i actually feel quite bad. horrible really. and i shouldn't because it is silly.

I made scones yesterday and I have to admit, they didn't really turn out the way I remember them.

I went on sir ahsan’s blog after the longest time and after reading that he was doing a blog-a-thon I went back to the first post of the month and began reading. He has, I fear, grown up. His posts are not even close to resembling the person I showed my 'well-written poetry and essays' to, so different from what I've come to expect from my second-best (first being ms. smith, WRHS) English teacher.

It’s a pretty sucky day, as eth so elegantly put it. Today, when my dad came home from his night shift he brought some bad news. I barely heard the words ‘died’ and ‘called me’ because I had my headphones on. The first thought that rushed to me was Mani bhai, but even as I was thinking it I knew it wasn’t anything to do with him, my dad looked composed. My sister’s friend’s sister got hit by a truck while she was at the bus stop. It doesn’t make sense to me at the moment, I didn’t ask for details. It’s in the newspaper, though, apparently. I remember her, the person. I used to play with her younger twin sisters. She was really quiet, and very studious and clever. My mum and sister have gone to their house but I refused to go. I’m terrified of funerals. I remember when my grandmother (the only grandparent I’ve ever known) passed away, and I couldn’t cry. The scene is imprinted in my mind: I was at the top of the stairs and the phone rang which my mother picked up. She screamed an unearthly scream and fell to the floor. I had no idea what to do. I distinctly remember sitting in bed with her that day, feeling awful because I was unable to shed a single tear while my mother cried her heart out. For a fairly long time my gran didn’t feel dead, and then during that time I think I got over it. Sometimes, these days I wake up and I hear her serene voice reciting the Quran because in Hyderabad that’s what you’d hear when you woke up. When my cousins and I reached the house, we would all race to say salam to her and hug her, blatantly ignoring everyone else until we had.

Also, eth’s car was broken into this morning. His radio was taken and his dashboard smashed, I think. I feel really horrible for him, it’s like, at the moment, his life is just a stream of bad luck. I hope he finds his good luck soon.

I’ve been blending things a lot lately: I was blending lemonade but I put in too much crushed ice so it turned into a lemon slushie, but it was still as delicious. I’m really pretty pleased with the way I’ve become independent lately. That sense of wrong doing, all the time, has left me after two stinking years. I’m making my own decisions instead of asking eth or moe or ne to make them for me. About time, too, I reckon. I’m thinking of throwing away the things I made for them, and making new ones because I’ve gotten quite good at making stuff.

Every song by Enya and Enigma feels so familiar, even though I haven’t heard them in like 5 years or something. Lovely.

^-^

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
with vassals and serfs at my side,
and of all who assembled within those walls
that I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches all too great to count
and a high ancestral name.
But I also dreamt which pleased me most
that you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same.

I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,
that knights upon bended knee
and with vows no maiden's heart could withstand,
they pledged their faith to me.
And I dreamt that one of that noble host
came forth my hand to claim.
But I also dreamt which charmed me most
that you loved me still the same
that you loved me
you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same.

i finished jane eyre that day. i asked rene if my fear was correct, and thankfully it wasn't. i was too scared to read the book because i was afraid of what might happen next. but i begged her to tell me, she's the only one who's read it, and she did. i was really pleased so i finsihed reading it that day. offcourse, i know that my eyes will have horribly bad sight, now that i've spent so much time stuck to the pc screen reading books.
i emailed n, because eth thought i should. and surprisingly i got a steady stream of replies; i don't know if i'm pleased about it or not. i was thinking of just stopping; i know how addicted i get to the rush of it.
right now, eth is teaching me how to use puTTy. i have absolutely no clue what i'm doing. he's telling me to write in the box and i'm writing it.

