Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Locations, continued.
Locations impact people. Change people. Mold people. Build. Destroy. Even Annihilate.
When my dad applied for immigration to Canada, he did it because it was a fad. It was cool, all his friends were doing it, and baad ki baat to baad men dekhi jaeygi. All too soon, he was here, Canadian. N starry-eyed successful immigrant story here, he arrived bitter and skeptic, wanting to go back Home.
We rented a house, and then scoured the area and bought another house. A house no one could believe our humble demeanor could afford.
We did. No mortgage, upfront.
And then, the house consumed us.
(If you think this is about to turn into a cliched horror movie plot, you are right.)
First one to go was my dad. He hated Canada. He hated the house that made him live like a pauper in a mansion. Plumbling, gardening, shovelling feet after feet of unforgiving snow, maintenance, groceries. He grew disenchanted. Restless. Home called him through the howling wind in blistering Toronto cold. He insisted, we must move we must move back
Slowly, his anxiousness spread to all of us like a disease. My mom started having fits. My sister started having seizures. I got terrible anxiety. My brother was depressed. It was a Nightmare.
It still is. We are still in that house. It is still consuming us. Literally.
My dad lost over 80 pounds. His cheeks sunk in, skin hanging off bones on legs, arms, torso. He started walking around like the weight of the world was doubling him over in agony. He became bitter. Quit working. Blistering furious Toronto winter turned into blistering furious angry Abbu.
Locations impact people.
I have never seen a place have the power to cause such utmost decay in a person's life as I have seen in my father's.
He was at his prime when he came to Canada. Youthful, great career, new house , savings, kids in school, one about to get married.
You want one guess how long we have been in Canada and everything changed?
5 years. 3 if you start counting really where it all went downhill. 3 years destroyed EVERY morsel of sanity any person in our family held.
I am typing this not in melodrama but in horror. There is physical abuse, violence, cursing and swearing like you wouldn't believe. I might quit my job to go back and try and fix the damage a location did.
Maybe I am naive and i can't point fingers at people and blame who did what to whom. Maybe it's easier to blame places and believe ke waqai shayad jagah raas nahee ayee. I don't know. All I know is that the same country that destroyed me, and rebuilt me from ashes, and gave me the greatest love I have ever known, has destroyed my father and changed him into a man I hardly recognize. Physically, mentally and emotionally.
I don't know where to begin looking, where to find one small piece of land that will restore his soul like this land has claimed it.
Shayad jis zameen per maitha taik ker dua manglo wohi zameen kafi hai. Har zameen per matha taik ker dekh leya. Where do you find that zameen.
The theory of Hashtags
i dont even know where to begin this, my mind is such a swirl of stress and confusion and disappointment and heartache.
Locations have an impact on people-mostly in that they can be a huge determinant of who you will be. I am the worst version of myself when I am on vacation, I know this, but you take me anywhere near water and I am a different person altogether. All at once, full of life but also all at once, calm, peaceful, serene.
When we visited Spain two weeks ago, we went to the Mediterranean sea one night. I cried when I saw the sea, like an old long lost friend. I cried when I smelt the fresh sea salt water smell, the grainy sand between my toes, the color and hue only the Mediterranean could have. It was like meeting an old long lost friend.
Mostly, the reason I cried was because it reminded me of Libya, of one of the most special homes I have ever known, and more than that, it reminded me of a version of me that I knew I never again will be. I cried for that eeda because I remembered who she was, and who I am now, and how so much I want to slip out of this skin of mine and be that person again but I can't. It is like clutching at straws slipping through your fingers.
Locations can have an impact on people. Even minor locations, like who you are in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. Imagine every 3 or 4 feet away lies a space that claims a different part of your soul.
When You are in the bedroom jaan, you are so different. You are caring. loving. you undress me gently out of work clothes I am too exhausted to take off, in my sleep. You hug me hold me, or ignore me to watch T.V but you are mine.
When you are in the bathroom, or the You post-bathroom.....that's a different animal altogether. Lost eyes, lost soul. Angry, memotional, restless, aggressive. I lose you to whatever demon hides in in that 8 feet of space you 'escape' to.
It is your escapades that terrify me. A space I cannot enter.
I stand outside like a child. Holding the door, hands splayed across the rough wood, trying to claim you as mine, without you ever knowing.Silly child, don't I know? Locations claim people. Scared and terrified to have you come out and not know Who you will be, what you will say. I pray through the wood hoping whatever battle you fight inside will not destroy us. It destroys me every night.
