Thursday, November 6, 2008

Fun For Me- Moloko and Portishead


I dreamt that I was dreaming
I was wired to a clock
I tinkle by the minute Hey
Tick tock tick tick tock
I dream I'm on a train
and it is making music
I Don't remember getting off
Klickity Klick Klickity Klick
I dreamt that I was very tall
I was Bigger than King Kong
I heard the bell the bells
a ringin a ding dong a ding dong
I dreamt that I was sitting
In the devil's company
He made a solemn promise
Fee Fi Fo Fun For Me
I dreamt I was chasing
the monster out of me
I got him in a corner
A Ha Ha Hee Hee Hee
I dreamt I'm in a tunnel
Between here and now
Scooby Dooby
A where would you be?
Bow Wow Wow Wow
I dream I'm at a crossroads
No place left to go
I look in each direction
A Iney A Meeny a Miney Moe
I dreamt that I expired
But you aren't looking dead
There's a knocking at the window
A Rat Tat Tat Tat A Rat Tat Tat
I dream I am an ostrich
Head deep in the sand
There's a rhythm that's a playin'
Hit 'da stick
Elastic Band
Na Na Na.....
I dreamt that the Boogieman went down on Mr Spock
Sugar was'a flowin'
Shock it to 'em sock
I dreamt I saw a moo cow jump across the moon
Just to fly the fan says
Zoom zoom zoom
I dreamt I meet a space man
He took me to his ship
Ya know he cut my hair off
Snip snip snip
I dreamt that I was sleeping
Asleep for Heaven's sake
I dreamt I was a dreaming
It cause me to awake
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me
I dreamt I was way up
I was standing on the top
With the feeling I was falling
Floppy Flop
I dreamt I'm jumping in the circus through a hoop
Some one shut the lights off
Shopp Dee Doo
I dreamt that I was fast
I was never shuttin' up
I was goin' in a hurry
I was Giddy Yup, Giddy Yup!
I dream I'm in the park
I'm standing in the nudie
Getting what I want
Tutti Fruity Tutti Fruity
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me
Fee Fi Foe Fun for Me
Fun For Me
I dreampt I was dreaming
I was wired to a clock
Tickle by the minute Hey
Tock tick tock
I dream I'm on a train
And it is making music
Don't remember getting off
klickity Klick
I dreamt that I was very tall
Bigger than King Kong
I heard the bells A'ringin'
A'ring Ding Dong
I dream I am an ostrich
Deep in the sand
Rhythm is a plain'
Elastic Band
Elastic Band
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me..............
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me..............
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me..............
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me..............
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me..............
Fee Fi Foe Fun For Me
Fun For Me..............

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

More later never came, apologies.
For those of you who've been keeping track of what's going on in my other blog ( yes, my completely sad and pathetic should-be-runover-by-a-truck-ish love life dominates it.)you should be able to guess that I've lost quite a bit of my amusing streak at the moment.

So muchos apologies.

On to the whining.

Or maybe not.

I feel like such a Pakistani Bridget Jones, it's not even funny. My list of whiny ramblings:

1) I hate thin people.
2) I hate food.
3) I hate being broke.
4) I hate turning into a gibbering mess in front of a certain person.
5) I hate homework.
6) I hate tests.
7) I hate it when teachers, in a very smug tone, say " welcome to college" everytime I tell them it's too much work.
8) I hate not having the time to read.
9) Or to watch tv.
10)To make up for that, I waste time online which leads to:

The zeal for being an A-grade student has become an irritating buzz in my head, but it's quite easy to ignore now.

Long live procrastination.

I think I'm rather manic depressive, but then everyone is. Im'ma buy a sticker from school that says:

Manic Depression.
Easy glum. Easy glow.


Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Sunday, September 28, 2008

New PC. w00t w00t. =D

I completely forgot to mention that Saad Haroon came to our school. PR blogged about it, and I remembered that I was one of the people who were hyperventilating. Hell, I even went and sat all the way in front. ON THE SAME TABLE AS DANISH ALI ( yes he was there too). I couldn't stop squealing. And giggling.
I must've looked retarded but OH MY GOD IT WAS SAAD HAROON AND DANISH ALI.
love love love.

Even my post is incoherent..


Sunday, September 21, 2008

For those of you who wonder why I seem to have been wiped off cyberspace, I have an answer: My PC crashed. Yes, finally, the battle is over.

Apart from that, too much is going on for me to write about. And so I will not write about it. Because I do not feel like it right now, and since I only have access to a computer when I don't feel like writing. well...........

Apart from the fact that there seems to be only one remote for all the ACs at Lyceum, it's pretty darn okay. Yeap.

And no, I will not say anything about the bomb blast.
We all know how we feel.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Jaahil had her Lyceum Orientation today.
Jaahil LOVES Lyceum.
Jaahil sees happy times ahead.

=D =D

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

If you're bored enough. Pliss.

pluto88 says:
some WAT R U LOOKING $?!!!
pluto88 says:
or something
Sanaa~boreded. says:
ok i could... go on with this.. im so talented.
pluto88 says:
he doesn't know how NOT to write in cxapitals
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
send that to Young World
Sanaa~boreded. says:
i swearrr i should. theyll discovered untapped talent. and then ill be rich. RICH BAYBEH.
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
yes, Young World'll give you millions
Sanaa~boreded. says:
young world wont but some kindly soul scouting for talent WILL.
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
the guy who wont stop writing in capitals. A poem, by sanaa jatoi.
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
there is a blog in cyberspace, filled with letters in UPPERCASE.
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
from header to side bars to links on the side, it flaunts capitals with great PRIDE.
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
just for funnn
pluto88 says:
and check it out
pluto88 says:
the Real Deal
pluto88 says:
Upper Case man
Sanaa~boreded. says:
ahahahahaha i will complete this masterpiece and send it. but ill change my name=p
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:

Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
listen im sitting in the library and making an ass out of myself but this is really funny
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:



Sanaa~boreded. says:
avril lavigne meets carrie underwood meets annie the princess meets GAY FUCKER
Sanaa~boreded. says:
you know when ppl type in capitals.. the words kind of scream out in my head.. wait a second. *writes thought down for further emo reference*
Sanaa~boreded. says:
anyway so its like someone shouting constantly. this guys blog is giving me a headache
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
and then he wants to embolden the script.. and its WORSE. its like the shouting gets louder
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
there. there.
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
whatay analogy. like a mountain crumbling down.
Sanaa~boreded. says:
mountain na hogya muffin hogya.
pluto88 says:
I'm a mountain sounds like
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
he lost his boner permanently
Sanaa~boreded. says:
*snorts coke through nose*
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
ok now that sounded like I was doing drugs. let me clarify. i meant coca cola.
Sanaa~boreded. says:
this makes me want to say ALLAH KEE QASAM YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:

pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
have you..erm.. read his list of songs?
Sanaa~boreded. says:
smack that...
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
what's with the triple exclamation points!!!
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
*doubles over and falls down laughing*
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:
must. read. more
pluto88 says:
And WHY is toast coloured mustard?
Sanaa~boreded. says:
i dont know...=\
Sanaa~boreded. says:
i feel so inspired. i am going to write a whole BOOK. of poetry
Sanaa~boreded. says:
pluto88 says:
Sanaa~boreded. says:

Thursday, August 21, 2008

The Beginning

I went to Lyceum today to get my acceptance letter, and after only 2 and a half hours of sleep, I was in no mood for what was to happen.
So I go to the library, tell them I was asked to collect my acceptance letter.
It's not there.
I wait.
20 minutes later, the letter comes, except that the man very happily says " These are your subjects, right?"
History. Check.
Literature. Check.
Business Studies.

