More angst in the week I find my third white hair.

My life seems to be an ode to how alone one person can be. The tagline for the movie could be 'How many lessons will it take?'

I know that being alone - both in terms of having my own space and time, and in being independent with no shackles - is what I want. But sometimes getting what you what you want doesn't feel so good if you don't have anyone to share it with. Which is a significant problem here, I guess.

I am prone to melodrama and catastrophising but in recent times have learned that the hysteria will pass and I won't feel so terrible or think the same things in a few hours' time. However, on my drive home last night I had a few moments of realisation of pure truths. I escaped my parents' place in the dark while everyone was in the living room, uncles and aunties discussing stuff they have very little right to and with very little grace - I felt like such a rebel, sneaking my laundry out by the side gate (it's always locked but I got lucky) and closing my car door as quietly as possible.

Anyway, in between the midnight crying and feeling sorry for myself, I realised that as angry and intolerant as I am, there are very few people I don't respect at least to some extent. And once I lose respect for someone, there is just no coming back (a bit Darcy coming through here haha). It takes me forever and so very many incidents to realise how despicable someone is. I don't know if this is good because I give people chances, or if it's tragic because I'm so desperate to feel safe with good people around me that it takes me ten times as long to learn a lesson. I think perhaps the latter.

The other thing I realised with perfect clarity is that I really am alone in my corner. I have no one I can call at midnight to cry, or anyone who will understand the family dynamics and cultural context. A lot of us are lucky enough to grow up with a present family around us. Some of us are perpetually unhappy with our families, and it takes us decades to realise it because of one or two people who have no kindness or thought for anyone but themselves. Last night, I was attacked and dragged for asking a fairly simple question, by my mother, an aunt, uncles - all people who are supposed to teach and love. My father didn't step in. My sisters couldn't speak up because the same treatment awaited them. I had no one to call on my way home, and there is literally no one in my life who will understand the cultural and family ways. I can't protect my siblings anymore, and in reality, I'm not sure I have ever been able to protect them from the family. No one should need protection from their own family.

It all made me question how I could be 27 years old with no friends and support network. No older person to ask for wisdom, no group  of friends who will let me feel sorry for myself and tell me I can join their family. This total isolation is a little more freeing now, in the daylight. I have always wanted to know that I can just pack a backpack and take off if I needed to. And having no close ties to anyone makes it easier to leave people behind. My friends won't miss me (tragic but also oddly comforting because it leaves room for hope that one day I will find people who will miss me). I only go back to my parents' for my siblings, and now that they are growing up and moving on, and I realise there is nothing I can do to help them and I am not needed anymore, I think that maybe I will feel less guilty for staying away in the future. I will always love and miss my siblings, but my presence doesn't help anyone, and I seem to attract criticism and yelling whenever I'm there, so it almost feels like I'm doing them a service for not going back.

I think I'm showing a bit of bravado right now, but we'll see how long I can last on my own. Humans are social creatures, and for all of my desperate need to be totally self-sufficient, I, too, need people.

In view of having no one to vent to, I suppose I will have to whinge here more frequently. I don't really know who I'm writing this for, except that typing is easier than handwriting (I have a tremor in my hands now that just won't go away) and if my house burns down or I have to run away with only what I can carry, I won't have to worry about losing the books I've poured my feelings into. Nothing ever really disappears online, does it? Also there is a part of me that still secretly dreams of the day people discover my writing and most excellent life and my blog attracts a cult following and attention from anonymous users will gratify my ego.

Let's leave the pity party here, for now.

Peace and love,

S.

Distances halved by daydreams and memories.

My friendship style is very much of the 'love from a distance and hope they notice me/think of me as much I think of them' variety.

For every year that I have been out of high school, I have met one, maybe two, awesome people (and a lot of other adequate/inadequate/etc) people. That's about 10 all up. They each come from a different circle, different time in my life, different everything, and are a testament to beauty and good you find no matter what situation you find yourself in. And each one of them is worth the thousands of other people I had to wade through.

