Sunday, 12 October 2014

When The Warning Bells Ring.

 Hindsight is the greatest of resources, it is a means of learning, growing and recreating yourself. It is the friend that taps you on the shoulder in the midst of the night, reminding you of the promises that you made to yourself; your own shadow scaring you with its presence when you can no longer draw its silhouette.

I believe that we should draw on our own intuitions and listen to the whispers of our organs. Your body is intuitive, it will send you warning signs before you are even able to realise what they are.

When in a relationship, there should never be a tally system. You should not compare and keep count of each other’s generosities. Doing so can breed animosity, which is the driving force to resentment. When doing something for others, it must occur out of love and appreciation for the other person. Give for the sake of giving because your intention speaks louder than the act itself.

It says a lot about a person when they keep track of the things that they have done for you, especially if they are later used as ammunition in their own war. Relationships are not competitions; there is no need to contend. They are a union, and by seeking your own benefits above another’s, you are detracting unity. Generosity is everything, giving because you have the means to and not because you must.

This for me, is the greatest deal breaker.

Monday, 6 October 2014

The Disadvantage of Intelligence.

From an early age, we are taught to learn, to study and absorb knowledge to secure its presence in the trace of our fingerprints. We are told to push ourselves, to strive; but in the midst of that, nobody teaches us about how to manage success, how to cope with achievement, about how to acquire and appreciate stillness. Nobody speaks about the misfortune that accompanies intelligence.

It can be controversial to claim intelligence; to label oneself as being ‘smart.’ But is aptitude not present in several forms? The word intelligence has the capacity to encompass everybody with its countless facets that will inevitably materialise in us all. Some fall under ‘educational intelligence,’ ‘emotional intelligence,’ ‘business intelligence,’ although intelligence itself is subjective.

But what happens when we finally achieve the things that we have been working towards? We fixate ourselves on the next dream, because we reside in a perpetual cycle of seeking. All that our bodies know is how to move, to acquire, to change, to grow, to progress, to always be more. Whilst this appears to be beneficial, it can act as the driving force to displeasure. Like a billionaire that is ruled by his own currency, we are stuck in a vortex of infinite capacity. We’re consumers of our own flesh, our own minds, our own needs, our own wants.

The most successful people are generally the ones that are trapped within the abyss, that are afflicted with mental illness and tragedy. We are never taught just how to appreciate stillness, to connect with our beings and satisfy ourselves on a more spiritual level. Our mind and bodies become disconnected, disorientated and when that happens, the only way to realign them is through the healing that follows calamity.

Intelligence is not glamorous; it is not everything that your mother taught you. When you finally grasp it within the palms of your hand, the weight of it seeps into your blood and lives inside your veins, pressuring you into the ground. Be successful, but do not allow your organs to forget their own existence. We were not bred to be satisfied; our flesh will turn on us eventually, but a moment of appreciation changes it all.

Sunday, 28 September 2014

Realigning My Own Reality.

 As you can see, ‘Like Cherry Pie’ has undergone another transformation.

After a very draining few months, I’m finally starting to feel temporary fragments of my creativity seeping back into my body. It’s a nice feeling, something that I’ve certainly missed. I want to change this blog, to eradicate any negativity and place all of my focus and energy into channeling my creativity back into this space.

I’ll hopefully be writing regularly, but I want to change the things that I share. Having gone through my older posts, I was reminded of how much you and I both enjoyed the insights into my life, the pictures and experiences, and the motivational and informative pieces that I produced. I want to go back to using this blog as a platform of interaction, a reciprocal means of sharing experience once again.

So, I will begin with sharing some pictures that will realign everything. If you have been around from the start of this blog, you will remember these images well. They are now 5 years old, which ages this space further.


Comment below and let me know what kinds of posts you would like to see, and let us begin to look forward.

Tuesday, 2 September 2014

I Want To Be Lorelai Gilmore.

We are continually reminded of the simulation embracing our television screens.  The fictional characters, idealistic storylines and heightened emotions, all of which are vacant from our own world. However, our human instincts connect and locate meaning through the sentiments of these shows; we inevitably find that characters influence our lives, our personalities and who we are as people. We learn from their mistakes, their strengths, and we find something within them to hold on to.

My greatest inspiration has been Lorelai Gilmore, and I continue to advocate that every woman should be a product of her reverberation. I watched the Gilmore Girls religiously throughout my teenage years, and it is still one of the only things that is able to withdraw me from a bad mood.

Lorelai Gilmore is quite possibly one of the closest things that I have had to a role model. In fact, I still use her as a means of drawing strength. As a teenager, she taught me how to build a solid wall of defence, whilst simultaneously retaining determination and perseverance. She stood for what she believed in, with grace and ardour that blew the world away. She was quirky, sarcastic and confident, she found the means to make everything work, and through this, I gained a deeper understanding of how to overcome my own struggles. Lorelai always found a way, and this is still something that is prevalent in my own life, sometimes when there are no more options left, you must create your own.

Rory, the daughter is an avid reader and mentions an array of books in each episode. People have even compiled a list of each book that has ever been mentioned on the show and I have slowly been working my way through them. She has introduced me to some great works of literature from Milan Kundera to Edgar Allan Poe. Rory is also a journalist, and her love of writing magnified my own desire. I pursued it because she showed me who and what I could be.

There is so much that I have subconsciously taken from this show, I have grown alongside it, sought nourishment through its dialogue and found a whole new way of living. It provided an entire community, an education, a biblical premise on how one should exist. Everything from my sarcasm to my caffeine addiction stems from Lorelai Gilmore. This series has taught me strength.

