LOG ENTRY #49 – Am I Too Young To Be So Bitter?


This was a great read. And I agree with it, even though I’ve just completed my O’Levels. (A’Levels in September, God help!)
So many people are under the delusion of the stereotypes connected with teenagers these days. I agree with this post, because I see this coming for me in the future.

Originally posted on Am I Thirty Yet:

the internship owen wilson

A few weeks ago I went to my friend’s graduation. I’m one of those people who tends to cry at everything. I can’t even watch 95% of the commercials they air these days without a box of tissues on hand. So I warned my friend that I’m probably going to tear up at some point during the ceremony. Graduations can be an emotional thing and I just knew one of those speeches was going to get to me.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sadness was the last thing on my mind. If I was going to tear up, it would have been from laughing so hard. I laughed at most of the speeches. It was either I laugh or scream with rage. Anger. That’s the emotion I felt the most during the graduation ceremony.

I graduated from college over four years ago. I owe a ton of money from student loans…

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LOG ENTRY #48 – RL Quotes and Summer Projects

Recently, I’ve got very obsessed with real-life quotes. Things that people around me say, that affect me, move me. Maybe even just make me smile. It could be just a simple word like ‘OK’ or ‘Yes’. Or it might be a whole paragraph someone texted me. They could be lyrics, or poetry. They could very well be lines from a book I’m reading, or something I heard the weather man say. They could be dialogues from a movie. They could even be words, marking an event in my life, that had mattered a lot to me.

Most of the time they are absolute nonsense that I convince myself is awesome and stuff, and makes me seem, and feel deep.

Doesn’t change the fact that they are awesome! :D

A lot of my posts on my cupboard are complete with time, date and day noted.

I like making memories.

And I’ve started to collect all of them, and write them down.

One of my many summer project was redecorating my room. And I decided to make a collage on my cupboards. Its a work in progress, but the number of note-book paper and Post-Its that are up on them, with words and sentences neatly penned on them in my favorite sort of felt-tip pen, is increasing every day. The fun part for me, is when sometimes, these words are so vague to everyone but me. People who aren’t familiar with the situation I was in, or the person I was talking to, or what we were talking about – they tend to look at my cupboard, and then look at me funny.

Or at least I think they definitely would. If they had the curiosity to spare my cupboard a glance. That is the other fun bit.

Initially I was a little scared about putting up so many things that mean so much to me (and also because I was a tad nervous about what would happen if my mother saw the time and date on some of those posts, and what they were saying) in plain sight. Right up front, on my cupboard doors. Because if it means enough to me, for me to remember it and put it up, it definitely defines my thought processes.

Double bluff.

No one looks in the most obvious places; people who don’t read the books I do, watch the movies and shows I do, don’t think like I do.

That list includes my family, so yeah, I’m good.

Anyhoo – I decided to start doing the same on my blog.

There are so many things that people on this website write, that make me smile or tug on my heart-strings. Or simply make me wonder.

And I wanted to share these words with you all. Maybe, if I am not attacked but a Bout Of Laziness, I’ll continue with posts of this sort, reading up blogs and quoting you guys! :)

Not particularly extraordinary kids in a not particularly extraordinary school but in an extraordinarily cherished phase of life.

- The Phone Call; bottledworder

Letting one side of you flourish while repressing the other works out ok to begin with, but after a while you begin to feel it through your own writing, and for me, this has come in the form of I want to talk about something serious, feel as if I can’t, try and force myself to be entertaining even when I’m not feeling it, which then just ends with a temper tantrum

Sodium Sodium Sodium Sodium Batman!

- Mid-year resolutions….; Remain Insane

It should be fairly obvious by now what must be done.  Instead of filling that space with irrelevant content, fill it with (gasp!) relevant content!

- If Time Must Be Taken, Take Time; This Page Intentionally Left Blank

Like, you’re really awesome and I love you but you don’t love me, so I’ll settle for someone like you, but they won’t be as good as you.

(^This one is going on my cupboard.)

Granted, its cold outside and the water is freezing, but its kind of a great luxury to live by the ocean and stare out into it’s vastness. Yes, I’m gay.

On Tumblr; …like a virtual scrapbook of dreams.

Yes, I know. This person affected got three quotes from the SAME POST. o.O

- Fall Favo(u)rites; Lily In Canada

Cats are the world’s best secret-keepers.

