Like Oil and Water

'What is meant for you will reach you even if it's beneath two mountains. What isn't meant for you, won't reach you even if it is between your two lips'

This is the verse I remind myself when I run into bad times. It comforts the anxiety of the pits of my stomach, it makes my heart breathe a little easier.

Trials and tribulations of life will not cease as you get older. At times even experience, the 'big there, done that' jargon fall short to rescue you. It's not the situation but more how you react to it, is what matters. Or so I've been told. And react I did.

A puzzling situation,  unforgivable to most, stood right in front of me and stared at me in the eye. I shrugged my shoulders and tried to do the right despite knowing my inevitable pain. Probably out of defeat or being well aware of the fact that there really was no way around it. Damage it is, I was the one picking up the pieces and getting cut at the same time.

Strange people happen in your 20s. They drag you into stranger situations and before you know it, you're entangled in that web. You question the point and purpose to no end. No answer is an answer by itself.  You know cobwebs. Invisible. You walk through them and it clings to you. No matter how hard you try to pry it off you, you can still feel the remains.

I was in such a web about a month ago. I let go and almost instantly found my sorry self leaning on a shoulder that I didn't notice was there. One that lurked in the shadows. I was grieving and still hadn't noticed. There were black clouds looming over me, my feet dragging that abominable lull like chains. So easy to destroy something so fragile that nursing it back means more aches and pains. You wince at the thought of it. Forgiveness is no longer an option, It's a choice one has to make. Reaching that choice would only further your pain. A little suffering to ease your selfish soul is most likely a sin itself. Again, there was no giving more than I already had. I chose to be greedy for my betterment.

Some one opened a door behind me, grabbed my hand and yanked me through. Funny, the way things work, you miss a chance so closely while only later on you realise what was right in front of you. May be the door behind me was what I was meant to stop and look at. I smile meekly in an attempt to repair myself from the cords that unravelled. But I was already feeling better. Relieved precisely speaking, I could breathe again without being choked up.

I know that I am safe. I know that I will be okay.


*****

To all those who are worried about my well being or were wondering about my absence from the blog, I'm absolutely fine. Took a break to clear my head and heart of some emotional turmoil that took momentum couple of weeks ago but thankfully that has ebbed. I'm recovering fast and well. I'm blessed with well-wishers, friends who are family to me and of course, family itself. Hope this Ramadan is treating you all well. 

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Quicksand Worrier

If my thoughts were constantly displayed on my face, they'd be two kinked lines running across my forehead with a furrowed brow. It's just that the year 2016 has been overwhelmingly different right from new year's eve. I didn't realise that the last week of December and the new year was going to whisk me away so frantically that all constants would change. Evolve. Right in front of my eyes. I'm not complaining. Changes have been kind to me for once or may be I'm 'growing up' to accept them. It feels like the same me though. Same face, same hair, same girl, same exterior, same heart and mind. Yet so so different. Like the axis of my daily life has shifted.

With the onset of new challenges, old worries become new concerns. Yesterday's problems seem so insignificant. Tomorrow is an anxious mix of nervous excitement and I seem to like the taste of it. Overthinking is still a part of me that won't go away so swiftly. Whenever I have to dip my toes into something new, I wince, half expecting icy prickles, only to find warmth and comfort envelope me. It welcomes me like a protective blanket. It fills me joy, with new reassurance.

There are golden beams of the sun, glistening on my face. I close my eyes and take in the glow, most contently. I don't blink, I don't burn, I don't look away.

I smile from within, from my toes, from my gut, from my hair follicles to my face. It feels like for once my worries will melt away soon enough. It feels like may be, just may be, this might be my time.




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Why I'm a Woman of Questionable Character

Painting by Thomas Saliot

After a night-out , at 4 in the morning I end up at a friend's house for more drinks. Drowsiness ( or tipsy-ness) catches up. I yawn and am ready to crash.

' I have a spare toothbrush If you need one' he says,

' Oh that's alright. I have my own ' I say and pull one out of my bag.

' You have a toothbrush with you?! That means you're a slut '

' A What?!?!'

