Thus one of the harshest indictments against bystanders to genocide is that they are lulled by their own bigotry. Would Americans have stood by if the Rwandans were white, or if the Bosnians were overwhelmingly Christian? David Wyman, the leading historian of the United States' reaction to the Holocaust, cannot escape the conclusion that the country's passivity was driven by American anti-Semitism. As the poet Czeslaw Milosz wrote, of Bosnia, "The lives of the well-fed are worth more than the lives of the starving." Nelson Mandela said that Africans and Asians had to envy the willingness of the world to save Kosovo. These kinds of biases are a particular concern for the press, which is supposed to be making judgments about news, not race. As Carr wrote, "An American newspaper correspondent in Europe is said to have laid down the rule that an accident was worth reporting if it involved the death of one American, five Englishmen, or ten Europeans." In 1970, the publisher of the New York Times, Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, asked his editors, "Why is it that when the National Guard kills four white students we put it on page I, and when the National Guard kills six black people we put it on page 32?" When an explosion of army munitions in Lagos killed over a thousand fleeing Nigerians, it was not front-page news in the Chicago Tribune, which instead ran pieces on Illinois prescription drug coverage and corruption charges against a Chicago businessman, How can one justify this kind of partiality? At home, it is intolerable; abroad, it may be equally intolerable, but it is commonplace.
From Freedom's Battle: The Origins of Humanitarian Intervention by Gary Bass
Said someone down at the health care center to an acquaintance who, like myself, is Pakistani and a freshman at MHC. This was in response to this person falling ill and developing a cold fairly frequently. This happened about a day before I was going to go down to the health center myself because my nose runs like the eff-ing Niagara Falls these days, and I'm pretty sure that half of my lung capacity has been destroyed by constant fits of coughing. Cough and cold medication no longer works. Apparently, it'll take a year for my system to get used to American medication too.
And I resist going to the health center, so when I say "I need to go to the health center", it's serious. I've maintained since my first week here that it is useless, and this is just another thing that really proves my point.
The first time I went down there was because my foot was creaking. Yes. It was creaking. Like a spring. If I wiggled my foot, it would make a springy sound. If I touched it and wiggled it, it would be creaking. And it sort of hurt too. Naturally, I freaked out, and made trip no. 1 to the health center. After wandering around looking for the health center, and finally getting to it in 25 minutes ( it's all the way across campus. I'm not even sure if it's on campus), I went in and asked to see someone. They made me fill out a form, and as weird as it sounds, I put down "Creaky Foot" under reason for visit. True enough. I was thinking maybe they'd give me some medicine for the pain, or give me some fancy medical term for the condition I otherwise kept referring to as Creaky Foot. But no. What I was told was " We refer to this as Overstressed Feet Syndrome, you should rest your feet." I really wanted to ask her if she was planning to buy me a car, because that was the only way I could think of to "rest" my feet. Also, I had just walked 25 minutes to get to the health center just to be told that I should be resting my feet. And to add insult to injury, I got lost while trying to get back to my dorm. Talk about facepalm moments.
The health center is also notorious for connecting everything to pregnancy. Students have been asked if they are pregnant when it's just food poisoning they have. The staff down there really seems to have a lot of faith in the student body on campus. If I ever go there and someone asks me this, I will probably be prepared and answer with a " Why, yes!" and walk out. I mean, what else can you do when you're misdiagnosed like that?
"I cannot finish off a mile-long run right now. Why? Because I need to have run almost a mile just before now, so that I can complete the running of a mile. Yet, I have not been running. So I cannot finish a mile at this point."
Kasam khao? Because I had no clue that you actually had to RUN to finish off a mile-long run.
If he'd actually spent even half that fucking time running, he'd have completed that mile. Thank you liberal arts, for this semester long mindfuck. I now know what I will definitely NOT be majoring in. Seriously, what kind of crack do you have to be on to produce this stuff? I'll probably be needing some of it to pass this class. "If something has to be, then it will be." "If something will be, then it has to be."
Mr. Conee and Mr.Sider, I regret to inform you that your LIVES were accidental necessities.
Sitting in the library with readings from four classes staring into my uncomprehending face, I now realize that 3 months of no mental (or physical, but we'll get to that later) activity whatsoever have really decreased my already low mental capacity. If you, like me, suffer from a lack of active brain cells, I suggest exploring options other than Higher Education. If you really, really, really like a certain college, try getting a job there. Become a janitor. Or a dishwasher. Or something. (Since you can't be a professor, cause for that you kinda sorta have to take the HE path too.) They'll make you wash pots and pans in the kitchen as "work-study" anyway (three hours of pot washing on a Sunday morning. And countless more to come). So might as well stick to manual labour and enjoy the perks of a beautiful campus without going to any of the classes.