- 5 Purrfectly Reasonable Habits; rarasaur

More to come soon! Slather the comments with a bunch of your favorite comments, maybe? :D







LOG ENTRY #47 – Making History.

I have never, ever, never felt more relieved in my life. 

I was due to sit for my Pakistan Studies and Islamiat O’Levels in May, and yes, I worked hard for my mocks in March, got m grades, was off from school all April for studying, sat for exams in May. And was off by May 15th.

And then.. three weeks of summery bliss and two (finally!) blog posts later, on the 4th of June, I wake up. I watch Perks of Being a Wallflower in my PJs, and then I get a phone-call from my mother at 1 a.m. telling me our exams got ‘leaked’. Integrity of the exams has been compromised, hence we’re supposed to give ALL THE EXAMS AGAIN.

In June.

In the scorching heat.

We have to study.

And we have only 10 days to prepare.

That sort of thing breaks you. Especially since you’ve been watching shows and staring at laptops for half a day, every day for three weeks. 

And you’ve also lost a lot of the knowledge you learnt along the way.

Have you ever felt the pain, of having to take out your books all over again, in the middle of summer. 

Craving for summer, in the middle of summer.

And so, we studied. 

Amid bucket-loads of curses and swearing on Facebook, we studied. 

We studied our butts off.


And NOW. Today. This morning (noon, actually) I wake up. 

And it is the day after my CIE re-takes.

And it feels good.

I am the first batch, to ever give an O’Level retake.

Oh yes, made history on the 13th and 14th of June.


LOG ENTRY #46 – Love.


I love Physics. And I love every one of those pictorial references. Well – except that one for gravitational acceleration. I couldn’t place the characters. :-/

My favorite was Calvin-Hobbes-Convection and Drogo-And-Latent-Heat-Of-Fusion/Vaporization. :3

LOG ENTRY #45 – Eight Years Later..

Non-fiction writers: You’re stuck in an elevator with a person from your past. Write this scene. Daily Prompt: Elevator


It’s been a long day.

I don’t mind the two hour drive from the suburbs – where I live – to Midtown Manhattan, where one of the many offices I report to is located. Its quite relaxing usually. But everyone has their off days.

Today had been one of those days. The article I had worked on all weekend had been criticised to the point where even I was convinced that all of my sources were questionable and my opinions misleading. Extra conferences and meetings had been sprung on me in which matters of little importance had been discussed for an unnecessary length. To top it all off, I had received a fair few remarks on the way I worked, that were not sugar-coated enough for me to ignore the direct stab. ‘You are a Woman, hence shut up and listen to Mr. Boss’. It was shocking to see that even after the countless years I had spent working, proving time and again that gender is but of face-value. Nothing more, nothing less. Now – I was ready to start swearing at anyone and everyone who crossed my path.

Straightening my Marc Jacobs tweed skirt, as my black Dolce Vita sandals tapped against the marble-flooring, I stop before the elevator door and press the button. The air-conditioning is starting to get on my nerves. A group of men in suits walks past, all except one having Bluetooth devices embedded in their ears. Their hushed voices echo in the capacious hallway.

Thoughts chase each other in my mind; from workplace ethics, to gender discrimination at work despite the pretense that all were equal in this society, to the importance of women standing up for themselves. I know I will not rest until I have vented on my blog.

It was going to be a long night.

There was the subdued tring of the elevator bell, perfectly tuned so as not to disturb but only enhance the atmosphere. The faint tinkling of water from one of the mini-fountains erected in the middle of the open area drowns out of the subtle sound of the elevator doors opening.

Tucking a dark brown strand behind my ear, I look up from the paper filed inside a transparent folder that I was holding to see if I would be sharing my breathing space with someone on the ride down forty-nine floors.

There was just one other in the elevator. A young man, light brown hair, slight frown creasing his forehead as he looked at his phone. A silent swear word and then he looks up to check why his ride isn’t moving. He has piercing blue eyes, the curiosity, then the shock of recognition evident in them. He is wearing an expensive-looking suit, his tie slightly askew – as if it has been tugged on countless times.

My hands grip the folder a little tighter. He pulls himself together first. The doors start to close; he jumps forward, sticking his foot between them, causing them to open up again.

“Coming?” He smiles.

I step in, aware of his gaze following me. He has recognised me. And I, him.

Eight years. Eight years later, and I find him in an elevator. How coincidental. Much like a cheesy movie.

