Tag Archives: Blogger

Faith in Humanity

Around a month ago there was a shooting in a Mosque in New Zealand, and today there was a bombing in a church, on Easter, in Sri Lanka.

I try not to look at the news it gets me overwhelmed. I don’t want to know how many people died or how many are injured. It makes me lose my faith in Humanity, and it makes me feel like a shitty person. Here I am living a comfortable life while there are people out there who are fighting just to survive. My heart goes out to all the people in Sri Lanka who’ve lost their lives or who’ve lost someone they love. This isn’t fair for them. Something like this shouldn’t have happened. Not today. Not any other day. Not to them. Not to anyone.

But it doesn’t make sense. Why would someone do such a thing? Is it the feeling of superiority? Is it mental illness? Is this a political game? Or is it someone’s desire just to see the world burn. Either way, no matter what the reason is, innocent people have lost their lives.

I still want to have faith. People still care. We’ll do whatever it takes to create a world where no one dies because of someone else’s hate or jealousy. Where we’re all accepting of one another. Where we don’t blame religion, ethnicity or color for someone’s actions, but their motives. Where the least we could do is believe that even with these stormy clouds lingering above our heads there is still hope for that ray of sunshine.

Photo by Min An from Pexels

Comfort of a ghost

I’m sitting on the wooden benches, in Astoria Blvd, waiting for the Manhattan-bound N train. It’s so cold outside that vapor comes out of my mouth every time I take a breath. The tips of my fingers are frozen, and I blow into them every five minutes to keep them warm.

It’s snowing and raining at the same time. My shoes are wet, and I can feel my cold socks cling to my skin, but I can’t feel my toes. The coldness rattles up to my ankles and it’s slowly clawing up to my calf.

For a moment I stare at the rusty, old tracks and there’s a voice in the back of my head, telling me to jump on them as soon as the train comes, but the voice fades away beneath the stress of tomorrow.

I try to focus on the long walk home. It’s getting dark and because of the slippery roads, the buses will take forever. I’ll get home faster if I jog. I don’t have an umbrella, maybe I can buy one on the way, but I don’t have cash; I forgot my wallet at home. The thought makes me curse myself, and the harsh voice in my head scolds me for being careless.

I lean back and divert my attention to the Tri-borough bridge. The cars passing beneath the train station, with their colorful red and white lights, vanish in the fog and reappear close to the blue bridge; but all I can see are blurry outlines and flickering lights.

The day didn’t go well; not like the other days are any different. But today it felt like someone was suffocating me. Like someone had lowered the pressure of the oxygen in the air. Like something heavy was sitting on my chest. Nothing went well. I failed two of my classes, and I won’t be graduating on time. The thought doesn’t bother me, what bothers me is having to explain all this to my dad. What will I tell him? His hopes are bounded to me and my siblings, and my failing is like stabbing him in the chest. Things at home aren’t well either. My parents have issues of their own. It’s like I’m forced into these two wars and ironically, I’m losing both of them. I’m at that point, where everything feels like a burden. No matter how much effort I put into something, I always fail, and I’m tired of failing. I’m tired of trying. Tired of just existing.

I’m in pain, and it’s the type of pain that can’t be explained. That can’t be put into words; no matter what language I use.

The train comes after half an hour, and the walk home isn’t as long as I imagine it to be. Maybe because I run half the way, splashing water all over my clothes.

At home, no one asks me any questions, and I am grateful. Everyone is too occupied with their own issues, that my little problem seems like a minor inconvenience. My blotchy cheeks and stuffy nose are the result of the rain- that’s what everyone thinks, and I don’t correct them. I could easily break down but besides “get over it”, “have faith,” or “I’ve been through worse,” I won’t get any other form of comfort.

I change my clothes and go straight to bed. I have an English paper and a lab report due, but I don’t care. Nothing seems important. My mind is messed up, and I’ll probably break down crying. I just want to sleep. But as soon as I close my eyes, tears as big as raindrops cascade down my cheeks. Searing pain is ripping through my chest and it hurts so bad that I can’t put it into words. I’m wheezing, and I can’t seem to breathe. I want to yank my heart out of my chest and squeeze it until it explodes. A throbbing headache spills through my skull, and I find myself questioning God.

But as soon as I close my eyes. Hands as soft as feathers touch my forehead, and I feel an odd, unexplainable warmth spread through my body. Like someone has wrapped me around in a nice tepid blanket. Like all the negative thoughts in my mind are caged behind bars of tranquility.

“It’ll all be okay,” a voice as warm as the sun whispers into my earlobe and I can feel the warmth of someone’s breath. The voice reverberates in my mind, and I find myself repeating those same words.

For a moment there’s comfort. A one I’ve never felt before, but as soon as I open my eyes there’s no one around me, but I feel like I’m being watched. Like someone, invisible is hovering over my head. I’m too tired to think. Too tired to comprehend.

I close my eyes, and I feel someone massaging my scalp. Someone is sitting next to me on the bed and is whispering “everything is going to be okay.” And for some odd reason, I believe that voice. I feel an odd ecstasy take a hold of my body, easing every cell rushing through my veins. It doesn’t take long for me to fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Photo by Syed Hasan Mehdi from Pexels

Bargaining with loved ones

If I am ever broken
and I am unable to walk
will you carry me in your arms
and tell me I am strong?

