In Passing, One Day.

She saw the earth in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The earth pondered, and then replied: "To remain still in one segment of time, and never progress. To be left behind - a traveler in my own land."

She saw the sun in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The sun immediately answered: "A state of numbness, that no ray of warmth can ever penetrate through its shell of stillness. A state where heat is a solace beyond my reach."

She saw the moon in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The moon heavily sighed and then said: "An ever encompassing darkness, where in exists no hope. It would wrap around you stealthily, till you are both one."

She saw the rain in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
The rain shivered, and with a far away look responded: "A dusty dryness so palpable, limiting all tactile sensory."

She saw herself in passing one day, and asked after its greatest fear.
Herself fixated her, and asked her to follow.

They stepped in front of a glass pane, and herself pointed at the face staring back.

The empty dark brown eyes.
The straight mouth.
The taut skin.

Her face. Her.

She lifted her hand, and an identical hand lifted across the glass pane.

Herself looked at her and whispered: "And now you know my greatest fear". And with that, Herself faded into the crowds.

She turned to the glass pane and stared momentarily, swallowed by two, familiar yet so alien dark brown pits.

A Native Tongue.

Yes, its been a while.

But I really have been busy.


Carpe Diem



"One loves with their heart," he proclaimed."Give me your heart and I'll give you mine."

A layer of silence settled down and thickened. Nothing was said. Yet, she spoke in a native tongue - that of silence.

One loves with their heart?

The vital organ of life - that heart?

Give me your heart and I'll give you mine...

That heart serves only one purpose - that of keeping your temporary body alive. A body that acts as a medium in which we 'live'.

That heart is not really mine.

How can I give you something I do not own?

The only thing anyone really owns is their soul.

Still, what if you love someone with your heart, then when you no longer ‘live’, does that mean you no longer love them?

What if you give someone your heart, and they 'break' it, do you die?

What if you want your heart back, but I want to keep it forever? What then? Do you die as well?

What if my heart has a mind of its own, and doesn't want to come back to me? Do I die?

But if its not this literal, then what heart do you figuratively refer to?

What, then, do you really give someone you love?




Yet, emotions, grow, change, shrink, fade and disappear.

Promises eventually become empty words.

And hope is scarce and indefinite- a glimpse of what could be.

So when we speak of the heart do we refer to the design that we've subconsciously sketched and associate with compassion? Are we talking about that 'heart'?

Where is this 'heart'?

Is it palpable?

Is it active?

Is it warm?

Do I have one?

Oh 'heart' of mine, do you hear me?

Everyone has a heart. But does everyone have a 'heart'?

In the same way, not everyone has compassion.

Am I compassionate?

Do I deserve compassion?

Then again, if you loved someone with your soul - does it last forever?

It can't be eternal? Can it?

Surely the need to strive forward will cancel its perpetual state.

Does a soul have a 'heart'?

Is that where you are, oh 'heart'?

How do you love with your soul?

Do you give your soul?

But my soul is me.

I can't give you me.

I can only give myself me.

But she spoke in a native tongue- that of silence.

Heed the silence and its message, he did not.

Hear its whisper, he could not.

Thus, he waited.

And she finally replied: "I'm afraid I can't take your heart: I don't have space enough for two. I can't give you my own for I've yet to find what that really is."

Maybe Is No Certainly.

Maybe you can bring me back, you say.

Maybe you can save my lost soul.

Maybe you can bring out that shy me.

Maybe you can please my inner child.

Maybe you can help my battered self.

Maybe you can restore my beliefs.

Maybe you can attempt to revive those parts I put six feet under.

Maybe you can make everything all well again.

Maybe you can aid me in getting through this, you assure me.

Maybe you can help me and I'll make it.

Maybe you can try your hardest.

Maybe you can let me dream again, you plead.

Maybe you can bring back my innocence.

Maybe you can dim the past.

Maybe you can open my eyes.

Maybe you can bring me back, you say yet again.

But then again, maybe you can't, I say at last.

Because 'Maybe' is no certainly.

'Maybe' is that hidden hope.

'Maybe' is for the children of tomorrow.

I believe in now.

'Cause that's all I have.

'Maybe' is no certainly.

And so 'Maybe' isn't for me.

So in Sync.

Hello there. *waves*

Before you judge the title I tell you this: No I'm not recruiting for a new boy band. I swear!

Moving on.

So, the other day I was out with a group of friends. And one of my friend's brother says something dirty. And mind you, it was subtle - he really wasn't holding a sign that says: "Perverted stuff, coming up".

The minute it came out of his mouth, an entire circuit of fluorescent tube lights just went on in my brain. DING DING DING.

It's not that I have a dirty mind - honest to God - I can just totally pick up on the perverted stuff. They're sort of transmitted at the same frequency that my brain picks up.

Wow. That frequency stuff, brought back to life a complete moving diorama of my physics class. *chants "I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it"* Phew.