We reach the fortieth floor in silence. The air-conditioning in the confined metal box causes his scent to mingle with mine. I stare fixedly at the paper in my hand. The words have started to go out of focus. My thoughts are far-away.

Casey Jackman. When he was eighteen, and she was seventeen. The things they had done together, the way they had fallen for each other. How he had consistently got kicked out of her parents house because Dad hadn’t liked him one bit. He was the guy who wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. They had ditched senior prom to go to a rock concert; him in jeans and her in a prom dress because both of them were strong-headed and adamant to do what they wanted. How they both knew each other’s quirks and faults and strengths like their own.

She had said it would last forever. He had laughed at her sappiness but she knew he agreed. They had both believed it.

Notions like that are absolute crap. High school doesn’t last. Reality always slaps you in the face. People change. Life happens.

Except maybe Casey. He had been laughing ever since she had walked in.

“What?!” I finally round on him. Thirty-fifth floor.

“I thought you were dead!” He manages, grinning at me.

I shoot him a dead-pan look. “Really, Casey?”

He sobers up a little and shrugs, “Sure. I-”

“So, you’re trying to tell me you have had no idea of my whereabouts all these years?” Why am I talking to him? It feels wrong. It brings up uncomfortable memories. Regret. Guilt. The flashing image of him in my room late at night.

He is quiet for a while. “Not really.. I had myself convinced the person making the speeches on T.V. was a doppelganger.”

Another image of him trying to say something. My disbelief. Him pulling something out of the back pocket of his jeans.

I don’t reply. What can I say?

He bent down. He looked up at me, and takes my hand. I gasp loudly. My stomach is like butterflies caught in a net, struggling to escape. My palms are tingling. His words, they are muffled. My brain seems to register them a second too late. “Ziona Evans, will you marry me?” He didn’t wait for a reply. The ring had already slid half-way up my finger. I was too numb to say anything. He had expected to hear nothing but a yes. He knew the alternative answer was an impossibility. 

“How’ve you been?” His voice is quiet as he says the first serious thing since I have walked in.

“… Great.”

The door banged open. The lights came on, making the both of us squint as our eyes struggled to adjust. “Dad!” My eyes widened, horrified. My father was a tall, intimidating man on good days. Tonight was worse. “What the hell is going on here? Jackman! How many times have I told you to stay away from my daughter?!” His hands reach forward, his mouth set grimly, and grabs Casey by the back of his neck, pulling him up and starting to drag him out. “Zee!” Casey looked at me incredulously. Say something.. But how could I? What.. I felt my throat tighten. My father was looking at me curiously, waiting to see what it was that Casey was urging me to say. If there was anything to say at all. He didn’t believe Casey on the best of days. Tonight was the final nail in the coffin. Dad gave Casey a disgusted look and hauled him out. 

Twentieth floor.

“What about you?” It’s only polite to ask, right? He could never see through the nonchalance, never see the actual curiosity, the need for information.

He shrugs, “Finished law school. Then took some time off. Spot of traveling. Then started my formal practice, bought my own place.. Doing good.”

Fifteenth floor. Did it always take this long?

I nod slowly, “Good.. great.”

Hearing his quiet laughter, I looked up questioningly, tearing my gaze away from my hands. “What?”

“You want me to ask, Zee?”

“Don’t call me that Casey.”

“Fine. What have you been doing with your life this past decade, Ziona?”

“Eight years.” She blurted, then bit the inside of her mouth, “..not.. a decade.”

There was a silence for a while.

Ninth floor.

Finally, I ventured forth, “I’m a freelance journalist, slash a couple of weekly commitments to New York Times and Huffington. Because of the whole media-studies and political-aspect, I took up advising and being spokesperson for a couple of multinationals and international organizations. There was a lot of traveling involved in the first six to seven years, but then I had to take responsibility for um.. my brother’s daughters. Guardianship. So – I moved to the suburbs. Started taking up more local projects. I got my work-from-home dream, and I traveled.”

Fifth Floor. The end was nearing.

Casey raises his eyebrows and says, “Never knew you’d pursue your dreams, really. I mean, not doubting your ambition, but, this was always your dream job, huh?”

I raise my shoulders in a small shrug. “Yeah.. What about you? I mean – how did you ever get into Law?”

He laughs, “Once I figured I couldn’t be a real boxer, I had to go after something really worthwhile. I mean, I considered becoming a surgeon but that’s commitment. Major one,” he sighed and said, “Dad was always into politics. I just, thought I dunno, I’d do something real dry. Something dead. Take my mind off…stuff.”