There are also a handful of people I desperately want to be good friends with, but they have a tight circle of friends around them, like a moat refusing entry to the grand prize. But I think about these people and how good they are and how much I admire them and sometimes I imagine conversations with them, and for now that seems to be enough. It's nice to have things that make your heart smile randomly as you scroll through your newsfeed or think about all of the people in your cohort or whatever. I feel a genuine excitement when I see/hear news of their successes, adventures, getting married, having fun on a day out, whatever it is. And as selfish as this sounds, I also take this feeling as a win for me, because it proves to the self-loathing part of me that I am capable of selflessness, that I can be uncompromisingly happy for others.

With my closest friends - and more accurately, people whom I consider to be my closest friends even though we may not see each other for years at a time - I constantly think about them when I see something they might like, a book they recommended, a place I went with them, a conversation we had. I have the best of intentions in writing to them, catching up, etc. but am always held up by something - I want to give the letter my full attention and I can't when I'm in a stroppy mood. I want to go somewhere fun with them but I don't want to ruin their mood because I can't be fun when I'm like this. And so on, and so on. So many excuses.

But really, these handfuls of pure people are always in my heart and on my mind. I want to be a worthy friend. And I need to be a good companion before I drag them into my mess because otherwise it's just unfair on them. I know that's not really how friendship works, and I would be honoured for any and all of them to pull me into their messes at 3am on the day of my most important exam, because there is nothing more beautiful and fulfilling than someone else seeing something in you that you struggle to see yourself - the fact that you have some good to give and that you can be the person that this friend deserves.

A lot of these reflections are really selfish, and that in itself is another reason that holds me back from constantly running after these friends. I don't want to be in it just because it makes me feel good - although friendship - like any good relationship - basically comes to this - how good you feel being of use to this person.

Sometimes when I am in the pits of despair and loneliness, I list out the names of these people who I stalk and love from a distance and it pulls me right out into the sunshine. This person had something kind to say to me just once - and it is still enough to make me teary-eyed - and for a strong independent woman to see some worth in you makes you feel like maybe you DO have some worth. It all sounds so cheesy (and not in a good way) and it's a bit odd trying to express this sentiment to someone - that thinking about them makes you happy even though you only speak once a year. And it's hard to convey how much of an impact they have had on you - and continue to have - because you never know if the depth of friendship and admiration you feel is reciprocated. But this is one situation in which laying your heart bare is easy, regardless of the consequences. I think this might be love, but I'm not sure. I don't know you can call all deep feelings a reductive label of 'love'. Also be love alone isn't enough. There's respect, and wonder, and gratefulness, and looking up to this person, and knowing that if they wanted a kidney you would hand over your best one, no questions asked.

They are almost like family. My siblings are my wolf-pack, and the rest are my tribe, and some people make it really close, if not into, my wolf-pack. And my tribe is my pride, and my home, and my legacy (if I die tomorrow, these are the people who I got to convince of my worthiness), and what has given my life honour and meaning. Sometimes it takes a single act of kindness or integrity - towards me or observed from a distance - for someone to be initiated into my tribe. These are the people I want to emulate, and the ones whose love and respect would mean the world to me, even if it is all ever from a distance. They don't know I have pulled them into my tribe, but I see them from a distance and I recognise my own.

So really, distance - in time or in location - isn't much of a barrier. People move on and change, but I remember that one text you sent me when I was feeling really down, or that time you said hello to me when I walked into a crowded room of people I didn't know and wanted to run away, or you were the only person not to treat me like a terrifying Other who represents 2billion muslims, or you just let me cut in front of you in a grocery line. Those tiny acts of kindness, integrity, and generosity of spirit are all helping me to see myself with softness, and to believe in the inherent good nature of people. And that is easing two of my biggest burdens, just like a good friend does. So again, and again and again, thank you. And I am always thinking of you. In the least creepy way possible.

