Tag Archives: Thank you!

The Last Post

I started this blog an year ago, after I had closed down the one on Blogspot (Que Sera Sera: Life of a Desi Burger). A lot has changed since then, I have a whole lot of new friends in college, I am now engaged, I have two jobs and am a lot more richer than I was before now.
This place became a hide-out for me. I enjoy writing, hell, I want to make a career out of it. And then there was the added plus of dropping all my thoughts on someone who is there whenever I need to vent. But I now have my mom for that, we’re closer than ever. I have finally found that I can talk to her about anything and everything.

My writing these days has become intensely personal, not fit to put up where everyone can read it. So I have decided to close this blog down. My poetry will remain in my diary from now on, I don’t think anyone would mind though.

I’m sorry if I seem to be incoherent. I’m just scared of what life has in store for me and I don’t know how I’ll do as time goes on.

So I leave you all with a heavy heart, here’s the last poem that I wrote (a day before Eid, for some reason I haven’t been able to write after then.)

The dead girl stood smiling

She didn’t hear me call

so I went to see what she

 

held in her hand.

She was smoke,

mixing with the wisps

from the candle between us.

 

She was dead,

a dream, my silent

dream.

 

Yet the note she left me

was all too real.

 

It said, “You

are dead, no you

aren’t alive.

You are smoke

 

caught in an undying storm.

You, my dead girl,

will you stay with me

till I am dead too?”

 

I looked at the dead girl,

at the frozen smile,

then looked at my hand.

 

Smoke, smoke

The flame from the candle

burned right through.

 

The wispy smoke

mixed with me.

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The Rising Sun Experience – Day 1

They have eyes, and they see. Just a little differently from the way we do. They have legs, like us, but they can’t walk the Earth like we do. They have a mind, and they do think, it’s just that their wave length is different. Does that make them any less than us? I don’t think so.

Today was my first day as an intern at Rising Sun Institute for Special Children. These children, they are special indeed, and just a day with them left me humbled and thankful to God.

My day was divided into two parts. Half was spent in the Computer Lab where I was part of the Resource Development section. The other half was spent teaching visually impaired children. The latter was what I liked more. It made me feel like I was doing something for some one. While in the Computer Lab, we downloaded resource material for children with Autism and Asperger’s Syndrome. There are a lot of fun games and animations online to help them develop social skills.

Moving on to the teaching part. The classroom I was sent to had three children, I was responsible for two of them. A young boy named Sohbat and a girl named Tayyaba. Both are five years old and have severe cases of Aniridia. To Sohbat, I explained the climate changes in the Poles, the fact that the Sun never shows itself in Winters and stays all day long in Summers. And then I felt sad, because he himself has never seen the sun.

Tayyaba was given a blow by blow account of what happened when Goldilocks went into the forest. She laughed. I laughed with her. And for a while, the world seemed simple.

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Awarded!

Thank you so much to Epiphany Art for presenting me with this award. Sorta like an year end present. Thank you so much *hugs*

So in order to make this award official I’m supposed to babble about how totally random I am? umm… That’s kinda easy. So here goes. 7 totally random facts about moi:

  • My friends started calling me “The Dutchess of Randomness” ascribing to my tedency of saying the most randomest things and bursting out into the randomest of songs at the randomest of times. (The excessive use of random is starting to freak me out)
  • I’m a quiet person mostly, calm and composed most of the times, but I have a major violent streak. That’s the reason my brothers steer clear of me lest they be subjected to my long, weirdly painted nails.
  • I seem to think that Ponston is the answer to any ailment that might hit the human body. So, the way sugar junkies pop Maltesers, I pop Ponston.
  • I’m bad. I’m evil. I’m Mojo jojo.
  • I prefer living in fantasies. Reality is way too harsh.
  • I get so happy at times, I can feel my self glowing. No, seriously, I do.
  • People tend to think I’ve got an attitude problem. But that’s not truuuuueee! Don’t believe them!

What? Seven done already? Aaaaww.

Now for links to a few posts by me:

Most Beautiful Piece: 

Most Helpful: 

Most Popular: The Women

Most Controversial: One Way Ticket To Hell

Most Surprisingly Successful: Lost Words

Most Underrated: Songs of the wind

Most Pride Worthy: They Call Me Rose

But the job ain’t over yet. I need to tag people and give them the award… Can we give awards to people who already have them? =S

Done! Happy Holidays all!
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Criticize Please.

Here is the first part of a story that I started in the summers, when I wasn’t exactly confident about my writing skills. (I’m still not confident, I need honest criticism to tell me what I’m doing wrong.) Anyone who would like to help me out, please give your feedback on the story, either in the comments section below or email at bunnythewabbit@gmail.com. I’d be really grateful. Thank you.

She slipped back into the pool, drowning herself in the murky memories of her broken life. The cold water chilled her to the bone; she shuddered at the contact. Solitude was her kind of self-inflicted torture. Alone she was vulnerable, an open prey to the negative sadistic thoughts ready to hound her every chance they got. And they did. Her face bore the marks of these attacks, her lank frame screamed out the story of a life that wore her out. She was in need of help. If only someone would notice. But no one ever did.