i don't think, as hard as we try, we can ever be grateful. i mean, honestly just be grateful for things that we long for and finally get. because when we get the things we long for we're too busy enjoying them to be grateful.
that package from mum's mate finally came; two seperate ones. it was a lovely surprise, even though i got a little scared when the doorbell went and the guy outside kept repeating, 'ejaz, ejaz, ejaz' when i asked who it was. i was trying to act like i wasn't that excited, because we're so unused to lovely things happening; i wasn't sure if being excited was allowed. i kept thinking that if i showed that i was happy, i'd get jinxed and something would counter-act it.
mum said she wanted to do something for my birthday this year, but i reckon it'll be as miserable as the past four. i won't even have asad this time, i should mail him. all i could say in reply was, 'i'll be legal!' which isn't as exciting as it was a few months ago.
i've been talking to umber lately; she called the other day. it was brilliant. i wouldn't stop talking to her, it was like we were standing outside our form room or in the library. i even realized that i've slipped back into my british accent. probably all the boosh we've been watching (if sir ahsan happens to find himself reading this, watch the mighty boosh, sir. it's excellent).
i cleaned out the store room on the roof with mum. i found my senior 1 english book;there were comments in there from sir ahsan. and it was so refreshing to see that i can actually write short stories and essays and letters. i'm not as complete a failure as i have been believing i am. and in one story there was something of a note from sir ahsan, it said, 'but where is the authentic british dialouge?' i've been having some trouble with psychology. tomorrow i'm going to sit down with the dictionary and look up all the words i don't understand, and hopefully get some past papers done. i keep thinking it's because of the supplies, like the way my handwriting completely depends on what type of pen i use, and how i get lazy if the notepad isn't right, which, i realize, is so dumb i can't even begin to justify it.
i reckon i spent all my time at city trying to fit in by not fitting in, and didn't leave any time for studying. or maybe i just spent the time i had left telling everyone i couldn't be as brilliant as they expected me to be. the only reason i was good in WRHS was because no-one expected anything of me. i don't look at umber's fb pictures because they make me sick. i start slipping back into the, 'if only we'd stayed a little longer.'
i listened to angel by massive attack, and i found the music to last of the mohicans. just that name reminds me of family; better times. the moment i put it on my mind played a slideshow of memories in hyderabad, sitting with both abu's and making them tell the elder cousins to let us join them.
i've been talking to umber lately; i try not to look at her pictures, school makes me nostalgic.
i was just watching St.Trinians, with Russell freaking Brand(GOD, if there ever is one). it's a fantastic movie, i saw that scene where Brand plays a german on youtube XD
i've been meaning to post this for the past 3 days, and somehow never get around to it.
Jane Eyre is a selfish little girl.

"it's just past 8 and i'm feeling young and reckless,
the ribbon on my wrist says do not open before christmas."

truth be told i'm lying

I remembered what I wanted to write now. The other day my cousins and I went to the park, a really neat and clean park, and we had homemade burgers. As I sat there eating, I looked around and saw all the foil that our burgers were wrapped in strewn across the grass. They all threw the rubbish on the grass and had a satisfied smile on their faces, and it creeped all over my skin so I stood up, handed my burger to my mother and picked up all the rubbish and stuffed it in a plastic bag. My cousin, who’s 12 now, said in a voice dripping with mockery, “Just because you’ve lived in England…”

I’m listening to Gives You Hell by All American Rejects. It really is the best screw you song I’ve heard in a long, long time. I mean, I don’t really need anyone to feel good about myself. I didn’t before and I don’t now. I know I’m not out of fantasy world yet, and I don’t particularly want to be. It’s lovely there. I wonder if I should send Ingo over, though? Mani bhai said he would send me movies, but then he says those kind of things all the time. I really need the books though and I don’t know who to ask. Everyone is off limits these days.

Gosh my olly it’s a good song. I heard it on TV the other day, the part where the crowd sings and I really liked it. Hope the camera’s fixed soon. Hope something good happens soon, to get everyone out of this horrible mood of constant waiting. It’s dragging everyone down, and I’m so tired even when I sleep for hours and hours. Granted, I’ve been waking earlier than usual since we came back, and gods, wasn’t that a disaster. I don’t think we’ve heard what they have to say yet, because the kids are here and they’ll hear and all, but I know the earthquake is still resting. It will erupt as soon as they leave. And it will be the same as it is every single time, with tears and shouts, and the same argument over and over again.

there's no room in this hell, there's no room in the next
but does anyone notice, there's a corpse in this bed

the new year starts with a bang, for most people. or atleast with a smile, an acknowledgement of a new start.
my new year began with...jeez, i can't even remember how it began. i just remember waking up, and a blur os scenes invovling my cousins laughing jeeringly at how some of us were asleep while they stayed up and watched movies. i had a whole topic to write here, but i am so, /so/ tired right now. i can't think of anything. i can't understand what to write, or what to /do/.
i'd say i miss saad, but then why should i? i'm so tired of always being the one to apologize in situations like this, where i'm not the one at fault. i'm sick of it. i feel like i've turned into this bitter, shriveled up mushroom. i don't like it, but i know that if i stay this way no one will like me and it doesn't seem like a bad thing anymore. i'm so tired.