To conclude, I wanted to share one of my favourite clips from the show:


Monday, 1 September 2014

10 Titles To Change Your Life.

I was nominated to list 10 books that have had an impact on me. It took me a while to narrow it down, but when I finally settled on some titles, I decided that I would also post the list here. So let’s commence:

1. Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth by Warsan Shire - (Mentioned in blog post This Week's Books).
2. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath - (Mentioned in blog post The Voice of a Poet). 
3. Man’s Search For Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl - (Mentioned in blog post Man's Search For Meaning).
4. Isla Negra (The Bilingual Edition) by Pablo Neruda - (Mentioned in blog post The Voice of a Poet). 
5. And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos by John Berger - (Mentioned in blog post This Week's Books).
6. The Reader by Bernhard Schlink.
7. On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan - (Mentioned in blog post 4 Books You Should Read).
8. My Life as a Traitor by Zarah Ghahramani - (Mentioned in blog post 4 Books You Should Read).
9. The Journals of Sylvia Plath.
10. The Hours by Michael Cunningham.

I have written about a majority of these titles in previous posts, so I will include links where necessary. Let me know what your top 10 titles are, it’s a great way to discover new books!

Saturday, 30 August 2014

20 Facts.

I participated in a 20 fact tag on Instagram, however due to the word limit, the facts were not as descriptive as I would have liked. I thought that I would post them here:

1. I have a worryingly good memory, and yet I have a birth mark on the back of my shoulder and I frequently forget whether it is on my right or left.
2. When I was younger, my mother told me that thunderstorms signified that God was angry. This appeared to instil fear within me and I still shiver every time I hear thunder.

3. I suffer from Elurophobia (a fear of cats), and coherently the cat population in the
UK appears to be increasing.
4. When I took the Myers-Briggs personality test, my result was an INFJ and this changed my life.

5. I try my utmost best not to waste water; it makes me feel extremely guilty, more so than anything else in life.

6. Most social gatherings bore me; I’m so much more content in my own space.

7. I try to do most things myself; I’ve always viewed help as a luxury.

8. The only colours that I haven’t dyed my hair are grey and white; I suppose I’ll get there naturally someday.

9. I truly believe that I was born in the wrong era and into the wrong culture.

10. I keep my pills in a hollowed out book because it makes me feel like a junkie.

11. I regularly shop in the men’s section; androgyny is the look I go for most days.

12. My typing speed is approximately 103 words per minute.

13. I find that I get on better with people that are older than me. I don’t have many friends that are my own age.

14. I have been using computers since I was 8 years old and I got my first email address at 10. It was
qurra@talk21.com.
15. I currently own 4 domains and it makes me feel important. I plan to dominate the internet one day.

16. Apart from cats and thunderstorms, I can’t think of anything else that makes me nervous.

17. Most of my wardrobe is not “Muslim-appropriate,” dressing for family events can be a complicated process. Having said that, this time last year, I wore the hijab (headscarf) and was a completely different person.

18. I have size 6-7 feet which are entirely unproportionate to the rest of my body. I look like I have clown feet.

19. I try to avoid wearing make up for at least a few days a week, I always fear that I will become dependent on it.

20. I’m so much more likely to trust you if you have dimples (they add a sense of innocence). 

Monday, 25 August 2014

The Last Song I'll Write For You.

People are reluctant to reach out to others due to the fear of not knowing them well enough and not feeling worthy of having a voice. But even without being able to truly comprehend a situation, support is something that we can never have enough of.

The reaching out, that’s what makes us human; it connects us. It is innate; lives inside our veins. We bond over pain and understanding; think of the sadness we experience over the misfortune of a stranger. There is unity left, there is.

Sometimes all it takes is a message, a smile, an acknowledgment. Sometimes the words ‘I’m here’ are the most beneficial. We’re just fighting to live, to survive, but there's always something left for you to give.

Question Time.

I was nominated by Laila to answer these questions, it made me reminiscent of MySpace Questionnaires, so without further ado, I shall commence.

What were your expectations before getting into the blogging community?
I first began posting over on MySpace, so when I migrated over to here, blogging itself was still a relatively new concept. Blogs were online diaries, people recorded their daily recollections and experiences; but it was all very individual, there wasn’t much of a community. For me, blogging was the first real experience I had of sharing my writing with others. I didn’t think that it would ever be a means of meeting and connecting with other likeminded individuals. I guess I didn’t have any expectations; I just wanted a voice.

Has blogging changed you in any way?
It has been the derivation of my growth; my stethoscope, allowing me to hear my own heartbeat and depth of my pulse. I have been able to comprehend truth and the deepest realisations; it is my platform of reason and honesty. It was the catalyst of my diagnosis, the therapy for my pain, the support when there was nobody left, the sustenance when I wanted to give up everything. So yes, it has changed everything.

What are you passionate about?
Words. My life revolves around them, through them, with them, inside them. Each word carries weight, place them on the scales and identify how much of a burden they can be. Say the wrong one and watch the destruction in the city streets.

What do you think about overcoming fears?
It is the only way to move forward. We all have fears living inside of us that won’t unearth themselves until the crucial moment. Whenever a new fear comes to light, I go out of my way to overcome it. Fear dictates how we live, it bears weight, it resides in our roots until we obliterate it, until we purge them. This notion is my strength, and I am the greatest advocate of not giving in.

What do you think about expressing yourself through fashion?
Fashion is a great medium of expression. It is a beautiful opportunity to show the world who you are without having to move your tongue. My own style varies in accordance to my mood, sometimes I wear men’s shirts and other times I wear floral prints. There are no rules.

In less than five words, what defines you?
The footnotes in poetry.

Summer or Winter?
Summer. Everything is mellow, pleasant, vibrant, magnified, heightened.

What is your dream travel destination?
Poland. I want to visit Auschwitz more than anything. I have read a lot about the Holocaust, accounts of the concentration camps, and the war itself. I want to visit, to experience even a single depth of the magnitude of emotion. However for a more pleasant option, I would love to travel to Italy, purely for the beauty and history. I’m not really an exotic beach holiday kind of person; I would become bored and immediately look for something to do. I need history, depth, meaning, truth. Substance.

