep our loved ones in our hearts forever, never letting us forget them.

Well, I sit here tonight in the cold of your abandoned room, my face buried in a pillow, wet with tears and blood. The soft muffling my sobs. Your rusting blade is in my hand, speckled with blood that’s been running stale now. It’s 3 am and I’ve been thinking of you. Fresh warm scarlet is trickling down my arms. Have those hiccups come yet? I miss you. Your memories are poisoning my present. Everyday they grow and consume my sanity inch by inch.

Have those hiccups come already? Have you taken my name yet?  They tell me to forget you. How can I? They tell me you’re in a better place. Is that true? Then why would you leave me in such misery? You haven’t forgotten your big sister have you? Why don’t those hiccups come? I’m going mad maybe, for expecting you to think of me. Yes, I must be going mad, expecting corpses to hiccup and speak.

 

What drives us to live (ft. The awkward walkout)

 You know those rare moments, when you’re sitting in your class stifling yawns throughout the entire lecture, and suddenly you catch your teacher say something really deep, and you feel your brain snap and whir, as it tries to incorporate that beautiful piece of wisdom into one of its dusty corners called “deep-shit-to-remember-for-when-life-is-being-a-pain-in-the-neck”?

Yeah no me neither.

Anyway, this reminded me of the time I made a fool out of myself. Our Community Medicine teacher (yes we study that. God help me through this semester though) had said something really controversial, and of course, I had to step in.

“The only motivation for living is sexual desire” says our CM teacher.

Wow.

I actually zoned out for a couple of minutes as I tried to think of all (or any) kinds of counter arguments. This was not true, right? It couldn’t have been. Is this the purpose of life then? Finding the right mating partners? The rest of the lecture was a blur as I prepare myself for this tempting debate.

What about that woman who, blinded by her motherhood, is ready to kill for her child if the circumstances force her to. If she were to chose between her husband/lover and her child, she’d never let go of the kid.

What about that soldier who has left his wife and kids to fight someone else’s battles. His return is never guaranteed and he knows that. He won’t have any women there to fill the gap left by his wife (hopefully), but he still chooses imminent death over love.

What about monks and sufis and nuns who give up every worldly desire to find Him. They don’t want anything more in life than pleasing and witnessing the Creator. How can you ignore this pure, selfless dedication.

And what about our passions and aspirations that motivate us to live when we lose all will to continue with life. These goals have the power to blind you so much so that “sexual desires” might not even cross your mind!

Also, if you think about it, a serial killer who feels satisfaction in his job has his motivations, even if they’re kinda sick (sorry I’ve been binging on Dexter lately).

Anyway, the point is, saying sex drives men is like putting humans and  animals in the same category. I had to talk to the teacher about this (a very stupid decision as you’ll learn later).

So the next day, I muster up the courage and go to said teacher’s office. I had already rehearsed my argument (yes, including the dramatic pauses, in case you’re wondering). I knock on her door and the peon lets me in.

“Assalamoalaikum Miss, I wanted to discuss something you said the other day” I started.

“Yes beta what is it”

“You said that sexual drive is what motivates men to live, I don’t think that is entirely true though. How can you ignore all the other forms of passionate motivations like —”

“Beta, which lecture are you talking about?”

“Uh the one with the uh…which was on last Monday I think.”

Don’t interrupt me woman, I practiced this shit too hard.

 

“Beta, I never meant humans” —you could see the mocking evil smile slowly creeping upon her face— “I was talking about animalistic instincts and how humans are NOT animals, which was the whole point of that discussion. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Oh”

And then I did something really sensible. I turned around and almost ran out of the office.

Mental note#1: pay more attention in class.

Mental note#2: think before embarrassing yourself in front of other people

Mental note #3: cut back a bit on Dexter.

Where I come from

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Whose fault is it, I ask
If I am insensitive
To the 20 who died in some storm
Or the 200 who died in that bomb
You see, where I come from
There die more than you can count everyday
Not from storms, floods or earthquakes
Not from bombs, bullets or such trinkets
They die from things much more  fatal
They die from love and heartbreaks
They die from hope and disappointment
They die yearning for memories old
They die fearing what Future may hold
They die from hearts that turned to stone
They die from blood that ran too cold
Whose fault is it then, I ask
If I am insensitive
Because, you see where I come from
There die more than you can count everyday
You see, where I come from
People no longer have a say
Their hearts don’t thaw
Their blood’s run stale

Those days

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There will be days when you will want to cry but tears won’t come.There will be days where everything would seem meaningless and emotions will be hollow. There will be days when even the funniest jokes would leave you broken on the bathroom floor later. There will be days when you will be surrounded by people—friends, but you’ll be lonelier than ever. And they will try to cheer you up, and you’ll fake a smile.

Then there will be days when all you’ll want to do is be alone. Just you and your penknife. Your skin as your canvas. Your clothes damp with blood that’s been running stale.
And let me tell you, it will be on days like these that reality will hit you. You’ll be able to filter your friends from acquaintances. You’ll finally be able to see what actually matters—who actually matters.
It will be after days like these, that you will find Him caressing your soul. The fog will clear as you free yourself from that black hole you used to call life. It will be peace from the on. Eternal peace.
For no one disturbs the dead.

Fall

I could see the others turning shades of brown and yellow. Their lush green gradually being replaced by a splendid crimson and chrome. It had arrived.

 Autumns cold brush had painted the entire garden into warm colors of death. Some trees were still speckled with green leaves, I noticed; but by tomorrow, every treetop will be ablaze in blinding flames of auburn.

Below me was a layer of dead leaves , carpeting the recently raked lawn. My siblings lay ominously far beneath me. I still had tiny dots of green, I noticed. A few hours maybe, and I’ll be amongst my lost friends. I too will fall.

The sadistic fall wind snaked through the tree branches. The same branches which once boasted lush leaves and flowers. Just a few months ago, they were the kaleidoscope of nature’s palette, now all that could be seen everywhere, was the coulour of blood when it has run stale.

She came for my tree next, blowing off any weak leaves that came in her way. It was my time now. Because everything that soars must fall.

The wind yanked at my stalk. I resisted instinctively. Death surrounded me. I held on tighter. Mother nature was determined. I want to live. Your time is up. Gravity sided up with them. My branch let go.

And so I returned to where I had risen from. My cradle now serving as my grave.