As much as I love this place, I still have some whining to do. (Surprised? Don't be.)
The food doesn't taste like anything. Sometimes I want to gag just for the lack of spice. There is way too much food in this country, and none of it is spicy.
So back home, I'm supposed to be "chubby" (whatever that means). However, here, I'm smaller than small. Now you may think of that as a boost to my self-esteem, which it was for the first two days, it's just plain annoying now. I've been trying to shop for winter and I look like a two year old trying to fit into her mother's clothes.
So we all know how the first world countries are out to kill us. We get Red Bull for cheaper. We get cigarettes for nothing. And frankly, I prefer it that way. Please, I would rather die than pay $8.50 for twenty cigarettes. Can you let me reduce my lung capacity in peace?
Walking. Too. Much. Walking. For a person who's known for sitting on her butt and moving only when the necessity occurs, this is a lifestyle shock. So far, I'm still alive. For how long? I don't know.
"So, like, how did you hear about Mount Holyoke? Do people there know about America? Do you guys, like, listen to our music? Do you speak English there? So, like, do you meet boys? Is your house flooded?" Alas, the ignorant American. Oh, I don't know, one day as I was wading through my burnt down village, which just by the way also got hit by the flood, trying not to drown under the weight of my sodden burqa, I reached a stretch of dry land. On that fine stretch, I saw a white man on a donkey cart. It was an American missionary who somehow managed to convey to me (through sign language since I didn't know what English was till I came to this country) that there is this place called Mount Holyoke College. When I found out, I swam back to my house as fast as I could, to tell my family of 50 people that I could save everyone, only to be beaten up with a belt and chased out of my village because they thought the American missionary had violated my honour. While I was being chased out, I hid in the forest, on top of a tree, where the man found me again, and applied to the US for political asylum for me, and here I am! It sounds so much better than "Umm, it was my first choice."
no matter how hot a guy you find in the person sitting next to you in your airplane..dont bang him in the toilet. . okay?
IF YOU HADN'T SAID THAT TO ME
GOD KNOWS WHAT I MIGHT HAVE ENDED UP DOING
YOU JUST SAVED ME A LIFETIME OF REGRET YAAR.
Mum: DON'T TALK TO ANYONE AT THE AIRPORT. THEY'LL SLIP HEROIN INTO YOUR BAG.
Mikk: Ask them to make you sit next to a woman. I had my butt grabbed by this horny man on a flight, and I had to sit with him for the next four hours. When I went up to the flight attendant and told her, instead of changing my seat she told me "Madame, please don't congregate in this area."
Me: So was that man embarrassed at all?
Mikk: No, he was like leaning all over me, and then he asked me " Excuse me, aap apni chizz (cheese) khaayein gee?"
It's all rushed by, this whole year. In one week I'll be leaving Pakistan for 8 whole months.
One of my closest friends is leaving on Monday. We've been in the same class for 9 years, had fights, love/hate moments, boy trouble, MUNs, random fits of laughter, weird confrontations, made elaborately complicated plans to sneak out (and suceeded), had the same grades, been completely useless at math together..There's too much we've done together, and it's going to be very, very weird not to have you with me in the same class Pluto.
Another friend is going to the same place as me, so that's going to be 13 years in the same schools/college. That's a long, long time to know someone. But I can tell you it's nice to know someone familiar in a strange place.
The past two years, as I've mentioned previously, have changed my life. I've befriended a few people who I'd like to think will be part of my experiences and me wherever I go. So will those who I used to know, but no longer do.
Mama, the sisters, BamBam- The only real family I do know. Karachi, my seaside love.
Kiki, with her exasperating behaviour about rowing, for feeding me all the time, for all the times I've been at her house sitting around aimlessly, for making fun of me when I play that stupid Exploding Bubbles game on her iPod, for her dad getting worried on days they didn't pick me up for school, for her cats and dogs and boys, and her generally confusing life. <3
Mikk for, well, everything.
The MUNners for good, good times, for sticking together, for crying through the stress and laughing and spitting through the free fall.
D, for being one of the sweetest people I know, for the chocolates and the smokes and the Gazebo, the rare phone conversations and random bonding sessions.
All those people who I've loved being around, who've made things bearable when my head was threatening to implode.
Thank you. ILY =)
There's too much and too little happening at the same time. On one hand life is as still as it could have been in a long, long time. I feel like Dunbar from Catch-22, getting bored just to make myself feel the days are endless and will never pass. I haven't even started counting them down, because it'll happen when it's time, so what's the point of wasting breath over it?
All I know is, forward nine months and I will not return the same person. Everyone keeps telling me that. I will (hopefully) have conquered homesickness, the blues, the sense of feeling lost in a crowd, of being unsure, of never having been out in the world on my own.