Name one thing you want to do before you die.
I’d like to have a book published, just so people could see, read and have words to live by. I’d like to illustrate my thoughts; preserve them until we’re over.

Could you live without internet connection for a week?
Well considering that I work in SEO, it would make my job quite difficult. However, in my personal life, this would definitely be possible. Although I love the internet and believe that it has many beneficial uses, it can also reach a point where we become dependent on it, too fixated with it. I have periods of not using the internet at all, just to prevent this.

Name an experience you had and would like to repeat once again.
Volunteering at the charity shop was quite possibly one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. It was a place filled with comfort, stories and meaning; the owner still feels like family. It allowed me to meet some great people and I genuinely cannot think of anything that surpasses this. 

I love answering questions and doing these type of questionnaires, so if you have anything that you would like to ask me, go right ahead!

Wednesday, 13 August 2014

And We Lived Inside Them.

The road disappeared into itself as the bus continued to move. A black car waited patiently, seating a little girl with braided hair and butterfly eyes. She made eye contact and moved forward to get a better look. I waved, puzzling her until her pupils followed the bus and then moved back to mine. Moments later, she reciprocated and her face lit up into an expression that could sustain the entire universe. The bus drove off, but I waved and watched her until our eyes lost each other forever.

She will always associate buses with people that wave, with humans that smile, with those of courage and kindness. These childhood experiences form the basis of our associations and memory; we use them as our foundations to remember, to evoke things later on. She will look for me each time she passes a bus; it will always be something positive for her to draw on. A smile from a stranger; a hopeful expression.

Saturday, 2 August 2014

If I died tonight, I would have one regret; that people would never know the thoughts inside my head.

I want to write everything down; immortalise it so my memory lives on. It’s important for me to have an impact on people, something that reverberates into the future, even when all traces of my fibre have been lost.

What is experience if not taught? What are thoughts if not provided with a voice? What is knowledge if not shared?

There is so much in our minds, aid that we can grant to the universe.

Sunday, 20 July 2014

Like Fuel To Fire.

I turn 24 this week and there has been a voice inside my head telling me that I haven’t done enough. Whilst in the shower, I seemed to have an epiphany and realised some things that I needed to preserve. These words will be my saviour in the dark.

I have so much willingness and drive, even when the pain forces it into waves. I’ve spent a very long time not wanting to be alive, but I’m currently breathing and I can still feel my fingertips. This pain is a strange gift; it both aids and destroys me.

Most of my posts are about pain and truth, but within the subtext of that, there is always gratitude. I’ve been unbelievably lucky in my life and I do not ever allow myself to forget this. I become overwhelmed sometimes and social media is my chosen platform of expression. Sentiments are lost in translation, but the intrinsic gratitude is ever present. In person, I try my utmost best to be positive. When we’re broken, we don't need to bring the rest of the world down with us.

Yesterday, a guy at the bank told me that I came across as a strong person. The strange thing was that several people have reiterated this, and I think I truly just realised the extent of those words. Strength itself is when you keep moving forward, even when your own mind turns against you. Strength is recognising the darkness within you and giving it a name. Strength is acknowledgement of weakness and acceptance of pain. Strength is that voice in your head reminding you that it will be over soon. Strength is knowing what you want and pushing yourself to get there. Strength is the determination to overcome.

I’m here now. I’ll do great things some day.
It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I’m sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that’s the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the bad news again and again.
(A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Miserable Mill, Lemony Snicket).

Thursday, 17 July 2014

How To Identify a Good Person.


'Be nice to the strangers,' they said.

If you have been consistently reading my blog, you will know that I am the greatest advocate of being considerate towards other people, especially strangers.

There is so much going on within the human mind, that if our skulls were transparent, our tongues would not even move. The world is filled to the brim with injustice and cruelty, so why are we breeding hatred and allowing it to satiate our own beings? Our hearts are all we have left, our souls, our character, our mannerisms. When there’s nothing to hold on to, the memories that we leave behind will become our voices. Imagine passing away and only being remembered for the destruction you caused.

I try my best to be as nice as possible to the people that serve me in the shops, the strangers I see on the streets, anyone I come across. We are always unaware about the battles that others fight, and sometimes after smiling at people, I watch their faces light up. This makes me stop and wonder what that person was going through, what they were fighting for and why it made them so happy. You can often look at people and tell that they are suffering, that they are searching for strength. I consider the magnitude of my own pain and how it is nothing in comparison.

When we are born, our mothers wrap us in cloth as a form of protection. As we grow older, we clothe ourselves, because this is what we know. But we’re too wrapped up inside our own beings to acknowledge the surroundings. To comprehend what lives inside the other cloths.

Sometimes I am in a bad mood and I snap at people, that’s just human nature and I find myself apologising shortly afterwards. I have a conscience, and I always think about how I would feel if the same thing had happened to me. That’s the important thing; I am forever considering how my actions affect others and this is something that our nation lacks. We’re selfish and ungrateful. We don't think about how many people we passed today and how many of them cry in the dark.

Be nice to people; their souls could be dead and you have the ability to give them something to hold. We are so powerful, our belief and faith in others can do so much. If only we could start building on that, utilising it to be better. It frustrates me greatly, because some people suffer in silence and your words are intensifying their bleeding wounds.

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

It’s 5am and I’m sitting here typing this because I need to exhaust my mind somehow. I need to sleep, but I can’t.

I am turning 24 next week. As a child, I always thought that I would have my life sorted out by 24. I would have a steady job, self-confidence, direction and a purpose. As I’m growing closer to this age, it is beginning to feel like I am disappointing my childhood self, and running out of time to achieve the things that I've wanted. I’ve lost my drive and ambition, there’s nothing left. I’m not who I wanted to be, and I’m not becoming anyone close to it.

