Owlpost April Box Review!

Can someone SERIOUSLY do this for my birthday. Like what else do you call ‘a piece of heaven on Earth????”

Herinkedsoul

  • What is a subscription box?

It’s a box which emanates, upon opening it, glowing rays of sunshine along with fairy dust and some other stuff that simply puts a big smile on your face. Umm some elaborate explanation? A subscription box is filled with items (books, beauty stuff, apparel and much more) and you can subscribe to it for a month or two months or whatever the options the company is providing you with and after the payment which can be done with different methods (again depending on what the company is allowing you) the box arrives on your doorstep for as long as you subscribed it.

Then you run to your door, pick the box up, try to stop yourself from screaming and sit down somewhere proper to open the box and try to calm down your heart because it cannot wait any longer. I suggest you not to…

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Dream Before You Can’t!

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As I tucked my grandparents to sleep, last night, a rather mortifying realization struck me. As I soundlessly moved out of their room, having switched off the light, given them their medicines, I turned to take an assuring glance. But for a moment I found myself, standing and thinking about something which had never occurred to me before. The silence in the room with the faint hum of the fan felt so deadening. Suffocating. Panicking to me. For a minute I wondered how do they kill this silence.

Almost simultaneously it struck me, how do I kill that silence in my bed? Then it occurred,when in bed, I usually lose myself in the thoughts of what I would become in the future. How many people would find sense in my words. What might she/he be doing. Would I ever get the chance of travelling to those far off places. How much money would I need for that university or how exactly would my grades turn out. Would I be able to pursue writing and media at the same time. And many more similar thoughts and dreams of a life that lies ahead, full of chances, possibilities of miracles, turning points and twists. Love, hate, friendships. Destiny. It occurred that the silence in my own room never becomes loud enough because of the endless voices in my head telling me of this and that. Asking me of goals and life ahead.

However as I stood there, for those slow n sluggish seconds, placing myself in my grandparents’ shoes, I found the silence excruciating. I rattled through their empty minds, whatever they had dreamed of had either been achieved or drowned as another burnt hope. They had no aspirations for the other day, no drive, no goals? Except for how many medicines to take at what times. There was no music in their head for the upcoming mornings which could quieten down that silence. Their current thought being of the rheumatic pain in the knee or that infection in the eye. Their mind worrying about this night to pass uninterrupted by the drudgery of walking to the bathroom three times before dawn. They couldn’t really dream anymore at this point of life. It was too late to dream about the future. Nightmares of the present were really what seemed to be left.

The point is not to associate old age with such horrifying images but the truth is the spectrum and scope of dreaming really reduces after reaching a certain age. Despite being a believer in the fact that your age is determined by how young you are at heart, I still cannot deny the tiredness, pains and diseases which come along as our bodies strive to survive for more than 60 years. The only reason of writing this is to bring forward that feeling of horror I experienced standing there. It was immediately followed by a sense of gratitude over how blessed I am to still be able to dream. To look forward to the other day. To be able to think about how many different things I can do. I know how counting your blessings lecture goes so clichéd but honestly, think about it for a while. Even being able to ‘dream’ is something so underrated because we only tend to whine about how they don’t come true. And how many have already shattered so far. We almost overlook that even to look forward to something, whether we achieve it later or not is a blessing to be grateful for. I don’t think I need to drag on too long with my words here, I believe i have made my point. Do think about it before going to bed today.

Answers at my mami’s place

(written on 24th july 2016 at 9:13 pm at my aunt’s (mami’s) place when I went to visit her)

This is the second day I have been out since evening. Today as I sit here in the terrace, the cool breeze in a continuous flow, slowly brushing past my ears. Occasional horns, distant humming of cars speeding on the main road. Every now and then a motorbike rushes out of the front lane, leaving behind a fading brrrr. I lie here under the open sky. The loud volume of t.v in the lounge, the news caster’s voice streaming into my ears like a pre-existing part of this environment. But what is strange here is how the natural and human environment mixes together.

The news caster’s voice and the howls of stray dogs make an absurd combination. Patches of broken baby pink clouds, unlike how it usually happens, these clouds like candy floss; make no shapes, no figures. Neither do the few scattered stars, spotting the dark sky, make any constellations. Almost as if the dark sky would have looked better without these few stars. Because the bright light of the white bulb at my right, undermines any light which these stars may have shone with. Roofs of surrounding buildings covered in orange light of the street lamps, display a battered landscape. As I walk into a room and look out of the window, I find myself staring at a preposterous view. Magnificently built houses, two or three, followed by an incomplete, under construction building. Raw unpainted bricks supported by poles and naked pillars with black cement. Besides it lies a slum settlement; a small one  with tattered tents, serving as the roofs. A bulb or two lightening the life inside. Giving me a peek into what my eyes can make out of the gaps and holes , the cloth coverings and iron shutters have failed to hide. A stove on the ground, the bright blue of a woman’s dupatta. I can hear a baby crying.  The slum is not big but not small either. One small raw room followed by another and another and so on. And then on the other side lies a barren, vast, empty plot. Wild weeds growing haphazardly, serving as a home to many insects, stray cats and other petty creatures.