It's a fresh start and I'm measuring it out with my clothes. I can take all the ones people have already seen me wear, because there no one will know me. No one will know what I've already worn. And no one will know me as I have been, as I am now.
I guess this is one of those cliched posts where I talk about the immense shock and grief facing everyone who's family members were on the plane that crashed, everyone who knew someone on the plane and everyone who knows someone who was related to/friends with someone who lost their life on the plane. I belong to the third category, and I found myself wanting to cry at random moments during the day.
Because it could have been any of us on that plane, because it could have been our parents and loved ones crying for us, because it could be us whose spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/children would never see them again, us whose honeymoon was cut short by a plane crash.
I've been on Air Blue flights before. I've been on a plane full of school teams going to Lahore for a Model UN conference, and just thinking about what may have gone through the minds of those students going for the Youth Parliament as they realized they were going to die makes me want to break down. It's not even stress or nervous anxiety because I'm going to be traveling soon. The fact of death itself doesn't frighten me as much as the thought of the pain it will cause those who love me and care about me.
152 is a big, big number when you consider all the thoughts in that plane when those people knew they were about to die. Did they even know?
And how many families were left bereaved?
Edit: Today I received an invite for a " going-away-to-college-party-" aka let's get drunk and have fun together one last time. And I don't have the heart to go and let my hair down when a plane carrying people like me just crashed into a hill and burned the people inside it to death. Something makes me feel that it's just not right. I always have a severe debate raging in my head about these things and I don't generally go to any, but right now I just feel it's downright insensitive to be having a party two days after a plane crash that cause so many people to suffer such a tremendous loss. But then again, who am I to say. To each his own.
I was really hoping that my next blog post would be more meaningful than just me whining about my life, and yet, here it is and here I am, ready to complain.
These days the one question I get asked a lot is "So, what are your college plans?" and its variation "How are your preparations for college going?". I can't answer I don't know, because no one believes me. Truth is, I really do not know.
Here's the visa, here's the ticket, and yet, I don't know. I should be all set with my ticket out of here, a ticket to my prospects and an actual future where no one can treat me like crap just because I'm a girl without a father. To be fully prepared to go to one of my dream schools. And still, I don't know. Because I'm struggling, because people back out of promised help, because there are a million things that have to be done before I can finally leave. Two months ago, I had a semester's tuition sponsored, somehow with some help from a friend. Now, all of a sudden, I don't. Disappearances, people going AWOL without notice- It's all too much for me to think about. I've stopped sleeping at nights, I think, and I think a lot. I think about rich kids. People tell me to stop "hating on them" but I can't help begrudging people the easy lives they lead. They don't know, they really don't, that while they spend 5000 rupees on a night, I'm thinking of how much the next year is costing my mother. How I can't even afford college even with financial aid that makes most of my peers' jaws drop. I hear it a lot "Thats ALL you have to pay? That's IT?! Wow man!", and I don't know how to explain. It's too much, it is still too much. So while someone's parents spend lakhs and lakhs on foreign education for them, and as these kids waste themselves away on love lives and booze and parties (not to generalize, I know a lot of people who don't do these things at college.), I sit here and wonder what will happen. With 57 fucking days to go.
In truth, my life is a million times better than that of the rickshaw driver who killed himself and his family a few days ago because of poverty. It's a lot better than that of the woman who threw herself on train tracks with her children because of poverty. It's better, I have food to eat, I have a home, I'm privileged to be part of the 1% of the population of Pakistan who lives what is could be called a comfortable life.
But I'll get to the whys and the hows and the whats. Family. I find that word laughable, except when it comes to my mother and my sisters. No one knows I'm supposed to be going abroad. My mother has been told it's a waste of money to spend so much on a girl, she's heard it all so many times, she could repeat it while asleep. Hell, she developed a heart problem overstressing herself. People stop caring when they see you've got the same old car. When they see you don't wear designer clothes, don't sport fancy accessories. When they realize you have no useful connections. When, generally, your father dies in this country.
It's a flaw, having a brain and ambition. A big one. It makes you realize you are so much bigger and better than what you see around you, that you deserve this chance because you have worked for it, worked to redeem yourself and to correct the mistakes you made. It's exhausted you. Sometimes, you wonder about the point of it all. Is it worth it? It takes so much away. Too much, almost.
All people see is, to cut a long story short, the trip to Boston. Like cake, that was served to you on a platter. You've stopped explaining, because it's too much effort to tell everyone that along the way, these things have have taken a lot from you, even while they've taught you incomparable lessons. Every achievement, every heartache, every rejection. How does one even begin to explain.