" I didn't ask for business studies."
" Kal raat ko aapko phone kiya thaa tou aap ne accept kar tou liya thaa!"
"Jee, kyuunke kal raat ko unhon ne mujhe kahaa thaa mujhe History, Literature aur Sociology de rahay hain."
"Sociology kee tou waitlist hai."
"Tou mujhe raat ko bataa detay...mujhe business nai chahiye."
"Ab kya kar saktey hain? Aap yeh le lein, admission hojaye, uss ke baad dekh lee jiye ga."

Now as everyone knows, that is The Plan. The evil one, to make unsuspecting students fall for crap subjects no they don't want. Everyone also knows, that there are three subjects people generally do not want at Lyceum...or elsewhere even : Business, Urdu and Art ( unless there's a background in the subject..duh.. and the student wants to pursue arts or architecture). So anyhoo, you don't.go.there. That's all. The poor student pays, and then they're stuck with crappola subjects they never dreamed of doing.

So now what they do is, when the quota for one subject is filled, they start sending the rest of the "rejected" crowd into Business or Urdu. The thing is, there was no reason for them to reject me because I had an A in sociology and I knew people with Bs in socio who got it so it was an extremely omgwtf-ish situation.

So I sat. And waited. And waited. And waited.

And argued, because I hadn't deviated from the available combination and I freaking didn't want business. And so, I told them to give me economics if they couldn't give me sociology and if they were so bent on messing up their own combination. That did the trick, and they gave me sociology because I'm guessing there wasn't any room in economics either. So now I'll have to do econ privately. Or maybe not, but I'm really not looking forward to this, because I won't have time to do anything else=(.

Then they sent my file downstairs, and when it came back to the library after half an hour the stupid thing still said business. So they sent it back, again. By this time, i was ready to tear my hair out, except that those uncles int he library were really nice, and the only cute guy I have seen anywhere within a 2 mile radius of The Lyceum chose to walk into the library at that exact moment to collect his acceptance letter. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, really cute.

<3<3<3<3. A friend was kind enough to point out to me that I might not have thought him so hot if I'd seen him abroad, but you can't blame me because The Lyceum seemed to be filled with the hideosities of nature and *horror of all horrors* MULLAHS.:| So cute gora and I struck up a conversation and talked for 10 minutes, during which I found out that he's German, he's been in Karachi for 10 years, his name, and the fact that he plays basketball. BASKETBALL. <3 Andthathe'sratherpopularwiththegirls.

But I should have seen that coming.

And I managed to make Min Min very, very jealous because you see, Min Min's the Germany addict. Woman wants to marry a german guy and give birth to half German offspring. Her ultimate fantasy has been to live during the Third Reich. Despite the fact that they'd probably have thrown her into a concentration camp. But nope. Min Min's obsession with Germany is such that she goes into swooning mode everytime someone says Germany. And she showered upon me the choicest of swear words when I told her, after which she started making plans about How One Must Befriend German Guy.

I feel like I've kind of gone off the point of this post. The point was, subjects.

They told me to wait, and I waited for two hours before I finally got the mistake fixed. Not pleasant. =\

Oh well, At least I managed to get the subject I wanted.


Oh and I was also told that Murtaza Bhutto's son is coming to Lyceum.

This should be the beginning of an eventful two years. *smirks*
And no, I don't plan on seducing either German boy OR Zulfi Jr.

I'm into someone else. * puts on cool shades*

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


Monday, August 18, 2008

I hate A level admissions.
Hate them, hate them, hate them. I never, ever thought something as.. well.. I don't know.. unemotional? as A level admissions would get me depressed, but it has.

All. Thanks. To. My Beautiful. O level result, maybe.

This is the point where I stand in front of a mirror and shout at myself for being a failure in life, and then commit suicide. Seriously.

8 As, 9 As, 10 As, hell.. THIRTEEN FREAKING As.

What are people on?

Don't get me wrong, I really have nothing against anyone who did well, I've never been the jealous sort, not when it comes to my friends anyway. So I'm genuinely happy for how well they did. And I didn't really care up until the point I applied to School 1 and School 2.

Now the thing is, School 1 was my first choice. Has always been. And with the subjects I wanted, it should not have been a problem for me to get in, seeing how I had As in all of them, I didn't deviate from any available combination ( though i really, really wanted economics, but thought it best not to be a picky bitch lest it might hinder my admission process because there was no combination.)
And So I went on in life after submitting my form, thinking they'd notify everyone in due time.
Except that people started getting calls 2 days later.
People with the same result as mine, too.
And the same subject choices.
Which threw me into panic mode, and I still haven't understood why they didn't call me. And now I have done little except curl up in bed, refuse to talk to people or socialise, and curse myself for the stupid things I did in life.
Of course, there is apparently a lot of time left since School 1 is supposed to notify people latest by the 28th. Except that...

And on to school 2.
Now School 2 seems to love me. They sent me my acceptance letter the second day I applied. They're giving me all the subjects I want, and they're a lot nicer than the School 1 administration. BUT. There is a catch:
School 2 wants us to pay by the 23rd, and I want to wait till I have no hope left about School 1. School 2 wants to fill up its lovely shiny new campus, which is really, really out of the way for mum who keeps on threatening me that she will not drop me off, and hence I will sit at home and become a maasi and not do my A levels.

I have not felt this dejected or useless in a relatively long time.


Sunday, August 3, 2008

Random Rant.

It really, really irritates the hell out of me when people who tYp3 lYk3 d!Z wish other people a happy birthday/anniversary/whatever occasion there is to be celebrated.
Not only do they tYp3 lYk3 d!Z they also make it a point to say "3nJ0Y" after they've wished the person, and make it sound like some cheapass commercial.


Like that, you know?

I mean, honestly, what the hell? Why must you do that along with your irritating habit of tYp!Ng lYk3 d!Z you also make it sound like a lame Pakistani juice ad. Like those stupid advertisments for Shezan Twist. And the catchphrase for that product? Shezan Twist!Twist karaa de!

And now this. Jeeto Josh Se.

This ad literally screams out " I'm a woman and I'll be your whore."
Ok so not exactly that, but not far off either. And WHY is she wiping his face with a juice ka dabba? Who goes around on motorcycles in a desert anyway?

Did these people completely miss intellectual evolution? I mean, honestly feast your eyes on this...well..I really do not know what it is, but just look at it. This image is plastered on various billboards in Karachi.
And it is perverted.
At least I think so.
I mean I wouldn't want my seven year old sister to learn about juice like..this.
I wouldn't even want her to drink this stuff. Yuck.

On a happier note, my mother said to me yesterday " tumhara moun chusay huay tarbooz jaisa hota jaa raha hai."

I took it as a compliment.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008


Finally decided to update this poor ignored piece of me in cyberspace.

So, what have I been upto this whole week? ( For want of better things to talk about)

Results, A level applications. Pretty much sums it up.
My nightmare period has started.
The Lyceum form is a downright pain in my ass. I mean, what kind of an essay am I supposed to write on "Climate change or political agenda?". And I WILL write on this, because I have decided that the other two topics are too idiotic for me. Because, like, I'm like, smart..y'know..


So Mk turns up almost everyday at my place, talks to my mum for an hour then drags me out to A level schools. Too, too much lack of sleep.

And then there was her birthday.

Which was fun, apart from the bit where we had to walk from Zouk to Caffeine only to find it close and then back to Dmart. On a Sunday afternoon.

Only people living in Karachi will be able to grasp fully the horror of being three jeans clad girls walking across the seaview main road on the Sunday afternoon. It wasn't pleasant.

Excuse the lack of humour, I am braindead.