Bikes pass by, cars occasionally appear from one lane, disappear into another. I stand here, locked in my position. Observing. Absorbing. Trying to make sense of this absurd phenomenon. The clouds, the sky, the news caster’s voice, the howls of the dogs, the bike’s noise, the stars, the white bulb, the street lamps and the gradual disintegration of well built houses into an empty plot.

Yet like how the clouds make no shape, the stars no constellations, I am unable  to make any sense out of it. Almost as if, nature is deliberately hiding, refusing to reveal any signs. Any epiphany. Yet there’s a feeling of calmness. Inexplicable. I find this strange too because in moments like these, i feel irksome, annoyed-not being able to understand anything. Yet it is also as if nature is discreetly answering me, telling me to learn. Learn to be patient with time. Learn to be patient with curiosity, your inquisition, that thirst to connect with the nature, the impatience of finding answers to everything you want answered. Learn to tune in your life with nature’s pace. And I  feel this miscellany of natural and human environment talking to me. Teaching me softly of this newest lesson. The quietness of these moments, despite the cacophony of different sounds, is audible, very loud.

I don’t dare or say attempt  to write about the very raw moments I experience. I usually keep them to myself, like sacred souvenirs from nature, from Allah. Yet I felt impelled to put this down in words to make a self note to myself and a general note to those who may read and try to perceive, that sometimes, not to know the answer is the answer nature is giving us. Sometimes that annoyance of finding the whys and hows has to be hushed down because nature likes to answer at its own time. Sometimes it is important for us to stay annoyed with that mesh of jumbled thoughts in our mind, we need to learn to wait. Because nature likes surprising us with the answers when we least expect them.

I don’t really know how many of you will be able to relate, or how many of you have ever even spared a thought. As i write the words ‘questions’ and ‘answers’, i ensure staying ambiguous because I believe every person has those moments when they wonder why something happened to them or why something happened a particular way. I hope those who can relate, may find a word or two of sense in this long ramble. Those who couldn’t comprehend my message, I do apologize for being too vague but honestly I believe only those who have experienced connecting with nature, who have tried finding answers of their inner state in the world outside would know what I am talking about. Maybe some of you have already learned this lesson and fare beyond in the sea of learning. And some may just realize after reading this. Either ways, I hope my words have not turned out to be a total waste of your precious 10 minutes! I just thought of sharing the answers I got at my aunt’s place.

Rumi-3

Blogger Recognition Award

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Thank-you so much Abhishek at imockery for nominating me. I am truly grateful to you for actually giving me this recognition. In all honesty I wasn’t expecting it. I would really request all readers to check out his blog, because there are few writers, like him, who dwel upon the inner and outer conflicts. His poetry and write ups are thought-provoking.

The rules for participating are quite simple.

  1. Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
    Write a post to show your award.
  2. Attach the award to the post. you can either use my featured image on this post or use other you prefer .
  3. Give a brief story on how your blog started.
  4. Give a piece of advice or two to new bloggers.
  5. Select 15 other blogs you want to give the award to.

Alright so as per the rules, my blog like many others is a product of some of my friend’s persuasion and an inner drive to write. I have always been into writing and reading. Not only do I pursue this as an interest but also my professional career in the future insha’Allah. I got inspired by my friends who were already there in the game like maha, farees, rabia and others however you can say the actual step of officially creating a blog was when maha proposed me to do so to break down my sheer boredom. So yeah my blog started by the coming of a horrifying feeling of boredom I may experience in the gap year I have taken.

Therefore you will see that I am just a newbie in the field of blogging (not writing, mind it;) and have very few blog posts to be proud (or ashamed :() of:D However having studied literature for a while, I still try my luck with poetry and other things I feel impelled to write about.

Advice? Lol am I even in the position of giving any? xD (nvm me)

All I want to say is that, in this world of increasing globalisation where so many of us can be connected at so many platforms irrespective of where we live, I believe blogosphere is a highly useful tool to share, motivate, inspire, learn and grow from. I want you to write about the demons you fight even if you have not been getting creative writing certificates from your school in any of the grades. I want you to shout out the words on paper, the burning memories or whatever scares u, worries u instead of keeping it inside even if you have 0 followers, write for your own sake, not others. You never know how many people may relate, or how many of them silently share the pain. Even if someone comes across your words two damn years later! Write about your own failures to motivate others, write to ease someone else’s pain. Write whatever u want to express. It doesn’t matter if you have a writer inside you or not, blogosphere was created for the expression of individual opinion. I would just advise you to use it for that purpose.