Some days, nothing makes sense to me. I don’t know why I exist or why God inflicts me with misery. I’m so tired, irritable and depressed, and although sleep is not the cure, it would surely improve things.

I’m so fed up of life. Everything is supposed to get better, that’s what people are constantly telling me. But I’ve been reiterating that to myself for years and I’m still stuck here in this abyss. God, I’m so tired.

Monday, 14 July 2014

The Unbearable Curse of Being.

I swallowed the sunset, the aftertaste of the rays was bitter against my tongue.

I drank as much water as my body could take; until I could feel the ripple against my throat, until it replaced the hollows of my veins.

Sunshine was great, they told me. But what if it was trapped inside the body? Like a bell in a jar, ringing and ringing until the sound became a silenced fragment of the mind.

I felt the rays some days, trying to get out; illuminating the skin like the moon amongst the landscape trying to be set free.

I just wanted sovereignty; of the light, of the curse.

Sunday, 13 July 2014

When They Leave Us.

My workplace is directly opposite an old people’s home. I can see the building from my desk and I often watch the elderly going about their daily business.

Age is intertwined with illness, so there is an ambulance parked there every other week. A few days ago, I noticed that an ambulance had been parked outside for longer than usual. I heard people talking; there was a police car. The paramedics were back in the ambulance. I watched for a few minutes, somebody had died. They drove away and a private ambulance arrived. It was a black van; I sat down because I knew what they had come for. I heard the body being taken away. I thought about the person inside, who they were, what their dreams were, and how they had lived their life.

I had to refrain, I knew that my body would begin to ache. It reminded me of when you continue to pour water into a cup, even when you can see that it is overflowing. I cannot watch the news because it physically upsets me. I feel pain as if it is my own. Watching suffering is self-destructive; I can't cope with more pain, I can't hear about the brutalities that go on. They make me want to die because I can't cope with the injustice. I think about them for months afterwards and it physically hurts to be aware of them. 

It made me sad, and it still hurts, but in a strange way, it’s nice that mankind can experience grief for a stranger that they did not know. There’s a little bit of unity left; there is.

Split Your Soul In Two.

They take your soul with their frozen fingertips, check if it’s raw; beaten. The taste of derision in their palms, contempt, solace; the disdain of your own sin.

They split your soul in two, then four, until they assign each morsel to a master, thirsty for his own flesh.

The Presence of Nothing.

I don’t ask for much in life; I’m easily pleased. I just need one thing to be excited about and I’ll hold onto that for as long as possible. It takes something as small as a smile from a cashier or the sound of the birds at dawn. These temporary exchanges construct what is left of my existence.

The only thing I ever ask is to not be inside my own head, to breathe and not consciously hear the command from my brain to my lungs. I want to feel my own tears against the surface of my skin, my soul back inside my body. I want to feel present.

Sunday, 6 July 2014

The Other Version of Ourselves.

I was thinking about the way that people strategically craft their online presence to appear more beautiful, more intellectual, to be someone else. We form impressions of people based on what we perceive through the internet, we make interpretations and we construct our own reality of them in our minds. Social media is a portal into our lives, but how fragmented is it and much are we to blame for our own understanding of who people are?

I share my pain to show others that there is nothing wrong with displaying weakness; I depict my suffering to make you aware that we are all fighting battles. I upload unflattering pictures of myself to show you that I am human. The internet can be used as a means of exposure or as a veil. It provides us with the control to mould ourselves into whoever we want to be, a platform of exhibition and vicariously living.

Our persona is open for interpretation; people exert their efforts into imagining the lines of our palm. The internet sustains and cultivates relationships, but when the aesthetics enter our mind, they are infused with own ideology. They become something else entirely. Interpretation is not reality; it is just the medium through which we view it.

We are only accountable for our online presence, not the way that we are perceived. Our online persona can act as an extension of ourselves, or the person that we have always wanted to be. We owe nothing to the ones that construe it.

Children of the Grave.

I’ll write until my blood turns cold and my fingertips are frozen.

I’ll write until they swathe me in cloth and dirt covers my cadaver.

I’ll write until they give my soul to the angels and I can hear them whispering my story.

I’ll write until the darkness makes my retinas blind and steals my breath.

I’ll write until I can feel my organs decaying and the insects eating my flesh.

I’ll write until the weight of my sins set me on fire.

I’ll write until my limbs become ash and asphyxiation is a dream.

I’ll write until God crafts purgatory to set me free.

Friday, 4 July 2014

The Devil's Love Song.

The breadcrumbs were riddles and footprints; I could already hear the devil whispering love songs in my sleep.

A number tattooed onto the back of his neck, like a manufacturers stamp on a factory floor, preserving experience for when his mind would forget.

There was hope in the devils hands; I could feel it in the lines of my palm, a pulsation of resilience in the torrent of a seam.

Join me.’

A Photograph For A Stranger.

A few days ago, I downloaded a phone application with an interesting concept. It is called ‘Rando’ and if used correctly, could prove to be quite astounding.

You begin with taking a photograph using your phone and pressing send. This photo is then sent to a completely random person, who could be anywhere in the world. There is no way of knowing who will receive the image, or where it will end up. Upon receiving the picture, this stranger will then respond with their own photograph. That’s it, a momentary exchange between two strangers. There is no correspondence after this exchange, or any way to find out who the receiver is. The only information that is provided is a general location that has been pinpointed on a map. The app also doesn't have any options to like or favourite pictures, it is just you and this stranger; in each other’s worlds.

I have received images from places that I have never even heard of. Today, someone sent me a picture of their handwriting in Portuguese. Yesterday, I was able to view a German street. At this current moment in time, I have just received an image of someone’s puppy. Rando allows you to create and syndicate your own reality, and I think it is beautiful. You will see the world differently; it forces you to broaden your mind and open your eyes. 

