Sometimes I wonder if you ever miss me like I do? I miss you.

Everyday and every night. I miss you when I wake up and miss you more when I go to sleep. I see something wonderful; I miss you, and when I see something terrible, I think of telling you. My friends says that I’ll heal over time and once I get over my pain, I won’t even remember you. I so did not want it to be true but then came a time when I so wanted it to be true. But now, you have become a part of me. How can I forget a part of me?

I am tired of missing you but even when I am extremely busy, there you are, at the back of my mind. Your name on the tip of tongue. I miss you when I pass trucks that reminds me of something you said. I miss you when I eat dark chocolate. I miss you when I press my cloths even when pressing cloths has nothing to do with you. I miss you most when I listen to beautiful songs or when its all quiet. I miss you when I see many other couples so happy with each other. I miss you when I see my empty hands, wondering if I ever get to hold your hand and then letting the cruel realities crush my faint hopes. You see, I am scared of wanting you when I know it’s know possible till you want it too and even though I know that you have moved on with your wonderful life, I still miss you. I miss you whenever my phone rang- every time, even when I know that you’ll never call. I miss you till tears sting my eyes and my eyes are stingy all the time.

Anything can remind me of you which is basically everything and so I miss you. I pray hardest, with all my heart for you. When I do not want to pray for you, I find myself not praying at all. I miss you. One day, I’ll move on but till that day:
___________
It was only an ‘opeless fancy.
It passed like an Ipril dye,
But a look an’ a word an’ the dreams they stirred
They ‘ave stolen my ‘eart awye !
They sye that time ‘eals all things,
They sye you can always forget ;
But the smiles an’ the tears acrorss the years
They twist my ‘eart-strings yet !
(George Orwell- 1984)
_____________________

I miss you.

I forgive you. Really truly I do. I forgive you NOT for your sake but for my sake. I forgive you because you hurt me so deep that it left me fully capable of turning myself into a bitter person for the rest of my life. Someone who is cynical and has issues with trusting anyone. I want to be happy and look forward to a joyous future. Not someone who is forever stuck in past just because of a single person who failed to keep simple promises.

I am not going to let someone else’s cowardliness affect me. I hope you realize that I was not just a mere object of comfort. I was a ‘person’ fully capable of being loved. A person who wants to be cherished, loved and wanted and is not a ping pong ball to be simply thrown away because suddenly it doesn’t seem the ‘right’ one anymore.

Maybe one day you’ll be sorry for your actions, perhaps feel bit guilty as well. Please don’t. Because I won’t be needing your sorrys or guilt or your petty excuses. What I needed, you couldn’t give me. Whatever are your strong valid reasons, they are just petty excuses in my eyes. But just to make myself feel better, I forgive you. I really truly do forgive you.

calmer than a versed turquoise lake…
slumbering and dreaming in a distant valley

gentler than the leaf blanketing a tiny, sleepy bird

more solacing than the soft summer rain in a scented evening garden

pleasing like a serene melody on a silent winter night.

I love you.
I love you..

But.

I love you with a heart that’s breaking.
Aggrieved.
And.
Aching.

3000 feet. I was taking in the beauty of Manitoba’s prairie landscape. The pilot tabbed my shoulder and gave me a thumbs up. His way of asking if I was doing alright. Thumbs up back. I was perfectly alright.

4000 feet. The changing pressure was making my ears pop. And I was managing it with the “breathing out of ear” trick I learnt from a lady I was traveling with once.

6000 feet. The small plane was soaring higher and higher. It felt like riding a richshaw in the skies.

Just as we neared 9000 feet, Ivan signaled me to turn around. He strapped me tight to his own equipment. I was so looking forward to the moment of the jump. I had no idea what to expect.

Ivan reminded me, in his cute French accent that I thankfully got used to before the important instructions came, of what to do when the door is opened. I still wasn’t aware that I didn’t know what to expect.

9000 feet. The plane’s door opened and I could feel the wind gushing against my face. And down below… far, far, so far below… the earth… This was the moment I had been waiting for and the first thought was, “Wow. How can I convince myself to jump?”
This definitely is the scariest part.

It’s a philosophical moment too though. You feel separate from your body. You have this will to jump but you have to convince yourself to do it as your body is in the flight mode.

Following the instructions, I moved towards the door and sat there at the edge of the plane with my legs outside… dangling 9000 feet above for about 3 seconds. About 3 seconds I spent in my philosophical moment… and then Ivan rocked his body a third time… a signal that here we go.