It's scandalous. The thought of working in a boutique, a shop, a Mcdonald's is scandalous. We don't do that in Pakistan if we're from a "good family". What does being from a "good family" mean anyway? Is it a stamp of approval? Is it living in a certain locality? Is it studying in a certain school? Is it the people you know, the places you're seen at? I never understood. So you sit and you resign yourself to having no money, because you're young and well, money is hard to come by. Because you don't have that expensive degree from that famous university yet.
Even when you're close to that degree, you can't quite have it.
So what do you do? You sit and you smile when your friends say "Thats ALL you have to pay? That's IT?! Wow man!". And you lose sleep, and your mind, thinking about what will happen, about how you deserve this because it's all yours. It's drastic, it's painful and it cuts. But you sit and you smile and you answer questions.
And count the days, I guess.
It's the uncertainty of it all that irritates me. You could say it's sitting here, on my palm, but I can't close my fingers around it and hide it in my hand and know that it's mine. For once, I'd like to be certain rather than wondering about whether I'm going to lose.
Ever since the exams ended (which was on Friday, the 11th of June) all the inspiration just flew out of my head. Now I sit around wondering what to do/write or how to be productive. But I mostly just sit around being a waste of space and oxygen, reveling in how I am officially done with the A levels. There is actually nothing to do. Apart from looking for a job, but well..... I'm too lazy even for that.
You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other place or worship in this State of Pakistan.
And we forget his words like we forget the Pakistan Studies syllabus.
Save my country, please.
Oh and: “What we have seen this morning is a war crime,” said Saeb Erakat, the chief Palestinian negotiator for the government in the West Bank. “These were civilian ships carrying civilians and civilian goods — medicine, wheelchairs, food, construction materials.” “What Israel does in Gaza is appalling,” he added. “No informed and decent human can say otherwise.”
Full article here
There are times when you just cannot consider "all sides" to an argument.
Someone just forwarded this text to me, and I didn't know whether to laugh or be exasperated or just plain annoyed:
On 31st of may facebook wil b the only most visited wibsite in the cyber world n this wil continue for a week (or may be more) which will surplus the loss they experienced, people wilcomment, play games, up-load pics, send messages, will poke friends, up-date the status about facebook being unblocked, BUT no one of us wil think 4 a second about Muhammad (S.A.W.W), who was always thinking abt us. these are the signs abt wat kind of muslims wud b there, wen Dajjaal wil come n invite u 2 da wrong path, n it will be followed.....
Can u tell it to all ur friends?
I mean, seriously? So now whoever uses Facebook is a certified heretic who has no respect for the Prophet. Nice. I'm sorry I haven't switched to the halal Facebook yet. Excuse me while I social network the Pakistani way.
PS: I don't mean to be disrespectful. The whole "Let's Draw Muhammad Day" thing was absolutely horrible, as I've said before. But things like these just really, really piss me off. Let other people be, and let them make their own choices.
Please don't give me an allergic reaction from all the raw coffee I have been consuming. Waking up after two hours of sleep with junkie-withdrawal symptoms isn't the best way to start a day when you have an exam. Scratching your arms (and your neck.. and your face.. and your head) during said exam is probably worse. I know I have been a little bit unhealthy, and I am Nescafe's dream consumer right now, but please do be nice. I will try not killing myself.
Your time as co-chairman of the PPP and as president of our beloved country has shown, not for the first time in history, that the Pakistan People's Party is not in fact a socialist party that caters to the demands of the masses (no, a ban on Facebook does not count). Your government is not doing anything to alleviate the sufferings of the public, and it has definitely not done a lot to reduce poverty, unemployment, the lack of health facilities, human rights violations and the myriad of other trivial issues plaguing Pakistan. There has, however, been (like there is in all governments) an explosive increase in the bank accounts of those who pledge their undying support to you. In other words, the rich are getting richer, the poor are getting poor, and the honest should just go shoot themselves.
While your children live in comfort and luxury, students in Pakistan languish in the face of a constant shortage of electricity, the worries of making ends meet, the utter uselessness of the so called Higher Education Commission and a substandard quality of education in governmental institutions of learning. Your son's security alone is costing a million pounds a year, because of course, we all recognize what a precious asset he is to the country what with his oratory skills, his ability to empathize with the people of Pakistan and the amazing leadership potential in him that is being honed at the prestigious Oxford University. I am quite sure his admission there must be the result of painstaking effort on his part. And of course, who can forget the appointment of your youngest daughter, Asifa, as the ambassador of polio?She can't even pronounce her own name right.