This app allows people to photograph anything and send it to somebody in a different continent. Although social media has already made this possible, Rando does not give you control of where the image will end up. It is anonymous and real, and it gives you the opportunity to look through someone else’s eyes for a moment, to see what they are seeing. The image may be sent to someone beneath the same sky, but there are differences in your retinas and the way that you experience life. This app creates a temporary overlap and provides you with a portal to a different form of existence. 

You have control over the reality that you share, and this app forces you to be imaginative about how you express yourself. There is also no nudity, which is most people’s concern. It is currently only available for Android, but it is genuinely one of the best applications that I've used and I would highly recommend downloading it. 

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

A Spell To Break The Soul.

Sometimes you have to write for the sake of writing, almost like the intrinsic act of breathing.

I want to use this post to provide my thoughts with a voice, because they so often remain unheard. It is one of my deepest fears, to die without people knowing what was going on inside my head. I’m mentally exhausted. I feel like a piece of Play-Doh that has been stretched out in every possible direction; I have been turned into an emaciated morsel of what I used to be.

A few days ago, somebody told me that I should pick myself up which evoked a deep sense of frustration. I fight to survive on a daily basis, I deal with my own mind turning against me, and yet I make it through the day with determination. Some days even breathing is a challenge because my own organs work in opposition to each other, there is no trust in my body; it fights until oxygen is the enemy. 

Sometimes, moments are wars within myself, between my blood and my veins. But I’m still here, and whilst I may be broken, I’m trying. I have been suffering for as long as I can remember, but I continue to persist. I picked myself up a long time ago and it was very condescending to hear those words. 

Pain is immeasurable; you cannot sit and distinguish how somebody else feels.

Sharing my illness does not make me weak; it makes me stronger because I am not afraid to acknowledge the pain. Whilst I may not have everything figured out; I’m still alive and that is the truest testament to my strength.

I discuss how I feel on social media because it is my platform of expression; there is nowhere else to go. However, what you won’t see are the moments of glee that I fail to articulate; my life is not completely vacant of bliss. I only write about my pain, but there are always gaps in between.

Monday, 9 June 2014

Call My Name; Save Me From The Dark.

I need to get back into the habit of writing here each day; it is the only means of salvaging what is left of my sanity.

Today I noticed the spectrum of my emotions and the speed in which they evolve. I go from a state of elevation to falling into a deep state of depression within the space of a minute. There appears to be no logic to sustain this, and the only mode of explanation is the way that sound waves alter in accordance to one’s voice, and their movement with each spoken syllable.

I’ve realised that fear is vacant from my body; it’s as if I have nothing left to lose. I’ve noticed just how outspoken I’ve become; in fact I often surprise myself because I’ve almost lost my willingness to care. I find my tongue moving before my brain has had a chance to deliberate. I often hear a voice speaking and then realise that my own tongue is moving. I’m no longer in my own body, and I cannot distinguish whether medication changes this.

I think I know what death feels like now; the way the angels move around and watch us from above. I was thinking about how our bodies are like containers of pain, slowly filling to the brim. When there is no longer space, they pour themselves out into a flow of disarray. I wondered whether there was a way to stop them from becoming so full, from allowing ourselves to be free of pain, to relieve ourselves from it. I always thought that facing the pain and submitting to it would make it go away.

I’m here, I’m alive. I must write these words as a form of evidence to prove to myself that I still exist. I find myself reiterating that none of this is real, that I’m still dreaming; I haven’t woken up yet. I don’t feel present, it’s like I’m vacant from the moments that I exist in.

I thought about explaining what depression feels like, but I don’t know how to separate or distinguish it from normality. I can’t remember ever feeling anything else, this is my reality and I can genuinely say that I cannot recall when depression was not present in my bloodstream.

I was thinking about my childhood and whether there was a starting point to all of this, whether I suffered from trauma that could provide a foundation of reason. It seems unfair for a child to be born into this world in a permanent state of sadness.

My parents tell me that a school teacher once asked if I was okay, because I was extremely quiet, and they were worried that I was upset. All I can remember is being inside my own head from an early age, hearing my mind as if the thoughts were magnified and projected, blurring my own vision. 

I was 11 when I began to seek what I thought would change everything. It took me a long time to learn that there was no means of healing myself, and I sometimes still forget this. There are ways to cope, to forget, to numb oneself, but sadness is rooted in my bloodstream, and even if I attempt to drain it of liquid, there is no escape.

All I ask for is sanity, to leave my own head, to stop the cycle of my mind. Sometimes it drives me crazy to think that I’m trapped inside my own self. I am a prisoner of my own existence. People can only do so much, and that’s when it becomes difficult. Knowing that nobody can save me, that I cannot be my own saviour.

My skin is a cage, and I can often feel myself shaking the bars, attempting to escape.

Sunday, 8 June 2014

A Place For My Head.

It’s nice to write this with pure diction and the absence of restraint. I was too buried in privacy to proclaim truth and instead I ended up submerged within the root of my own veins. I’ve come to find that honesty is the only means of dealing with my pain, so I will speak words of sincerity until there is nothing left to give.

I haven’t taken my medication in three days and I’ve found that my entire being has been restored with creative electricity. I have been feeling the urge to stop everything and write, to peruse literature and become lost in the fictitious mind of somebody else. The medication had quenched my imagination and creativity, turning me into a numb skeletal figure of diffidence. Creativity is the only means of sanity, but without medication, life itself stands still. Virtue always wins.

I’ve been reflecting about past experiences and the situations that I’ve fallen into. Regardless of my status with religion, I’ve always believed that mankind battles with sin and morality; the conscience as a guide. If tempted by the right desire, he becomes fickle, lured by the canopy of his own iris.

