Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Quotes

"i wish you the story with a happy ending, and the wisdom to look for it. "

"Once in your life, If you are very lucky, you will meet the person who divides it -- into the time before you met him and the time after"

Monday, January 12, 2009

Living through History


We are living through history. One broken bone, one gun shot, one vote a day. I just wish living through history weren't so difficult. All around us, failure. Failed banks, foreclosed home, failed jobs, a failed government, a failed war. All around us, death. Death in Gaza. Death of ideas. Death of the American dream. Death in Mumbai. All around us pain. Distrust in Madoff. Agony and suffering of people who cannot afford their own homes. Pain of people who watch the pain of others. Anger of those who have been misled. Lifetime of savings vanished into thin air. All around us sadness. Hopelessness. The better future for our kids mantra, now a dream ago. A generation which has only known terror. The constant fear. And somehow among it all, we are living through history. The life that our forefathers, around the world would never be able to envision. Where more people spoke, than ever before had voices. A world in which, a weak from Tuesday, a black man, born to a white women, raised around the world will become President. A man whose first name, Barack, means blessings. Whose middle name Hussain, is a fallen dictator in the now torn apart country of Iraq and whose last name Obama, sounds eerily like the face of terror - Osama. A week from Tuesday, somehow a still should fall over us. A still in which, for a day, we will once again be reminded that there is hope. and life. and opportunity. That the greater good may NOT always be a conspiracy. A hope in knowing that an underdog always has a chance. always. if given one. I hope years from now, when I look back and read this post, the text books call 2009 the year it all turned around. Where people became less greedy. Where people gave to the poor and the poor gave back by learning how to read and write. I hope India and Pakistan smile at one another, help each other's people. Trade with one another. I hope Palestinans have a safe home and Israel lets them live, alone. I hope America becomes saved and God's blessings once again shine down on us. I hope its a world where people have jobs. Have healthcare. Have quality education. Have money to spend on fluffy things. A world where the sick have more chance of survival And a world in which those who die, die knowing they helped make this world better, by just being in it. I hope I live to see that world. What about now? What about today? What if you're making me all that I was meant to be? What if our love never went away? What if it's lost behind words we could never find? Baby, before it's too late, What about Now? --Daughtry

Sunday, October 12, 2008

The Game of Chess


By Jorge Luis Borges

I.
In their grave corners, the players deploy the slow pieces
And the chess board detains them until dawn in its severe compass in which two colors hate each other.

Within it two shares give off a magic strength: Homeric tower, and nimble horse, a fighting queen, a backward king, A bishop on the bias, and aggressive pawns.

When the players have departed, and when time has consumed them utterly, the ritual will not have ended.

The war first flamed out in the east whose amphitheater is now the world. And like the other, the game is infinite.

II.

Slight king, oblique bishop, and a queen blood-lusting, upright tower, a crafty pawn--
Over the black and white of their path. They foray and deliver armed battle.

They do not know it is the artful hand of the player that rules their fate.
They do not know that an adamant rigor. Subdues their free will and their span.

But the player likewise is a prisoner (the maxim is Omar's) on another board of dead-black nights and of the white days.

God moves the player and he, the piece. What god behind GOD originates the scheme of dust and time and dream and agony?

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

I do, I want to write again, to be free again, to be me again.



I miss writing. The way I thirst for something, I miss writing in that way.

Everything is written about. Its found meaning, but somehow, in time, I've lost the will to write.


I'll regain it one day, when the creativity that is lashed before me unseeds itself and where all treason finds reason. When the stories are bolder than the subtext.


I miss the old me. The one who was carefree and didn't succumb to the pressures of the apple. The one who didn't ever want to change, or find change. The one who wanted to create it.


Somehow I've lost myself, in someone else, without there being anyone else. Now how is that possible? I am the most ashamed version of what was once, is now a skeleton of mine.


I want the butterflies and fireflies, the impassioned days and hazy nights. The lust and wonder, passion and ignition. The reason for being outside of just being.


I want to feel again, to be free again from myself, or myself. I want to hope again and dream again, bigger better larger, more senseless than ever.


Because then, when it made least sense, was when I made the most sense.


I do, I want to write again, to be free again, to be me again.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Remember

Remember...

How young we were?
How madly we loved?
How easily we bled?
How quietly we screamed?

Remember who we used to be?

(O.C. ad on Startv)

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Hour of Separation

"And ever has it been that knows not its own
depth until the hour of separation." -Khalil Gibran

(originally written, October 20, 2002)

There she stood adorned in maroon and gold from head to foot. She took her freshly hennaed hands and lightly
brushed over the golden embroidery and rhinestones on her shirt’s sleeve. A Ruby and gold tikkah dangled on her forehead as she lifted her head for the first time to take a look in the mirror.