I cry over anything and everything, but crying over good things is a new phenomenon (sort of like how I've started vomiting since I got that ughhh cough a few months ago and now I can't stop, but in a good way). Might take a break from sappiness now.

Peace and love,

S.

Baby Elephants and BAMFs.

I found out that I failed the year I have just repeated. I would have needed a 45 to qualify for re-sits but I managed a 44. Disappointing.

The grief and disappointment comes in waves, a new panic each time. Deep breaths and distractions.

I know that Allah (swt) has a plan, nothing happens without a reason, and I'm trying to accept the truth instead of dwelling on it or getting angry (although there's a certain amount of healthy anger in the grieving process). It's difficult not to be frustrated by what looks like a lack of progress. And also the bizarre lack of avenues for help. It's like the School has put all of it's shields up and armed the muskets in case someone gets close.

I want to be a baby elephant in the muddy planes of somewhere in Africa's heart. I want to flop into the mud and refuse to get up and I want the herd to come and pick me up and then we play in the clean river and and everyone hurrumphs, laughing and joyous.

I am so grateful to everyone who has shown me the smallest kindness. I don't think people realise how much those little things mean. I'm getting a bit teary thinking about all of the sweetest, kindest, most generous people in my life.

I often have moments of aching realisation that I don't really have friends. But not having a best friend doesn't mean that the beautiful souls I have met are any less special, and I know that they will genuinely want to help me and be friends. I think the fact that these generous and open-hearted people are friends with everyone kind of makes me feel like I'm only in their friendship group because they are kind to everyone they come across, but then again, I won't be looking this gift horse in the mouth.

You are what you do often, and if you are around good people who do good things, their goodness will rub off on you and some day or night in the future, you will be just as bright as your favourite star in the sky.
----------------------------------------
Okay I had to take a break to cry because someone sent me a nice message and is just so lovely (she was head of division for this first aid thing I volunteered at in G-town). I think that's happened a couple of times this year - crying because someone was nice. I don't know why we don't all do it more often. There is so much good in the world, behind the big blobs of despair. And I maintain that tears are good for your skin. Pretty sure the only reason I didn't have teenage skin issues was because I cried daily.

Skyped with an amazing friend who is the most self-less person I have ever met. This whisper of wishes in my head keeps wanting her to convert to Islam so we can be in Paradise together. She is such an amazing person, with the biggest heart. She deserves everything good.

So really, my life is not so bad. Being a muddy baby elephant with a herd I can call mine would be lovely. But then I wouldn't have met all of these bamfs. Alhamdulillah for every blessing.

Peace and love,

S.

Tea time, no punctuation.

I want to drink black tea and write poetry about how it reflects the depth of my soul but really it’s just dark liquid that will stain a page but not your heart and the bitterness you relish when it’s warm turns stagnant before you’ve reached the bottom of the mug.

Changes and feelings.

So much has changed in the last year. I don't know where to start.

The beginning is probably a good place. I applied for medicine last year, got a interview, and then a spot. The summer holiday was a long one in many ways - it was at least 8 weeks long, I was eager to start my new degree and terrified at the same time, most of my stuff was already packed because I was so nervous and it sort of made day-to-day living a bit difficult but whatever. I started uni in February this year, living on campus with eight classmates. I really struggled with homesickness. In a major way. My grandpapa fell ill(er), was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, deteriorated rapidly, fell into a coma about a six weeks before semester one exams, and passed away about two weeks later. It was a Monday night. I had applied to defer a test I had on the Monday morning, but was denied, so I came back to uni on the Sunday night. My sister called to tell me at about a quarter past 9 on Tuesday morning. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't know what to do. In hindsight, I'm a little angry with the faculty for not letting me take the test at a later date, though I know anger is futile and exhausting. I could have been with my family through a terrible, terrible time. I went home that afternoon, and stayed until Friday morning. I missed out on a lot of uni, I couldn't cry at home, surrounded by an entire family falling apart, and kept forgetting what I was doing. It felt unreal. It was awesome seeing almost the whole family, but also terrible. I felt like I had to keep my wits about me, driving instead of mum (she was in no fit state), holding so many members of family as they cried. We saw my grandpapa's body at the mosque before the janazah prayer. He was tiny. I saw my dad cry. One of my little cousin's had a panic attack, his whole body shivering, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop crying. Death affects everyone in different ways. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up. I wanted to fix the hurt in everyone's hearts. I wanted to run away. I felt guilty for wanting to get back to my room on campus, to sit alone and cry. I wanted someone to hold me as I cried, but I couldn't do that to my family.

