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

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

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.

........

Kaisi teri khudgarzi.....

kuch/chup

bohot kuch.

andar sub phansa hua hai, in a way that when i speak there's barely any sound, and when i smile, my face remains static.

i have to start somewhere.

i know that this is repetitive. it happens once in a blue moon when the emotional exhaustion overwhelms me and i retreat so far into my shell that none can reach. when i wasn't married, i had the liberty of escaping on a self-imposed hiatus....buses to nowhere, sipping on coffees and staring at mountains...or walks at 4 am, through bleary morning half-hearted drizzle.

i can't do that anymore. there's routine and people  and expectations

It all starts with expectations really.

expectation to be treated a certain way. to be looked at, appreciated, celebrated. to be taken out on dinners, and to have conversations with...easy flowing conversations where i'm not always initiating. expectations of maybe-we-should've-had-our-honeymoon-by-now (14 months of being married later), expectations of finally-moving-out, expectations of just a two-day vacation where him and me are finally finally finally alone.
i cant remember the last time him and me were truly alone, in a space where his and my family, our obligations, our responsibilities, our schedules did not intervene. In a space we could truly leave all these things at the door, and just be.

That's how we were i remember...now the pervasiveness of it all has crippled me, and my patience is wearing thin. im so so so tired of everything. money issues i cant seem to figure out, family issues with his perpetually jealous and perpetually angry-at-me for goodness-knows-what sister, this house that is toobig and toosmall for us at the same time, three generations under one roof. how the hell do i explain all of this to him? how should i say that this wasn't part of the dream, part of the ex-pec-god-damn-it-tation i had envisioned? promises that this was all temporary and would change now fast turning into a concrete reality where i'm left to fend for his family. and my goodness, my bleeding heart conscience won't permit me to complain, whimper, protest...

no matter how much i tell him i need to get away he doesn't understand. the urgency. i thought i made it clear that i would only ever make a demand if it came to a point where i really couldnt take it anymore, and it has. and it's not over the top, it's not a 5 star vacation to europe kind of request. it's a take me to jersey and let's stay in a run down motel for a night but let's please just have some us time kind of request. he can't comply. i don't know why, but he doesn't comply. the frustration is tearing me apart and there's nothing i can say or do.

i keep it bottled in for fear of angering him, God, embarrassing myself in my own eyes, the guilt from which i may never return, embarrassed to admit my human limitations that have worn thin.

i used to tell myself that i'd never allow myself to get in a place i felt trapped. i would always have plan B, i'd be a little selfish and find my own way like i always have..somehow, this isn't Vancouver or Toronto and I haven't been able to find my way, or myself. New York is swallowing me in, like it swallows everyone in, and spews out a tangled, flummoxed version of yourself even you yourself can't recognize.

it might be the horror at the sight of this forlorn adult me, or maybe the weight of everything that's compressing my vocal chords shut, or maybe its New York itself, swallowing me whole....i just can't seem to find my voice. I can't seem to vocalize any of this. I'm just, quiet. silent. mumbling.
mind rut.

chup.

-eeda

there are mysteries id like to solve.
he's the biggest one of all.

-eeda

(the beginning)

yellow wilting petals between hurried feet, the swish of a red pallu. white marble tiles and blue sky.
there was golden sunlight playing with the green in her eyes, i recall. she was smiling at me. fiesty, always so.

no, not feisty, tempestuous.she was the summer storm in all its glory, twirling and twirling amid red chiffon and yelloworange marigolds, threading themselves feebly through her toes in an effort to
become the Joy that was her.

.............

i play images like a disc on repeat, images like a vintage song of old. and almost magically, almost out of lovelorn nostalgia,...i can still smell the summer sticky heat, and the crushed marigolds of the gardens.
i keep playing.... looking for that infinitesimal moment somewhere between us that has lead to this; me, clawing at wispy memories, swishes of an uncontrollable breeze.

i smile wryly, thinking...how could it be that i grasp that moment?
it is, after all, impossible to capture the storm in an outstretched palm.

And then, to capture her?

.........
Such an exercise in futility..

Dil mein dard dard dard....

Kaisi paheli hai yeh, kaisi paheli
Zindagani ....

udhero na

People always say that packing is the hardest thing to do, but I digress; those people probably didn't follow up all that packing with all the unpacking that follows.

When you're unpacking, you're not just putting away clothes and accessories...you're taking out emotions and memories out of suitcases and carry-ons and handbags and wallets.... and then packing them back neatly into drawers, closets..little jewellery boxes..in between fingers.
It's the hardest thing to do.