Also, thank you so much for blessing us with your presence at the Bilawal House. Thank you for the nuisance it is for those living in the area, thank you for the strange traffic rules, thank you for the eight hours of no electricity instead of the usual 3 because of course, the residents of that area must pay for their electricity consumption of the past one week when your presence ordained that there must be no loadshedding during the time of your stay at the Bilawal House. I understand that your position offers you "diplomatic privileges", and I would like to point out that I feel it is such a pile of rubbish that you, your children and the other incompetent and corrupt leaders of this country are having the time of their lives at the expense of the public, while the country is all set for a 43% rise in its international debt within the next five years.
Yesterday when the the PTA banned Facebook, I had a discussion with a friend regarding the violation of civil liberties. According to her, this ban was an infringement on our freedom of expression, a measure taken because people felt their faith was threatened by the activities FB authorities had refused to clamp down on. She felt that banning a whole social networking website just wasn't the way to go about it, and the government was acting foolishly by reacting in such a manner. Basically, what she felt was that the government's response was immature and was bound to get out of control.
I disagreed with her, because I thought that if it appeased the masses for a few days, so be it. She and I, and in fact many of us, do not represent the average Pakistani Muslim, and if their sentiments had been deeply hurt, perhaps this measure might make them feel better. Besides, we could all stay in touch through phones, messengers, Skype, etc, not to mention the fact that this ban might just make us study (I know many people who deactivate their accounts during exam time). The measure did not violate any particular human rights as to actually harm someone's life, and it was to be a short term measure, a form of organized protest by (willingly or unwillingly) the people of Pakistan.
What I was unaware of, when I woke up today, was the ban on YouTube. And Wikipedia. Really? How does that even make sense? At the very moment I write this blogpost, I can't even open my own blog, perhaps because of the words used in it. Apparently, the requested URL cannot be retrieved. So much for my freedom of expression, the violation of which, I might add, I take great offense to.
YouTube was blocked because of "Objectionable Content on the Main Page". And God knows why Wikipedia was restricted. If this is the case, then why aren't the thousands of porn sites being banned too? Do objectionable videos on the main page of YouTube really mean that we're going to watch them, and be influenced by them? I'd really like to think we're not that stupid, because it would be a shame if we were. Most of us know not to waste our time by leaving comments like "Y0U R@C!ST P!GZ, ALLAH W!LL $TR!K3 Y3WW" because we're aware that the people who post such videos are ignorant assholes who don't know the meaning of the word tolerance. Those who do comment, are equally, if not more, misinformed about the "evil culture of the West", so really, at the end of the day as it turns out it's ignoranus against ignoranus. Who are we to meddle in their enlightened arguments and cyberwars?
Quite evidently, the PTA doesn't share the same sentiments, and would very much like to meddle. And turn it into a nuisance for the rest of us, because it hurt their egos that a few hackers came up with solutions to the Facebook ban. Why not just go the whole nine yards, then?
Anyone remember the blogger ban of the not so recent past? Exactly.
So around this time of the year, I decide to forget all about weight consciousness and dive into everything ridden with empty calories. Why? It could have something to do with immense boredom, but it's probably also because I'm one of those stress-eater types. Unless I'm heartbroken, which I will inform you, is a horrible way to starve yourself. You lose weight and still feel like shit. You wonder that even after the weight has dropped off, why he still doesn't want you. You curse yourself for ever being fat. And even if there's a remote chance of looking attractive because of the pounds you've shed, it's kind of ruined by the fact that your face is puffy, blotchy, and swollen at the worst of times, and looks miserable even when you look your best. A close second in horrible ways of losing weight is typhoid. Seriously, don't eat shit... Just go on the cabbage soup diet or something. You'll be less miserable, I promise.
Thank God I don't suffer from either of the above very often.
Anyway, I was whining we were talking about this time of the year. Ever since the CIE and I became acquainted, I have taken to not only forgetting, but shooting, stabbing, killing, stamping on and setting fire to my conscience when it comes to what a Fat Ass I am. Not that it's very active anyway, my love for food has made sure the "stop eating, you fat bitch." voice in my head remains dormant, until one day I look in the mirror and decide I can no longer ignore the ogre looking back at me. And that I kinda don't fit in those clothes that-became-so-loose-after-the-typhoid. But not during the exams. Oh no. I don't even visit the mirror anymore, and I shudder to think of what people think when bg.h;(my kitten says hello world.) they see me. I don't know what I look like, but I know human is not a word I'd use to describe me during exam time.
And then the exams end, and I actually look at myself. And freak.
I try not to dwell on things these days, and I try not to obsess on the things I've done wrong. I don't have to think about what I did right, because here I am. So I try not to think too much, and let life be as uncertain as it is. And it's very, very uncertain right now. I don't even know if I'm going to college for another semester, or a year. There is no plan B, but I suppose if the time does come, I'll figure it all out- I've always managed to. So it's ok. I suppose.