And there we went … free falling and all I could utter was a “woohoo”, which lasted as long as the free fall. For about 30 seconds. A strange feeling that words fail to describe. The sky. The earth. The atmosphere. In the middle of the moment, Ivan tabbed my shoulder signaling it was time to spread the arms. I did and I still didn’t find skydiving to be similar to flying. But it’s amazing nonetheless!

Once the parachute opens, it’s different altogether. You feel like a feather in the air, swaying down to earth. The beautiful prairie landscape beneath is a sight to see. Oddly, it felt like a model I had seen at the ForstWhyte museum. I felt I was just looking at that model in the museum, except with a floating feeling.

Ivan gave me the controls encouraging me to take over and steer the parachute. I didn’t want to mess up the landing but I trusted Ivan’s judgment hoping he would take the controls back before I cause an irreversible mess and get us landing elsewhere (Too late for a Saskatchewan landing though) – but Ivan did take over in time (I got two minutes or so of steering) and we had a very smooth landing.

A beautiful end to an absolutely awesome experience!

By the way, I have no sense of height and rather a bad sense of depth perception. Perhaps this is the reason why I would like to skydive again sometime with a longer free fall moment.

And I’d like to thank, from the depth of my heart, Erum. She found the groupon sale on skydiving and so eagerly joined me in this endeavor. Thanks to her husband, for driving us to Steinbach, just outside Winnipeg. He dived as well and we all had a lot of fun.

I also thank Ivan for being such a cool tandem master. And the rest of the staff of Adventure Skydiving for their friendly service!

Also, the image used above is taken from petrmara’s flickr set.

I didn’t want to report on the books I was reading, so I made up books for my reports, coming up with a title, an author, a theme, and the major characters.
— Judy Blume, recalling her elementary school days

Reminds me of my high school days. A night before the English exam, I would read Khalil Gibran to shift into writing mode. In my essays and analysis of poems, I would then make up quotes using rich metaphors and attribute them to random people. The hardest part was always coming up with names. As tempting as it always is to use Mary Jane, Chuck Norris or Madame Bovary, a safer choice is Kevin Witt.

I don’t know how may words and ideas, some of them very beautiful, were born in my head but suffocated to death soon after. I’ve written many blog posts in my head; trust me, I have! The only audience, however, to the “blog in my head” is a bunch of imaginary friends (a penguin, a zebra and an elephant – just reminding you (never mind if you never knew)).

If you are a returning visitor, you’ll notice that I’ve changed the template. There’s no picture of me flashing a shy, sarcastic smile. Instead, you will find a confused bug with luggage. That’s what I’ve become. So, you might as well feast your eyes on it. I’ve a road trip ahead with a good friend! Exciting times!

I’ll mention a couple of interesting movies I’ve watched recently:

Bab’Aziz (The Prince Who Contemplated His Soul)

God on Trial

Both the movies touch the same subject, but in a very different manner. Should give you lots of food for thought, which you should chew instead of just swallowing.

She’s a wonderful person. I can’t stress this enough. Beautiful, creative, compassionate, kind, intelligent, elegant and if she’s ever clumsy, then she is so in a very graceful manner.

She is still the most popular girl at the workplace. Unarguably. I must add. And why shouldn’t she be? It’s so easy for her to win hearts with her kind, generous smile and caring ways. Arranging birthday parties for her friends and bringing together everyone with luncheons. Making really beautiful cards and showing appreciation for smallest of things.
Plus, she has her own special way of untangling the most complex personalities and making them feel at ease. All her friends would agree that she’s always there for them!

I’ve had such good times with her that I still find myself smiling occasionally thinking about the moments we shared at university and workplace. We’ve shared many adventures, which I really can’t mention. I miss her a lot here because she’s such a rare gem of a person. I used be the type who kept everything inside but Lubna taught me to trust people. This is perhaps her greatest gift to me, and I’m forever grateful.

As I write this, I remember how I once made a very healthy meal, which smelled awful and tasted like cr*p. During lunch time, I just sat there staring at my food perhaps expecting it to transform into something else. Something better like butter chicken. But no. It did transform into a sandwich though. Lubna swapped her lunch with me and to this day, I don’t understand how she could stand it and her face didn’t show any trace of disgust as she devoured the yucky meal (of boiled vegetables). I just looked on in amazement. Needless to mention, that was the end of my resolve of cooking and eating healthy meals.

