mein na mil sakun jo tumko
meri justujo na kerna.

the stream of nigthmares/ horrible dreams continues.
is it reflexive of my life? the quiet before the storm?
im so very anxious about khala's silence. about the fact that she knows im still talking but doesn't do anything about it.
about the fact that she walked in on me while i was on the phone, but never said a word to me, never asked me who it was, never snatched the phone away.
has she really changed? or will she burst after im in libya? will she tell ammi? has she told ammi?

or is she really being nice?

the anxiety is nerve-wracking. the wait, torturous.
i have been blessed with an overactive imagination, and fragile optimism.
i cannot help but worry.

which makes me lose sleep.
and appetite.
i might have the begginnings of peptic ulcer.
yay.

calmthefuckdown please?

i need to pick up yoga again.
i need to turn to God.

im too ashamed to. dont we all have that one unforgiveable sin that makes us cower in His presence? Id rather be shattered and smitten to dust.
my sin.
lies. secrecy.

that is NOT me. im the A-grade student, the school nerd,
valecdictorian, pride of the parents, cultured and well-behaved,
modest, humble, religious,
the well travelled well versed...liar?

its suffocating either way.
but one way i please them and this way i please me,
and this way seems so...selfish.

run run run away. go to another place, be another person, create a new you
yet again.
no distance is far enough.

no matter how harshly you uproot yourself, how diligently you sow yourself again seed by seed,
why is it never you? why do you always get moulded, shaped, restructrued?

i am like the sculpture that created itself.
i do not want to be sculpted anymore.

but you're a desi girl.
aur humari larkiyan...dont.

...

to do or not to do,
that is the question?

-eeda