I Am That Little Girl Today…..

I am the 8 years old me today. Thinking about the time when I was laying in my dark lonely room and when for the first time I cried, not for some childish wish to get fulfilled but with pain… because of intense pain that I felt in my heart. For the first time when I was 8. When I saw one of my brothers sleeping on one arm of my father and the other brother on the other arm. I stood there beside the door staring at them while he told them stories, of fairies and brave commandos till they fell asleep. I stared at his arms and wished for sleeping there for once, only for once but that wish never got fulfilled. Wishes have been abandoned for me since then. Instead of telling my father what I wished for that night, I came to my room and cried. That was my first real encounter with tears. Tears, that have been my friends since I was 8.

And then I remember the time when I was 15. My uncle gifted me a cell phone and I used to send random jokes to my friends when one day I met a wrong number. That wrong number remained a wrong number for me, besides he would talk to me and I would listen. I never knew his real name or who he was or where he lived. What I knew was that he was the one person in my life who would listen to whatever I had to share with him. Every problem, every change in my life, every reality revealed… I would speak and he would listen. He became my one best friend. Back then, I didn’t know that my society don’t understand or accept this kind of friendship. All I knew was that I have got someone who understands me.

And one day my mom caught me texting with him. She read our texts and all that she understood by reading them, was that I was talking to a boy. That was the first time when I got cursed. At the age of 15. My mind will collapse if I’ll try to think about what happened next but all that I remember now, is a miserable me, sitting next to my mother and staring at her lap with a boiling wish of putting my head in there and crying out loud. But I never was able to gather that much courage to do that. I used to crave sharing my matters with her and cry on her shoulder but never got a chance. I wasn’t strong enough to tell them who I am. I was afraid they would abandon me if they’d know the real me.

Every night is a night in hell for me, since then. These nights taught me how to fake emotions and how to wear a smile in public. They taught me how to collapse in the dark and weep till I gather strength to stand up in the day light. I admit, I am emotionally weak and I craved emotional support since I was 8. Yes, I am selfish because I never got expression of love that I wanted and every illusion of love felt real to me since then. I admit that I am hateful because I forget every other thing when a little ray of love strikes my heart. For all my life I have begged for love and care, I have rubbed my heels on broken stones to get a single second of peace and serenity.

I may have done thousands of sins to get a little satisfaction of being cared, but I am not that bad, am I ? Every time I loved, I ended up empty-handed. I am shedding tears in this very room of mine for 14 whole years and I am tired now. I understand that I am hateful and you have every right to hate me. I too hate myself so much that no one can even imagine. I understand that I screw things up for everyone whether it be my parents or the person I love, or the person that I was meant to love. I am tired. If I get to bear the same pain all over again, I would die. And that pain has started consuming me once again. It would have been better if it wouldn’t have gone at all, in the first place.

I really wish memories could be erased just like that…. with a little push on the button of backspace. And I really wish I could sleep one day without the burden of endless regrets, pain and guilt on my shoulders, In tranquility !

 

 

The Real Face Of Real Terrorists

A Palestinian girl stands in a destroyed building following an Israeli military strike in Gaza City on July 08, 2014.

With red bulging eyes burning like hell, his distressed slow steps dragged his dead body into the class room. His beloved students got amazed as they took a glance of his miserable self in contrast to the usual polished and well dressed one.

Every student in this class loved their teacher ever since he had been teaching them. Their hearts literally missed some beats as he spoke out in a broken voice, again, very unusual as compared to his usual soft polite voice.

“How are you all”

“We are fine Sir !” They all spoke out at once. The pin dropped silence scattered for a second and then settled itself back.

He never used to teach them in ordinary ways i.e by reading from books or through cramming. He had his own style. He would usually tell them an incomplete story and then students would ask questions to complete that story extracting all the hidden lessons inside.

“Listen to my today’s story carefully students, it is real and the topic is sensitive” His voice felt hollow as he continued.

The world’s most “moral army” of Israel committed a new massacre this Sunday, November 18, 2012.

The Israeli aircraft bombed a 5-storey building in Gaza City, a building that houses 40 people, belonging to the Dalou family: 12 people died in the Dalou family, among them: six children, three women and two seniors. There were 25 wounded.

And the atrocities continued—

As the Israeli military’s “Operation Protective Edge” entered its third day, the death toll in Gaza continued to mount. As of this writing, at least 81 Palestinians have been killed in three days–among them 22 children-and over 550 injured as a result of the air force dropping hundreds of bombs. A driver for journalists was killed, as were Palestinians watching the World Cup at a beach coffee shop.

Zero deaths of Israeli people has been recorded so far.

The typical Israeli crimes against the children and civilians, a new massacre against humanity…

And a new silent complicity of the countries that claim to defend human rights.