It is a burden I cannot speak about to everyone, anyone. I speak to the girls at work about minor displeasures to vent some frustration and they say, well, why don't you fill in the gaps. Gaps? Yes, holes in people's personalities, expectations, you fill with other people. I am confused. They explain that they have people who fulfill part but not all of what they desire, and they fill the gaps with Others. Hashtags.
#1 is your emotional one, protector, comforter, provider. #2 is your sexual. #3 is the backup. Divide up your attention and love so not one loss can destroy you. Divide and Conquer.
But you always were and always will be #1. The only hashtag I need. The only hashtag that consumes me, the only one I will allow to destroy me.
It is funny what locations do to how people think and approach things, even things like marriage or relationships or commitment. I sit and argue and try and understand their rationales, their 'heart and soul protection plans'. I don't have one.
That might be part of the reason why, when I can't take it anymore, I hold you androck you gently, crying into your tshirt. I have no backup. I love you no matter what location, what person you are, and it petrifies the core of me.
I just hope our locations, don't end up destroying us.
(tbc)
-eeda
Locations have an impact on people-mostly in that they can be a huge determinant of who you will be. I am the worst version of myself when I am on vacation, I know this, but you take me anywhere near water and I am a different person altogether. All at once, full of life but also all at once, calm, peaceful, serene.
When we visited Spain two weeks ago, we went to the Mediterranean sea one night. I cried when I saw the sea, like an old long lost friend. I cried when I smelt the fresh sea salt water smell, the grainy sand between my toes, the color and hue only the Mediterranean could have. It was like meeting an old long lost friend.
Mostly, the reason I cried was because it reminded me of Libya, of one of the most special homes I have ever known, and more than that, it reminded me of a version of me that I knew I never again will be. I cried for that eeda because I remembered who she was, and who I am now, and how so much I want to slip out of this skin of mine and be that person again but I can't. It is like clutching at straws slipping through your fingers.
Locations can have an impact on people. Even minor locations, like who you are in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. Imagine every 3 or 4 feet away lies a space that claims a different part of your soul.
When You are in the bedroom jaan, you are so different. You are caring. loving. you undress me gently out of work clothes I am too exhausted to take off, in my sleep. You hug me hold me, or ignore me to watch T.V but you are mine.
When you are in the bathroom, or the You post-bathroom.....that's a different animal altogether. Lost eyes, lost soul. Angry, memotional, restless, aggressive. I lose you to whatever demon hides in in that 8 feet of space you 'escape' to.
It is your escapades that terrify me. A space I cannot enter.
I stand outside like a child. Holding the door, hands splayed across the rough wood, trying to claim you as mine, without you ever knowing.Silly child, don't I know? Locations claim people. Scared and terrified to have you come out and not know Who you will be, what you will say. I pray through the wood hoping whatever battle you fight inside will not destroy us. It destroys me every night.
It is a burden I cannot speak about to everyone, anyone. I speak to the girls at work about minor displeasures to vent some frustration and they say, well, why don't you fill in the gaps. Gaps? Yes, holes in people's personalities, expectations, you fill with other people. I am confused. They explain that they have people who fulfill part but not all of what they desire, and they fill the gaps with Others. Hashtags.
#1 is your emotional one, protector, comforter, provider. #2 is your sexual. #3 is the backup. Divide up your attention and love so not one loss can destroy you. Divide and Conquer.
But you always were and always will be #1. The only hashtag I need. The only hashtag that consumes me, the only one I will allow to destroy me.
It is funny what locations do to how people think and approach things, even things like marriage or relationships or commitment. I sit and argue and try and understand their rationales, their 'heart and soul protection plans'. I don't have one.
That might be part of the reason why, when I can't take it anymore, I hold you androck you gently, crying into your tshirt. I have no backup. I love you no matter what location, what person you are, and it petrifies the core of me.
I just hope our locations, don't end up destroying us.
(tbc)
-eeda
Friday, January 9, 2015
So much can happen in a space of 2 weeks. To a phoenix soul, it is several lifetimes wrapped in a microcosm.
A thousand soul-crushing deaths. A thousand hopeful re-births, spluttering, fluttering of wings, tentative first steps back into the cruel world.
To the naive, the brave, the wise say,
do not go gentle into that good night.
rage, rage against the dying light.
....................................
Dec 04, 2014
There is poetry my soul sings I cannot hear.