Guys in books just are better.
They always have time.
They're always sexy.
They love you more than anything else.
You are the most important part of their existence.
They usually have some coolass secret.
There are no video games or distractions involved.
They want to be with you all the time.
They're willing to do anything and everything for you.
They're usually perfectly dressed.
They look like Greek Gods.
They will tell you you're the most beautiful girl ever.

Okay that's just Edward Cullen.

Robert Pattison.
I have not been let down again, like I was after they casted Daniel as Harry.
Let's see how Pattison pulls off Edward's sexiness. He's got enough of his own.

I want. =\

Tuesday, July 22, 2008


Of all the things to join the ranks of the haywire and the non functional in my life, my computer has chosen to go kaput.


If I were to sit and count on my fingers how many important components of my very sad life are currently not performing the functions required of them, I would have to hide under my bed and burst into tears. Which is why I will not count.

Now my computer and I have shared a very passionate love/hate relationship. Probably one sided, though if you asked my mother she'd tell you that inanimate electrical objects have feelings too, so based on that, perhaps the computer decided it was done serving the rather abusive master ( That makes it sound so weird.=\) and it was time to move on from this world to the next, though where dead computers go, I have yet to find out. Oh yes. I've had the damned thing since 9 years, through no fault of my own. So it's hardly surprising that the feeble light of life ( or whatever it is that shows signs of proper function in a CPU) has stopped flickering. And now I'm stuck. And there's a gaping computer shaped hole in my life, added to the other holes and soon there will be a supermassive blackhole, which will suck me in and i will die.

Maybe not quite so dramatic, but nonetheless, one must use melodrama to get one's point across.


On another, however no better, note : Results very soon. I saw The Lyceum admissions package. The essay topics suck, the recommendations will probably be crap seeing how my principal and teachers love me so much, I did not maintain a B+ grade average throughout grade 9, 10 and 11 and the future is rather bleak at the moment. Because, you see, I am a rather academically dimwitted, lazy snob. Although I refuse to work for the grades, I have very fixed ideas about where I would like to study.
And right now, I have about.. one option.

Oh, and, apparently math is imperative till AS level.
I cant do math.
I will not do math.
I am a failure at life, that is what I feel like nowadays=\

Mum will be SO pleased about my math and bio grades. *shudders*

Think I should just get married=\

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Today in Jaahil's very sad tum-tou-bas-train-ke-neechay-aakar-jaan-dedo-ish life, amongst other things:

Mum: Woh mein abhi Adeeba se phone par baat kar rahee thee, uss ne Beenish kee choti behen kaa bhi rishta karwa diya, buhat achay loag hain.

Me: Acha... Can you get my computer fixed please?

Mum: Haan, Adeeba ke paas buhat achay rishtay hotay hain...

Me: *realising where this is heading* Woh kal na I have to go to the library.. and PLEASE get my computer fixed.. and the dvd player too!

(notice complete lack of wittiness.)

Mum: (in all seriousness) Mein soch rahee thee Adeeba ko tumharay liye bhi boloon.... koiee acha rishta bataye gee.


Mum: Nai.. lekin there's nothing wrong with an engagement.

Me: I do not wish to get myself into an arranged match at the tender age of 17, or 18, OR 19 for that matter. I do not wish to get into holy matrimony till im 25, thankyouverymuch.

Mum: Larkion kee shaadian jaldi hojayein tou acha hai, waisey hee tumhara dimaagh buhat kharab hogya hai.

Me: You try that. I will spill tea on the guy's no no zone.

Mum: Zyada bakwas nai kiya karo, bas tumhay tou apni aawaara doston ke saath ghoomnay aur cigarette peenay kaa shouk hai. Mein koiee nai theek karwa rahee computer.


Tuesday, July 1, 2008

My love for Harry Potter<3 <3

I finally started the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Yes, I have never read it, and I haven't even watched the movies, because I always read the books before watching the movies. ( I even read In Her Shoes before watching the movie=\)
I tried reading LOTR when I was 12, but I read one page, and I wasn't really keen on it ( HarryPotterIsDaShitPhase).
I will read it this time ( promise) and it IS interesting.

However, I will never draw comparisons between the Harry Potter series and LOTR, no matter how much I might like it.

Harry Potter hold a special place in my heart ( insert soppy love song for fictional characters here.) It's a childhood favourite. I started reading it when I was 9, and have been in love with it since.
I happened to be one of the hundreds of fans who were going to go to the 4 am book launch of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It was the most exciting thing we'd ever done. A 4 am book launch with my friends and lots of other geeky Harry Potter fans in witch and wizard getups. Sigh.
( and our parents, of course.)
My mum didn't even tell me she'd booked a copy for me. I was fuming for a whole week, because the whole world and his wife had a copy booked. Apart from me, of course.
I was only told when I started reading out the leaked manuscript. ( I went through about five of them before I stumbled across the real thing.)
At that point the panic alarm went off in mum's head, and she finally whipped out the invitation and the receipt.

And I jumped for joy, and spent about 48 hours, and I kid you not, staring lovingly at the invitation. Staring and staring, and I even slept with it under my pillow. My family thought I'd finally lost it. I went around starry eyed, and all that.

But, it never happened.

Stupid bomb scare. WHY would anyone want to plant bombs in cars before a book launch? It was a friggin' BOOK LAUNCH. So yes, it didn't happen. We got our books the next day in the morning. =(

Needless to say, I was heartbroken.

I was one of the people who waited for their Hogwarts admission letter. Yes.

And, the movies ( although everyone knows this) are nowhere near as awesome as the books. They actually suck in comparison. I mean, Forbidden Forest = Dark Forest? wtf? Seriously?
And WHERE did the Quidditch world cup go in the 4th movie? Absolute bullshit.
I haven't even tried watching the third movie.

And Daniel Radcliffe was SO not my vision of Harry, and I took serious offence at that, I mean it was HARRY POTTER. You just do not do that. He's alright and all, but hes not.. Harry.

Yes, I get emotional about Harry Potter.


Saturday, June 28, 2008

Excuse me for not wanting to read a book written by someone called Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay.

I can't even say it. And I like to be able to pronounce the names of authors whose books I read, so I'll pass.

Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay.

It takes half an hour to read the name alone. What kind of a name is it anyway?

Why would you name your child that?

It's worse than MM and DD.

Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay.=\

Monday, June 23, 2008

Makora Baby.

People who read this blog might be aware of how i tend to get slightly obsessive about things. (refer to Desperate Hoodwives post). Anyway, so you must be wondering why I've put the picture of this ET like child on my blog. In case you haven't seen the resemblance yet ( and its UNCANNY.)
This baby, if you can call it that, because I think it's some gross genetic mutation, looks like a MAKORA.
And since I discovered that people might not know what a makora is, it's an ant.
This baby looks like an ant.
Yes, I know you might be thinking I'm evil, but it's really not my fault.
And they call it Pinky.
Pinky the Makora.
And then my mother went bonkers over this child.
I have very, very weird people in my immediate and extended family. Seriously.
I'm putting myself up for adoption.=\

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Mother dearest discovered cigarettes .
Either that, or Sneak stole the key to my closet and went through my handbags.
I can't find them.
And it's not the first time.

It's like the calm before a storm. I am so fucked.

Friday, June 20, 2008

He will do one of two things,
He will admit to everything,
Or he'll say he's just not the same,
And you'll begin to wonder why you came.
I heard this song when I'd reached the point in my life where all the words made sense and I could relate to them.
Still can, but it's like a memory now, in the past. Buried and forgotten, in the corner where it's out of sight, like the other memories which hurt when you think about them.
And I'm glad about it.
Because back then I'd forgotten how to feel happy, and I felt my soul dying with everything that was said to me. It sickens me sometimes, how it got so bad and I have no one to blame for it. I was the one who allowed it.
You know how there's rainbows and sunshine after a storm?
Yeah, like that.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

These mistakes you made, you'll just make 'em again-

Read My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult last night, and the ending made me cry.


