When I was younger, I was really in love with two names for boys: Mustafa and Hamza.
When my younger twin brothers were born, I begged mom to name them that. When she didn’t, I made a vow at 13, that I would either marry a guy with that name, or give my future sons that name.
It’s something that has stayed with me as a constant throughout these years.
One day. Idk. But one day.
Picture credit: Lume & Penna
Waves- they murder,
They crash against the cold cove,
Tides ripping like daggers through the stone wall.
Credit: Brewed at 5 am
My eldest uncle, dad’s oldest brother, lost his battle to cancer on this day around 26 years ago.
Each year, as September 9 rolls by, it is a dark and gloomy day for us. Even though I was only 1 when my uncle died, and I don’t remember anything about him- only stories, I am just as much affected by his death.
All of my family gathers at my grandparents on this day. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Dad and his siblings don’t go to work today. We have lunch and dinner with my grandparents. Dad visits my uncle’s grave with all the men. They feed the poor in my uncle’s name. We desperately try to lift my grandparents sad moods. It’s a ritual that is happening ever since I can remember.
Of course, losing a child is hard. And it is the worst thing ever. Especially, if it’s your first born, too. My uncle died at 35, leaving behind two children. Babies, really. 2 and 4 years old. My grandmother raised them. His daughter is like my sister and we have grown up together. And maybe that’s why her pain is my pain and why this day is painful for me, too.
I have never seen my grandmother break down before. She has always stayed strong, composed. She is the kind of woman who takes on a challenge and climbs the highest mountain without a sweat. She is never weak to the world. Sure, she has been emotional at times, but barely. Until today.
It’s a worst kind of feeling, when you hear your grandmother sob like a child does. It wrecks you, it shatters you… It cuts like a hundred knives. And I can’t get the sound out of my head…
I started crying, too. Everyone did.
Today was a very gloomy day, indeed.
It’s been 26 years, but some wounds never heal… I have so much love and respect for all the parents who continue to have courage after losing their children…. You are brave and surely, your patience and courage will be rewarded. Amen.
No matter how old or young, children should bury their parents. Not the other way around.
Maybe because making friends isn’t easy.
Breaking up with a lover means losing half of your heart, which you can more or less put back together in time. But breaking up with a friend results in losing half of your soul, and that never completely heals. You feel lost, useless and you’ll be afraid… Afraid to find a new friend. And that is devastating.
Losing a friend is just painful. Especially if they were really true friends. Then be prepared for your entire world to crumble up.
I have had a history of friendship breakups all my life. And this one hurt the most. Maybe because now I am older and making friends at this point in my life does not come easy.
Sigh. I’ll be eating icecream alone tonight.
March is such a busy month for me, it just seems to fly away. My sister is here from UK for easter holidays and so is my aunt with her family. Her poor kids are sick. Also, my younger brother has contracted chicken pox and it will be not long since his twin also catches it. 😕
On another note, I have finally motivated myself enough to start working out again. I want to be the way I was 2 years ago. Sigh. I used to be very thin. I don’t know how I let myself gain all this excess weight. Ugh. The other day, I met a classmate with whom I went to college with. She couldn’t recognize me. And I guess that was my wakeup call. 😧
Anyway. My other bff Mariam is getting married some time in July and I really want to wear a sarree. It will officially be my first time! I do have the height to pull it off but not the body since I’m kind of overweight now. Ugh.
I hope I lose all this fat soon.
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, really, and after the approval of my family, I sent applications to study Creative Writing at a few universities in the UK.
I think I’m too old for a masters degree, tbh. But there is no harm in applying, so I went forward with it.
I heard back from one of the universities. Just did, actually. And it’s a rejection.
This just makes me numb. I don’t feel anything. It is definitely what I was afraid of. One of the reasons why I almost never took part in the writing competitions at school. I was afraid of exactly this.
Now I’m just thinking I am so stupid to believe that I could be a writer. Wow. Because if they rejected me, I must be really bad.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.