It's knowing that the adventure is over, the memories you made have already reached their upper constant, that no more new memories will be added to the experiences you've just had.
It's knowing that while you have returned to the mundane...the banal, the boring, in the parallel universe you left behind, there is another You who could still be having fun, (and probably still is, unawares to you) lazing around summer days in the back patio over conversation, shisha and Jones.
It's heartbreaking really.
It's the reason why my suitcases are still packed, three days later, after having returned from Canada.
Yesterday I very feebly unpacked my toiletries case. The resulting emotional overwhelming-ness had me withdrawn and quiet the rest of the evening.
Sigh. Pity.
This isn't quite normal, and it isn't quite me. I feel though that what they say about marriage is quite true; there are many many things you learn simply after being married. Like the value and comfort of family and your own blood, no matter how dysfunctional they are. There's always an empty socket in that narrative you can just go and snuggle right back into...it's not a space you have to create, it's just always there. Coming out of that socket hole obviously results in much cramping, of both muscles and heart; ripped out of their fixations in their places of familiarity.
Kher.
This is the reason why I don't want to unpack. The brooding and the self analysis and wallowing in the memories and the humdrum of busy Toronto life and mental images of baba laughing and ammi singing and deeju giggling and nijjo puffing out shisha smoke in rings rings rings comes outpouring out of every shirt, pants, heart.... everything I own.
Mein phir se thap ho ker baith jatee hoon.

Soooo, in conclusion,
I'll just resort to watching the twentieth rerun of Transformers 2 on TV; an important task in itself I assure you.
Really.
Much more important than other things in life....
(like say, clearing the mess of suitcases that is the guest room right now).
Dont ask dont tell.

ankhon mein silay huey ho.....udhero na.

-eeda

I'm having this weird pins-and-needles feeling like i need to write, but i don't know of what.
There was something my mind was muttering last night, the beginnings of a poetic ramble, but it was lost somewhere between an all-consuming desire to fall asleep, and S's arms. the former because of the latter perhaps.
besides, in the hold I'm in, i can barely find an inch to squeeze out a finger to type with.

It must've been something to do with Belonging. Fitting into shells carved out in another's soul, meant for you. Empty spaces we keep locked up inside, afraid to show the cocoons that might just be the Cinderella's-shoe to someone else's hurting soul. Slip inside to remedies, comfort, protection...whatever it is you're looking for.

I find acceptances and answers in weird places. TV stations with maulvis I find questionable at best. The revelations make me cry, affirm that the cocoon I easily fit into every night was perhaps, the very best choice for me. An intangible sort of forgiveness and acceptance, of following down the right path becomes perhaps just a little tangible...in stories narrated from souls down generations, we find peace in other's words and make that our peace. Balm the questions and turn question marks into full stops, finality.
Peace.

What is inner peace? Is it inside yourself or inside the cocoon within another? Every time I see him with heartbreaking vulnerability and an ache deep inside my soul, I find my inner peace is inside him. Maybe that's why they call it 'inner', and don't attach pronouns with it..Inner could be inside anyone, not necessarily yourself.

Home is where the heart is. Peace is where you fit. Or maybe, who you fit. Maybe they're all one and the same thing. Maybe Plato was right when he said what he did about soul-mates.

Maybe.


(admitting to your vulnerability when so much of it resides in someone else can be a very difficult thing)

lessons learnt in time.
-eeda

Is this the millionth time i've written this?, but the feeling just doesn't get old...
I LOVE how his arm looks for me on the bed at night, and pulls me closer, and passes out around my waist again, every twenty minutes..

Just doesn't get old.

Wandering arms that is, and love.

-eeda

The homesickness feels as if someone is ramming the butt end of a rifle hard again my chest cavity, from the inside, again and again.

Ghar jaana hai, bus.

circular awakenings

while at G uncle's home last night, his wife enquired about my schooling. i told her my stories of acievement, excellence, with as much humility as i posess, as much as stating fact as possible. she looked at me and said, 'i told G since i first met you, that you were my ideal. how a daughter should be, how a girl should behave. your mother in law in so very blessed that she didnt have to do anything to get a wonderful daughter in law like you'
i told her that had my parents not overworked overstressed and bent themselves backwards for my upbringing, i wouldntve been this way today at all. sure it meant a tough childhood, but the hardwork now speaks for itself, when in a crowd.
'it absolutely does' said she, admiringly.