My family didn't call me the night he passed away. They didn't want me spend the night worrying and alone. In some ways it was a blessing. I was super stressed about uni, people at uni, my own health; when I did find out and manage to stop crying, my first thought was to let my lecturer know that I couldn't make it to prac that afternoon and that I still wanted to see the agar plates. Why? I was bewildered and hurt, and trying to find some order and think sensibly. I'd be missing out on uni so I needed to be responsible. What's wrong with me? Why didn't I run home straight away? Grief does weird things to us. Throughout the next few days at home, my cousins, siblings and I swung between laughing hysterically and then remembering what had happened. In some moments, it was as if nothing had changed. We were together, stress-free, happy. And then someone was crying again.

I normally stay in my room a lot, once I get home from classes. This was a bit different. I just cried constantly. I had nightmares of a sick and dying grandpapa, to wake up to a reality a thousand times worse. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to sleep because I kept seeing him in my dreams, and then waking up knowing that I'd never see him again. But I was so tired.

And the guilt. The last time I saw my grandpapa conscious, he was home from hospital but quite poorly. He was sitting on his bed in my auntie's house. My mother spent the day with him. I was keen to leave with dad; I think I wanted to go somewhere. I wasted my last opportunity to see him alive. I was caught up with some stupid worldly distraction. The next time I saw him was maybe a week or two later. He was in a coma. I didn't believe the doctor's saying he wouldn't wake up. You never see death as something real. I thought that if I prayed hard enough, he'd wake up whole again, and live forever.

Back at uni and going through the motions. I fell apart each day when I woke up, and again when I came home after class. Certain people - a certain person - said some insensitive and ridiculously awfully things to me, as if their pain and wisdom was all that is important and right. I don't hate them, but it'll be hard to forget their words. It made me realise that words can never help, and though my friends were sympathetic, their kindness was again of little comfort (though at least not detrimental). A friend I went to school with passed away last year. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, but I always meant to get in touch with her again. This was the first time I'd known someone who'd died, apart from my dad's dad, who I hadn't seen since I was about three years old. My instinct was denial. I cried a bit, but mostly I just couldn't believe it. She'd pop into my head during lectures weeks later, and I'd hold back the tears. But it got easier very quickly, and soon it was just a distant fact.

With my grandpapa, I knew all of the rationalities and realities of life and death. I had the safety net of religion. I had the support of an amazing family. But it didn't stop the pain. Even when you know that all it takes is time, it hurts like crazy. It was awful then, and it's still awful now, though it doesn't occupy my thoughts all of the time now.

The week at home after exams was glorious. Back at uni for a fresh start, and the beginning of Ramadan. This was our first Eid without my grandpapa. We didn't go to my grandparent's house. We didn't kiss his hand. We didn't steal fruit of his cherry trees. We didn't tiptoe in the hallway during his nap time. We didn't see him dressed in his best white clothes for the five daily prayers at the mosque. Mostly I worried about my grandmama. She's a restless soul at the best of times, constantly busying herself with gardening, cleaning, visiting her kids. It's been three and half months since he went, and the reality of death is far away. I know that one day we will all die, that it is the way of the world, that life only has value because it one day ends. But the terrifying reality isn't so fresh in my mind. I thought it would change me. And yes, it has changed my world in a painful way, but I have not changed. I am in better spirits than I was at the time, but when I see his grave now, for a moment I forget what I'm looking at and when it clicks I feel sick. It doesn't feel real anymore. If I think about it, yes, it will all come back to me. But the whole thing seems to have just left an ache in my heart. And I have this sick heavy feeling even when I'm not thinking about his death. The pain makes me feel less guilty. It's a reminder that I am capable of normal feelings.