Sometimes it feels like I’ve lived a thousand lives before; I often watch distant memories finding their way back into the bloodstream. They say that you should regret sin, that you should deliberate why you did something. For me, they always gave me reason, and I still remember the sweet taste of the air that I breathed in. Sin itself was always a form of escapism. A medium of living; of feeling something other than sadness. Pleasure and satisfaction are temporary, but for that given moment, submerging myself in those emotions always felt as if it would reverberate into the future. I am forever longing for seconds where I can feel, anything. Sin was always an endurance to live; it cultivated hope.

I’m an impulsive person. This again derives from the root of depression. If ever I think of something that may excite me for a second, I will pursue it without any further consideration. My brain is always seeking something new, because if it finds itself becoming still, there is the threat of insanity overruling existence. My mind works overtime, constantly learning and doing, almost in coherence with an instilled body clock. I realised today that this drive stems from my depression, I can’t sit still otherwise my mind begins to converse with me. I keep busy at every given moment; almost like a race against the hands of the clock. I can’t give depression the chance to reach my fingertips. Sometimes, the minutes run out and the sadness freezes the entire universe.  

This post demonstrates the incoherence of my thoughts; there is no sense of organisation in which they are procured. It’s hope that binds it all together, but it’s strange that the thing that keeps us alive is as fickle as the leaves falling from the trees. It’s easy to catch them in the palm of your hands, and then tear them with your austerity.

I’m still alive; sometimes I don’t know how, but I’m here. 

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Heaven Is a Board Game.

I’m typing this and watching my fingers hit the keys, but it feels like I’m watching somebody else’s hands move across the letters. This isn’t real; my body is fighting against my own existence. Gravity itself is trying to swallow me into the ground, I’m holding on to the surface with dear life; the universe is conspiring against me.

There is no driving force in my veins; survival is intrinsic. I’m numb; like when your eyes are wide open and everything becomes a blur. I can’t see what’s in front of me. Substance becomes a myth, a morsel of my taste buds.

I’m no longer inside my own body, in fact I can still see the movement of my fingers when I urged them to stop. That command, from the brain to my fingertips, no longer exists. The brain stands alone; absent from my tongue or organs. They are no longer lovers, just inhabitants of the same living space.

I’ve turned into a small fragment of myself; a subsidiary version of life. It’s almost like that feeling when you’re trying to sleep, and then you suddenly wake up and realise that you were conscious the whole time. The mind tricks the body into a daydream; revelry is an allegory.

I’ve lost the ability to reflect. It’s either ‘do’ or ‘don’t.’ I’m accustomed to trapping myself inside the crux of anxiety; I’m immune. It’s all temporary; a board game. God is holding the dice, ripping out my flesh by the day.

I don’t know what game He’s playing.

Sunday, 25 May 2014

We Live In Words.

We want to preserve as much as we can, we want to leave behind a legacy; to be remembered. It’s why we carve our names into stone, write our names in the sand.

We’re afraid of being forgotten; we want to exist forever. When we write words, a little bit of our soul seeps into them. The ink dries and our souls live on in each letter. We become immortal; those words will forever belong to us.

Writing preserves us in ink; it gives us a means of living on even when we’re no longer present. Our words communicate with our loved ones; our own form of body and presence.

Writing is a form of immortality, we write ourselves onto the page as a means of existing for eternity.

Our souls are never lost.

Saturday, 24 May 2014

Our Home of Truth.

It’s the lies that bind us together; they create the foundations of our relationships. We are afraid of the truth; honesty is detrimental. It unravels the ropes, pulling us apart.

Liberation lives in truth; we're insistent on holding on. Honesty is sustenance in meaningful relationships; legitimacy is the only means of moving forward.

Our lies eventually live in our blood; dishonesty within our veins. We don’t trust our own thoughts or tongue. We lose our own grasp of actuality and meaning.

There’s nothing frightening about honesty; swallow morality and let it guide you to the truth. That’s where you’ll find yourself.

We Are The People.

These are some of my favourite articles:

15 Daily Routines Most People Don’t Realize Are Actually Ruts: 

30 Realities You Will Learn To Accept In Your Mid-20s:

12 Things People Don’t Understand About Eating Disorders:

21 Signs You’re Suffering From A Book Hangover:

The Difference Between Being Alone And Being Lonely:

3 Reasons Why You Should Get Rid of Snapchat Right Now:

What It Feels Like To Get Lost In A Book:

Sunday, 18 May 2014

The Inside of Emptiness.

There is a vacancy in your body, almost like an aching state of hunger in your gut. The ache extends to your limbs and drains your veins of its blood. There is nothing left to give, but barren organs and a fickle skeleton on a pedestal.

Emptiness is someone spinning into a blur until you forget what they look like; you don’t know what thoughts are anymore. Satisfaction and fulfilment are depleted, moments are bare and sterile.

Existence feels far away and you can’t quite reach your own soul. It feels like there is an organ missing, a piece that God forgot to include. Sometimes you don’t quite recognise your own palms.

The reflection in the mirror doesn’t belong to you; the eyes follow movements until your fingertips touch the glass. Your shadow is the devil; the light belongs to the angels. A perpetual battle of morality.

There is a stillness between each breath; you lose yourself to survive. Life itself is a daydream, a fight for consciousness and an attempt of satiation.

Emptiness is when you look at a photograph and fail to recognise yourself; the numbness of passing by strangers in the dark. A void, a loss, a sad song in the night. It’s when you cry into the wings of a dove and feel nothing. 

Emptiness is the vacancy of your bloodstream; your own soul in your broken hands.

Saturday, 10 May 2014

How To Get Over Heartbreak.