It might just be added to my list of favourite book. I like Jodi Picoult, she writes commercial bestsellers, but they're not trashy. I don't think they are anyway. They're not Sidney Sheldons, or Danielle Steeles or Mills & Boons romances.

Some of my favourite parts from the book:

"Why are terms of endearment always foods? Honey, cookie, sugar, pumpkin. It's not like caring about someone is enough to actually sustain you."

"Shooting stars are not stars at all. They're just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on, when we see one, is just a trail of debris."

"There are somethings we do because we convince ourselves it would be better for everyone involved. We tell ourselves that it's the right thing to do, the altruistic thing to do. It's far easier than telling ourselves the truth."

"Life sometimes gets so bogged down in the details, you forget you are living it. There is always another appointment to be met, another bill to pay, another symptom presenting, another uneventful day to be notched onto the wooden wall. We have synchronized our watches, studied our calendars, existed in minutes, and completely forgotten to step back and see what we've accomplished."

"There are stars in the night sky that look brighter than the others, and when you look at them through a telescope you realise you are looking at twins. The two stars rotate around each other, sometimes taking nearly a hundred years to do it. They create so muh gravitational pull there's no room round for anything else. You might see a blue star, for example, and realise only later that it has a white dwarf as a companion- that the first one shines so bright, by the time you notice the second one, it's really too late."

There are obviously more, but I loved these.=)
Lets rearrange,
I wish you were a stranger I could disengage,
Just say that we agree and then never change.
We're all in over our heads and we don't want to know it.
Not yet anyway.
I love libraries.
There's books.
And keyboards.
And silence.


If I'd been smart enough and brought back the books I'd read, I wouldnt have had to give back The Fountainhead to borrow another book. Thank God I've already read ( and loved) it ( even if that was a year ago). I'll borrow it some other time to reread. Blegh.

So I love libraries.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Parallel Rebellion.

No I am not lifting things off people's blogs. And I am not stealing ideas.
This post is dedicated to Parallel Rebellion.

nb- says:
update your blog im bored
nb- says:
write how much you love me
nb- says:
nb- says:
that'd be nice yeah.

And here I am.

Let's see now.
I love SK Babydoll very much. Yes, I do. She is nice and amusing. Everyone loves her. Everyone wanted her to fill their Bye Bye books. ( Or, in Squeaky's case Bi Bi book) She still hasn't returned many of the books. People are now getting angry. But, back to the point.

I have been studying with PR since grade 6. Back then, she used to look like a cute bunny. A thin one. She's still thin, but she no longer resembles a bunny. All thanks to her Orthodontist. She is now what is commonly known as a Young Woman, with metal free teeth. I always thought she was cute, and made it extremely clear. To the point that the she got rather sick of me. She was one of the few people who were nice to me in grade 6 because i was the loser who everyone ran away from.

In grade 7 PR went through a rather disturbing phase of "Bhoonga-ism". This was rather cultish. You picked up a stone from the hockey field (which no one ever, ever played hockey in) and made a face on it, and called it a Bhoonga. Then you broke it.
I never owned a Bhoonga.
PR owned many.

And sometimes, she would hop around a tree with Amna, and claim they were getting married. It was always disturbingly amusing.

In grade 8 we discovered the EP forums. And logged on. And met people.

Which is irrelevant.

We also used to write weird things for orkut groups which we never made, and thank god for that.

So yes, PR is nice.

At some point in her life, PR became obsessed with NASA. And other strange things. And Google. In order to get anything out of her, you'd first have to read some strange, incomprehensible mumbo jumbo she printed off some website, which she would hand to you, eyes shining and all and say *READ!*. And then she would say * WASN'T THAT AWESOME?* and you'd be like, yeah... Although you didn't get a word of it, but still.

Once she brought a petition to school and made everyone sign it. It was a promise that we would all use CFC free deodrants. I kept my promise because I love PR very much, you see. I do not know about other people. Of course, no one can love her as much as I do.

Ok this is getting disturbing now.


I have had many fun times with PR. Six years is a long time to have lots of fun times, which I did have. No perverted fun times, thankfully. But fun, nonetheless.

When Pluto stopped being a planet, PR was rather traumatised. She roamed around mourning the loss of Planet Pluto for God Knows How Long. And she would tear cellophane and ammonium foil wrappers into tiny little pieces, which was apparently her way of anger management.

My mother likes PR very much. She claims that PR is one of the few nice girls I've befriended. Of course, the truth behid PR is unknown, but I'd rather keep it that way. Better safe than sorry.

In the Christmas Play, PR played the role of Grey Stockings, and roamed around with silver eyes. I was the Green Dancing Toffee checking out Grey Stockings. Min Min, Noor and PR together form the ManClub. I do not know how/why this ManClub came about, but it is apparently very exclusive and has only three members.

I like PR very much. <3<3.

She writes well, and she likes Harry Potter. And The Fountainhead. And it is because of her that I use the T9 dictionary today. So much love, sigh.
She is also slightly obsessive compulsive about certain things, but thats ok, we're all allowed our quirks. PR is allowed as many as she wants, because I like her very much.

I might just make a shrine to show my love for her, but that might creep her out, so I won't.

So yes.

I love you PR. <3

I will sit next to you during Ironman.
In the dark.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Apparently, it is not possible to actually hate your own siblings.
I beg to differ.
I actually hate one of my "sisters".
Actually, actually loathe/despise/abhorr ( if that can even be used here) her.

And it's not just sibling rivalry. And she's not like this because she's 14. She's actually rotten. And it's genetic, comes into her from some members of the family.
Which is all okay, as long as she stays out of my way.
Which she doesn't.

Honestly, i have actually never hated ANYONE as much in my whole entire life. And no one has ever made it a point to make my life so difficult as she has. And I'm sure no one has poked their nose so obsessively into my business and my life as much as she has either. She is the sneakiest person i know.

Someone needs to get me out of this house for summer, or one of us will end up dead. Because I cannot tolerate her, or her face anymore. And her habit for hiding my stuff.

And leaving us alone in the house together is NOT helping.

Not. Good.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Racist Prude Fearing For Sanity.

As the very enlightening title of this post suggests, I am a racist prude fearing for my sanity.

I wasn't a racist. No sir, I was a people loving child, believing Martin Luther King's speeches and flower power and peace and all that crap. I even dismissed all the bad quality rap/hip hop ( and believe you me, it's hard to dissmiss) as freedom of expression. So what if someone wants to express themselves using half naked oily women with overly large rear ends? To each his own, i thought. Innocently unaware of the looming horrors awaiting my virgin mind and eyes. But no. Not anymore, not after THIS. I am no longer ignorant. Or innocent. I thank this book for being such an eye opener.

And how, you wonder, did it open my previously shut eyes?

I will be more than delighted to put the curious cat to rest.

You see, I am by nature a curious person. It's genetic, and I am not to blame. I also tend to be rather silly, and think of the world in terms of rose tinted shades. Everything is pink and pretty, and storks deliver babies. Of course, I was subjected, or at least introduced to the theoretical explanations of life's great truth(s), i.e sex. But I am the type who insists on leading a delusional existence. Happy Child with a Happy Bubble.

Ok, fine. Who the hell am I kidding? There's enough evidence on my blog to point out that I am hardly living off Barney and Teletubby reruns. Regardless.