I often forget about how terrible it must be for everyone else. People are resilient, our capacity to forget and be distracted is a blessing, but the absence of the core of your family is hard to ignore. They all lived so closely together, visiting constantly, their routine's based around him. My immediate family lived further away for a few years so our routine wasn't so set, but sometimes I remember that my mum has lost her dad, and that she used to phone him all of the time. I am angry with her for working so hard, but then I remember that keeping yourself busy means your thoughts wander less, and it's probably a good thing.

I think I'll stop here, for now. It's really hard to be coherent when you're crying.

Peace and love,

S.

So much of the cuteness. I tie a little bow, yes?

From here.

I moustache you a question but I will shave it for later.

From Love is my weapon - This is an awesome theme. Totes loving the moustache cushion and sofa-bed thing.

Here is a prettyful image I took today.

A glomerulus, blue (DAPI)= nuclei, green (WT1)=podocytes, red (vWF)=endothelial cells. Nearly died of excitement when I found this. You're all very welcome.

Love again.

You'd think love is black and white - either you love someone, or you don't. I love quite a few people, but when I compare that to how much I love my brother, it just pales in significance. I don't know - maybe the love I feel for my brother is real, true love, and what I feel for everyone else on the list is a tolerance of the their flaws. Or maybe I've misjudged this whole love business?

I know people do both great and awful things for love. And what do you get at the end of it? The knowledge that the person you love is safe and happy. In terms of survival on the savanna, it doesn't really mean much. So did cavemen-early-human-types not have love? Is it something that has just evolved with humans, like opinions and post-it notes? Or is it an actual THING? But I suppose that's like asking whether happiness is an actual THING. Does it exist on its own? Balance and justice (which is really just a form of homeostasis and Newton's third law) definitely exist.

Wait, I don't know what I'm talking about any more. Gah. 

Oh yeah, love. What is it exactly? Apart from the burning desire to put someone else's happiness before your own, I mean. But what about tough love? That doesn't necessarily make the person happy, but it ensures their safety and well-being. But wouldn't you want everyone to be happy and safe and educated and well? Because if everyone has those things, they wouldn't do bad things and in turn perpetuate any bad situations in life that may cause pain for those you love. 

Anyway. All I know is that I love my brother to the point where it breaks my heart. It's a sort of pain - like when you see or hear something so beautiful you want to scream and cry. And if you're supposed to love everyone like you love your brother, I'm going to suggest that maybe I'm not cut out for it. The emotional intensity is way beyond my tea-spoon capacity.

Peace and love,

S.

More on Love, Happiness and Death.

Sometimes, I think marriage and relationships are for a certain sort of person, and I am not it. Some people like to be told that everything is going to be okay, and that they are wonderful. Of course that sort of thing is nice, but I'm not going to be unhappy without it. If I don't really believe something's going to be okay, someone else telling me so isn't going to reassure me. And I know I'm wonderful (jk, peeps, jk). 

I suppose this is somewhat confounded by the fact that the maternal regularly tells me I'm wonderful - so I guess you can't totally live without emotional/moral support from others. But you don't have to be in a relationship to get that sort of support. I think at the heart of it, I like to be far too independent. I want to be self-sufficient of and within myself, and that sort of attitude doesn't leave room for other people. 

Not that there's anything wrong with marriage and relationships - they are a beautiful example of human kindness and love. But is it bad that I don't see myself as being a part of something like that? Will it affect my happiness in the future? If you have unconditional love from your family and friends, do you really need it from anyone else? Am I missing out by not having this other source? I don't think so. Your partner can die at any moment, so there's no guarantee you'll be able to grow old together. 

And of course, there's no point in planning your life and happiness around something that might never happen.