This is something that everyone struggles with at some point in their lives, regardless of age or gender. I am often asked about heartbreak and the ways in which one can overcome it. I thought that it may be useful to compile some ideas for a post that can be referred to whenever the need arises. Here are 10 ways to get over heartbreak:

1. Cut off any contact with the other person.
This is absolutely crucial and forms the basis of you moving forward. When you are attached to someone, it is almost as if this person becomes a part of you; there is no way to get them out of your system if you are constantly in their presence. Think of it like a drug that is being injected into your veins; if you want to get rid of the drug in your bloodstream, you will have to stop injecting yourself. You need to be away from them for the sake of your emotional well being. It may be painful, but nurturing that attachment with them is only going to intensify the hurt later on. They may have been a huge part of your life, but it's time to focus on yourself.

2. Delete all of their contact details.
You may think that this is unnecessary, but it is very easy to get back in touch with someone during a moment of weakness, causing disruption to the whole process of you moving on. Get rid of any way of contacting them to prevent temptation. This includes email addresses, phone numbers, deleting them from your Facebook, whatever it takes; cut off all ties. There should be no means of getting in touch, because that’s the only way you will ever let go.

3. Get rid of anything that reminds you of the person.
This begins the process of eradicating the person from your system. Looking at things that remind you of them is a form of masochism. Everything can act as a trigger. Donate things like gifts and clothes to charity so they don't go to waste. It is important to destroy those associations that you have formed, because they'll come back to haunt you in the darkest hours of the night. Also avoid going anywhere that you may have gone together; these triggers are the culprits of pain.

4. Don’t sit alone.
It is when we are alone that our minds whisper to us and our own thoughts drive us to insanity. Spend time with your family and friends, this will not only keep you occupied but will demonstrate that you have many people in your life that love and care for you. This can make the world of a difference and give you hope that everything will and is going to get better. Whatever you do, don't sit in the dark with your memories.

5. Take up a new hobby to fill your time.
You will find that you have a lot more time on your hands and no idea how to use it. Exert your energy into doing something new, whether this is volunteering or joining a gym. Use this pain as a means of creativity. Having something to focus on will serve as a great distraction. Keeping yourself busy at this stage is very important, because it is when you are idle that your mind wanders. If you're too busy living your life, you won't notice your heartache.

6. Avoid intensifying your sadness.
Stay away from anything within the romance genre (movies, books etc.), as this may just leave you feeling worse. Avoid things that are going to remind you of your heartbreak, for example a television show where the girl has gone through a breakup. These things are only going to make you sad, because you are able to relate to them. Your thoughts will always find their way back to heartbreak, so you have to do everything in your power to avoid it. Don't make yourself sad on purpose.

7. Remain positive.
Listen to happy, upbeat music, smile at other people. Go outside and sit in a park. Exercise. But whatever you do, don't sulk or feel sorry for yourself, because these will only cause you to descend. Focus on positive feelings and energy, these are the means of greatness. 

8. Go shopping.
Buying new clothes always seems to give you a whole new outlook on life. It sounds quite superficial, but it can change everything, if even for a few hours. Find something that makes you feel great and wear it, this will help to restore your confidence. It is important that you work on your self-esteem, because this will be the driving force to recovery.

9. Set some goals.
Focus on your ambitions and the things that you want to achieve in your life. Begin to make a list and you'll see just how much there is that you want to do. Seeing these things in front of you will remind you of your aspirations, and you'll realise that this heartbreak is a blessing, driving you to better things. You'll realise that you have more time to work on bringing your dreams to life, you'll have more focus and determination than ever. 

10. Begin achieving.
Start working on your goals because the sense of satisfaction is going to be the most rewarding thing. This is going to contribute to heightening your self-esteem and you will come to the realisation that you have the strength to progress. As soon as you begin to start accomplishing your goals, the levels of motivation in your bloodstream will soar.

By this stage, it will begin to hurt just that little bit less, and everything will feel slightly more bearable. These things won’t get rid of your heartache, but they will help to reduce it and find ways to cope with it. They will guide you to the light at the end of the tunnel and will make you realise that you are going to be okay. They will help to restore your confidence and get your life back, and although it may feel like the end of the world, your life is honestly just beginning.

Heartbreak is a very humanising experience, because you’re broken to pieces and you have to find the means of pulling yourself back together. These can help, but it is important that you don’t sulk and romanticise your sadness, because heartbreak isn’t beautiful; it’s just pain.

Monday, 5 May 2014

99 Red Balloons.

The children ran around twisting red ribbons attached to balloons, entangling them with each other, swapping them and creating patterns as they watched them move.

Eventually, they let the balloons go, hesitantly, with their palms still attached to the ribbons.

Fear swept their faces, they reached the air to bring them back; it was too late, they were alone now.

They watched the heavens steal them, then found themselves with the remnants of ribbon as a bandage for their wounds.


This reminded me of how afraid we are, to let go of the balloons that we hold, to relieve the ribbons that attach them, to untie the binds and move forward.

We’re still bound to the balloons that we let go of, we’re still holding on for dear life.  We’re tied with ribbons, entwined with each other, tangling the memories of the past, present and future into one.

The balloon may have gone, but our hands become fists; the ribbon clenched. 

Saturday, 3 May 2014

Breathing through Social Media.

It’s strange. Social media was once a form of communication, interacting with people from our past and rekindling lost friendships. Now they have become networks to preserve and document our lives, to validate our existence to others. We have not only lost the essence of survival, but we are now reliant on social media as our source of advocacy and nourishment.

With check-ins and updates. Relationship statuses and photographs. We are creating a stalkers haven, attempting to authenticate our existence by detailing occasions.

Social media has become a form of bragging, a depiction of the perfect lives that we want to live. We document our good sides, whilst our darkness remains buried in the shadows. The outward exterior is all that matters, but are we not ridding our bodies of substance as we progress?

As technology evolves, we are becoming more distant from each other, breeding jealousy and malice into living. Humanity has discovered the art of portrayal, masquerading truth and blurring it into magnetic precision. 

We’re all just living as part of a lie, a conspiracy on a broken thread intertwined with our bones.

