just cuz a pictures worth a 1000 words

Shattered Glass

The transition from sleep to wakefulness is always rough for me. When I initially jolt into semi-consciousness, the person that I am is startling. I lash out whatever dared to try dragging me out of the world of the living dead. Only an inanimate alarm clock can stand up to the lava that spews out of my mouth. Sadly, it can be slapped into silence easily, a slam on the snooze or enough motor control to frustratingly shut the damn thing off for good. This monstrously hedonistic me cares zip for missed prayers, missed classes, and missed opportunities.

Waking up at 11 am today after snoozing through immuno, neuro, AND neuro lab, I dragged my feet out of bed. I turned on the stove and then got to work quickly chopping up a tomato to make an omelette. After a few seconds, I glanced over at the stove and realized I had turned the wrong burner on. The burner I had turned on in error, burning bright evil florescent hues of orange and red, held a glass pot lid, kidnapped. The lid looked like it wanted to scream 'WHAT THE *%$!!!" but was in a state of shock. I hurriedly grabbed the lid with a towel and placed it on a portion of the stove that was not ON. The glass lid sat unmoving for a brief indecisive second before shattering under the torture of what it just experienced. Shards of glass sprinkled the stove, reflecting sunlight mixed with my inability to ever become a housewife. Thank God for medical school.

Roller Coaster

I made a promise, a covenant, and I am trying to keep it. Sincerity is expensive these days, and consequential. Unfortunately the lack of sincerity of another doesn't nullify your own promises.

Some day I'll be able to think, sans emotional rollercoaster, 'I learned something from that', and think nothing more. Till then, I need to keep my upchuck in and brace myself against the lurches of this awful ride. The accents haunting the ride, the ghosts jumping out at you from hidden corners waiting to give you a cheap scare, are supposed to be amusing. Only to the weak of heart, or the beaten, do they illicit a genuine scream. These goons, the evil pseudo-sister in laws and best friends of the world, feed off the broken pride of others. It is only when your pride and confidence refuses to be shaken that the power of these monsters seeps away- their flickering hologram alternating between dejected bursts of light and darkness.

Kyon

"Why?" is an interesting phenomenon. When followed by 'me', it creates an atmosphere of self pity and helplessness. You're the poor soul who tumbled over the edge of the cliff when Ravin lodged a knife in your back. Your shirt caught on some miraculous tree branch, you scrounge up enough strength to try to hoist yourself back up. As you look up at your destination, the burning sun squinting your eyes, you see flashes of a kind soul, a friend. Your heart fills with joy and you lift your hand towards them so they can save you. Thats when you first notice that the person, while gleaming brightly under the halo of being your savoir, is also deviously shifting dirt into your eyes with their feet.

When followed by 'not', 'why' transforms into a childlike euphoria of a thousand possibilities. Why not go for a swim, a random road trip, a new job, a new friend?! "Why not" conotates awesome adventure, leisurely rests, and luxurious luxury. Why not enjoy life!

The naked why, unadorned by anything before or after, wields the most power. From the complex mind of a dedicated scholar contemplating the meaning of life, to the lips of a two year old wallowing in his tantrum, why represents the human condition. Questioning, confused, searching.

Running in Circles

I'm supposed to be studying. I thought I'd declare that right away, for the sake of those reading this that are wondering 'doesn't she get that she needs to study'. Yes. I get it. I need to study.

(wipes hands) Now that THAT's out of the way.
(twiddles thumbs)

While getting ready for school (which consisted of me exchanging sweat pants I slept in for a new, cleaner, equally wrinkled pair of sweats and a t-shirt), I glimpsed my reflection and suddenly felt like I must have lost weight. Excitedly, I went to the scale and stepped onto it with great confidence. Maybe that one workout and that one cookie I gave up acted like a magic spell and transformed me into a hotter new me.

(insert sound of losing game show contestant here). I barely lost anything. In my moping state, I then bought a brownie from the school cafe and wallowed in my misery. Maybe eating honey nut flavored cream cheese straight out of the jar with a knife and marveling over how close to cheese cake it tastes, was not the best of ideas.

Oh well (shrugs).

I'm really behind in all my work. I'm that runner in that long distance race that stepped on a stone 2 minutes into the run. Out of breath and in pain already, finishing, or even catching up to the rest of the contestants, seems impossible. Thinking of how much you have left to go, suddenly your gasping for breath. Diamonds, chocolate, hot guys, forget em - your greatest desire becomes being able to do nothing. Clarify, doing nothing without feeling guilty. I do nothing all the time. But guilt maligns it.

"Ok then friends", I'm off to step back onto the track, wish me luck!

Pain

I got hit in the head with a soccer ball once. Kicked by a 6 ft something man, the ball jerked off the ground in a fiery rage. It's journey met with an abrupt halt as it made impact with the bones of my skull. Shocked, the ball ricocheted off my head and landed disgruntled in the green grass. As I reminded my body how to breath, I blinked away the tears that fell embarrassingly down my face. I think I made a sound, something in between a nervous laugh and a giggle, and assured the other players - staring at me nervously- that it was nothing at all. A few minutes later, attention free, I left the field, found a secluded spot, and cried like a baby.

It's amazing how other stimuli can bring about that same jolt of pain. Stimuli that have no business having the power to well up your eyes or make you feel nauseous. Like the gag reflex, such stimuli pay no mind to how you may have been feeling mere seconds before. You might have been smiling lazily at a pretty memory when suddenly, a recollection of an earnest "I really, really love you" will feel like you just took a sip of poison. Except your heart burns, not your esophagus. Recalling my moms words as she stroked my face when I visited, "Oh my Child, Is going to leave me again?" spoken in a woven mixture of love and sadness and Urdu springs unbridled tears every time. Remembering "It's been 6 months now, I'm over it", hearing it in your mind repeatedly like a broken record from hell, feels like you're IN hell. All simple arrangements of letters and sounds, each with the power to make you curl up into a ball.

At least with the soccer ball, once the initial pain from the impact subsided and I cried it out, the incident was over and done with. These emotional tortures though, are like bug spray resistant roaches. The pain springs up, lips curled, like an evil Jack-in-the-Box, the same momentum and force every - single - time. Crying, in this world of pain and torture, is fuel.

Then, as easy as it came, it goes away. Look, a flower. Feel, a warm breeze. Taste, mmmm chocolate.

Strong Enough

I'm trying to be strong. In every facet.

I am trying to be physically strong, conditioning my body to be able to stealthily carry my being around. Able to control at least the physical bounds of my existence.

I am trying to be strong of will power. Attempting to stay put, focused, on the virtual mountains of neurons, tracts, and matter while the worlds around me try to steal my attention. The cyber world with its fortress of movies, TV shows, Facebook Newsfeeds and YouTube uploads. It's most potent weapon? Glimpses of the world I left behind, sounds of my mother, family, friends. The physical world with its ocean breeze cajoling me with promises of crashing waves and refreshing mist. With its penetrating sunlight, soaking into the pores of my skin, promising warmth after a cool ocean swim. And then my own world, a war zone of conflicting heartache, vows of friendship, and twisted, confused, rational thought.

I am trying to be strong of faith. Imaan, the cloak of power, shielding me from scrapes and scars as I battle my way through. I am trying to be strong enough to need only to bow down to feel the weight of the world sliding down my shoulders and drip onto the earth beneath me.

I am trying to be a strong person,unscathed, unmarred. Strong enough to face any challenge.

Bring whats next, sticks and stones, words and foes. I am going to be strong enough.

and I'll do it without turning to stone.