Almost twenty months ago I posted this. Before anything had started, before I knew that these two academic years were going to be the best of my life. Back then, the process of A level admissions was stressful and nerve wracking, because of course, university was something to be thought of in the very distant future. When I look back at it, A level applications had absolutely nothing on uni apps. And I applied to just two places, but I speak for all my friends as well, when I say that the whole process can make one cry.
When I walked into The Lyceum, I knew this was the school I had wanted to go to. What I hadn't expected was a completely different world it was from the convent school where I spent seven years of my life ( and hated, quite honestly, most of them). People whined about how strict the admin was. I marveled at how the teachers were actually approachable ( I was usually in trouble at my old school), how they marked more leniently, how I was seen to be one of the "good students", how my teachers actually liked me, how shocking it was that other students had stories to share of "that time when" they got some teacher kicked out of their job, or how they would blatantly talk back to teachers (we'd get kicked out if we dared talk back to our teachers). I found myself, for the first time, appreciating the insanely high standards set by my convent school teachers.
I met people. Many new people in school and outside school, who did more to shape my experiences of the world than those past seven years ever could. I went in being judgmental, feeling I was "better" than the others, looking for new friends, wanting to prove myself. Two years on, I find myself trying to understand the reasons for why people are a particular way, and not the way I'd like them to be. I found out that being diplomatic is important, that you shouldn't be quick to put people in certain moulds and label them, that things and people are very, very quick to change. That the moment you stop caring what people think/say about you, you'll turn into a much happier, more confident person. I stopped wanting to live in the little bubble where gossiping about other people, being bitchy, judging them would be the only way you could socialize. I became, at the same time, more sensitive and desensitized. I learnt that the only people who I should care about were the ones who would care if I lived or not. I learnt how to say thank you. In other words, I grew up and matured- I'd gone in a child. I know there are people who didn't, who don't share my experiences of the place, but every one of my friends will vouch for how they can relate to at least one of the things I'm speaking of.
I remember how the October '08-January'09 period turned into one of the most bittersweet times of my life. The hurt, the typhoid, the bed rest, the altered brain chemistry, the knowledge that I could live without certain people in my life- I firmly believe the typhoid changed me for the better. And how February 2009 marked a change I thank God for every day. It's the change that allows me to just let things go, let them slide and happen as they want to, as they have to. I met someone who changed my life for the better, has been the one person who was integral to the whole process of my growing up. That person is the only one who can tell anyone how painstaking it was to make me grow up, to shape me into who I am now.
I'm extremely lucky to have made it on to the debating team. I remember my first MUN in school, how I didn't make it on to the team that would be sent to Lahore. How I cried for two days in a row. How my mother tried to explain to me that maybe I just wasn't ready for it- and I actually wasn't. I stuttered. I couldn't hold my own. I lacked confidence. And how in September '09, it was a different story-I actually made it on to the team. The trip to Lahore was one of the best times of my life. If there's one thing I will never forget, it will be that entire experience- there should be a whole post about it, but I wouldn't know where to start. Even Boston, where I was so incredibly homesick, only elicits fond memories in my mind now that I think about it.
I wouldn't know who to thank and where to start. But amongst the people who stand out are my mother, who finally felt it was okay to let me go, that going to "boys' houses" wasn't that big a deal anymore,that I could be trusted to go to another country without her and for her faith that I'm going to do something with my life. My sociology teacher who inspired me to make one of the most important decisions of my life- choosing the college I wanted to attend-, for making sociology fun, for everything she did. That person I mentioned earlier in this post, who literally moulded me. My friends- old friends, new friends, people I met on the trips- everyone who made these two years worth what they are to me now.
After saying all of this, I still don't know what to say.
The Lyceum, you will be sorely missed.
except that, I texted my friend in the morning asking if she could pick me up. She said okay. I went back to sleep, because we have a 9:50 am class and I thought she'd come at 9:50. Next thing I know, I get a text at 8:30 telling me to come downstairs. I asked her why. She said "Because I'm downstairs, jackass."
I told her I wasn't ready, because I wasn't. (Which sounds like she asked me to marry her and I told her I wasn't prepared to get into something serious at this point in time, but let's not get into that...)
And that, is why I'm at home and not at school. Fun taymez.
I will make no apologies for what I say on this blog, and how I choose to say it. If you disagree, or do not like what I've said, please do hesitate to contact me over it, because I try my best not to offend anyone with what I say. And if I ever do, well, it's probably something I won't regret. So if you're a follower of this blog, or a silent reader, or whatever, and you have an issue with what's on it- I suggest you stop following and reading, rather than taking offense at what I say. Because it's hardly ever some personal vendetta I have against you; My life is much, much bigger than that. And yes, I am aware that quite a few people feel I am a "stuck up bitch"- I will not apologize for that either.