The point of this post is, you should NOT, (And i reiterate, NOT) pick up a book without reading what is on the back cover. It doesn't matter if you're in a hurry. Because, if you make the grave mistake I did, you will pay for it, and quite dearly too.

There I was, oblivious to the horrors this book contained, all happy happy, thinking I was picking up some parody of Desperate Housewives to read. ( And yes, I love that show), everything on the cover pointed out to it being an amusing tale of DHW in a black world. Even the writers' names sounded funny. I mean, who on God's green earth would willingly inflict upon their poor children names like Meesha Mink and De'neesha Diamond. MM and DD? No, seriously. MM AND DD? I thought it was amusing, I was certain it was deliberate.

Anyhow, last night ( at the ungodly hour of 3 am), I opened this book. All went well, for the first 2 pages. And then it began. Began, and scarred me for life. I will never be the same person.

It. Was. Not. The. Parody. I. Thought. It. Would. Be.

It was some skanky ghetto trash about ghetto yo mammas whoring around and "gettin' wit" any and every black guy with a "massive blue black cock". No, I kid you not. Those were the exact words in the book. So much for subtlety. So much for good, clean literature. So much for amusement (my idea of amusement not being descriptions of black men having the ability to make their penises jump in their pants). And to put the cherry on the sundae ( which I'm sure is not even an expression), I have been blessed with an over active imagination. And over active imagination is all cool. Nothing wrong with it. Quite peachy, very pleasant.

When you're reading Harry Potter.

So I read about 20 pages of this book. It was like reading a behind-the-scenes-making of one of the aforementioned videos with oily, half naked women and weird, ugly black men. And of course, their "baby daddies". How could I forget. I do not wish to think about black people getting it on. Please excuse the rudeness, I generally do not wish to think about any people getting it on, but black people...oh my dear Lord.

I do not blame Oprah and Condi for trying to be like them white people. I APPLAUD the effort.

Needless to say, I did not read further. I did not wish to inflict further damage upon my dainty mind. I did not, and have no intention whatsoever, to finish this piece of trash which has been called (oh,the audacity of it!) a book. This atrocity. A book. It is NOT a book. It will NEVER be a book. It is a product of the extremely warped thought processes belonging to MM and DD.

I was very tempted to tear it up, and flush individual pieces down the toilet. I could have told the library people I did them a favour. But no, one must think with one's head. Had I flushed it down the toilet, this rubbish might have clogged the poor toilet. And no toilet deserves a fate as horrible as that. And I would have had to pay the library 600 rupees. 600 Rupees of my own hard earned money.

No. Frikkin. Way.

So here I am. Warning everyone.

Racism is fun.


You know what I did instead? I picked up another book. This one. Written by a WHITE woman.
You read? WHITE. *waves book around*

And it's NICE. It is a delightful collection of short stories, beautifully written with plenty of wit, humour, and randomness.

And life, once again, started moving. The birds chirped, the breeze blew, yada yada yada. The works.
And thank God for that.

Thank YOU Miss Kate Atkinson. I am forever indebted to you.

Ok y'all. Show's over.


I love N. =p

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Is it too much to ask for you to let me live in peace? honestly?

Stop comparing me.
Stop judging me.
Stop shouting at me.
Stop telling me I'm wrong.
Stop trying to lock me up at home.
Stop blaming me.
Stop taking out all your anger on me.

It's not all my fault. It's really not, and I need a break from you.

Just stop.


Monday, June 9, 2008


I AM DONE WITH THE O LEVELS. *jumps around and shrieks*

That said and done, it wasn't very eventful. I didn't go wild. Or anything of that sort. But it must be recorded on this little piece of my heart, because it was an extremely important day.

So I walked into KGS in my disgusting, socially unacceptable uniform feeling quite happy, because it was the last time (yes, mark my words) I was going to be walking into any place in that uniform. And the last time I'd ever be seen in it. *little bubbles of happines bursting in aformentioned heart* =D
And then off we went to N's place, which wasn't my plan till about 15 minutes before i left home. M threatened and bugged me into going to Arizona grill, and it turned out there were but three of us little munchkins going.
The weather was disgustingly humid, and temperature didn't do us any wonders either. And when we got to N's place, the electricity, to our utter delight, had gone to take a stroll in the park. So I let loose a few sweet nothings, courtesy Mr. P.G Wodehouse, who I worship and who is probably one of the coolest dead old people in the world. And if you say anything against that man, I will make sure someone pokes you in the nose. No electricity. Yes.
So we changed, and decided to get out of the house. And Arizona Grill was closed. Boohoo Hoohaa, much sadness and noise. And then, we decided to go to Hotspot because we didn't have much choice. I have only one thing to say about my experience of Karachi Weather ( and I have quite a bit, seeing how I've spent 17 years of my life in this city). It's like all the airconditioners stop working effectively, no matter where you go. The infernal heat creeps in. Not. Pleasant.
I was planning on not eating, because I am Fat and Blobby, but my friends, being the wellwishers that they are, made me. And I find it hard to say no.
Ok fine, so I wanted to eat.
Big deal.
I won't look at food for the rest of the summer.
And if I do, someone can kick my fat ass.

So we sat at Hotspot. And ate. And sat. And cracked lame jokes, most of which I can't remember. M, who used to have a major jukebox obsession ( and she is quite the OCD-ed child) was rather heartbroken about the fact that the Jukebox was no longer working, and that the Hotspot management was making people put their money into the coinslots, and then playing the music from some-playerthingy-that-was-probably-located-in-the-kitchen. That, according to M, is fraud, and Hotspot should be sued.

I didn't agree, because they have nice plates in Hotspot. With funny Pakistani movie pictures on them. Why on earth, tell me, would you want to sue a place like that?

And then, we went back. To N's house. And lo and behold! There was electricity! And we had nothing to do. So we sat around. And did nothing. And entertained ourselves with M's iPod. And took pictures. N has a fun room. I like it. Yeah.

After which came, according to M and N ( I like how they're alphabetically ordered), the best part of the day. *drumroll*


And we bought movies. M bought 21, Juno, and this other funny one. I bought The Kite Runner and The Other Boleyn Girl. And N bought 21, Juno, some cartoon thingy and another one which I can't remember.

Just when we'd settled down to watch Juno, the electricity decided to leave us again. We weren't pleased.
And then we had to go.

And I couldn't watch Juno.



Thursday, June 5, 2008


Me: That's Accounts Guy! Look!


Me: Over THERE idiot! That guy who looks like a peeled turnip with rust coloured hair!


Me: Where?


Me: eww ....what the fuck is wrong with you=\


Me: Dude.

M: oh shit. That came out wrong, didn't it?....IF YOU TELL ANYONE I WILL KILL YOU.

Mein itnii bakwas kyuun kartee huun?=\
Cold winds blow from your heart and hit me in icy spirals, while I sit and stare at God-Knows-What. I try to think, but it's too much effort. Giving my words a meaning, too, too much work. Let the conversations be empty, and mind numbing. They're just a harmless reminder of what the world has come to, really.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Just two more to go.

Two more, and I can retreat into my world of books and silences, where no one can bother me and I can forget what an awful place this world really has become.

For a little while anyway. Just a little.

But then it's that little bit that keeps you from the edge, and brings you close to safety when you're trying not to fall over. I've been trying for far too long, and I need a safety net.

Just 2 more exams, and I will have it.

Is sleep deprivation supposed to make you feel like crying?

