In My Dreams….

In my dreams I envision a place. A place that is not a magical wonderland nor it is a place where possibilities meet impossibilities. It is a place where I can do whatever I want, outside the walls of my home, and there is no one to judge me. Where cultural narrowness widens up and embrace me in its arms. Where I can breathe freely without heavy burden of boundaries occupying my mind.

Religion is never the problem. Religion is just a code that defines an individual’s life. Culture and traditions are what define rules for free societies, just to abandon them in an eternal invisible dungeon.

In the society where I live, I can’t step outside the walls of my home without a male person with me. Not because anyone of my family forbids me to do so. But because my society forbids me. Once a girl of my age steps outside, people start judging. They start binding their darkest thoughts with our emotions which results in massive destruction eventually. This isn’t happening all over my country. Their are many modern areas where going out alone is nothing like a problem for a girl. Girls appear to be satisfied with these cruel set of invisible rules but I may have a problem as I have proved to be weird in every sense.

When going out with my husband or father gives me a sense of protection and security, it also makes me valuable and respectable in the eyes of society. It makes me feel comfortable and I don’t have to worry about anything because taking my care is their responsibility then. And I admit, I wouldn’t be able to fight with the abnormalities that would have flourished in my society if girls would have been going out alone. This balance in nature is essential and here in my society, the balance come just like this way. Sometimes restrictions are good.

I can’t think about changing the norms because I won’t be able to handle the abnormality in balance of nature. I can just talk about my wishes and dreams. If I don’t like one thing out of many good things in my society, I have a right to express it but still, at the end, I end up loving it more. After all, no matter how many bad traits your beloved posses, you can’t stop loving him.

In my dreams, when I feel lonely, I want to go outside a take a walk instead of siting in my room, crying like a baby. I can’t go out in the morning to jog and I can’t throw out my frustration by running hard. I can’t wander in the city, I can’t stare at the birds and trees while sitting in a quiet corner. I can’t listen to shouting kids while passing by them and I can’t be a part of those silent sea waves that touch the beach. I am free but I feel like I was born in a prison and since then, I have been living in it. I know how beautiful the world outside is but I can’t go and feel it. I want to enjoy my loneliness instead of detesting it.

In my dreams, I just see that when I step out, people don’t judge me. Women don’t roll their eyes weirdly and men don’t start whispering and staring. I just want that people consider me as respectable as they do when I am with my husband or father. I just want that they clear out their minds and eyes of bad judgment and let me do my work. I just want a society where no one feels a need to poke into the lives of others.

We are beautiful, we just need to apply the rules of this society in a positive way rather than being negative. I guess this little wish of mine isn’t that bad. Or may be, that wish will remain in my dreams forever.

 

 

 

Just Sorting It out.

Why can’t I think like normal people ? Why can’t I behave normal ? Why can’t I pass my day and nights the way normal people do ? What is NORMAL?

People change with time. No, actually their perspectives change with time. The way we see the same simple normal things in our lives. The way we react to the same familiar situations and the way we think about the tiny little details of life. Perspective is all that matter.

I was tired asking myself all these questions some time ago. I was mad for being normal. I was jealous of normal people. And now when my life has turned into a usual normal life, it feels boring to me. Now I have come to know what I have lost. I gave up a life of awareness and enlightenment for a so called casual NORMAL life. Huh.

What normal life is actually ? A life passed in a conventional way. A life in which you don’t question what, why and how. You just do what others have been doing for thousands of years, you just follow the rules. You run behind life without any aim and at the end you end like a puppet in the fingers of nature. When you don’t feel the craving to look behind things for their logic, for the reason of their existence. When you lose the purpose for which you were born at the first place.

I have seen people living that way, very happily. I mean they have their lives all settled and families to share their achievements and problems. People who lay down to enjoy a good night sleep at 9, at night and wake up at 6 in the morning. People who don’t need to cry every other day and people who can share their things with anyone they find. People who are friends with many people and they don’t have time to figure out who is the best one of them.

I am that kind of people these days. I mean not completely, but more or less the same. My mind don’t feel connected to the weird and supernatural feelings and my heart feels hollow and dead inside my body. I wake up, pass my day doing nothing and then I stare at the dark and sleep in the morning. I don’t think…. I seriously don’t. Not about who am I, not about why am I like this and not about should I live or die. And I don’t cry, literally I don’t !! I feel like my body has been boiling with thick foggy clouds and it will burst out one day. And…. I am bored ! Fed up of this life where nothing at all seems to be making any sense. I don’t want to be a puppet. I don’t want to be NORMAL.