The elevator pings and the atmosphere-enhancing bell rings, bringing me back to the now.

The doors open and there are people – in suits – waiting to get in.

I realise I am in what classifies as work clothes too. Casey is too.

Forty-nine floors.

“I’ll..” I start, stepping out with him, turning towards him. What? She would see him again? Would she? Would he want to? Should they?

Did she even want to?

He smiles at me. “Yeah?”

It’s amazing how some things never change.

A phone rings. Casey fumbles in his jacket pocket and holds up a finger, giving me an apologetic smile.

“It’s.. It’s okay.” I say hurriedly, “It was.. nice seeing you again.”

The phone is still ringing, as Casey looks at me, his smile gone. “Yeah –  yeah. Same here..” He replies.

Now, my phone rings.

I shake my head, pulling it out, see the caller ID and immediately pick it up. I turn around, starting walking away, talking hurriedly.

At the revolving doors, leading me out of the air-conditioned hall, out into the smoky city air, I turn around, still listening to the person babbling on the other end. Casey isn’t looking at me, and is engaged on the phone.

Turning away, I walk out.

[[Credit for Casey's dialogues to my parabatai! :) ]]

LOG ENTRY #44 – Green Eyed Biatch.

My attempt at the Daily Prompt.


It hadn’t been that long since I had started dating Chase. A month and a half. It might sound unrealistic, but some times even the fraction of a second is enough to know when you really do care for another person, and that the feeling’s not going away any time soon.

And some times, your affection takes an obsessive-possessive turn.

Chase and I were in the same Public Speaking class, and the students were required to submit a project after the summer; we could use any form of self-expression – writing, talking, acting-out, poetry. Majority of the class opted to write. I chose to paint and sketch. It’s what I’m good at, it’s what I express myself through fully.

Chase decided to do a sort of video-diary. Except – it wasn’t even vaguely concerning him. Sure, he tossed in a couple of things from time to time, about how his mother thinks he’s a ‘late bloomer’ and then he presents a ton of his theories, all proving her wrong. But mostly, his video diary is centered on his pet turtle – Bernard.

Bernard is awesome. Enough said.

But the problem began when Chase started uploading his videos on YouTube, and people (read: girls) (read: desperadoes) started developing a lot of interest in them. I guess Chase must have talked about his videos on Facebook a couple of times, and before you knew it – he was being shared and re-shared on every WDC student’s wall. It wasn’t that hard to see that people didn’t care about Bernard and his so-slow-they-are-non existent-back flips.

One morning Chase is telling me about finally getting around to his crappy summer project. (“I’m doing it on Bernard. Like.. just filming him and stuff. His life, basically.”) The next morning he doesn’t even mention it at all. A few days pass and although he seems completely oblivious, I – being an avid Facebooker – had noticed the unbelievable stir his ‘turtle-videos’ had caused. People were out vacationing, since its summer and all, but they still found ample time to Wallpost Chase countless times, talking about how awesome his videos and his turtle was. And don’t even get me started on the number of adjectives Bernard got. I bet half of those girls just wanted an excuse to write ‘hot’ and ‘cute’ on Chase’s wall.

A bit of a back-story on this: Chase is that guy in movies girls slam into open locker-doors for. If he was in a movie, his every entrance and exit would be in slow-mo, accentuated with the sound of sighing girls. And that is NOT just my doe-eyed attitude towards him talking!

I was perfectly civil about it initially, because they were funny videos. I mean come on, who doesn’t like to watch a hot guy freak out like an overly-protective mother over his pet turtle’s lack of interest in moving? I guess the part that really pissed me off was that more than half his viewers… nearly all of them, actually, were girls. And not pre-pubescent, at that.

And okay fine – I did kind of go through all the profiles of the people (read: desperate girls) who were sharing his videos and commenting with their dumb “HART!”, “OHMYGOD HE’S SO CUTE!”, “Him and his Sammich. :3″-like words.

It could drive any girlfriend crazy.

I didn’t do anything for a week. Or maybe two. But then one morning, my Newsfeed showed me at least THREE girls putting up screenshots of his videos as their cover-photos. A few days later, I actually saw a meme about Chase. And then all these girls started walking up to us whenever he took me to the mall, and asking for his autographs and pictures and pretending to dote over Bernard. Pretending! I genuinely love that turtle! All those stalkers just used Bernard as bait.