Monday, May 26, 2008

Teenage Dirtbag

I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby,
Like you.
We're all teenage dirtbags now. All of us, with our funny accents, big cars, designer labels, iPods, fast food, boyfriends, girlfriends, empty physicality and so much more that makes us all the same.
The same thoughts, the same ambitions, the same aspirations. As if the world really does revolve around whether or not you manage to get the latest whatever-it-is-that-you-want. It hits all of us. Even those of us who pretend to be disgusted by this breed, we're part of it and it does affect us. We start giving a damn about how ugly someone is, we like being vindictive, because of course, bitchy is the shit.
It's not other people's fault when they refuse to see you for what you are, and judge you instead by your possessions, because there is no you. You're just a jumble of stuff that you have, that you want, and at one point or another, you're the same. Because the lines intersect, and your material possessions are the same as other people's. Your conversations are empty, you talk about altering your noses, boobs, legs, whatever it is that can be altered, about snatching up a rich boy,like, asap, about how ugly some whore is, and about how not getting the latest mp3 player puts you in a life threatening situation.
You think you can buy the world with daddy's money, and you think it's enough to get you by without anything substantial in that pretty little head of yours, adorning the latest haircut which you managed to get for some 10000 rupees.
And daddy showers his riches on you. Do you ever wonder where daddy got them from?
You may not know the order of the alphabet, but you have the accent. Oh yes. The accent, the pretentious, I-don't-know-my-own-language accent. And even if you don't, there's other things that make you the same.
Stop dragging me with you into your materialistic little worlds of boyfriends and blowjobs, girls and how many you've fucked, how much designerwear you own, how SEXY your car is, how amazing you are, how much money your daddy gave you to celebrate your 18th birthday and so on.
I don't want any of it, I don't want to be part of you.
Just. Sod. Off.
Leave my brain be, you've wasted it enough already.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Back when I was a kid...

Sometimes I wish I had a twin. It would be nice to have someone to share with. Birthdays, clothes, thoughts, books, friends, secrets, everything. But then that little voice in my head cuts into my daydreaming and tells me I would not want to have a twin.

And I ask, why not?

It tells me it wouldn't be nice to share the attention, the secrets, the friends, because one always gets more than the other. Rule of nature, apparently. I don't want to believe this voice, because it's the voice that makes us feel better about what we are missing. By being bitter, by being blunt, by being downright annoying. It nags us till we think "oh screw that, I'm better off without it."

That is what The Voice does. But it is also my best friend. How do you tell your oldest friend to back out of your life, when that friend is in your head? Not in any imaginary alien form, not in any tangible form. Just there, floating between the emptiness that connects your mind and the rest of the universe. Pretentious much? I think not.

But yes, The Voice. So this voice thing/ person ( because that's how I think about it) and I had many conversations. When I was a lonely child roaming around in the garden of our old house ( which was big and prett) pretending to talk to flowers, midafternoon. The flowers were usually asleep back then, so I resorted to talking to The Voice, because it was awake, and because it wanted to argue. Or talk. It was then I wondered, as all lonely little children might everyonceinawhile, what was there before God was. And the voice cut in again, in it's characteristically bossy/smug tone, and said "Silly! God was ALWAYS there." And I used to wonder. What was this God person, and how could he/she/it have been around forever? And when there was nothing? And when there was nothing, what was there? Huge empty blackness? But if there was huge empty blackness, there was something. I would wonder endlessly till I had a headache and gave up. Eventually I stopped wondering, reflecting, thinking, because it gave me nothing but headaches. Blind faith took over instead.

And then, when i used to get tired of thinking about this God character and the Forever-ness, I used to think about mankind. Silly little things about ourselves. For instance, what if we were just a collection of thoughts floating about midspace. A big jumble of thoughts, which materialised into humans, but were actually just these cell-like dots, scattered around in the vastness of space. And what if the stars were clusters of dead thoughts, which returned to their original states and became grouped together in order to form a burial ground (sky, space?) of sorts for the dead-thoughts-that-were-once-people.

I don't make much sense. I never pretended to, pointlessness being my forte. But the thoughts in your head don't usually have to make sense when you're 10 and roaming around in the garden under the hot sun, all lonely and thoughtful.

When the words stop coming to you, do you go to them?

Friday, May 23, 2008

Shitty Fucking Shit Shit.

Art major Aliza Shvarts '08 wants to make a statement.Beginning next Tuesday, Shvarts will be displaying her senior art project, a documentation of a nine-month process during which she artificially inseminated herself "as often as possible" while periodically taking abortifacient drugs to induce miscarriages. Her exhibition will feature video recordings of these forced miscarriages as well as preserved collections of the blood from the process.The goal in creating the art exhibition, Shvarts said, was to spark conversation and debate on the relationship between art and the human body. But her project has already provoked more than just debate, inciting, for instance, outcry at a forum for fellow senior art majors held last week. And when told about Shvarts' project, students on both ends of the abortion debate have expressed shock — saying the project does everything from violate moral code to trivialize abortion.But Shvarts insists her concept was not designed for "shock value." "I hope it inspires some sort of discourse," Shvarts said.
This is a Yale student. And even if she didn't, as is reported in subsequent posts, the thought of something like this is horrible.
Evil, and horribly disgusting. Anyone who could think of such a thing is disturbed in the head.
I'm not pro abortion, except for situations when there is nothing else to do, and there is no choice. Those are different. Accidents happen, you can forget yourself in a moment and screw up. But this is fucking unacceptable.
Who lets psychos like these loose on the world?=\
And she wasn't allowed to exhibit her project.
thank god for that.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

What are this?

Can I talk about happiness, or will i jinx it again?

Nazar bhi tou lagtee hai na, mama ne kahaa tha. ^_^

I am through with:

a) Stalkers.

b) Math

c) Biology.

And fucked them up quite nicely too, but oh well.

No regrets.


Not the Gwen Stefani song, mind you.

She has hairy arms. With blond hair on them.

I noticed, yes.

I have realised that I can survive without(with great difficulty), but would hate to not have the following people in my life:

Min Min (erm. When i think about you i touch myself?=D)

Maria ( who likes to act like a husband to me, and is really not as scary as she looks=p)

Haiya (my love in lahore. <3 )

Ladies farast.

And then them buwayes, who are:

Gibran ( for 4 years of being my back up plan=p)

Abdul ( Who has hot hair, and nicer skin than mine. His only saving grace. (a))

He Who Is Apparently Not a Man (who keeps me extremely amused and for whom i WILL find a wife).

Of course, all these in no particular order. There are others, but family's not included, and my mum doesn't read this blog. I'd be in a bit of trouble if she did....


We have a silent understanding, where we do not talk about my male friends because my mother firmly believes in the "larkay larki kabhi dost nai hosaktay" rule. Rather Indian, rather cliche. Rather Mommy-like. I suppose I can't change the way she thinks, and she can't change the way I think. So little white lies will have to suffice. At least things are better than when I was in 9th grade.... Now those were bad days. But the bad days are gone?

Let's hope so. You can't predict much at 17, can you?
I just want to be happy.
And I am these days, as happy as you get in the middle of your O levels.
Funny thing, this happiness business. You don't feel it as much as you feel the tingly feeling of misery in your palms, but everything just seems nicer, funnier....sunshine-y... but then.. everything IS sunshine-y and disgustingly humid around here anyway.

I am happy to be done with school. Honestly. No SJC means no more of that horrible, socially unacceptable uniform, no more evil nun principal, no more arms in 2 tones, no more math, no more biology, no more horrible toilets with shit on the floor, no more smelly girls with hairy armpits and oily hair....

It goes on and on and on.

Of course, I'll miss somethings about school, but just not the ones listed above.

I need an internship at dawn news, ( the CHANNEL, and not the newspaper.) and i don't know who to contact. A little help would be appreciated =\

I are needs monies. <3

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

We're not done yet.

Just halfway through.