Days when it blazes in vivid reds and yellows,
and days when it sputters and chokes, and barely makes a sound.
.....................................
-eeda
A thousand soul-crushing deaths. A thousand hopeful re-births, spluttering, fluttering of wings, tentative first steps back into the cruel world.
To the naive, the brave, the wise say,
do not go gentle into that good night.
rage, rage against the dying light.
....................................
Dec 04, 2014
There is poetry my soul sings I cannot hear.
Days when it blazes in vivid reds and yellows,
and days when it sputters and chokes, and barely makes a sound.
.....................................
-eeda
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
under construction
i could start this story
and say that it began this morning in the kitchen,
but perhaps this narrative was better spun
some sixty odd years ago
the mitosis of a nation
(1947 )
created these demarcations
seeping into the narratives of
mine, yours, ours,
today.
my
mother had warned me
cautioning,
'soch lo
beta, they
are Punjabis
and
its not Just Geography'
I
starry-eyed child of the world
argued with her over perpetuating labels,
perpetual stereotypes, and
'let's please
get 47 out of our system
already'
it's just a number.
numbers.
when one nation cell split
into two,
7,226,000 of me
had walked into
new labels,
and new homes.
(not easily forgotten)
who is to say
those each individual stories don't
continue to shape the narrative we
now spin on this tiled floor,
you 'othering' me as we
other-ed each other all those years ago?
i had assumed that since we
both sand-grain in hue, vehemently
opposed to injustice, inherently
poetic in nature, tone, spirit,
both sip
our chais with pleasurable urgency
love
the crunch of well-fried chicken,
and fault Pakistan
the minute wheels touch tarmac, yet
lovingly call it Home,
we
had overcome those labels of old-yore, hairline
differences between us compatriot and now, in-law
brethren
yet,
the disdain i
am failing to forget, barely
concealable in your words as you
commented on my khaliz
urdu, and said
'you're so weird, bhabi'
i now realize
that 1947, the number,
still rings its tolls
between you and i.
it is my numbers today
that make me victim now
to the labels you unknowingly
afford me and i wear,
among them
'migrant, muhajir, urdu-speaking....
'weird'.
(it will forever be
sawa eik, to me
and not, one fifteen')
i could fault you with that dear brother
(in law), but brother still,
that you have borrowed this 'freedom of speech' to
call me out,
better from your adopted west
over the 'aadab and tameez'
more emblematic of people of your own color.
that
there is no shame i speak
urdu proudly and that maybe
if my words were punjabi you
would have found them less foreign.
but
maybe 47 and its
subsequent narratives,
are so ingrained in our
sand-grained
bodies, these
accommodations, 73 years later, will never reach
the red heart core of
you,
the core
beneath my labels
identical to yours.
.......................
i
will console
the starry-eyed child in my heart
we still have years left
to dream
years left to not
let the numbers define us
anymore.
and say that it began this morning in the kitchen,
but perhaps this narrative was better spun
some sixty odd years ago
the mitosis of a nation
(1947 )
created these demarcations
seeping into the narratives of
mine, yours, ours,
today.
my
mother had warned me
cautioning,
'soch lo
beta, they
are Punjabis
and
its not Just Geography'
I
starry-eyed child of the world
argued with her over perpetuating labels,
perpetual stereotypes, and
'let's please
get 47 out of our system
already'
it's just a number.
numbers.
when one nation cell split
into two,
7,226,000 of me
had walked into
new labels,
and new homes.
(not easily forgotten)
who is to say
those each individual stories don't
continue to shape the narrative we
now spin on this tiled floor,
you 'othering' me as we
other-ed each other all those years ago?
i had assumed that since we
both sand-grain in hue, vehemently
opposed to injustice, inherently
poetic in nature, tone, spirit,
both sip
our chais with pleasurable urgency
love
the crunch of well-fried chicken,
and fault Pakistan
the minute wheels touch tarmac, yet
lovingly call it Home,
we
had overcome those labels of old-yore, hairline
differences between us compatriot and now, in-law
brethren
yet,
the disdain i
am failing to forget, barely
concealable in your words as you
commented on my khaliz
urdu, and said
'you're so weird, bhabi'
i now realize
that 1947, the number,
still rings its tolls
between you and i.
it is my numbers today
that make me victim now
to the labels you unknowingly
afford me and i wear,
among them
'migrant, muhajir, urdu-speaking....
'weird'.