If I am ever broken
and I am unable to fly
will you raise the ground
or will you bring down the sky?

If I am ever broken
and I am unable to see
will you be my image
or will you leave me to be?

If I am ever broken
and the world is laughing at my despair
will you be my wings
and take me away from here?

If I am ever broken
and people are toying with my heart
will you be my glue
and stop me from tearing apart?

If I am ever broken
and I am unable to speak
will you be my lips
and help me heal?

What if I’m not broken
but I need you by my side
will you walk with me
or will you leave me behind?

What if I am okay
but I still need your hand
will you give me courage
or will you leave me as I am?

What if I just need you
without any reason
but I’m scared to admit
will you walk away
or
will you stay for a bit?

Cover picture from Pixel

Poem from ‘Curing My Venom

Marriage…

I attended a wedding last weekend. It was cool- they had food. They also had music so loud that I was afraid my ears would pop. They kinda did.

The bride was draped in her beautiful God-knows-how-much-dress and the groom was dressed in a tux. They looked cute together- I think. I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I would’ve paid more attention to my surroundings, but my heels were killing me or maybe I was killing them: either way it was terrifying.

I’m not the type of girl who likes to dress up, sit still and look pretty. I’m more of a comfortable, laid back, jumping-off-a-cliff type of a girl. I don’t know how to look elegant or sway people with my beautifully-unnoticeable lashes, but I do know how to build forts with pillows. I don’t know how to put make-up on, but I do know how to stuff crackers in my mouth without swallowing them.

The point I’m trying to make is that after attending the wedding I realized something important. I realized how socially awkward of a person I am. The fake smiles, the giggles, the anxiety, the wanting to run-away was all bubbling inside of me. I was consciously playing with my fingers and my dupatta and praying no one would notice me, but everyone did. I was self-conscious the whole time, wondering if people saw what I see in the mirror every day.

Being the bride is nerve-wrenching, not only because all the eyes are on you but because there is so much expected of you after the marriage ceremony. Be a good daughter at first, then be a good daughter-in-law. Good wife. Good mother. It’s hard to keep up with everything. And if anything goes wrong all the blame is thrown on the girl- as if the boy’s infidelity is her fault too.

I’m not saying marriage is captivation; sometimes, for some people, it can be liberation as well. I have a friend whose parents refused to let her go for a study abroad program because she was a girl, but now that she’s married she’s all over the place – enjoying the world by herself and sometimes with her husband. I know parents want to protect their daughters, but by doing so not only are they hurting them, but they’re pushing them away from themselves. In this, overprotection, they’re breaking beautiful souls. Sometimes it’s not even about protection, it’s about ‘what people will say.’ And let me tell you people don’t give a damn. They have their own issues to deal with, their own battles to fight. And if you do have the time to listen to what other people have to say, then you my friend, need a new hobby.

“Do this after your married.” I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard this phrase. I want to travel – do it after your married and when your married – you should’ve done this before you were married.

I want to climb Mount Everest – do it after you’re married. I want to start a YouTube channel – do it after you’re married. I want to die – do it after you’re married. I want to conquer Bulgaria – do it after you’re married. Please explain this logic to me!

I have another friend of mine, who was carefree but now she’s confined to her house by her husband. She loves him a lot, and he loves her too, but if love could solve all the problems in this world then we wouldn’t have problems. Too much love is an obsession. It’s a problem in itself.

Life is a compromise and so is marriage. Sometimes you’ll have to bow, and sometimes you’ll have to rise- regardless of gender. Sometimes you’ll have to give up, and sometimes you’ll have to fight. You can’t choose your life or what life throws at you, but you can choose how you wish to react to it. Choose your battles wisely, or life will choose them for you. I wish I could say the same thing for life-partners but in this choosing process the heart screws us over.

Photo by Qazi Ikram Ul Haq from PexelsCopy

You will never be like her…

She’s a garden of solace
with roses as sweet as honey
but you will never be like her.

She’s the ecstasy of desire
with blind intoxication
but you will never be like her.

She’s the warm breeze
among harsh winds of winter
but you will never be like her.

She has the treasures of knowledge
the mind of a genius
but you will never be like her.

She has the perfect lips
that warriors would fight for
but you will never be like her.

She is the brightness of the sun
casting rays of hope
but you will never be like her.

She has the confidence
of a thousand knights- ready for war
but you will never be like her.

She’s an image of perfection.
A wish. A want.
But you will never be like her.
Never.
Ever.

Look in the mirror
and you will see a worn-out dream
layered in residues of storms and gales
you’ll see a monster with skin
as old as time
and hair as wrenched
as the erupting volcanoes
you will see wounds smothered in darkness
and smiles as fake as blackened hearts.

Darling
you are not her
and you will never be.

She is the crescent moon
and you are a blemish.
She is the purity of the ocean
and you are a stain.

But love, It is okay.
It is alright. You don’t need to compare
your rays to someone else’s light.

Your imperfections are making you stronger.
But what I don’t understand
is that in a world where you can be anything
why would you want to be her?

Photo by Chait Goli from Pexels