God only knows how Bernard felt about all this. Poor guy; Chase stole his spotlight.

So, yes. It goes without saying I had been getting greener and greener day by day. I was tempted to update my status and tell the world about procuring my shot-gun license. But what good would that do? These weren’t wild animals who can be scared off easily. These were fangirls. And the worst part was these fangirls – unlike the usual kind – actually had a shot since they go to the same school as Chase. That, and Chase isn’t a celebrity.  He had become a web-sensation, true. But he was still a real person.

Bottom-line – I went and talked to Chase about it all. It’s easiest to do that, simpler and much less dirty work. My attitude would surprise most people. They would expect me to go all crazy-girlfriend on the swarming females. But if there is anything I’ve learnt from my sister, its that mentally hurting people is more productive and safe. And hugely satisfying. I mean you can murder one person again and again in your head, and then they just come back to life, ready for you to kill again! :D   Funny part is – Chase didn’t even believe the part that had threw me over the edge, i.e. the cover-photos and the memes. Figures, since he barely logs onto his Facebook. But he let me delete and unfollow all those posts and pictures. He found it all very funny, actually. He didn’t stop laughing for days. -__-  Apparently me being jealous is a very appealing thought to him.

The only part he was very depressed about was people’s lack of interest in Bernard.


LOG ENTRY #43 – The Summer Checklist. Oh and ‘Hi again!’

Agreeably, I have been AWOL for the longest time. Nearly five months.

In my defense, life got crazy. School went haywire, what with Drama Festivals – I was lucky enough to be a part of the English play our grade put up (The Importance of Being Earnest) – and a Model United Nations and then my mock exams and then my Cambridge O’Levels.

A lot of studying, and a lot of sweat.

But wow – we’re back to square one. I remember starting this blog at the end of last summer. And now I’m standing at the threshold of potentially one of the best summers.

I’ve been off from all school work for a week now, and up till now, all I’m doing is lazing around, hygiene going downhill, watching seasons upon seasons of TV shows, scrounging around for indie-rock and reading. Loads of reading. Oh and hours on the phone. Not that I wasn’t talking on the phone during school, and my O’Levels, but there was always that annoying wall-clock, ticking on and on, reminding me that I ought to be studying. Now – I can babble all I want, guilt-free.

I have to say; feels pretty good.

But I am determined not to let this summer slip out of my hands, wasted. My ‘To-do List’ might be a tad cliched but oh well – we’re all humans and hope to achieve quite a lot of the same things. After all, our ideas have got so mingled and muddled and individuality is dying out. :-/

1. Learn a language. [Or at least embark on this mission. I'm thinking Spanish.. or French. Italian? My parabatai wants to learn Arabic]

2. Volunteer. Do something for a good cause. Get involved. All that good shiz. :)

3. Try my hand at a potential job! A family-friend has offered me something of a journalistic job. Let’s see where that goes – (if it goes)

4. Start practicing my guitar again.

5. Some TLC for my blog. :p

6. Finish reading a lot of book series, including Young Bond, The Infernal Devices, The Mortal Instruments, the Percy Jackson books. Although Mortal Instruments has proved to be a tad bit of a drag. Cassandra shouldn’t have even had a fourth book. Or a fifth. Or a sixth. (Jace becomes a servant of evil? o.O )

7. The ever-present struggle to lose weight. But actually, I want to force myself to go out, breathe some fresh air, get on my bike. Instead of sitting in dark rooms, with my laptop illuminating my face,headphones in my ears. But basically lose weight.

8. Get a hair-cut. But that is more of a very short-term ‘need-to-do’. Although I want to experiment. So, bit of research needed.

9. Work on my Math! I’ll be giving my O’Level next year, right about this time, and so I need to brush up on the subject that has consistently been a Bogeyman to me. (Fun fact: This year, I got the highest grade in my batch in the final Math exam! How awesome is that? :’) )

10. Figure out my life, and my future academic choices. We don’t get time to think about a lot of important things during the working months and this – at my age – I believe is a matter of utmost importance. I have to sort out priorities, figure out what subjects I want to take up in my A’Levels, what I want to pursue in the future. I understand that decisions like this don’t come easy. But you have to start someday, someplace.

11. Give my room a makeover. Yes, I know this a bit of a step-down from the point above. :) But that is just how things come out in my mind. Hence, the need to sort out priorities.