Anyway. That incident got me thinking about how my brain became so in sync with the perverseness.

And today, I have made a great discovery.

Warning: If you do not wish to take a walk down memory lane - close window now.

My, My. You're still here? You brave soul.

Just keep in mind that just 'cause you had Lasik surgery doesn't mean we can't remember the pair of wheels on your face back in the old days ;)


Remember back in the third grade, when you used to carry your
a) Scooby-doo/TMNT/Tom & Jerry lunch box if you were cool.
b) Barbie if you were dosed with extra X chromosomes.
c) Power Rangers/Batman if you were a mama's boy or a dyke.

proudly and walk to the dingy school bus and sit according to your level of coolness?

(How this was determined escapes me at the moment.)

Oh come on, you must be able to recall this sort of stuff!

There were all these other kids with you.

And there was Billy.

You see Billy, but Billy is so far away. (Mind you, Billy can be a girl too, as in my case)

Now. Billy was that kid at the back of bus - the one radiating out raw coolness.

And Billy was all-knowing back then.

The one with the big saucy mouth the million and two innuendos.

Everyone has at least one memory of Billy.

For Billy taught you all.

Your mom remembers Billy.

Because you asked her if what Billy said what true.

She probably denied it, blushed a profuse hue of red, and you were grounded for no reason at all.

'She lies,' Billy told you.

And lie she did.

But Billy told you the truth.

Billy took away your innocence.

Billly made your eyes pop.

Billy changed your life.

After that, you became officially synced.

Courtesy of Billy and Sons.

Remember that Billy?

Yeah *nods*, me too.

I wonder where Billy is now?


My theory?

Your parents probably paid Billy to teach you all that stuff, so they wouldn't have to do it themselves AND they got to punish you regardless :)

As for Billy…well Billy's training his/her kid. After all, somebody's got to keep the family business running.


Before I wrote all this down, I called my favorite cousin.
And told him all about Billy and my theory.
After literally 10 minutes of him laughing at me, he goes: "Yeah. I miss my being Billy days."

Well, no shocker there.
I couldn't even pretend.


The Secret of The World.

The secret of the world lies not buried deep within its bowels.
It does not roam the skies, nor wander amongst us.

The secret of the world is not found in an hidden truth. 

It does not make any sound.

The secret of the world is not heavily guarded. 

It does not wish to remain a secret any longer.

The secret of the world offers little - yet to some it is all. 


And one day the world breathed its secret: 

"My secret lies in an ultimate balance - a balance between letting go and holding on."

It went unheard. A forever dying echo.

But you hear it now. 

And you now know the world's secret.

Boredom, Amongst Other Things.

Is it just me, or is boredom the new swine flu?

I'm dead serious when I say that boredom is an epidemic as old as time.

It infects you slowly until you become an inert chunk of matter lying about.

So I guess you have, by now, concluded that I am overly bored.

I feel like a chicken nugget.

And the oil they fry the nuggets in, is the boredom.

So I'm frying in boredom.

Does that even make sense?

I fail to care at the moment.

It's not like I have nothing to do.No. I have shitloads on top of shitloads. In fact, if you collected all the shit at the zoo from all the animals and piled it up it would amount to no where near the pile of shitload I have to do.

And still I don't do them.

I procrastinate in buckets.

No not buckets - barrels. Giant big ass barrels.

Yeah, I'm just really bored. Did I mention that? Because if I didn't - well, I'm so friggin' bored, I could not only watch a Teletubbies episode, but show genuine interest AND overlook all the homosexual underplay.


But I will not, courtesy of the shred of sanity I am clutching on to.

Everything bores me.

And Puhleeze - wipe that ''ungrateful piece of meat' glare off your face, because if you made it this far into the post then I've got news for ya: you're just as goddman bored.

Yeah. Anyway. That was me exploring my boredomeness. I know, I know - not a real word.

Do I care?


Do you care?


P.S I'm on my phone. Excuse the retarded spaces out of no where. 

If Only For A While.

A small capture of human nature.
Maybe you can relate, and maybe you can't.

Carpe Diem ;)

Climbing the stairs two at a time, she made it to her room.

She changed into more comfortable clothes, and threw herself down on the bed, closing her eyes in attempt to yield to the enticing whispers of sleep. 

Ah, yes. That ever elusive sleep. The last she indulged in sleep was quite sometime back. If only she could count the hours of stolen slumber and sleep them all in one go. 

A knock penetrated through her last thoughts and echoed within the confines of her head.  

"Yes?" she answered drowsily.
"You're sleeping?" her mother asked in all inquisitiveness.
"Mhm, I'm drained," she explained.
"Before you sleep, go pray first."
"Yeah, okay," she let that demand blur by, as if unimportant.

After her mother left the room, she got up, went to get her prayer things and prayer carpet. She arranged them in such a manner where it would look like she prayed, and fully gave in to those tempting whispers.