Tuesday, April 1, 2008

And here i was thinking about how i hadn't updated my blog in such a long time. Now i see it's only been about eight days. Time does not fly when you're giving an exam and you know nothing. Which is what has been going on with me since last tuesday.

I literally do not know anything.

It's just sad now. I haven't been studying, at all, although i've had time to. But still. I insist on acting like procrastinator extraordinairre, knowing full well about how i will be, to say it rudely, fucked in the ass if i mess up the Os. Somehow i don't feel bothered enough. Or it could just be the fact that i'm lazy and i manage to come up with excuses for everything.

oh well.

Another ramble in the self-obsessed Life of Jaahil.

shove over pi, its my turn now.

Oh well, atleast someone appreciates my self obsession. <3

And, i am extremely proud of myself, for making a group. On facebook. Dedicated to squeaky.


and pmsed.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

You rip my soul apart, and sew it back again one

I complain about painfully slow deaths and equally torturous "bringing-back-to-life"s. You kiss the tears away with a lying smile.

And we fall, again again again. All over again.

Backtrace all the squares i conquered, to number one. Only one.

The cycle doesn't stop, never did, never will.
And we will continue our sadistic love affair forever, until there is no you, or no me. Whichever comes first.

Why do I believe, when you reassure?
Why do you confide, when I keep not your secrets?
Why do we love and hate in equal measures?

The cup is halfemptyfullemptyfull.....empty..

It goes on.And on.And on.

Friday, March 21, 2008

I realised that my blog does not have anything about issues affecting things out of my own ife.

does it make me self obsessed, ignorant, or just plain detached?

I wonder sometimes what I would have done if I didn't have my words. I suppose I'd suffer a mental asphyxiation of sorts. But maybe that would happen if i lost my words, and it has happened to me, i came dangerously close.

What would i have done, if I never had them in the first place?

What would you do, without your words?

Thursday, March 20, 2008

An example of how messed up my bestfriend and I are:

19th march, school.

Me: Give me your iPod!
Me: What's there in that bag? a dildo?
Bestie: Why are you pointing a long straight object at me A?
Me: It IS a dildo, isn't it?
Me: *falls down laughing*


Bestie: so... dude.. it's really weird.. i think i'll have a long talk with him...
Me: long? how long?
Bestie: HAHAHAHAHA. straighten things out?
Me: Yes, you best give it to him straight, i tell you.


Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Salt and Saffron...

I want to curl up in bed with my earphones plugged in tight, with a cup of tea, listen to Coldplay and read Salt and Saffron because i absolutely adore that book...

I want to feel utopic, because I haven't lost touch with reality in ages, and I fear that if i stray away from my dreams too long, I will lose them and not be the person I am.

And that, to put it very blatantly, would suck.

I want to avoid my O levels. I don't want to jinx my life now..


Golden ticket

And then it strikes you, that either you got it wrong the first time, or it actually isn't a once in a lifetime phenomena=)

Can i be Charlie, and will you be my Golden Ticket? We'll live in our Chocolate Factory World and Roald Dahl tales and be happy in our bubbles of joy created in those moments of sugar highs and subsequent lows, and laughcrylaugh at our silliness.

I think someone/thing stole my funnies, and I do not appreciate that, because I've always prided myself on the fact that I have the ability to amuse people. Kindly return it, who/whatever you are. I feel lost without my funniness=(

Friday, March 14, 2008


Haha, three posts in one day on a blog that no one reads?

I am too good. *pats self on back*

Last days of school. Seriously, it's still hard to believe that my 6 years of single sex catholic school education have passed, and I survived. Harder to believe that the first waves of nostalgia are beginning to hit me. Very soon, i have a feeling, that they will be washing over me, and might even be streaming out of my eyes. Gay much? But I won't be the only one....

Yes, even though I've whined and bitched about this place so much, it's still a kind of second home. Sigh. Cheesy.

What is making me write this, I feel like i must explain. Hitler.

Not quite in the way you think, before you start thinking of him as a closet sentimentalist (if that's even a word) cross-dressing fag. No, not like that at all. We watched the movie today, in school, Pakistani dvd and all having fucked up sound and worse subtitles seemingly written by chinese midgets with a very poor hold on the English language. Added to the fun, although it was supposed to be "educational", it turned out to be more of a joke than anything else.

And then,while literally rolling on the floor laughing, it hit me, that i would miss the silliness of this place, and these idiots who are my classmates/friends/confidantes, intentionally or unintentionally, and how we know so much about each other without ever meaning to, or talking to each other one on one.

Our stupid fits of laughter, class jokes, politics, lameness, sticking up for each other,larka problems, -isms. (now it sounds like a speech. shit maaaan.)



6th grade was then, and now we're done with grade 11. Almost, with a couple of days to go.

What the fucking hell is wrong with me?=\


Are you envious
of me thinking in Blue
Seeing in Green
Living in Pink and
Breathing in Red?

Are you envious?
When I have so much colour,
Too much colour
Exploding in my head
Like catherine wheels
And fire dragons.

And are you envious?
That it surrounds me
And bursts around me,
While you are caught in
greys and browns and blacks and whites
The aching dulls,
Against all my brights.

What should I say to you,
When you begrudge me my splashes.
I do not want them,
These constant explosions rocking
My core and such
Not a happy place, no.

Trade with me, and give me
Your dreary two toned world
And take my fantasy onto yourself.
Feel it in the crevices
of your numb being,
As it courses through you
Bursting bubbles of life in your veins.

And then feel the pain
I have known all along when
I drown in the blues and bleed in the reds.

Know then, why I envied you,
Your dreary thoughts and
Monochrome mind.

Fireflies and Nightlights.

And streetlamps
On. And off. In a
Foggy haze on cold winter nights
As water ripples gently with
Bursts of a breeze.

See in distorted reflections
Images of

Pictures on a sheet of black water
By the moon shining
Blurry lights in the dream
Where you stand.

Cigarette in hand.

Wonder, Wonder.
Fire in the water and
The fog lit by clarity of
Shining lights.

This place in your mind,
The harbour in your thoughts.

Not quite real.

But not a figment,
of your
Restless imaginings.

Thank you Abdul, for the lovely picture. Now you can go ahead and say I'm a pretentious bitch. <3=p

Friday, March 7, 2008

Little rainbow fairies on freshly washed grass. Bright green.

Rather obscene.

There are pictures in my head, very disconnected. It's rather like being an addict. Without knowledge of the addiction.

But who's complaining? It's a fairly happy state of mind, with pixies and rainbows and spring-morning-dew and flowers and the bright green grass that shocks my senses into happiness.

Plastic happiness, senseless happiness. Lovely, pretty lies.

Oh such mirth.

Excuse the inanity. I think I'm happy.


Monday, February 4, 2008

Dreaming In Blue.

Almost two years since I wrote a poem. Judge me not, this comes from within crevices in a dysfunctional mind with a disjointed thought process.

Dreaming in Blue, unreal
Disjointed blurs of senseless
Light and unknown sounds
In my head.
Like the ticking
Of a clock I forgot on my
Way down memory lane.

And a grain of sand
Making all the difference
Slipping down the
Hole in an hourglass.
Another moment, another life
Another dream

The ticking and the dreams,
Obliterated along the way
To you and
What was yours.
Still is,
With pieces of me clinging on.

I gave me away
In a box
To a key so wrong
For the lock holding it closed.
Regret and wonder where
I went wrong
Because all I see is

As you force your way
Into my heart-shaped-box
And I try
To think of it in biology.
All arteries, veins and ventricles
When it hardly ever works
Because hearts are much,
So much more
Than that.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Chicken. Wherefore art thou?=(

Rant of the day/week (depending on when i update this blog, which no one reads, next):


yes, ladies and gentlemen, Bird Flu has hit our poor chickens yet again.