' A slut. Means you were going to crash somewhere'  he says.

Hmmmmmmmm.

So now I'm a slut just for carrying my toothbrush around on a pre-planned night-out that all my friends knew of.

Now that I ponder on it, I am in fact , as deemed , a 'slut'. I go where I like, I dress rather provocatively whenever I head out. My hair is an unnatural shade of red. I once had my eyebrow , tongue and navel pierced. Controversial personal choices decodes for 'slut' or 'hooker' by itself.
I gossip with my girlfriends about who's hot , who's cute , who's doable and who's not , and all sorts of stereotypical depraved behaviour.

If a woman has a sexual appetite or lives the lifestyle equivalent to that of a 'player' , she's a slut by default. If she's an older woman , she's a cougar. If she is wearing a fitted leopard print dress then that translate as kinkiness that could make a man's teenage wet dreams come true.

Ironically , the guy with the spare toothbrush , who might have been mostly or even half expecting sex is not labelled anything.  But I'm a slut. I'm a slut for choosing to wear red lipstick and smoldering kohl during the day. I'm desperate if I desire a male body to sleep beside me tonight.

Sadly , I have no shame, I'm not at all bothered by old-dusted-off-to-look-new title that I recently acquired. Foolishly I thought now that I'm an adult , all this would stop and prior to this there hadn't been an echo of it either.

Henceforth I shall proudly put on my proclaimed  'SLUT ' sash and crown, smoke a cigarette as I would on a normal day and ash on your misogyny-crafted shoes.

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*Disclaimer: This post is purely satirical however the catalyst incident was true to life. The post was written to highlight how hurtful it is to call a girl a 'slut' and is not a matter that can be joked about or a word to throw around casually.

Alone

Have you ever felt alone as a woman? No I'm not talking about the missing piece or emptiness. Alone from feeling unsupported. Despite facing scores of issues by yourself. Overcoming them makes you feel strong , independent. makes you brave and proud of yourself.
What happens when you have been this way every single day of your life? What if one day I just want to be myself. I don't want to strong. I don't want to be brave and put up a front.

You don't have to be hit or named called to feel abused. The countless eyeballs that gawk at you with the most deprave smirks on their faces. You know this situation. You've been there ever since you were 12. Then why despite all those years of experience you shudder. Paranoia clouds your mind. You do the whole cycle again. Pretend, ignore and keep walking.

Then why last night when I was already programmed to go through this same cycle , tears swarmed my eyes?

On several occasions I have been accompanied by my father. It hurts even when he tells me 'ignore them'. What can you do except ignore? Till how long can you ignore?

I'm waiting for a friend. I'm alone. I light a cigarette to kill time. Bad idea. People are staring at me even more with judgments running in their eyes. I give them a reason to stare. Or did I?
I feel darkness surround me. I'm alone. Well , not really. Someone is following me. There are people around but still I am followed. I'm praying hard my friend shows up any minute now.

Some days I think fuck society and it's norms. I will do as I like. I dye my hair colours of the rainbow. I get stared at. It's just hair, nothing provocative! My eyeliner gets darker and thicker. I still get stared at. It's just kohl! What's the big deal! I wore kurtas and salwar kameez  everyday. I got stared at the same. Nothing changed.

It makes me want to scream. In fact , this one time I did scream. I was followed again. For 3 days by a strange car. Day in and day out, where ever I went. I was followed so closely that I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.

Helpless. Ignoring them is as good as encouragement. Fighting it means pushing myself into deeper trouble.

In the sea of ' ignore them ' chants I feel alone. What I want to feel is a safe alone, a comfortable alone, a Utopian alone where I am enveloped by an invisibility guard or safety net so I can be alone as I like.  Alone , so that my boyfriend if he was running late didn't have to worry if I was okay for those 10 minutes that he missed. Alone, so that my mother doesn't have to think much about her sister who is waiting for her driver. Alone , so that my little nieces go to madrasa or school or tuitions walking by themselves.

Hope is slowly slipping from me.

I want to be alone

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