Slowly she began taking steps towards the chair, she could hear her anklets brushing against her freshly manicured and treated feet. The beautician was packing up her makeup items and took one last look at her and smiled in triumph. She was one of the most beautiful brides she had ever seen.

"Good Luck!" she whispered as she left, leaving the door slightly ajar. For the first time Aisha was alone only moments prior to her wedding ceremony.

Slipping on her golden slippers, Aisha couldn’t help but feel more alone. Today was the day she was to begin living the rest of her life with her soon to be husband, a new life in a new city. The day a girl waits for her entire life had finally come and there she was all alone, all dressed up with nothing but her tears to guide her through.

Soon people would be swarming into the room, as news would come of the arrival of the barat. But at that moment, the silent cry and weep of innocence consumed her creating an aura of disbelief and loneliness. If only he was here to see her.

It had been just a few months since this rishta had been formalized. The engagement was a short one but it was beautiful. This period of discovery had left her believing in once again. He was wonderful, her fianc�, and showered her with affection and . He was probably everything she was looking for in her entire life, all-inclusive and they planned their new apartment together, picking out patterns and furniture upholstery. He made her smile and laugh and feel like she was worth every compliment, and every moment was their moment. But today, the day that was planned with every intricate detail in place and final arrangements completed, she couldn’t help but think of him, her first and real .

She would never really understand what it was about her first that she found to be so appealing. It had been eight years since she last saw him but she still remembered his touch, his smile his voice and words. She was just a young naive girl in high school but he was all she wanted. They had a few classes together and would go out to lunch with one another. He took her to his prom, although he was a few years older she was so excited to be asked by a senior. And then came college and the breakup. He broke her heart and left town leaving her with memories and wishes of a time well spent and honored. Although it was so long ago, she still couldn’t help but wonder what if.

See that’s the thing about first loves she kept telling her friends, they come and go but their presence lasts for eternities. Although she had called him a few times he never made an effort to come and meet her or to give her a call. She remembered his birthday and the names of his siblings and wondered if he even remembered her last name. It was a brief courtship lasting only the last few months of her sophomore year in high school but the memory lingered on until today.

"Ahhh Aisha...." Her sister Aman was speechless." You look amazing."

" I told you, you would make a beautiful bride."

All around her people gathered to take a look at her, the beautiful bride. She was breathtaking and no one would dispute that.
Then came the sounds of the pipers outside.

" They are here!!! The Baratis are here!!"
" Get the rose petals, where are the rose petals?"

As the girls left to greet the Grooms with red and pink rose petals, Aisha sat there, eyes closed, head lowered. How could she be going through this? She was living through the motions of the moments, smiling when the flashes flickered, standing when asked to but the entire room spun around her as she heard people come in and out laughing, talking, commenting, she heard the door slam shut and slide open, but Aisha couldn’t get a grasp on herself. Why was this happening?

She bent down to tie her shoelace. Her hair was up in a ponytail and he passed by slapping her pony around. " Ill race ya to the field." He cried. She lunged forward regaining her stance and ran as fast as she could trying to beat him to the track meet. But he was known to be one of the fastest sprinters in the county, it was useless. By the time Aisha reached the track, she was out of breath and there he stood with a giant smile as he uttered "nice try." Oh how she loved his competitive nature, but always followed through with words of encouragement. It made her want to prove herself to him, to show him that she wasn’t weak and could stand to lose. The meet was a large one, it was the county semi-s and she was running the 15-meter race. He was in the relay. She watched him get into starting position, he turned his head towards her and winked sending a tingle down her spine. She still couldn’t believe that he had chosen her to be his date to the senior prom.

With the sun glistening high above and the referee waving his flag marking the beginning of the relay, she stared at him sprint to the front of the race, baton in hand, trophy in mind. She could see his need to win and zest for running. That moment was forever engraved in her mind. It was a picture perfect day as he was handed the 1st place medal. He came up to her and put his arms around her shoulder, took off the golden medal and placed it around her neck.

" I won that one for you."

Aisha picked up the medal, which she had just recently found while packing her things to move. She brought it with her today and smiled remembering the short but inanely happy time they had spent together. For whatever reason, she had kept that medal with her for all these years. It was almost as if that medal was the key to the one happy time she remembered in her life and letting go of it would be rid the memory of her first .

Her aunts came in the room and fixed her dupata. They were all smirking and commenting but she heard nothing. She tuned every sound out of her mind ceasing to exist except in spirit. Her father entered the room to get her consent, and there she gave it, Kabool three times allowing her father to accept the proposal. She signed her past away, in the whim of a moment, the blink of an eye.

He held her hand as she walked into the Hilton together, hand in hand. He looked marvellous, dressed in a black and maroon tuxedo; his hair gelled back with the yellow rose boutonniere safely fastened to his lapel.