Allah was the solution of every problem I had for the past few years but He has stopped looking at me. I may be responsible for that but now when I need to get out of this cursed life, I find no help. My hand is being rejected by Him since long. And I am tired.

This post was the only way for me to sort out what I really want and what is actually going on in my mind. My mind don’t talk to me these days either but I can trick it into writing everything down, which I just did. Sorry for what you had to read. Just forget it.

And yeah HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY to all my Pakistani friends.

The Realistic Fiction – A Memoir

One of the other gloomiest nights wears on to a morning. She rolls her fingers over her already half-opened eyes and pulls her husband’s arm softly aside to get out of the bed. After a while, she was fastening the laces of her pink Nike trainers and ready to jog ! She knew, she’d run so hard today that her feet would feel wounded and her legs would hurt like hell. Her breath would feel irregular for hours and her heart would beat in her ears for long. And after all that, she won’t still stop. She’d jog until all the energy inside her body would be drained out. And today wasn’t different from the other days that had been creeping slowly.

Why such torture on her own self ? She had no concrete answer.

With his head filled with confusions, he turned the page. He had started reading this fiction written on a beautiful white leather covered diary but after reading only the first page, he felt some things strangely familiar. As if, he actually knows the heroine of this story…. As if….

May be, to trick her mind into thinking about her tired body rather than her ruptured heart full of fears of the future and guilt of the past. May be, to get rid of those painful anxiety attacks and depression disorders. Or maybe, just to distract herself from her own self. Sometimes, the un-satisfying reasons you give yourself are not important enough.

“I can’t have a child. I am not able enough to bring a new life into this world. For all my life I have done nothing but to hurt my loved ones. I can’t be a parent I am a total mess”

For years, these small sentences were often followed by painful cries while she’d go to sleep at nights, with needles tingling all over her body and rapid breaths getting out of control. Her husband would sit aside holding her hands and pushing her head against his chest. Sometimes, silent presence of a loved one is better that a thousand empty words. He was her doctor, her friend and her faith.

The day when their baby was born, her eyes smiled while staring at his eyes with pride. The pride of winning the battle against anxiety and depression while fighting together, the pride of loving and being loved innocently and purely — and most importantly, the pride of being a Mother !

He couldn’t find himself strong enough to read another hundred or more pages. This fiction was not a fiction, as this diary was not just a diary. 

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I am sitting in my bed today watching Mother’s day programs on Tv. He comes rushing towards me and hides himself  in my embrace, as he used to do when he was a kid.

“I love you, Mama ! I won’t be able to thank you for the priceless love you have given me in all these years, and I want to tell you that you are important to me more than anyone in the whole world. Everyone loved you mama, they just didn’t express their love the way you needed. I don’t want to be like them“

Saying these words, he hands me over a copy of this famous magazine. I open that half folded page in curiosity and there I see, my 25 year old story published in a neater version with my name.

I recalled, I was scared of writing diaries because the thought of getting exposed and judged frightened me. That’s why I started giving my daily anecdotes a color of fiction.

He understood my ‘fiction’ when nobody could. I wonder, how many more strange habits had he taken from his father ?

Inspired by The Daily Post.

Somewhere

Photo Credits : CHINESE CAULDRON

Somewhere, there is the tall guy boarding a plane

who once used to lay down and see her asleep

while she’d open one eye secretly to steal a look

of his worry-less face and worried eyes wide-open

staring at his temporary present through a distance

of miles between them.

Somewhere, there is the girl feeling hot dusty clouds

floating in her lungs as the pile of ash gets soaked

in those salty little drops which never fell anywhere

but on the tall guy’s finger pores and  that long stick

burns with the nerves in her mind as the pressure of

her blood lowers down.

Somewhere, there is the small hut on the hills

which echoes with the crying silence of the wishes

of people who made it. There is this couch there,

where no one sits to watch tv together and a

stove on which no food is cooked but the song of love

can still be heard from miles.

Somewhere, across the sleepless nights and

nightmares, there is a branched path like the

lines on one’s hand, telling them to start counting

number of sunsets they have to see without each other

while holding hands with the soul mates that were

always meant for them.

 

The list of nouns : The tall guy, the girl, the small hut, the hills,  the sleepless nights.