Hitler the cat is not only a Nazi, but a pedophile and a rapist as well.
HE KNOCKED UP MY SIX MONTH OLD KITTEN
SHE DOESNT EVEN LOOK LIKE AN ADULT CAT
AND NOW SHE WILL BE STUNTED FOR LIFE
Durrie didnt want to neuter Hitler, because that would be robbing him of his manhood, but I dont see how robbing poor little Juliet of her childhood is any better. =(
She is a baby!
She was on heat, and she didnt even know what was going on in her body.
LIKE AN AFGHANI CHILD.
For anyone who remembers angsty, angry Jaahil ranting about something or the other on her blog, get some cake and take a seat. And don't forget to tell your friends. For anyone who stumbled across this post through Google, no, it doesn't consist of little-girl-porn. And now, Ladies (and Gentleman), I present to you:
The New Sex.
A few days ago I was feeling sickened by the way a (now ex) friend spoke in a disgustingly derogatory fashion about his girlfriend, a child by my standards. I remember how stupid I was at 16 over the boy I was in "love" with. I also recall how he declared me to be a whore to all and sundry, after he broke my heart and caused me a lot of misery. In retrospect, I can now laugh at some aspects of it, but I'm still quite sensitive about it.
And so, I take it very personally when I see apparently mature young men call girls sluts, whores, desperate, or anything else of that sort. Bitching about a girl who's in love with you, about how she's throwing herself all over you, about how she's a desperate hoe, about how she totally wants some- it's not cool, and the fact that you've been blessed with a penis in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan doesn't mean it's a God given right of judgment you can exercise over any female. I know about things people say about me, I know there are people who will label me to be a slut/whore and a variety of other pleasant titles I may have been given because of merely the fact that have been seen with a cigarette in my hand. I know one of my cousins thinks I have a "loose" character. I don't even know what that means. Point being, most Pakistani men, as a breed, need to get over themselves.
But there's more.
Here I was, ranting about all of the above, when the mother of all amusing/sad/disturbing/disgusting examples hit me in the face.
My mum's a lawyer, and these neighbors brought a problem to her. It consisted of a woman blackmailing neighbor aunty's poor, innocent husband, threatening to get him picked up and shot if he didn't marry her. Except that, the husband wasn't a scapegoat, and the whore in question was a 17 year old. He'd been having an affair with her for a year, and decided that since he'd fucked her enough, he'd just very conveniently end it because she was getting clingy. Just by the way, he's 39 years old, and has four children. His wife is a housewife- she's a nice woman, not very educated, simple and concerned with bringing up her kids. And now, trying to save her marriage and her husband. I don't understand why anyone would want to stay with, let alone save, a disgusting scumbag like that but I guess people have their weaknesses, and the father of your children counts as a big one.
Oh, and his grounds for screwing and leaving the girl are that “ she has a bad character”. And you, Mister, are Jesus, I take it? The amusing bit is, he’s scared shitless that shes going to get him picked up and murdered. I say, way to go girl. In fact, if my mother would let me into the drawing room, I’d put on Bad Romance as background music. So very apt.
She wants your love,
love love love,
she wants your love.
So uncle, how does it feel like to be caught in a bad romance?
I love how I'm *this* close to either getting it all, or losing it. That's all it takes. A tiny bit, a precarious balance. I could make it, or I could lose my footing and fall.
It. Is. Pretty. Much. Killing. Me. Now.
Every single time I go on a diet my mum thinks I'm trying to kill myself. Therefore, every single time I go on a diet, my mum tries to force feed me. One of her favourite devices to use is emotional blackmail. Another one is telling me how all my hair and teeth are going to fall out, and so on. And now, this just happened:
Mum: Baita, what are you going to eat for dinner?
Mum: KYUUN? PAGAL HO KYA??
Me: Nai, just fat.
Mum: Lekin I'm putting aaloo in the rice! You like aaloo!
Me: Not when I resemble one. =\
Mum: Dekhna, agar nai khao gee tou baal girna shuroo hojayein ge.... Exams ke liye bhi nai parh sako gee..phir kya hoga....
Me: *voice in head starts humming*
My PC crashed.
Now you can all just point at me and laugh, it IS that funny, no?
Good news: I'm in the library and this is boox sex and I'm pretty happy.