" Here goes nothing!" he yelled as they entered the ballroom.
Aisha remembered thinking it was a dream. The entire room was decorated with medieval decor, castles and moots, Black and Burgundy balloons. It was a fairy tale come true, a simply breathtaking scene.

They found their table, and she put down her purse and instantly they were on the dance floor. The entire night she didn’t once stop smiling. They ate and drank punch and sang along to songs. They took pictures with all of his friends and some people she knew as well. By the time the last song came on, they were the only two people in the world for one another. Embraced within each other’s arms they spent those last four minutes by each other’s side not a single soul or entity could separate them.

Aman and Maha walked Aisha out to the main hall. There he stood up front, hands folded in front of him waiting for her arrival. Her head was bent down as she clutched on to the material of her lahgna. She walked forward one step at a time with a soft melody playing in the background. Ooh’s, Wows and Aahs came from the audience as she approached the front of the stage. She took her steps slowly and swiftly as she sat down on the ornamented Burgundy Chair next to her now betrothed husband.

" You look amazing." He whispered gently.

There they sat, the newly married couple. She could hear his breath, somewhat abnormal possibly from nerves, and she heard the starch of his Sharwani brush against her dupata. She sat up on stage, a doll to be admired by all but only loved by a few. Aisha felt no nerves, no sentiment. She sat as told and bowed as tradition mandated. He smiled and shared his gratitude with the guests and members. They took pictures of them, with them documenting this joyous occasion. But none of it mattered.

" I’m off to school in a few days you know." He had said.
" I know."
" It was great hanging out with you, we’ve had some great times."
" Yeah.. We have."
" Maybe I’ll give you a call when I come home for Thanksgiving."
" That would be nice."
" Well I guess this is good bye."


Thanksgiving came and went, 8 times without a call. She called him on occasion, her heart beating quickly in anticipation to hear his voice once again.

But she called two nights ago, and this time he picked up. And she hung up. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t speak to him and tell him that all these years she waited anxiously for his call, for his return, for his touch.

" I think we should get ready to leave, Aisha." Her groom said hours later.
She nodded, sitting still not moving an inch.

She was ready. Ready to do something. To move on with her life. To get over the lost first , the man she no longer knew.
But now there was him, the man she knew but didn’t . He was taking her home.


" Don’t go” She remembered saying
" I have to go and pack, my parents are taking me out to dinner."
" Can’t you wait another five minutes?"
" Sure.."

Five minutes in silence. Five minutes of pain, Five minutes left with him. Five minutes not a word uttered, not a leaf stirred. Just deep breathes. Inhale, exhale.. Gentle end of summer breeze.

" I’ll call you."
" Okay."

Her Groom stood up and gently lifted her from the burgundy chair. The had been shut off and the guests all began standing. With her father and mother by her arm, Aisha slowly began heading towards the door. She opened her purse in trying to get a tissue and accidentally slipped the remnants onto the sidewalk.

He had heard she was getting married, and wanted to congratulate her, so on his home he stopped by the hotel in time to see the bride vanish into the back of the limousine. He felt a light gentle breeze begin to sway the leaves on the autumn trees and smiled. It was one of those picture perfect nights.

He walked back to his car, hands in pocket with a smile on his face. He always liked her, there was always something about her which intrigued him, but since his life got busy and complicated he hadn’t had a chance to call her in order to catch up on lost times. She was always a sweet one, full of zest and zeal, and upon notice of her wedding, he wanted nothing more than to see her one last time, as a bride.

As he took the keys out of his pocket he noticed something shiny on the sidewalk leading towards the hotel. He stared at it for a few moments before it registered in his mind. She had kept it all these years, and today the day after Thanksgiving, he had found it, a token of her anticipation for him. Placing it around his neck, he drove home in silence.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Broken

"Broken" by Lifehouse Lyrics

The Broken clock is a comfort
It helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow
From stealing all my time
And I am here still waiting
Though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best
Like you've already figured out

I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain
There is healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on (I'm holdin on)(I'm holdin on)
I'm barely holding on to you

The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded I'm an open book instead
And I still see your reflection
Inside of my eyes
That are looking for purpose
They're still looking for life

I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
[Broken lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]

With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain (In the pain)
Is there healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on (I'm still holdin on)(I'm holdin on)
(I'm still holdin on) (I'm holdin on)
I'm barely holding on to you

I'm hanging on another day
Just to see what, you will throw my way
And I'm hanging on, to the words you say
You said that I will, will be okay
The broken light on the freeway
Left me here alone
I may have lost my way now
But I haven't forgotten my way home

I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain (In the pain)
There is healing
In your name (In your name)
I find meaning
So I'm holding on (I'm still holdin')(I'm holdin' on)(I'm still holdin') (I'm holdin' on) (I'm still holdin')
Barely holding on to you (I'm still holdin on)
Barely holdin on to you