(Damn this thing got long, why do i get preachy so easily. Anyways I hope u find sense in this(:)

Alright, I am new and I don’t have many people to nominate. However in this short span of time, the ones I got to read, got inspired from, I’d love to nominate them:

Reflections of a Narcissist

Damsel in dupattas

Maha Fasihi

Ofbrownhuesanddarkeyes

Pierisepoetry

Promisingwords

Auburnrhymes

Words with wings

A learning poet

Unconfirmed Bachelorette

Illustrated memory

And since I don’t have any other people (as yet) and also as I think he deserves it so once again

imockery

All of these people are amazing writers/poets and I always get to learn something after checking each one of their blogs out. Do spare some time reading what they have to say(:

Happy reading and blogging ^_^

 

Of Badbyes And Fareills..

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What it was to say goodbye, she never knew. She had never believed in farewells. Goodbyes had been falsely named so-because partings and separations from those who were special, those bonded by satin gold threads, had never been ‘good’! If they were accompanied by tears brimming up the cups of eyes; by choking voices struggling in throats; by overwhelming clouds of grief or a deadening silence, which said it all-then what comical piece of human intelligence had named them ‘goodbyes’?

No! She defied the laws set up by the pathetic world which kept on making painful things even more excruciating. In fact ‘goodbyes’ were just a sugar coating on the most difficult to swallow tablets (separation) which at the end still stayed bitter! Farewells were not well and goodbyes were not good.

There were no endings for her. Even endings had no ends.

So she made a world of her own, with her own explanations. A better world to survive in. Where there were no separations. To her goodbyes did not exist at all. Because people, people were a breeze, a zephyr, a gush of cold wind, or a gale. Some stayed within the air around her, brushing softly past her face; setting her wild locks in an oblivious dancing state. Others whooshed past her, bringing a charge of electricity in everything around, making her insides buzz followed by a complete silence. While some brought along a storm, a downpour of tears and moved to another stop to unleash their power again. But people never left. They always stayed, in the air, near or afar.

Because people, people were a dash of energies. Exuberant, dazzling ones or concoctions of murky yellows and greys. They entered her life at different points, some existing before she had even started to exist. But the distinctive feature of people in her life was, that they never stopped to exist. People like energies, only transformed.

They transformed into memories, into static photographs. In the songs sent or nicknames saved. They transformed into lessons learnt and blessings afloat. But they stayed, just in different forms. Obviously the greatest transformation of death was the most difficult to accept, yet she always believed to meet their light and blithe state in the other world. They were not far away, in fact if one looked closely, they were right there. Smiling from the corner of a broken star, waiting to embrace her when she embraced the final transformation. And so she never had to say ‘goodbye’. Existence never had to end.

The world had various statements and opinions. Some showered sympathies: the poor one lives in a state of denial. Some jested, she’s a coward, scared of embracing the truth. Others proposed, she just needs to learn to let go of people, she finds it very difficult. She needs to learn that all things good and bad come to an end.

Yet she knew she never had to let go. She knew she was not a lunatic. Why to believe she would never meet her friend again just because she was moving off to another country? There was an equal probability of meeting her again as much as there stood of not seeing her. She simply chose to believe in the pleasant truth than the painful one. She knew she was not a coward because choosing the more painful explanations was not bravery, creating and believing in the alleviating ones was! It was not denial, it was optimistic rationalism, as her friend proposed.

So people in her life came and never went. Chapters started but never had to end. They always stayed in different shapes, different colours, different forms. She always believed to meet people again (physically) if need be. After all destiny was a great friend. And she never had to say goodbyes or farewells-wrong words created to describe a wrong phenomenon!

P.S: She lived a tad more happier than the rest of the pathetic ‘world’

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Fly ant left me flustered.

It is not a very new phenomenon here in my country, right after rain, hundreds of fly ants endlessly buzz around every source of light be it a burning candle or a fluorescent light. Most of them die. Whatever science has to say about them, for poets and artists, they have always meant to have a love interest with light.

As she, the white glory, elopes

With the dark clouds,

Veiling her illuminating beauty

Behind their black attire.

You take the nupital flight

Maddened of sorrow,

At the loss of her sight.

Maddened in the pursuit of an insane desire.

While the dark bodied cry,

Tears of joy

Overwhelmed by the union

With their beloved

You scurry; scouring, searching your

Love, you star-crossed

Lover. Seeking sanity in her segments,

Disembodied reflections on earth.

In everything radiant, fluorescent.

As you land toward the burning,

Scathing beam of my candle,

For a fraction of running sand in the hour glass;

I try to warn you, stop you, save you

But you embrace the light!