Friday, 2 May 2014

'A constellation of tears on your lashes, 

burn everything you love, then burn the ashes, 
in the end everything collides.'

(My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark, Fall Out Boy).


So Light Them Up.

It’s difficult to find the balance between selfishness and morality; doing the right thing or saving yourself. 

There are times when you have to make decisions that are good for you by breaking yourself in the process. These are the most complex of choices, throwing yourself into a ditch knowing that you will be responsible for it, having to find a way to dig yourself out and recover your fragmented soul.

We’re all just pieces of the puzzle, trying to fit in, trying to find our place. Sometimes we have to cut off our own limbs in order to survive. 

The things that break us are the ones that save us in the end.

What insomnia feels like.

In one of the beginning scenes of Fight Club, the protagonist says ‘when you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep and you’re never really awake. With insomnia, nothing’s real. Everything’s far away. Everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.’ This is a perfect representation of what insomnia feels like, but I wanted to construct a more detailed image.

Insomnia feels like living on the inside of a dream. Sometimes you’re not too sure where you are, whether you’re awake or asleep, whether anything is real. In fact, you have to look around every so often to make sure that you’re still alive. It feels like you are floating, and you can sometimes feel your brain sliding around in an attempt to complete the tasks in front of you. The screen becomes a picture of words and you find yourself watching someone’s lips while they speak to you, trying to decipher their words. Sometimes your body feels so vacant that you don't know what comprehension means.

Sometimes everything is muted, and your eyes sink into your own head. Then all of a sudden, the sound comes back and your mind leaves your body. Everything moves in slow motion; you’re not sure if you’re visible. You’re watching everything from the outside, finding yourself trying to stretch your eyes wide open to identify whether you’re physically there. Your eyes always sink back to their natural habitats, deep into your sockets until you have to look around to grasp your surroundings.

Your speech is slurred and you have to wait for your hand to move when your brain commands it to. You hear the seconds on the tip of your tongue and in the trace of your fingertips. The thoughts in your head ricochet across the skull but fail to reach your mouth. Everything is protracted; there is no concept of time.

You live with a permanent headache, trapped in the vicious cycle of your own deprivation. 

Thursday, 1 May 2014

Sometimes The Angels Smoke.

Mind you,
sometimes the angels smoke,
hiding it with their sleeves,
and when the archangel comes,
they throw the cigarettes away: that’s when you get shooting stars.

(Vladimir Nabokov)

Tuesday, 29 April 2014

Only Girl (In The World).

I met another writer this week and it was a refreshing experience that I wanted to document.

You’ll find that you’re a rare creature,’ he said. ‘Your mind is like a computer screen with thousands of tabs open, ideas filling your head at all times.’

You’ll have a great memory, remember the details, be observant, a great listener. You’ll notice things that others don’t.

I’ve spent my life searching for some sort of connection with other people and when I meet writers, we form the greatest of bonds in an instance. 

Monday, 28 April 2014

Happiness By The Kilowatt.

Some of you have said that you want to read more about my experiences and how I found the means for survival. This got me thinking about humanity and the travesties that we endure.

Bad things happen all of the time, but it’s after we become broken that we find our own strength. When the worst has happened, we have nothing to fear; we become invincible. That is when our strength arises; we believe that nothing matters anymore. We extract the strength from our own cells, through our skin into our souls.

We always find the means to survive; we are each living proof of this. Even if we are trapped in the melancholy of our sin, everything is transitory and the seconds become our means of transport into another dimension of subsistence.

When people say that life goes on, it does. We continue to breathe which is the only strength that we need to live. Everything else is within us.

Sunday, 27 April 2014

Love Thy Neighbour.

I am all for unity in humanity. We breathe the same air, we bear identical scars, we cry the same tears; nothing sets us apart. Life is difficult enough; we should not be pushing others just to get ahead.

The reason that I wore the headscarf was because people were telling me that it was the right thing to do. I didn’t once pick up the cloth myself, cover my hair and think that this was who I wanted to be. I did it because I was desperate to feel better, about myself, about life. It was the last resort whilst in a state of despondency. When I took off the headscarf, I realised that I had spent the whole period listening and acting the way that others told me I should. I felt trapped by ruling and restrictions that were formulated by others, not God.

Faith is personal. People cannot tell you what to believe, they cannot instil religion into your veins. Your relationship with God is your own. He may not communicate with us in words, but we each have a sense of morality, we know right from wrong. We feel a sense of guilt when we commit sin, and this is what we rely on to keep us from straying. My affiliation with God surpasses everything else in my life; there should never be a mediator.

I write on this blog to liberate my own thoughts, not for your validation or to prove myself and my commitment to God. My devotion runs through my bloodstream, through my actions, through my speech, through my mannerisms, through my character. These are a measure of my faith, not my outward appearance.

I believe that when death comes, God will be, and is the Almighty judge. There is no need for anybody else to stand and attack, they shouldn't be attempting to play God. 

Islam is about intentions, and any negative comments that I receive are a demonstration of your own disposition. A cloth is meaningless unless you have the mannerisms and character to sustain it. You have to look inside yourself and evaluate your actions before you can even take that step.  This was the mistake that I made; the headscarf itself was meaningless because I did not understand the reasoning behind it.

My actions were not about desires or wanting to look better. It was about my mental health, about survival and needing to feel alive again. I have not spoken to most people reading this in a number of years; this post is a testament to the reason why. I don’t tolerate cruelty, negativity or anything on that side of the spectrum. Religion and faith are very personal, and I don’t believe that you should commit to something until your limbs coincide. At the same time, Islam teaches kindness and humility, which is evidently something that a lot of you need to work on. It’s sad that people withdraw from religion, because others are standing with pitchforks, ready to strike.

Religion is about you and God; people have forgotten this and turned it into their own division of ruling. Your pessimism is not welcome here, your opinion is futile.
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