Better news: I can swim. I mean, I didn't just learn how to. I used to be kickass till about 6th grade. Winning stuff. My mum used to time me with a stopwatch. And then I turned into a lazy lump of fatness. So today, I decided to swim after about 2 and a half, 3 years. 1250 metres. I can't feel my bones, my arms, my legs or my body. But I haven't forgotten how to swim, and it's an incredibly nostalgic feeling. I don't hate exercise, I just don't like it's sweaty forms. Leave me in a pool, and see what I do. Yay!
At least now I have a name for the book I kinda sorta might decide to write. w00t.
I have too many plans in my head, and very little time to see the realisation of said plans. So I make them, feel like I've accomplished something in life, and then I abandon them. I was just talking to a friend, and I realised that I can be something of a bitch, and this is how:
Friend:You know. She went to LUMUN too.
Me: Did she win?
Friend: You > her.
Me: I know.
Friend: Bitch. =D
I'm not one of those people who go around shouting "Oh yeahh. I'm a bitch, deal with it." That's not cool, please don't do that. Just makes you look like an idiot, and believe me I've seen a lot of idiots in my 19 year old life.
But talking about LUMUN, I miss it like fuck. Those 6 days were probably the most amazing 6 days I've ever had, and the MUN owned HarvardMUN. When I'm at college I will hopefully be able to come back to LUMUN with an MHC delegation, and be all angsty feminist badass sort because it's just fun to freak people out with that. And people keep asking me if I'm going there to turn into a lesbian. Maybe I am. Women are a lot less trouble than men anyway.
The carnival was the fail I predicted it would be. My friend ended up eating about 30 sandwiches, she's going to bless me for the rest of her life. I'm quite jealous of her ability to eat like a bottomless pit and not gain an ounce. Not even *this* much. It makes me quite mournful that the same state of affairs doesn't exist with myself.
They're making everyone pay 5000 rs. for the after party. Mein joota na doun, 5000 tou duur kee baat hai. Idiots.
Tomorrow we have a carnival at school. We've never had a carnival at school, and with good reason. Our school is, as I've said before, the size of a chicken coop. So I don't know what they plan on achieving by having a "Fun Carnival". I think it's because Southshore and even *gasp* NIXOR had one, so it's impossible for THE LYCEUM to miss out. Now, the reason why I'm expressing these anti-carnival sentiments is that I am a society head. Which should mean that I get to act very cool, throw my weight around, point my finger at people and shout "Yo BITCH! Make me a sandwich.". Instead, I'm sitting here making sandwiches wondering who the hell to put on duty at the stall (apart from myself). Oh, and, I have to be there an hour before the carnival starts in order to "help set up" and leave an hour after it ends in order to "help clean up". Nice, eh? Positions of power and their perks, sigh, I can never have enough of them. Also, the journalism society is far from the most popular one which invariably makes me wish for the student population to not be quite so dyslexic, but that's not going to change. If anything, they get dumber by the year.
The most popular societies are debates and M.A.D (Music, art and drama). Why? Because debating takes you to Lahore and (in my case) Boston. So after the ECA orientation 90% of the A1s flock to the debating society meeting in hopes of being on the team. It's quite an amusing process, if you ask me, but details will make me sound like a bitch so I'll refrain. (=)). As for Music, arts and drama. Well. I guess the name accounts for the popularity.
(I still think journalism's the most kickass, though)
b) The weirdest thing just happened. My sister decided to toast a slice of bread. When it came out of the toaster, it gave my sister an electric shock. Literally.
It's still crackling.
Electric bread. Now THAT is an idea. Im'ma go look for a patent.
I have a test tomorrow, on Eliot, and I realised that more than laziness, I refuse to read the notes my teacher has given me because I don't want them to tamper with my interpretation about and feelings towards his work.
I'm enjoying literature after a long, long time.
And, I can't even feel guilty for not studying for the LCAT, because I am studying. Just not for that.
I'm up at 5 am in the morning working on six 25 mark history essays. None of which I have started, and I sure as hell don't have extensive knowledge of the topics they're about.
I'm wondering if there's any point to it at all, considering the fact that these transcripts don't have to be sent to any colleges and I'm pretty much done with my applications.
Seriously? I must be loony.
I am back. From Boston. From hiding (not that I was very well hidden). And from wherever else your imagination told you I was. Point is, I felt like blogging, so here I am.
Boston was...odd. It was lovely, it was horrible, it was great and it made me homesick. Basically, what I felt was confused. Except for the 45 minutes I was at the Harry Potter exhibition, because that made me so.insanely.happy.
Now that I'm back, I have work hitting me like a tidal wave. Assignments, tests, exams, the LUMS test(yuck) and begging the American people to give me more money. Apart from that, trying to find some way of earning money because I'm still, I reiterate, flat stinking broke and there's nothing I can do about it.
I'd say I want to go back to Boston, but I actually don't.
Where I do want to go, is Lahore. That was fun.