A piercing cold silent breath followed his voice as he stopped and searched for questions in the scared eyes of his students who were sitting still while holding their breaths.

“Sir, After all the atrocity of US on Iraq, India on Kashmir and Israel on Palestine, why do they still call us Muslims as terrorists?” A sad innocent student finally spoke out.

“Because my son, they needed some solid base to aim their atrocities at, and to blame weak and innocent people by exploiting them on the basis of religion. They have to hide their terrorism by calling Muslims doing Jihad as terrorists”

“Sir, What exactly is Jihad ? As non-Muslims claim that every Muslim doing Jihad is a terrorist, Is this true ? “

“Let me make it clear for you.

What is Jihad:

1- Travelling to another Muslim majority country like Palestine where non-Muslims have invaded and they are doing barbaric activities and injustice, and fighting against them with weapons is Jihad.

2- Spreading the word about the atrocities of non-Muslims doing atrocities on Muslims, or about the bad activities happening in one’s own country by writing or speaking on radio or reporting or by any means, is Jihad.

3- Striving against the evil desires of the soul is a kind of Jihad.

4- Spending wealth for the greater good of people who are under oppressive rule, who are not free to do anything. is Jihad.

What is NOT Jihad:

1- Suicide bomb blasts is by no means called as Jihad.

2- Fighting with the innocent people with weapons, without any reason is not Jihad.

3- Forcing non-Muslims to enter in Islam by using force is not Jihad.

4- Spreading hostility and destroying peace by any means is not Jihad.

And about the other part of your question. No, every Muslim who truly does Jihad is called as Jihadi. Unfortunately there are some people,extremists to be precise, who have no idea what Jihad is and they spread terrorism on the name of religion and Jihad. These are the people who are responsible for making an image of ‘terrorist’ for every Muslim in the minds of people all around the world.

“What should we do Sir, to fight against the atrocities of Isreal? How can we play our part?”

“You are the young pure future image of Muslims my students. Hold your pen and tell the world about the real face of terrorists. Fight against them, if not with the sword, then with your pen and tongue.You have to fight until they stop their barbaric actions on innocent people. Tell them, Islam is about peace. Tell them how the real face of terrorists look like”.

His breath started clustering in his throat and tears came rushing out of his eyes.

“Sir, are you alright? ”

“No, I am not alright. I have lost my only 4 years old son in the bomb blasts of Israel. I am not fine, because I couldn’t save my son as I was teaching my students at the time he was taking his last breaths. I won’t be fine till Israel stops killing innocent people in Palestine and I won’t be fine until every human being on this earth stops killing other human being on the name of religion and geographical boundaries. I won’t be fine until ‘humans‘ start practicing ‘Humanity‘ ”

Say NO to the Terrorism of Israel with Me !

A photographic journey to the terrorism of Isreal (Source) :

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because I had to write this.

I think of those times when passion was defined by writing, in my dictionary. When words flew off the alphabet grid and combined themselves in my cluttered mind to form tales, all fake as well as real. When all I had to struggle with was life and depression, and pain. When I had companions to read my tales and to hug me with words. When I used to feel love coming out of a small robotic machine. And when…. I had him to stand beside my side. No matter how hard the time came, no matter what happened…. My faith in him never got lowered.

And here I am, now, struggling with words to arrange them in some decent manner but they are flying randomly in front of my eyes. Catching them up and sewing them here seems difficult. I have lost my passion, I have lost myself. I wasted my whole life running for the things that came and then faded away…. in fact were snatched away from my hands. I never had the idea that this same phenomena is going to happen with those things too, that happened to everything in my life before. Like someone let you smell the elixir of euphoria and take it away before you drink it. The taste, you can feel it but can’t really taste it !!

You know I used to wear masks on my face to hide my pain from the world. While doing that, my true self was left hidden from me. All those years I was a fake being for people and I never knew when I became fake for myself too. And I never knew life would unveil my true self in front of my eyes like this….. I look in the mirror and all I can see now is a psychotic selfish ugly faced bitch !  Some people are born bad… No matter how hard they try to look good from outside, they are meant to be bad at the end. They say nature can never be changed.

Love took me to the heights. When I reached there, I found no path to continue going up. I was stuck there, at a certain point at a certain height and when you can’t find a way forward, you have to go back. Hate is what dashed me to the grounds. Hatred…for my own self. I am no one…. I am just that one person who destroys everyone’s life claiming that he is doing the right thing. That one person who is sent as a punishment for others and has no other aim.

My tears and pain about which I once used to write poems are meaningless to me now. An emptiness flows through my veins and I don’t know what to do. I am lost. I guess that’s how life turns out for ‘my’ kind of people.

And yeah I am sorry you have to read this bullshit. I am just so sorry….