(it will forever be
sawa eik, to me
and not, one fifteen')
i could fault you with that dear brother
(in law), but brother still,
that you have borrowed this 'freedom of speech' to
call me out,
better from your adopted west
over the 'aadab and tameez'
more emblematic of people of your own color.
that
there is no shame i speak
urdu proudly and that maybe
if my words were punjabi you
would have found them less foreign.
but
maybe 47 and its
subsequent narratives,
are so ingrained in our
sand-grained
bodies, these
accommodations, 73 years later, will never reach
the red heart core of
you,
the core
beneath my labels
identical to yours.
.......................
i
will console
the starry-eyed child in my heart
we still have years left
to dream
years left to not
let the numbers define us
anymore.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Battle weary
26 JUNE 2014, 12:58 PM
She says to me in the car
Pointing at the woman
'Omg, she has so much cellulite! It's Disgusting!'
Later at night, he
(Twain of her core, sprung From the same two souls)
Kisses my cellulite away,
Says
The cross thatch on my hip
Is as beautiful as any
Battle scar.
She says to me in the car
Pointing at the woman
'Omg, she has so much cellulite! It's Disgusting!'
Later at night, he
(Twain of her core, sprung From the same two souls)
Kisses my cellulite away,
Says
The cross thatch on my hip
Is as beautiful as any
Battle scar.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
At some point during the night, he will roll over from his side of the bed in deep sleep and inch along the bed over to me, looking for my tired body. He then will cradle himself around me, throw an arm over somewhere around my waist looking for a curve he can anchor onto, and mutter a small peaceful sigh of contentment, while of course being immersed in deep slumber and snoring peacefully throughout this entire process. Really. He is completely asleep and will do this involuntarily.
At this point, my heart will shatter into a million pieces out of love longing and gratitude for this gently heaving chest stuck to my spine.
Alhamdolilah for him, Alhamdolilah a million times over.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Maybe Allah mian figured out that I was a lovelorn child on the inside, thirsting for love. I spent two decades fixing and gluing together the splinters of my parents relationship, who despite being great humans on their own, were not meant for each other. Or maybe were, that's how they were to survive, who knows?
Whatever the case, the constant refereeing and fixing and re re fixing had left me exhausted, hurt, battle weary....until I met him.
He gives me more hugs kisses and cuddles than I know what to do with..he picks me up when I'm tired, squeezes me for dear life till I can't breathe, kisses me until I'm laughing and breathless...and then stares at my eyes and tells me that its okay to be vulnerable and dependant, but I have to shine on my own and he will always have my back..I have no words but tears, and relief and the consolation my heart has yearned for all these years...
As I hug him back close to me, I realize that the little girl thirsting for love inside me is finally getting her fill..
MashAllah and mashAllah
And ya Allah, thank u, thank u so much for this.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
when i look at other couples around me, ive been starting to build a sense of resentment. its horrible to admit it, even to myself, even in the privacy of this dead blog no one will read, but it's true.
i see where others have gotten in a year, two years of theri married lives, and i see myself still stuck in limbo, still hanging on the same old threads, not moving forward, not moving backward, just stuck in space, and it drives me INSANE.
for a person whose used to so much change in her life and to be with one of the most unmovable, stoic men of all time is very very frustrating. I used to push him to change, push him to finish his degree, or start a new one, get a certificate, look for a better job and get out of his dead-beat job that barely pays the bills, is an entry level job and has zero options for growth, but ive stopped. im tired out. he doesnt want to listen or may be he does, may be his shame and embarrassment at being stuck where he is drives him into this little hole where he is lost and utterly defensive about letting anyone else pull him out again.
the decision to not move out right away at the time we got married was my WORST mistake ever. I thought that id be the sarasvati bahu (i dont even know what that means) and sacrifice myself on the alter of selflessness by first, getting to know the family and khidmat kaar-ing etc. what i forgot was that people get used to khidmat reaaaallllllyyyyyyyyy fast, and then they won't let you leave. In the meantime, the acquired sister left, then did the brother, and so we have to bear the brunt of keeping the family together because, well, someone needs to be there for the parents.
Is it horrible me thinking that? maybe. But let's get the facts straight. I'm stuck in a basement which has flooded 5 times since I got married, had four walls broken and repaired, had my kitchen thrown out and replaced, had the carpeting changed to flooring which me and my husband did ourselves, and had to share the bathroom with syed's grand parents, his brother, the laborer....let me know not even go into the details of the amount of pee stains and shit stains and paan stains i've wiped off the toilet bowl and the shower.