The fire in you ignited by

Sheer Passion, warmer

Than the candle ablaze.

Gasps of horror, weeping wax

Your ashen body falls motionless.

You die in love, for love. A love

Never meant to be requited,

Yet you persistent lunatic?

But

You died for love, the only thing

You ever cherished

So martyrized, not perished?

They say, a deranged death

Yet a courageous one!

Leaving me flustered, you lay dead

A battle lost of life,

But of passion won.

Written by T.Khan

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Because they said I am antisocial!

I have been listening this for quite a while. To the point that I no longer care about it. That I no longer pay attention, as if the claim is almost a part of me, my existence, my being. But I do care enough to write and channel my dissent on some platform, many of them won’t even be aware of.

They called me that when I didn’t turn up into the welcome party of my college. Obviously they didn’t know that I had no ‘friends’ and I would have aimlessly loitered around, adjusting my dupatta every now and then, nervously passing a smile or two to alien faces. It didn’t matter to them if I happen to be a little reserved, not the kind thoughtlessly jumping into acquaintance with people I know nothing of. They didn’t beleive that my parents were highly protective and always wary of sending me to school parties where people of ‘all types’ came even if it was within the ‘controlled management’ of school.

Need I mention how my friend was followed by two drunk college boys as she nervously made way to her car? No there’s no need because my concerns wouldn’t matter, they say what they think is right.

Then more cementing was the fact how I never attended my Farewell. It was pretty comfirmed that I was that after my audacity.

Did not turn up in one’s own farewell? What else could she be if not That! Obviously she is.

But obviously enough they didn’t know that I wanted to avoid a few faces which would have reminded me of my depression. Who would push  me back into the same dark hole I had maddeningly clambered out of. That on top of that, meeting those who had been there for me, whom I developed such strong bonds with, whom I loved so much- would be there for the last time. That I was not just going to attend a farewell given to me by my college, but I would be going to say farewell to all those damn people! That surely I would weep and not be able to enjoy being aware of what awaits ahead. Not that it would make any difference to the parting and separation but just that it would be better to keep myself busy at home in something, let it pass altogether. Like you quickly swallow away the bitter tablet rather than chewing it down to pieces, letting the bitterness engulf your mouth. But no I didn’t have a sensitve heart or emotional soul, I was just that.

Then not a lot of time back, we went to a restaurant at Do Dariyaa. For those who are not aware, it’s an area of Karachi lined with open air restaurants constructed over wooden decks with a beautiful sea front. I do not have the best pics, but a few to aid understanding:

As I sat there breathing the sea, gazing at the starless sky, a number of times I was beckoned and urged to join the kids on the swings, to go with them, have fun with them. Yet I stayed amd refused to go. I adamantly sat their with the sky and the sea, absorbing my surroundings; the beauty of the moments quickly passing by. So they ended up calling me that. It didn’t matter if I had a ‘poetic’ state of mind, I should have just gone and tried to connect with the children (like other dainty girls stood with their younger cousins) rather than connecting with the nature. But I wasn’t uncomfortable with the people there, with the soft laughs coming from this table or that. I wasn’t being hostile or unappreciating of others present. Yet I was called that!

Say let me quote a more recent event. As I sat there in the room, along with a total of 11 others. It was Eid Millan at my mamu’s place. Elders, teens, children all crowding up the place. Two women discussing their tailor’s  treachery two days before Eid. A few girls discussing selfies and how their first day of Eid had been. One lay ill on the bed. Another two talking so slow, almost whispering, couldn’t make out what. The room becoming hotter, as heat emanated from each body, the bathroom door creaking every now and then as someone went in or came out. Yet I sat there. Quietly. I never for once felt suffocated. I never tried to run away from that place. Even as my best friend sat beside me, I knew we couldn’t talk-with people continuously interrupting, interfering, expecting conversation on more ‘normal issues’ girls should be discussing at Eid. So I just sat silently. Nothing of my interest being discussed. Yet from time to time, I could feel their glances telling me that I was that! No I wasn’t a keem observer, listener. I was suppose to force ! myself into some discussion no matter what, I had to diffuse into the surroundings rather than sitting dumb in the corner. So I was that.

And these are just a few examples that I quote. The list would go on forever. But I have accustomed myself to the word. I no longer get into the debate, explaining people my reasons. I humbly accept what they have to say. It’s a Scorpio thing. It’s me. Thank you people for making me realize that I am anti-social. If u think this is the one word which would suffice all my reasons. But above that, thank you dear self for never for once letting me give in to how these people label me. Thank you for telling me to just shut my mouth up rather than arguing and assuring me that I am an intovert, a listener, an observer, a reserved soul, a poetic one, a sensitive one and NOT AN ANTISOCIAL.