While she still resided in the realm of sleep, her mother came back in once again to be greeted by the orchestrated prayer scene. Her chest swelled of pride as she said more to herself than anything else, "Mashalla 3a binti," and then quietly left. 

She woke up a while later, feeling less drained, yet not fully restored. Still, some sleep was better than none. Following a lifetime tradition, she gathered the sustenance of her life, or the 'goods' as she liked to call them from the kitchen storage. They consisted of deceptive neglected masses of cholesterol disguised as Lays Salt and Vinegar, Skittles, and Reese's cups. But who could ever resist them? Evil, yet blissful.

She turned on her laptop, watched as the msn icons twirled together harmoniously before loading her contacts. It was a waste time more than anything, she knew - but it was a habit. An old habit. Old habits don't really ever die.

The first 'ding' came, alerting her that she had one pending conversation. Many dings later, juggling Facebook and blogging in between, she had had enough conversations to open her own version of Communications Central. 

Her father came in to check on her, having just flown home, and asked if she prayed. Again, she pointed to the set up carpet and praying things from earlier.

"I'm very proud of you, my eldest," his voice full of love. "You work hard, and with your prayer, Allah y3een, you'll see."

She smiled, gave him a peck on the cheek and expressed her love for him. With that, he left. And once again, she was alone in her room to do her work. Oh, and she not only did it, but she excelled at it too. True, her time management could have been better, but she got it done regardless. 

At 2:00 in the morning, she called it a night. 

And thus ends her day, only to be replayed again tomorrow, and the day after...


She woke up one morning to be welcomed by the day of her first final.
She showered, and dressed.
She had her morning latte, drinking along a healthy dose of nervousness with it.

And then she remembered that today was one of those couple of days during the year- one day of those few.

She headed back upstairs, and found her praying things set up as habit dictates them to look as if she prayed. She faced her carpet and began to pray for her success and triumph. 

Yes, today was one day of those few. A day where old habits die - if only for a small while. 

Just A Stop.

Since I completely trashed my last post with my rambelings, I'll give this one a break.

I found no better way to convey what I want to say than through this short dialogue. 

Some things are meant to be but stops, to discover a little more about who you are and move on to put your mark else where. Moreover, happiness, completion and what not, does not lie in another individual. Actually, they lie within ourselves. Sometimes our interaction with others is a way we subconsiously communicate to the self- a call to look beyond the superficial image and claim our own happiness. 

In the end, life is all about self discovery. The people you meet, and the places you go, are but littles of peices of yourself, either yet unfound or yet to be understood. 

Carpe Diem ;)


"No No No. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen".

"But it’s the way it happened nonetheless."

"It was great. It was supposed to grow, and develop and become something nice."

"Well, it didn't grow. It ended instead."

"Ugh. Aren't you mad, sad, frustrated?"

"Should I be?"

"Yes. Yes you should be. It was perfect. It was supposed to last."

"Perfect was far from what it was. And last, it did not".

"Fine. He was perfect"

"No. He has his flaws."

"Okay. You were perfect for each other."

"Apparently, life doesn't agree with you on that point."

"I don't care about life. Do you agree with me on that point?"

"No, sadly I don't either."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he resurrects an old part of me that drags me farther away from the me I want to be."

"Yeah, but it's all you in the end you know - past and present. Besides, everything else was fine."

"Maybe. But only because you couldn't see the invisible barriers."

"Barriers are nothing, if not made to make it all harder. But you overcome them."

"What if I secretly don't want to? Because they provide a rare comfort as opposed to vulnerability?"

"Shouldn't you be feeling crushed?"

"Not really, no."

"I know I would be."

"No one has that kind of power over me. It's lethal."

"Then how are you feeling?"

"A part of my mind mourns the loss of a worthy adversary.It will wear black for along while. But a bigger part of my mind claims its needto make new footprints along a fresh path."

"So this was all just a place where you left footprints?"

"I guess"

"I fail to understand. You finally meet someone you can bond with on that high up plane. And when it's over. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm just aware that it has happened and is no longer happening."

"Listen, things don't just 'happen' like that. You were fine, happy for a while. It should of continued being happy."

"Things always 'happen' just like that. A mere action, a spoken word or a perception can change larger outcomes."

"Look just tell me really, what happened?"

"It's simple really. I am who I am, right? Yet, I am not enough of who I want to be. Me and him was just another way for me to find out more about the person that I am, as opposed to the one that I want to be . And when I found out all I needed to know, then that just marked the end."

"You know I hate when you go all philosophical on my ass."

"No. I'm saying he was just a stop, as nice of a stop as it was - he wasn't my destination. Just a stop."

"Like a bus?"

"Ugh. You have a very skilled way of just killing everything."

"And you have a very skilled way of just being numb. Feel a little."

"I try feel enough. Not more, not less. Just enough to keep me going."

"Uhuh. Brick"

"I beg to differ."

"Block of steel."

"Dropping topic."