i think i'll keep my mouth shut from now on, like that boy in Little Miss Sunshine; only i wont start speaking if i completely break down because i've done that already. quite a few times and no-one seemed to notice before so i doubt anyone will the next time(s),
i found my old Kerrang! cd, and it prompted me to put up my MCR poster that my sister so unceremoniosly took down.
my sister bought headphones yesterady. the really huge, chunky type that make your ears go numb if you keep them on for two long without any music.
is it weird that i want to read someone's blog? a really interestting someone, a someone i don't know and probably never will. it makes me feel a little stalker-ish in a way but i'm sure i'm not the only one. people make blogs so strangers will read them, don't they?
ye gods, what a waste of life.
these days, it's like if i talk about anything, it seems so pointless i stop myself. i mean, there is very literally nothing left. my parents have based our entire lives on education, and look how badly i've screwed up. in the back of my mind, the very dark back, i think it's not all bad because i've always been good at studies, it's just now...and that's where i stop. i stop and think, fuck you, you useless piece of flesh, you've ruined everything. and for what? friends? because you know, i don't have them anymore. the only ones i have left are the only ones who told me to stop messing about and study. but i didn't do it entirely for friends. i just, i didn't KNOW. i have to justify it somehow. i didn't know. if only i knew.
bloody hypocrites, though. i've turned the music up as loud as i can before my ear drums pop. well, maybe just a little louder. to block out the scene around me.
/what/ a waste of life. i just need some books and some music, and i will ignore everyone so intensly they'll beg me to speak to them because i am fucking /sick/ of aishaji and faizaji always making my parents proud, and bringing home the measgre amount of good news we get given.
och, the top of my ear hurts.
i'm listening to angels and airwaves and i have to say, they do, for the amount of time i listen to to them, make me feel very happy. not happy, just...hopeful, i suppose. i walk away from the computer feelinga  little more hopeful, but it all kind of trickles away as quickly water in your cupped hands. oh honestly, i keep getting this image of me, sitting in a double decker with these headphones. man, i love the chunky ones. i was really rather hoping she would bring these.
i've stopped eating as much, though i hardly think that's something to notice.
desire and deserve.
i wrote a five page long randomism thing about myself. none of the things i wrote were false. i plan on putting them up here soon.
i was really pleased with- i was going to say sir ahsan's comment on the last post, but then nishen's stupid face popped up in my head.
i swear, momo was so right. offcourse, she was talking about pat but it's the same thing, really. thing's seem genuinely okay before he comes in the damn picture and i want to scream and pull out my hair. and lot's of other thing's i'd really rather not mention.
i want someone to bloody hug. and no, not sarah. i've been wanting some new people for a while now and life is not letting me have them.
damn you.
i miss saad though; his cynicisms on everything except me. i hope he's okay, i hated the stupid fight thing we were having. i really wanted to call him on eid but his number wasn't on any of the phones, and i really didn't want to ask sarah or arghal. i'm really happy about the asad thing though. i love how he never makes things awkward. and the shy joke my sister's got hold of is steadily getting less funny.
i hate how hypocritcal they all are. they'll say he's a good person, and then say, 'look how he always stays so long' and i think, for craps sake, he's the only person i ever see and the only reason he stays so long is because he knows he's the only outside-family face i ever see.
and because i don't stop talking and actually give him time to say, 'well, okay...so i'll get going then' i usually, oh man, i usually talk to him for a long time and then kick him out.
i wish things would hurry up and get a move on already; it's ironic that the more i thrive for routine the farther away i get from having one.

gotta get it back to, a back-up plan to find you, start acceleration, take it back to square one.

bonnie taylor shakedown should be the soundtrack of my life. the good parts, that is. i think i'll take asad's advice and introduce something new in my kitchen. and yogi bear, for fucks sake, stop typing like that.

i took out my box of memories today, from the store room at the roof. i took it out only because i wanted to prove to my cynical, sarcastic bastard of a best, favoutrite friend that he did, once, say he loves me; he's been denying it for so long now and the topic of secret shrines and crushes popped up, so i thought i'd show /him/.in my treasured box are things that, when i look at after a long time, i cannot /believe/ i've kept safe for so long. there're cards, birthdays, christmas, etc. from people i've forgotten, or people who have forgotten me. there's even a plain seasons greetings card, from our 'paperboy, john.' ; who, as i recall, had the most lucious eyelashes and used to ask me, randomly for how could he possibly have known who i was, for spare change on the walk home from school so he could buy chocolate or crisps. theres a card from my teacher, ms.derby, who used to have a slight lisp and short, curly hair that i admired; we used to snigger at each other in class whenever she said words like, 'tethered' or 'teetering'. i remember one time after registration, she held me back in class which was a surprise to everyone because i was such a goody-two-shoes. my best friend, umber, stood outside the door waiting for me. ms.derby had found out about me cutting myself, undoubtedly from my art teacher whose name i cant remember, who caught me at it. i cant preciesly remember the conversation we had, but i distinctly remember gesturing  a knife to my wrist at umber, when ms.derby's back was turned.