...................................

later that night on the phone with my mom, i told her this episode. she got quiet for a bit.
then she said, 'you know what i was thinking earlier this afternoon? that i really did push you all toooo much for ur education when you were younger, i shouldntve done that. and i thought this to myself and thinking about it, i just started crying.'' she finished her sentence, and dissolved into tears again.
her words felt like balm to my heart. years of feeling like i wasn't good enough, it was so much undue pressure, i would collapse collapse collapse...those biting feelings started to soften, ice over...
'ma, ur hard work then is paying off, people are in awe and you aren't there to witness it, that's the only tragedy now. had you not been the way you were, i wouldn't be me. '
and that's the truth. it really is.
.................................

how funny it is that those roles are now reversed? i acknowledge the goodness that came of it and she's just starting to see the downfall...and the goodness too im sure.

sigh.lesson learnt in time.
life is a very funny business indeed.


-eeda

I love how, in the middle of my sleep, I'll feel his arms enveloping my back and dragging me closer to him from the other edge of the bed. Then a few very sleepy back rubs later, his restless, caressing hand will find a suitable nook in my silhouette to anchor onto, before both hand and him lie completely at peace again, rising and falling to the rhythm of our breathing..

could this be any more beautiful, ya Allah?

The gentleness, the love, the sheer beauty of having him now with me, after everything? Leaves me stupefied...in utter awe.

Thank u thank u thank u so much,a hundred times over.

-eeda

shukarguzar, the beginning.

let's start at the start, things to be thankful for, a million times over.

i was going through some old pictures today when it reallly hit me. i've had such a great, fulfilling life, Alhamdolilah. my parents are such phenomenal people. I know everyone says that about their parents and if i insist that mine really are then it would be a cliche, but love aside, they REALLY are.
i've never seen any other couple in this world who has made more sacrifices for others, who has helped more people, whether it be money, emotionally, mentally..just whatever way they could.

from my dad always giving rides to random strangers to wherever they need to go so they wouldnt have to walk in the blistering libyan sun, to my mom taking in a new mom and her ENTIRE family and keeping them with us for 2 weeks, because her own mom was in pakistan, and feeding them and their husband, and never complaining, and then throwing her a grand party at the end of it so she wouldnt feel ke unke sath koi bhi kami hui ho, to my dad's endless secret donations, endlessly helping his family, going up to random lost pakistanis in libya and showing them around, bringing them food, taking them grocery shopping so they wouldnt have to take the bus..mein likhna shuru karo to shayad mahinay ho jaein..

my parents have only taught me nothing but love, nothing but self-sacrifice, nothing but pure, unbridled generosity for everyone. they taught me never to lie in a way i did never lie to them. they taught me to never eat from anothers without their permission, to neevr hurt with word or action, to never be a burden and always a blessing.... and ofcourse in the process their own hearts were broken, but they never let themselves break. they ALWAYS told us despite everything to just do good and keep on doing good, tirelessly and endlessly.

we were never a rags to riches story, but there was tough times when all 4 of us minus the youngest slept in one room because thats all we had, to when we had more but even then we slept together for for a long time to save on ac bills,...then to a time where we went to egypt london pakistan all in one year, and it was no big deal.. now, when im married and i think of expenses, and paychecks, only then do i realize what a big deal it was.
what a big HUGE deal it was.
despite the ups and down we always dressed conservative, shopped coservative, never wore branded clothes, were never the first kids with the technology gimmicks but still got everything our hearts desired...

i guess what im trying to say is that the more i get aware of things, the more i realize that this clean mirror heart i weigh the world with is all thanks to them, and no thanks to me. i know no other way.
i can't lie. i can never let a beggar pass me by without giving them something, anything (something S still finds funny and makes a joke of, in loving jest). i listen to others heartbreaks and cry tears for their pain, and i cant help it. i can NEVER say no when asked to do something, even it means upsetting others.
and while these things may be hindrances, im downright PROUD of this. Me. not to boast, not to brag. im not saying i have wings of gold, but i do have a clear heart with a clear conscience, a heart woven together with threads of love, trust, faith, sensitivity to the plight of other human beings regardless of religion or caste, a heart that pulls others up when its breaking inside itself, a heart my parents wove with such earnest and such hard work. and my God did they do a damn good job of it.

i guess the only thing that keeps me up at night is the gut wrenching fear that my own children will never get the greatness that i saw in my own parents my whole life, and that i see in S's parents. these generations are withering away and taking away all this goodness with them. this purity, good-will, good-intention, emaan, achay ikhlaq...such pure gold... what are going to do when its all gone, and all we have left is the faint traces inside of us? old wives tales, folklores and 'hamnay kaheen suna tha'...

i'm counting my blessings every day by day by day. in conversations with others, when im out in the world, the more i learn about the miserable lives other people live, the fact that not all parents are the same. mere ma baap ney waqai mer bohot sath deya, aur aab bhi dete hain. and i just dont know, i really just dont know how i will ever, ever repay them?

-eeda