Sometimes, I'm not at all fussed about dying, really. If I were to die now, I'd be dying on my quest for knowledge and perfection, and what better way is there to die? Apart from dying for someone you love or for the good of someone else - but that sort of ending is really bitter-sweet. 

I am by no means perfect - pretty far away, in fact. But I have a purpose and a goal, and dying before you reach your destination isn't bad - it's always the journey there that is most important (sorry about the cliché).

This post is a garbled argument with myself, I think. I'm really tired, the results section of my thesis is no nearer to completion, and I'm just really, really tired. 

Peace and love,

S.

I've been listening to his sweet, sweet voice on repeat for the last few, ahem, days...

Love and Happiness.

At then end of the day, everyone just wants to be happy, and to have someone to love and to be loved in return. 

But when you think about it, there's not really much point in loving anyone. People either disappoint you, or they die. The only way you can ensure that you will not feel the ensuing misery is to prevent this disappointment or death from occurring. Failing that, you have to make sure you yourself die before it happens. And since you never know when someone else will disappoint you or die, you may as well commit suicide now. And that defeats the purpose - how can you have a happy life if you've killed yourself before you can have one?

So, of course, you should enjoy love and happiness for as long as it around. Just because it will end at some point in the future doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it right now. But you know I'm right. And that's why you shouldn't base your whole self and happiness on other people. The only person you can be sure will never disappoint you or die is God. So at least there's one constant source of happiness in life. Not that it's easy to remember.

On a happier note, I have recently discovered two more awesome bands - Copeland, and The Format. Indie types, and way awesome. Third Eye Blind are also pretty cool.

Peace and love,


S.

Ode to Citalopram

Citalopram,
Conjugated with hydrobromide,
Or with oxalate,
You still calm
My spastic heart rate.

Citalopram,
You wake me gratefully
At the crack of dawn,
And for the lack of sleep
I mourn.

Citalopram,
Without you, 
My cardiac rhythm
Does funny things,
Like excited light beams
Through a prism.

Citalopram,
Though I complain
About your flaws,
You are still my
Daily enabling clause.

Citalopram,
Provider of stimulation,
You get me out of bed,
And when I'd like to mope
I feel fairly content instead.

S.

Study more, dream less.

If I could marry a tv show it would be 'Glee'.

If I could marry a band it would probably be Blink 182.

If I could marry a voice it would be Tom DeLong's.

If I could marry a person, it would be me.

If I could marry a time, it would be my youth.

If I could marry a book, it would be my unwritten autobiography.

If I could marry a feeling it would be happiness.

If I could marry a fruit it would be pomegranate.

If I could marry a smell it would be fresh rain.

If I could marry an activity it would be dreaming. No, sleeping. No, eating. No, being awesome.

Epic LOL.

Me: Hey suckkaa. How's it going?
Mon at 02:58

Sis: not so good ;(

Mon at 03:23

Me:aww...chin up old girl!

Mon at 03:25 ·

Sis: old ? oh, way to make moi feel great!

Mon at 03:29

Me: No I meant it in the oldschool british way, like in famous five and so on. Tis meant to be an encouragement

Mon at 03:30

Sis: backtracking are we now ?

Mon at 03:33

Me: Explaining dope. Missing the point again, are we?

Mon at 03:34

Sis: nope. the retard is missing it though. lol

Mon at 03:37

Me: who's the retard? o_O

Mon at 07:13 ·

Sis: oh, you knoww.. THE retard.. how can you not knoww!

Mon at 11:39

Me: I'm sorry I think I just missed the point again.

Mon at 14:36

Sis: lmaoo ..

Mon at 14:40

Naw...

Watching '17 Again' with Zac Efron (the movie with Zac Efron, not actually watching it WITH him) and it's making me want a pretty boy of my own :p.

Nerdy Love

You are
The curve in every question mark
The fine point
Of every exclamation
You are
My alpha and my beta
My omega and my theta
You are
The carbon in my chain
Of glucose molecules
You are
The sweetness in my tea
And I revolve
In the orbit of your light.

S.