There’s so much to say but not all can be said. She’s an amazing person, which is the essence of everything that has to be said. I wish her a very happy birthday and I hope I will be celebrating the next one with her. And before I end the post, I’ll just make a small request to Lubna: Please, pick up the pen again. You’ve the most amazing ideas and it’s always a treat to read your writings, which we all miss doing so.

When in the winter morning breeze, floating snowflakes gently land on my lids. Such intricate and delicate pieces of art, but ruined so easily and imperceptibly.

You are not there.

When I’m by the river, gazing into nothingness as raindrops softly drum on the foliage. I wonder if I will ever learn the language, the songs and the stories of the tree I lean on. Then I might share with it the memories of you.

You are not there.

When on a spring night blanketed by darkness, I lie on a bench under the clear sky. Always a familiar sight. Pollux and Castor still holding hands. Cygnus racing across the sky, perhaps still with the spirit of Phaeton. But my gaze always fixes on the star I named after you. Eta Ursae Majoris (η UMa). The Star of Twinkling Brilliance. Over a hundred light years away.

You are not there.

When I’m laughing with my friends or smiling in solitude. Or when tears, laden with sorrow, flood my eyes.

You are not there.

Yet it is the thoughts of you which fill my life with a thousand colors of the summer days. Thoughts of you, which keep me warm in the coldest nights. Thoughts of you, which will thread softly on my mind. Forever.

And you. You are so innocently unaware.

I’ve been single for the most part of my life. The only relationships I ever had were with my shoes and loyalty directed only towards a particular brand of toothpaste. I’m just too picky. Much to the disappointment of my shoes, I got engaged last month to this wonderful person. And my shoes probably couldn’t endure this grief, and indulged in self-mutilation. I had to replace them with a new pair (with a very heavy heart). Seriously.

So, yes, when I changed my relationship status to ‘engaged’ on facebook, I apparently shocked everyone. My friends in Canada were shocked that I said yes to someone I’ve never dated. That’s true. It happened really fast and I missed my own engagement because he’s in Pakistan and so are our parents.

My friends in Pakistan were shocked because I always came across to them as the man-hater. Too proud to give up my freedom. Too ambitious. I assure them that my marriage won’t change anything because I’m getting married to a very special man.

And in our small Baloch community, this move came as a ‘disappointment’ to many. Nobody in my extended family ever married off any girl outside the family. I should, however, mention here that my Canadian friends’ shock over inter-family marriages shocked me. But that’s a different story, so never mind. The news of my engagement to an “outsider” spread like wildfire and relatives were shocked that I should marry a guy of my own choice. Lame? No! There’s more. They blamed it on my education. Some pathetic guy circulated an SMS suggesting parents never to educate the girls. I even got anonymous messages on facebook suggesting the same. I find this funny. I find this extremely funny. I laughed and I had a good laugh with my friends again but on a serious note, these men really need to get their heads checked. But not just men, women too. Particularly the ones who suggested that my parents got me engaged because I was planning to elope. Hello? How can one elope when one is already living alone miles away?

But I’m glad that I’ve broken age old traditions. I only hope to inspire girls to have the confidence to brace their dreams. Whether it’s traveling the world alone or having a say in the matters that concern them (like marriage or education). For all this, of course, I’m very grateful to my lovely and understanding parents.

So beware traditionalists! I’m definitely going to come back to “infiltrate” the mind of young girls. I’ll see what you can do about it.

Your Footstep Sounds

My heart is but an inferno
Burning in desire
Writhing with a rhythm
Anguished by fire

Alone I stand under a stale tree
As autumn wind veers around
All my senses await
Your footstep sounds

Cursed Love

With my weak, wobbly hands
I pick up a pen to write
Write to tell what I feel
And write to belittle my fright

With my weak, wobbly hands
I pick up the paper to read
Read the words from my heart
And read the words which came freed

With my weak, wobbly hands
I now tear the paper apart
Tear it to suppress my desire
And tear it to torment my heart

With my weak, wobbly hands
I wish to write to my love
To tell what I feel
To shrove

With my weak, wobbly hands
Instead my heart I amerce
For the crime
And for the curse

Pieces of Shattered Mirror

What are some
But parts of mirror so shattered
Freely to hurt and bruise
Those willing, daring hands so rattled
To recollect and bond
The pieces to create
A thing very strong
But what are they
Just some parts of mirror so shattered
Ne’er to reflect fine
Faults, neither yours nor mine
Hither to hurt and bruise
Those willing hands who do find use
What are some
But parts of mirror so shattered
Parts of mirror so scattered