In The Car.

She's been at it for almost half an hour now. Talking about the randomest, most insignificant things. 

It's not like this is anything new. When my brother isn't in the car, Mom's the only one making some noise. If nothing, she's playing songs, or commenting on 'what an idiot that person is in front of us, doesn't even know how to keep in the lane.'

Dad and I are sitting quietly, listening. I can't see my father's expression. He's a Pisces, I'm an Aquarius. We decided a long time ago that that was the reason for us being more silent compared to my talkative Taurus mother and brother.

She pauses to catch her breath. Suddenly, it's silent as a grave in the car.

"Oh, my God. How do you two manage to go on a road trip when I'm not around????" she exclaims in mock incredulity.

"We don't," says my father.

Now she's silent. She's always had this notion about me and Dad not liking unnecessary sounds or their sources. I don't. But, you know, she's an exception.

And now I realized she's an exception for Dad too.

He squeezed her hand and smiled warmly at her. I couldn't stop grinning.

Stagnant Pools: An Emo? Personification

On December 19th, 2010, while sorting out some of my stuff, I came across a journal that had been part of an English Language assignment, in 2009. I flipped it open, eager to delve into my past.

Oddly enough, the last entry in the journal was dated December 19th, 2009. Exactly a year.

Apparently, I'd been sitting at a bench in the club lawn that night, listening to Winter by Tori Amos. I'd been rambling that night, trying to organize my thoughts. I'd been wondering about my past, trying to figure out how I'd changed. Trying to define myself.

Suddenly, I realized that an entire year of happenings later, here I was, doing the same thing. Worrying about myself and my life and my future and how I'd changed. Like a stagnant, constant pool of water.

The next question that struck my mind was: is stagnancy a good thing? 

And hence, so-called pragmatic me began weighing out the options. Metaphorically, of course.

Here are the major points I scribbled down.:

-Stagnant pools are constant and steady.

-You can see your reflection in them.

-Light doesn't shimmer on a stagnant pool the way it does in a moving, erratic body of water.

-Stagnant pools are the perfect breeding grounds for all sorts of pests.

-Fish and plants can't survive in them.

I was reeling.

So it all came down to this. In one year, despite everything I'd physically accomplished, I had not matured. At. All. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. I could go on with one word sentences forever.

I remain a stagnant pool. I show people their reflection--giving them an insight into their personality, helping them out with their lives--and sometimes, modifying my own image to accommodate theirs. I breed useless pests of thoughts and worries, thus killing any and every beautiful creature of my imagination that may dwell within my soul. I do not reflect the sun's rays in a glittering array of rainbows. I do not shine. I am just there. Present. Ready. But not changing.

That bites. It really does. I don't like being constant. I want to change, damn it! That's why I went through the trouble of enduring all that crap I went through the past year! To frickin' learn something!

But why am I not growing? Why am I seemingly stuck in this menacing rut that I don't even realize is taking me nowhere?

And then it dawned on me.
I think too much.

Over time, one of the things I've understood about the peculiarities of nature is that everything hits you when you least expect it.
And I've been expecting way, wayyyy too much. From myself, that is.

So, I've decided. No more thinking sessions. No more expectations. No more worrying. From now on, I'm gonna dive straight in and do whatever the hell I have to do but don't want to do.

I understand now, that that is how I shall mature. And here I take my first hasty decision free of second thoughts.

Buss.

Reality kicked me off my high horse....

Today when I turned on the TV, the news was on. This is what the headlines said:

"BOMB BLAST INSIDE UNIVERSITY OF KARACHI"

I sat down with my breakfast, thinking. Hmm. That's right next to my brother's IBA campus, in Gulshan...

Suddenly, I froze.

I rushed to my mother's room, begged her to call my brother.
She did, wondering why I'd suddenly started displaying my feelings for him. I stood there, praying silently.

And he picked up.

I don't think I have ever been more grateful.

Right now, he and I are alone at home. We fought twice, then we made up and took turns playing our favorite songs on the new home theater system. He's made me coffee and now we're going to play PS2.