 At some point every rose has to die.

 She died, countless times, in countless ways, at the hand of countless people. But this time was one time too many.

 Broken glass can never be re-assembled. Even if you put back together a few larger pieces, the tiny crevices remain, forever weakening an entity that always spoke the truth. Broken mirrors lie, for distortion in reality portrays dishonesty.

 Her life was one such broken piece of life.

ooo

  Marina took her fingers off the keyboard and leaned back, away from the computer screen. Re-adjusting her glasses she let out a sigh, as if she’d dropped a considerable amount of baggage with the words she had just typed.

  Writing from a third person perspective made it easier for her to write her story. The impersonal pronouns took away the familiarity, made it seem fiction. Writing about her own life kept her agent happy too., the words were emotional to the right degree, jerking tears and spewing venom at appropriate parts. The pain was fresh, the hurt ongoing and her pen poured out exactly what her heart felt.

She saved the draft and decided to turn in for the night. She clicked her laptop shut and pulled out the battery cord with a sudden vehement move. The aggression surprised her. She let out a startled cry and dropped down onto the settee behind her. She cursed her agent out loud. It was his fault she was facing this emotionally extolling exercise. But she had to put food on the table. A broken heart and an empty stomach did not make a good combination.

She stared hard at her cell phone, willing it to ring or just flash the incoming message sign.

Tough luck.

She was living her protagonist’s life, or rather her protagonist was living hers. Her boyfriend didn’t call her either. If it weren’t for her own strong memory she would have long forgotten her relationship status.

Relationship. Only a fool would call what she was in a relationship. It was one sided to say the least. There wasn’t even a grain’s amount of love for her in his heart of steel. He simply did not care.

But she kept hanging on, in the hope that one day he might. Optimism was her biggest tool in keeping sane, and sanity kept her alive.

Not that she wanted to live. Each night she went to bed in the hope that her eyes won’t see another sunrise. But since when did anything happen her way?

Bitterness was taking over the reigns again; time for bed, before her mind started working on overdrive, processing negative thoughts.

ooo

  Nightmares plagued her. She saw herself running into a void, running with no idea when she’d stop. She could actually feel her legs aching, long after the dream was over, the lingering pain a constant reminder of what the future held in store for her.

She believed in dreams, signs, directions from beyond, and her dreams usually came true.

She enjoyed analyzing cryptic images and sequences, it kept her mind from rusting, kept her experimenting with ideas she would never have imagined dealing with.

But this current series of nightmares was redefining her staunch belief; it spoke of her inevitable doom and as much as she wanted to discredit it, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Fear, for her, had always been a driving force she wasn’t easily scared. She had a way of channeling those uncharted neurotic reactions into productive release. And that is why she wrote, scooping up every bit of emotion and letting it run free on paper.

 ooo 

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College 101

The Under-Grad block

I am entitled to freaking out. Today was the first day of college. Two words: Total chaos. Majors, minors, generals, cores; it wouldn’t be wrong to say I’m buried neck deep in utter and total perplexity. For this semester we have to study one major course (Media studies 101), three cores (English, Islamiyat, Computers 101) and two generals (no idea which ones I want to choose).

The last part is where the problem lies, generals. Do I want to study French, German, Arabic, Persian, Chinese? Or maybe give Philosophy, Political science, Women studies, Food and Nutrition a try? Or do I play it safe by choosing what I do best, Creative writing?

First day and I already have an assignment to make *bangs head on keyboard* dgisifjskdjf

Sorry.

Remind me to wear sneakers tomorrow. Flat sandals leave you with terribly sore feet after running around the whole classes looking for a classroom that apparently does not even exist. But it’s in the time-table, and rooms just don’t disappear. Neither do number plates erode completely.

Note: Ice-cold soda is not a good idea if you’re out of breath. Severe heart burn.

And the people. Ah, the people. The less said about them, the better. A bunch of confused girls left lose in a huge campus is a sight to behold. Close observation will make you laugh so hard, you’ll need stitches, in all honesty. I know I do.

“Elements of Communication” is the assignment, the deadline is TOMORROW. We’re not supposed to even open Wikipedia. God help me. Or you, I’d be eternally grateful. Thank you. Bye.

P.S. I can’t access my gmail account. Why can’t I access my gmail account. Why??

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I’m Serious

Okay, no seriously, I really do want to write a book. Nothing monumental but I want to be published. So how does one go about with it?

Novel writing requires a lot of patience. And I’m frisky, sadly the two don’t gel. What then? Short stories? A poetry anthology? Hmmm… Short stories sound good, but should they all revolve around one theme? Or should I let my mind concoct a diverse platter for everyone’s tastes?

A cohesive, themed anthology would be cool, but what theme should I pick?

I am so bad at this.

 

P.S. This is my 20th post on this blog. Yay me! And after 20 posts I now have 6 subscribers! Thank you so much for reading people. A special mention has to be made, I am now also on someone’s blogroll *applause* Thank you to A Souls Walk for being so kind. Do visit the blog, awesome poetry you’ll find there.

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