12. Paint. Take out all my old stuff and start painting again. I had never painted seriously ever in my life, until the ninth grade, when Art became a compulsory pain in the butt because it was a mandatory subject to be taken in my new school. And surprisingly, it became a new-found passion. I’m not half-bad at it! Now that yet another school year – without Art, thankfully – is over, I want to paint for fun. It helps me relax.

13. Cook. Cook like mad. Try new recipes.

14. Write. Write anything and everything that comes to my mind. I suddenly feel this urge to have excerpts of my writing-style at every age, to someday better understand the evolution of my writing. It seems like a very far-fetched idea, but strange ideas appeal to me. I love making memories, and for me writing your mind is just another way of doing so.

What do you guys want to accomplish this summer? Do you have a checklist? Or do you want to kick back and just watch others run around while you eat, sleep and watch TV. Because I respect that. I believe summer is like a big slice of  ‘Me-Time’. So make the most of it, and make sure at the end of it – YOU ARE HAPPY.  We all deserve a break.

LOG ENTRY #42 – Baskin’ In The Weirdness

Nevillegirl tagged me with this blog meme today. I have to say this sort of tagging is a welcome break from the ‘TAG 15 BLOGS AND TELL THEM YOU LOVE THEM’ sort of thing. Not that I don’t like doing that. Its just that I’m a loser when it comes to official-sounding stuff. And I tend to disappoint deadlines.*sheepish look*

Le Rules

1. If you are tagged, answer the questions in the meme in a blog post on your blog.
2. Make sure at the beginning of your post you put a link to the blog of the person who tagged you.
3. Tag at least three people to do the same thing (you can tag more than three people if you would like).
4. Have fun!

Le Questions

What do you think the weirdest color is? 

Umm.. Orange. Definitely orange. Its just so.. out there. The only color it looks good with is purple. And that too only in polka-dotted designs, for me at least. Just imagine – one looks like a clown!

What is the weirdest TV show/movie you have ever seen?

Honestly speaking – where do I start?! There is so much that I’ve seen that makes me twitch. Green Hornet was one of the weirdest movies ever. I remember just staring at the screen, with my face like:  O.oIt has to be the only movie I ever walked out on. I’m a very forgiving person when it comes to movies, and always do watch them till the credits start rolling. But this movie was just so stupid.

What is the weirdest food you have ever tried?

The only thing I can think of right now is crab meat omelette. It was surprisingly good! Almost like chicken. My Dad made me try it. -_-

What is the weirdest drink you have ever tried?

I don’t remember exactly what it was. I was interrogating my Dad about it and he was looking at me like, ‘Where did that come from after so many years?’I think it was some sort of a ginger-y disgusting drink. My Dad used to get one bottle and then dare me and my brother to take sips. Needless to say, we always took on the dares and used to gag so badly every time.

Who is your weirdest friend?

Oh dear Lord, I don’t know if I should say ‘friend’ exactly. But I knew this person quite well. Sort of. And I don’t want to name names. ._. She. has. issues.

What is the weirdest thing you have ever seen on the internet?

The weirdest thing I’ve seen is what Facebook does to humans. Hands down.I’m talking duck-faces, pouting, showing too much skin, retarded text-speak and 1000 pictures (and those are just the pictures they’re tagged in; not the ones they upload)

What is the weirdest thing your pet has ever done?

I don’t have a pet. :’(

What is the weirdest book you have ever read?

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4 This book was a disaster for me. Never finished it. Never fell in love with anything or anyone in this book. It was twitch after twitch. A major face-palm moment.

What is the weirdest blog you follow?

The Cheeky Diva is definitely one of the weird ones. I love this one so much! Always makes me laugh for all the weirdest reasons.

I shall bestow this wonderful, revealing opportunity upon..

The Cheeky Diva

Rambles, Rants and Raves

Impybat’s Emporium

LOG ENTRY #41 – You, me and no-one else.

In response to: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/01/09/daily-prompt-fear/

- – - – - – - -

There are many ‘intellectually-appealing’ ways that I could go about this. I could write about something really deep and philosophical and how it terrifies me.

But let’s keep it very basic and true.

I read the the Daily Prompt. And this is what went through my mind:

I’m sitting crouched on my bed. My knees ache from their constant, bent position. I’ve been sitting like this for the past eight hours. My brother is asleep on his bed, his foot-ball blanket drawn up above his head. And I am surrounded by papers that have a lot of things scribbled on them. My eyes run over a few swear words squeezed in here and there between all the mathematical babble. My purplish-pink, and midnight blue, 400-page, Mathematics books lie at the end of the bed, where I just kicked them to. I don’t mean this figuratively. I really did kick them. Hard.