Dear God, I am never, ever, ever going to tell him this. But I am so grateful. I can't even express how relieved and happy I am to have that annoyingly perfect brother of mine in my life. Thank You, thank You, thank You!!!!

What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.

I pause mid-action and take a big sniff.
More than a year now. But the smell remains. Musty and pungent. Whitewashed walls. Servant smells.
What it was like then. What everything is like now.


Where are we?
What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to form
crop circles in the carpet
Sinking feeling..


I peep through the open doorway. Old trunks and paintings, dirty books, seventies London outfits, rags, medicines and keys. The history of a single phase.

Amidst she crouches, wrapped in thin, sickly blue. Her hair is disheveled, her clothes worn. As always.
Change? For her? An anomaly!
Where will she go?

What is this I feel?

Spin me round again
and rub my eyes; this can't be happening
when busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy


The grand curtains are pulled shut. The floor is now bare, the carpet pushed aside. The bookcase still contains his unstolen treasures.
I remember staring at her bare white bed. Screaming.
I recall a frightened kiss on a withered cheek. Days before I stared.

Dust looks beautiful in the sun.

hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
All those years
they were here first


I laugh for her sake. Two prominent wrinkles beneath her lips. Her skin hungrily snatches the sunlight.
The paintings are beautiful, destroyed. Time shrugs and grins.
I ask if I can take a memory. The four bedroom portraits are on the floor.

Oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the takeover, 
the sweeping insensitivity
of this still life


Why didn't this happen before?
And I recall the torture, the pain that was not mine.

I encounter Jekylls and Hydes. I push them away, I pull them back.

Golden sun filters on my face. The car is accelerating. My stomach is turning over.

Why do both left and wrong have 'right' as an opposite?

We turn left.
Fear.
Anticipation.

hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
(you won't catch me around here)
blood and tears
(hearts)
They were here first


We're going up the bridge. Speed fast, constant.
My stomach is still rumbling, but I love it. It's faded into the background, a constant feeling.
Change. Beginnings.

Mm whatcha say?
Mm that you only meant well?
Well of course you did
Mm whatcha say?
Mm that it's all for the best?
Of course it is


They don't let me think. They start to chatter. They play their music. They need my advice.

Mm whatcha say?
Mm that it's just what we need
You decided this
Whatcha say?
Mm what did she say?


Pink, cobalt and sienna blends together and fades away. Cold, mysterious night awaits. My prayer vanishes in the air.
Favoritism. Arrogance.
Day will dawn.

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak, no; feeling, no; I don't believe you
you don't care a bit
you don't care a bit


I lose myself in conversation. Arguing, laughing, scowling, sarcasm. Being.

(hide and seek)
oh no, you don't care a bit
(hide and seek)
oh no, you don't care a bit




All will be right with the world.

you don't care a bit

you don't care a bit

*song: Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap. I do not own this song or the lyrics.

I LOVE this guy.

I watch his 'Alex Reads Twilight' videos often. I had no idea he had his own frickin' albums, though!

That just embarrasses me. He's making up this awesome crap using ordinary household items, and I can't even come  up with a decent tune.

Ugh. STBM. -__-

I Hate Dove.

My hair smells like a frickin' supermarket.

Ugh.

I can't love.

This defense mechanism has formed of its own self, somewhere in my unconscious. It cuts me off from all society, prevents me from letting go.

No matter how much the other person does for me, be it a friend, or a sibling, or a cousin, or whoever--I feel nothing. Yes, I am grateful that I have them in my life, and yes, I try to reciprocate the gesture. But I find no meaning in the task.
Sometimes it drives me crazy. I try going to all extremes, try to somehow let them in. But I can't. I just can't.

I spent all of yesterday night analyzing and typing up my muddled thoughts and emotions, trying to straighten them out. I'll post it here after some editing. Maybe it'll help someone. Or maybe it'll help me. Or maybe it won't. Whatever.