It gets old really fast, this whole selflessness thing.
i see where others have gotten in a year, two years of theri married lives, and i see myself still stuck in limbo, still hanging on the same old threads, not moving forward, not moving backward, just stuck in space, and it drives me INSANE.
for a person whose used to so much change in her life and to be with one of the most unmovable, stoic men of all time is very very frustrating. I used to push him to change, push him to finish his degree, or start a new one, get a certificate, look for a better job and get out of his dead-beat job that barely pays the bills, is an entry level job and has zero options for growth, but ive stopped. im tired out. he doesnt want to listen or may be he does, may be his shame and embarrassment at being stuck where he is drives him into this little hole where he is lost and utterly defensive about letting anyone else pull him out again.
the decision to not move out right away at the time we got married was my WORST mistake ever. I thought that id be the sarasvati bahu (i dont even know what that means) and sacrifice myself on the alter of selflessness by first, getting to know the family and khidmat kaar-ing etc. what i forgot was that people get used to khidmat reaaaallllllyyyyyyyyy fast, and then they won't let you leave. In the meantime, the acquired sister left, then did the brother, and so we have to bear the brunt of keeping the family together because, well, someone needs to be there for the parents.
Is it horrible me thinking that? maybe. But let's get the facts straight. I'm stuck in a basement which has flooded 5 times since I got married, had four walls broken and repaired, had my kitchen thrown out and replaced, had the carpeting changed to flooring which me and my husband did ourselves, and had to share the bathroom with syed's grand parents, his brother, the laborer....let me know not even go into the details of the amount of pee stains and shit stains and paan stains i've wiped off the toilet bowl and the shower.
It gets old really fast, this whole selflessness thing.
Friday, January 17, 2014
(The beginning. Continued)
When I was finally ushered in, I found her standing, draped in chiffon (that lovely elegance), by the golden sunlight, still pale against her.
Maybe other eyes disagreed, her life had worn her down, but to me, she was as full of magical exuberance as when I had first seen her...so, so long ago.
Her voice arose, shattering the silence and my nerves.
'I do so love a good story...and hate a poor ending.'
Pause.
'What about endings you spend years toying with, but never quite find out about?'
'Well, those are just the absolute worst, aren't they?' She said, finally turning to face me.
Even in that millisecond, I knew that I still hated her, I could still hate her. After so long, I had envisioned her leaping to turn towards me at the creak of the door, the fall of my footstep or perhaps, perhaps composed herself just until the first syllable left my lips.
She had still resisted.
Even now, she wouldn't grant me the comfort of this small victory.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Broken hearted
Disappointed
Incredulous
Trapped trapped trapped
Alone
No supporter no shield
Bare
Suffocating
Defeated
Bitter
Want to escape
Every attempt at transient hiatus wreaks chaos havoc
Swallowing
Drowning
Choking
Pushed into a corner
Made to feel small insignificant pathetic
Pathetic
Non entity
Nobody
Disappointed
Incredulous
Trapped trapped trapped
Alone
No supporter no shield
Bare
Suffocating
Defeated
Bitter
Want to escape
Every attempt at transient hiatus wreaks chaos havoc
Swallowing
Drowning
Choking
Pushed into a corner
Made to feel small insignificant pathetic
Pathetic
Non entity
Nobody
Broken hearted
Disappointed
Incredulous
Trapped trapped trapped
Alone
No supporter no shield
Bare
Suffocating
Defeated
Bitter
Want to escape
Every attempt at transient hiatus wreaks chaos havoc
Swallowing
Drowning
Choking
Pushed into a corner
Made to feel small insignificant pathetic
Pathetic
Non entity
Nobody
Disappointed
Incredulous
Trapped trapped trapped
Alone
No supporter no shield
Bare
Suffocating
Defeated
Bitter
Want to escape
Every attempt at transient hiatus wreaks chaos havoc
Swallowing
Drowning
Choking
Pushed into a corner
Made to feel small insignificant pathetic
Pathetic
Non entity
Nobody
Saturday, October 12, 2013
an exercise in self-destruction.
is life.
i always used to look at broken, defeated women..and would prescribe them doses of youth, independence and happiness which they listened to with starry eyes and a well-molded fake zeal. I wondered how it could be so, and what defeats us in the long tiring process that is marriage, that causes us to age so.
it never made much sense to me frankly.
........
Sunday, September 8, 2013
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