Whenever their around – its like their sucking all the happiness and hope out of me. More importantly – hope.

I glance up wearily at the clock once again and curse. Its almost like the clock-face is mocking my helplessness. An hour to 1 a.m.

Yeah, I know. That’s not too late.

Buddy – I’m the sort of loser who starts switching off at 10.00 p.m. and is brain-dead by 11.00 p.m.

So this is a hellish situation to be in for me.

My eyelids feel so heavy and I can feel my pillow against my back. If only I could fall back for five minutes.. that couldn’t hurt.

No! Exam at 8.30 a.m.

Need. To. Stay. Awake.

I’ll fail.

I think I should give up.

No! The grades! The report card.

Must. Avoid. Red. Marks.

A triangle stares up at me. “Does my butt look congruent to you?”

“You look very similar to every triangle I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

I’m talking to my book. I need some sleep.

Its very dark behind the curtains. The darkness always unsettles me. Especially when I’m trying to study. The darkness reminds me that the day is long gone. Its time for normal people to be in bed. Unwinding, sleeping or reading.

But then again – I’m telling myself that I’ll actually be able to stay up, complete my syllabus, understand every bit of it, get a good night’s sleep and give an exam. I’m not normal.

Well – not sane, at any rate.

Darn these numbers! They just love staring at me. Why can’t those pie-signs turn into real pies? Make some use of their (evil) magical abilities.

- – - – - – -

These thoughts are making me very depressed. Especially since my exams finished three weeks ago, and today was my first day back at school.

Let’s leave my fears at that.. :)

LOG ENTRY #40 – Words Failed Me

Emma Fletcher fell in love with the written word when she was in kindergarten. Her teacher had handed her a book about cats who liked to hide in boxes and since that day – she had adored reading. It became an integral part of her life and her identity.

Emma’s parents were quite disturbed to learn that their darling daughter, who had displayed signs of such intelligence, could not speak. Their daughter’s incapability dashed their dreams. But as things turned out, Emma’s love for reading blossomed into a love for writing. She wrote all day. She filled up journal after journal, and never let her speech-problem get in the way of her mental development.

Emma was an introvert by nature. An introvert would know what one means when one says that they are one of the most bullied kind of people. Their habits are constantly poked, prodded and criticised. Emma was spared that criticism, mainly because she was under fire of such intensive sympathy all the time. A sympathy that was derived from her muteness. A sympathy she felt she neither needed nor required. This was because no matter what everyone said, Emma believed her position was enviable. Everyone else around her could talk, which was exactly why they did. And most of the time, they let themselves down.

Emma believed the quality of thoughts was much greater if conveyed through writing.

Keeping this little nugget of her own wisdom in mind, she wrote with pride and she wrote with relish. Speech was a handicap for most people and Emma was free of it. She grew up to be the strong, confident woman she had always dreamed of being, though she never let go of that quiet, shy corner of her being. The part that loved book-shops, musty old volumes, coffee and writing. She recorded every emotion, every experience and every event as she lived it.

As she had chosen journalism as her career, this practice helped.

Emma was fascinated by how perfect and complete the written word was. It had the power and ability to do justice to all the magnificently complex people, places, emotions and situations one faces in life. Words could break hearts and set tears gushing. They possessed the soothing caress that could patch-up hearts and null someone’s pain.

Words had accompanied her, her entire life. They had never failed her. There was a word for everything and everyone. 

It was when Emma was eighty – had walked the Earth, had achieved those rainbow, soap bubble dreams of hers that usually pop before one can touch them – that she learnt the sad truth that words are, after all, man’s glorious method of explaining the world to himself. Words, too, had limits.

‘Will there be anything else, dear?’ The nurse smiled sadly down at Emma’s frail figure. The hospital room’s sterile atmosphere swirled around them and the fresh, white chrysanthemums on the windowsill swayed gently by the force of some breeze. A breeze Emma was desperate to feel on her aged face.

Emma pointed at her leather bound journal, that was lying on the chair by the wall. Within a moment, she was handed it and her favorite fountain pen.

In her last few breaths, she recorded her last few thoughts. Her thoughts about how, if there was something indescribable – something that, in its mystery, left her speechless – it was Death.