there is also, in my box, a small white envelope containing little pieces of paper. these pieces of paper are notes that i used to leave for my best friend, sami, in the libary everyday, because my break used to end before hers started. i used to leave these little notes on random pieces of papers, or the school post-its, somewhere on the libary table where we both worked. she would read the notes, and leave replies for me because my lunch would be before or after hers, i forget which. but i remember coming to the libary at lunch, anxious to see her reply. she was in a year below me, but we were such close friends, everyone though we were either sisters or in the same year. we used to stay behind after-school, everyday if we could manage it, and sit in the library and talk, or go roaming about school and just hang out together.then, as we reached home, and got changed and refreshed, sami would phone me and we would spend atleast an hour or two talking on the phone, everyday; me sitting on the stairs, sami moving about in her house.there are so many things she taught me; most important of all, the love and comfort of having a friend. she is so much more daring than i am, so much more confident and incredible, and i love her to tiny bits and pieces.

in my special box, there is a pocket. a pocket ripped off from the shirt of our school uniform. on this pocket, there is a confession. i will treasure this pocket till the day i die.theres also a piece of silver metal, that used to be attached to a chain to make a keychain, with a maroon smudge in the middle. on this maroon smudge is my name, correct spelling and all, carved in. this is my most favourite, valued piece of metal and was given to me by umber. she had it made just for me when she went to syria, on a religious journey, i believe. if it were not for umber, i would not have survived the silent torment bestowed upen me in year 7. it was always the fact that she stood by me, through thick and thin, that made me a little bit strong.i loved coming back to school after taking a day off sick because the second umber saw me she'd start yelling about how she missed me, and how dare i make her spend the day alone, she was, in a sense, popular. smart, sporty and arty. everyone liked umber. me, on the other hand...lets just say i put the fear of 'GOFFS & FREAKS' back in people who came near me. umber and i were, mostly, in the same class. at break we were together at the railing, talking or not talking, but enjoying the others presence nonetheless. if someone wanted to where the one of us was, they would ask the other. we knew each others classes, room number, what teacher was teaching.there is a pink piece of carboard paper, with a decaying leaf glued on, and in the leaf, carved, are the words; 'i love you as much as...' and then, on the paper in blue ink, the words, 'its incomparable okay?!' there are a lot of other things writting on this paper, and lately ive been meaning to burn it and the others like it, but today i found out i couldnt. the words made me smile. i wont say much about this piece of treasure because the person who gave it to me has changed so much, and so dramatically it makes me a little sad..there is, again, a keychain, made of rubber in the shape and colour of elmo. this keychain was the one that kept my locker keeps safe and in sight, and i remember now that i gave that locker to sami.there are two gorgoues smells in my box. one is a slender bottle of perfume, called Choice, which, as i smell it in, sends me back to england, in my small room, getting ready for school, dancing to my ear candy on the ipod, or staring out of the window really late at night, wondering if anyone can see me, or is thinking of me.the other bottle is a boys body spray. you can tell because it is short and half-empty, with a bikini-clad woman. this was given to me by my ex, and now almost best friend. i still dont know, to this day, why he gave it to me, but i remember the day he did. he walked up to my window in our school van, at hometime, slipped it in my lap and said, 'here.', smiled and walked away. he was going home by his car that day (we went in the same van) and i also remember his best friend climbing in the van and asking me if asad had given me anything, because he said he would. this body spray had some significance before it was given to me. i used to force asad to put it on to and from school because i used to, and still do, love that smell. i love the fun times we had in the school van, after it was seperated and divided into two. and i love the rides in his car, and the way, when he was driving, he'd always adjust the rear-view mirror so he could meet my eyes. he never sat with me, i always sat in the back with his best friend, rafay. that boy was a laugh too. but i had my fair share of fun with him. he's shown me, a little like sami, proper pure friendship. i love him; he comes to my aid even for the smallest, stupidest things, whenver i ask.sometimes, its good to reminise about the good old times, because it reminds you that no matter how bad it is right now, it'll get better again. it did last

time.