AGAIN, I tell you.

Not that this discovery makes much of a difference in my life, considering that the difference was already made when I read the article about there being cattle bones,hooves,horns and blood in the poultry feed, and the occasional stray cat or dog too.

Kind of put me off chicken for very long.

But it didn't seem to affect anyone else, so I used to sit around, annoyed and sullen, while other people ate chicken and told me i was being silly. And then this flu epidemic hit the poor clucks. *evil laugh*
Though i can't help but wish I should've thought about something else, apart from "WHY ARE OTHER PEOPLE EATING CHICKEN WHEN I'M NOT". But that isn't my fault, you see, because God usually does not pay attention to what I'm thinking about, so here I was, with that annoying voice in my head niggling me and ranting about how everyone BUT me was eating chicken, and the next day, Bird Flu was in the headlines.

Why couldn't it have bugged me about how poor i was? I might just have won a lottery. Stupid voice in my head.

So anyway, this is what happens/has happened/can happen if you eat whatever animals or vegetables you're supposed to eat:


The clucking bird deserves the pride of place in this blogpost. You eat Chicken, you get the human form of Bird Flu, and you die. Or something along those lines anyway.
Moral: Dont't eat chicken. You'll sprout feathers and make weird clucking noises. You will run around in circles, flapping wings-that-used-to-be-your-arms and then you will suddenly drop dead. So don't eat chicken, i repeat.


Anyone remember the mad cow disease? I don't know what this particular disease can do to a person, but I would like to imagine, by its name, that the affected individual develops an alternative personality and begins acting like a cow/bull. Food regurgitation, butting into people's backsides, moo-ing loudly and a strong desire to eat whatever cattle eat are some of the symptons. Hopefully, it won't hit us while the chickens are dying. I know many people who would perish if they couldn't eat meat.

Vegetables from farms in the outskirts of cities and towns:

I almost had a heart attack, when it was revealed to me that the water used to irrigate these vegetable crops was sewage. Sometimes, it might even be factory waste. So, basically, we're eating veggies grown with the help of water containing human shit, and factory chemicals. Extremely Appetising. I can see people turning into nuclear horror stories because of all the chemicals. Although, I can't stop eating vegetables, i'm rather fond of them. Hopefully, i won't be turning into a Green Goblin lookalike?=\

Fish from the Keamari area

Apparently, deep sea fishing is safe, but I don't trust that either. If you saw the state of the water in our part of the Arabian sea, you wouldn't either. It will not be surprising if we experience Fish Fever in the future. The water in which our little fishies live is full of oil, toxic waste, plastic bags, people's shoes, tyres, underwear ( yes, i have seem these objects floating around). It doesn't seem very safe, now does it?

Friday, February 1, 2008

Today they were deciding on (and altering) the class teams for the school tournaments. They, as in, the bossy bunch of girls called the students' council. Who are all in my class. Who will beat me up if they see what i have said about them. Must get back to original topic.

I make it sound all cool, but it actually isn't considering that there are about 30-35 girls in each class and only grade 9,10 and 11 will be playing. On top of everything else, there is quite a number of us who are atheletetically backwards ( and i think ive spelt that wrong). Anyway, so when the throwball team was being called out, one member decided she did not want to play throwball. So they asked if anyone else wanted to fill her place. This is what happened:

Me: *raises hand*

Sheema: Shut up Sanaa! We're serious!

Me: * still raising hand* but...


Me: *puts hand down*

Apparently, I've displayed such an aversion to anything and everything that must be done in the school Hockey Field ( which i don't know why they call it, considering we don't even PLAY hockey on it.) that I wouldn't be taken seriously, as is obvious above.

I've also realised that this phenomena of not taking me seriously is not just limited to sports. It extends to almost all other aspects of my life, and anything else which i happen to utter. I'm beginning to worry about whether there's something wrong with my face or the way I speak. I mean, Minkie DID say I looked like Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story just the other day, but that was probably because i took my apparently-very-cool raised eyebrow look a tad too high. Yes, my eyebrows have talents to defy gravity.

She still remembers his name. =\ (Buzz Lightyear's i mean. I jump topics.)

what a loser.

I want to watch Toy Story too=(

I am also being a loser.

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Happy birthday to you.

I miss you baba.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

So today was my pre birthday birthday party of sorts. Not that i'm one of those extremely popular people who have 10 birthdays thrown for them, no sir. Just that, this was actually the only birthday party i'll be having?

so it wasnt actually a pre birthday birthday was a birthday party.. im confusing myself=s

god. im low again.

stupid annoying dumb @)!(&#*@&.


Friday, January 18, 2008

Is it too much to ask for love in return for your own? To treat someone's heart like an insurance policy of sorts, it'll come in handy when hardship strikes? Only to watch the company go bankrupt, all your investment running into the ground.
Your castle being washed away by the hude tidal wave. One grain of sand indistinguishable from another. Not being able to tell which part was being swept away, and it was all over, in the blink of an eye.

It takes a second.
To erase ages.
To wipe it all out.

And still you manage not to feel clean. The black in the board remains, and you can chalk it up as much as you want, there will always be gaps in the white.
No purity, never purity.
The past peeks into your present, your future, always.
Waiting to come out of shadows to taunt you, not really bringing anything of significance back. Just faded, hazy memories. And disconnected dreams. While you sit, sit, sit. Spend your time staring at this and that, nothing-in-particular, because you have unlearned to focus.

You look, not really looking. You listen, not really listening. And when you die, it will be not-really-dying, because mortal existence does not count. Not when the essence is lost.

The essence. It made you live. Focus.

And now you stare.

At what?
The cycle stopped?


Cancer- My Chemical Romance.

Turn away,
If you could get me a drink
Of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded
Call my aunt Marie
Help her gather all my things
And bury me in all my favorite colors,
My sisters and my brothers, still,
I will not kiss you,
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.
Now turn away,
Cause I'm awful just to see
'Cause all my hairs abandoned all my body,
Oh, my agony,
Know that I will never marry,
Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo
But counting down the days to go
It just ain't living
And I just hope you know
That if you say (if you say)
Goodbye today (goodbye today)
I'd ask you to be true (cause I'd ask you to be true)
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you
I miss you Baba.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Do you wonder when it became unbearable?

What was that point which drove you to the deepest corners of your worst nightmares, trying to escape reality.

Yes, the irony amuses me. Solace in a nightmare. Elation in insanity.

Funny concept, but explorable. Extremely so.

my poor lost pencil case and O.W.T(Other Whiny Things)

As promised, I have returned "later" to deliver the aforementioned "more", though I haven't got the slightest clue as to what it is which would be deemed worthy enough to be penned, or rather typed, by me in this sacred blog of mine.

At the word sacred, i hear that highly annoying voice in my head (no-iam-not-insane-you-have-it-too. Yes. YOU.) snorting, and saying something along the lines of " haha. sacred. no one even READS this stupid thing."

If it wasn't for the fear of blood and gore, the collision between a wall and my skull would have already occurred. Stupid voice.

I seem to have a knack for losing pencil cases. I lose one every three months, and then wander into class with my typically lost-but-hyperactive air and announce that today i shall have to share my stationary with someone. People usually roll their eyes at this, because even when i have a pencil case, the possibility of there being anything remotely of use in it is highly improbable. I need a pencil case. And a pen.

Is anyone donating a few?

O levels already?=s

O levels in about less than 4 months time, and now im freaking out, because after almost 5 years of not really studying, this is a big shock, and then exams for a whole month.

its never happened.

whats a poor vulnerable child to do?

more later, yes. Must wallow in self pity.