The Little Engine Tag

I can’t remember the last time I did a tag post, or if I’ve ever done one at all. But I came across a cute little post and figured I might as well since I can’t think of anything else to write but I know I want to write something.

Also, it looked like a good way to try and engage with the WordPress community.

The Little Engine Tag 


  1. Each answer you give to a question has to be more than two sentences long. Or at the very least, you have to make those two sentences meaningful.
  2. There will be two bonus questions at the end, that the blogger gets to change to whatever they want to ask when they nominate someone else. The first six questions, however, are set in stone.
  3. At the end you must nominate three to five other bloggers. Okay, so you don’t have to, but that would be nice if you could.

Leggo –

Continue reading “The Little Engine Tag”


GUYS! I’m going to college!

Senior year is coming to a close and I’m days away from my last ever school exams! (I still have my A-Levels to go through in May/June but-) School’s over!

Everyone is either suffering from major senioritis and not leaving their homes because no willpower or just frantically making up for lost time and getting as much hang-out time with friends as they can because we’re all heading off to college in a few months. Granted, there’s still more than four months left before we even start packing and very few of us have visas and all but still. The last thing anyone wants to do is buckle down and study but I’ve been trying.

I applied early to Smith College back in November and I got in! I’ve landed a great scholarship and committed to them, so I’ll be heading to Northampton in August.

The thought of this HUGE transition is mostly why I can’t concentrate on my Market Structures notes to save my life.


I’ve never visited the US before so it’ll just be a slew of first-times for me in August. Temporarily moving out, living alone, new country, new people, COLLEGE..

I’ve been spending most of my time either worrying about the future or searching NoHo and Smith College geotags on Instagram and obsessing over how cute everything is. Also, Amherst College is nearby and I’m hoping for some nice smart boy eye-candy, because I plan on taking a few classes there in my second year.


On a more serious note, a lot of my anxiety and fear also stems from this trainwreck of a presidential campaign in the US, because Donald Trump. I’m a Muslim and I’m from Pakistan and that should be enough to explain my concern. I’m sick and tired of explaining to people how generalizations are plain cruel at this stage, but what can one do.

On that worrying note, I’ll sign off and give studying another try.

Why I Don’t Drink

Just came across this article and I was just mentally screaming YES throughout – so I had to share.

No, I don’t drink. Yes, I know how to have fun.

The only part I’d add to this is that yes, my religion does forbid it and sometimes I am haunted by the question of whether I would be into drinking had I not been born a Muslim. Because I can’t say whether my aversion to alcohol has to do with who I am as a person and my personality or has to do solely with my religion. I would honestly like to think the former because going with the latter would suggest that I had to consciously suppress an urge to drink because I am religious. But for now let’s just say, I would not have been into drinking even if I were not a Muslim because drinking just always felt unnecessary to me.


A Conversation

It has taken me so long to write this because I have had more time than you had. I have had more chances to use, cherish and waste time; and more of it than I know how to manage well, anyway.
This is not a tribute. This isn’t even a piece to indulge in my very few, very vivid memories of you. It’s simply an echo of a conversation that I would have had with you if you were alive today.
Let’s imagine we’re sitting in class again; the cramped classroom, the one to the left of the stairs. We have seats right up in front and it is one of those lazy Urdu classes when Miss Rahat is in no mood to teach and everyone stays quiet so she wouldn’t have to take charge.
I think I need to tell you a few things.
You are not a hero, nor are you a victim.
You are just a girl who made bad choices.
And I’m not afraid to tell you this because you had the capacity to listen. I won’t lie to you or sugarcoat my words for you ever, not even in death.
I will tell you you were wrong, again and again because you see, you aren’t here anymore because of it.
I don’t say all of this because it will make a difference, but just because I felt it needed to be said. I say it because I don’t want you to become a symbol of young love, or a real-life incarnation of Juliet or a martyr. I don’t want your end to be an excuse for bad choices to ever be looked at as desirable or ‘romantic.’ I bring this up because there was a shocking amount of rhetoric that circulated, with the recurring theme of romanticizing your passing and your choice. Along with this came the bittersweet realization that it is only after one is gone that the world is alerted to the fact that we ever existed. I saw the most unlikely people, banking in on the opportunity to add to this rose-tinted affair of ‘star-crossed lovers’ or some similar bullshit. Your bad choice does not go away just because you did.
Do you see my problem?
Your choice became your end and the violence of your end, ended up defining you. I want to tell you it doesn’t define you, not for me, not for anyone who matters. I want to tell you that I remember your overflowing makeup table and your yellow wrist-watch, your dedication to sass and dance and your free-spiritedness. I remember the turquoise arm-chair in your room and your collection of necklaces. I’m smiling right now because I would have loved to see your reaction to the ear piercings I have now. I remember you helping me straighten my hair and the Jay Sean lyrics on your bathroom mirror. I remember how you stood up for people and how on fleek you always looked.
Was ‘on fleek’ a thing while you were around? I can’t remember. I guess it doesn’t really matter.
I want to tell you I am as brutally honest of a friend as I ever was and remember you in the most honest, most affectionate way. And maybe I’m being unrealistic by even hoping to put a dent on how you will be remembered but at least I have sorted all these thoughts in my head, thoughts that I was afraid of having because I thought they made me a bad friend or made me feel like I was disrespecting your memory. But now I know I would be doing no justice to the honesty in our friendship if I was not open about how sorry I am that you made that choice. You are entitled to your choice, we all are. I just wish it hadn’t cost us all so dearly.
I miss you.

Why I Got Addicted to Faking It

After one gets over the LGBT-theme of it, the show is nothing incredible. I was reading a couple of reviews online and the New York Times called it a “smarter than average” high school comedy, which I agree and disagree with. It’s smart because a lot of people would be interested in analysing it for it’s political connotations, bringing in viewers but then it really does nothing creative with the plot-line.

If we ignore everyone’s sexual orientation, it’s a good old love triangle.

But apart from the fact that I took two days off from school because I was feeling pretty lousy and had some time to kill, the only reason I can salvage for watching most of the first and second season in a day is the show’s setting. This is where it gets a little interesting, not because the writers are creative, but because they are finally willing to accept that lives outside stereotypes do exist. High schools without a cheerleader ruling class do exist. It is believable to pair up a tumblr-esque artsy quality and promiscuity in your “dreamy” male lead. And what I mean by this, is that promiscuity should not be exclusive to high school seniors on the football team or introverted, chain-smoking bad boys, as is usually presented in high school romantic comedies (or whatever they are calling these shows nowadays.) Of course I would like to say a whole lot more about what having nothing more to do in their lives than have a threesome, says about these self-proclaimed sixteen year-old’s but that’s a rant that can wait a while.

Being gay is – socially – not as big of a deal anymore in the world these characters are alive in, because there is a lot more acceptance. Of course there are exceptions, but for the most part, no one avoids gay people like the plague as was once the case. And this adds an interesting spin on the exposition of the show, because the tables are turned and being different is the latest fad. But the novelty wears off pretty fast and I sincerely hope they have something a bit more than sexual ambiguity to depend on for Season 3.

They also need to kill Karma. I cannot stand her and I refuse to accept someone can be that selfish for the better part of however many episodes are currently out.

My favorite part in the whole show, though, was hands down when Karma’s parents are (spoiler alert) arrested for selling weed out of their juice van. It was a better moment than all the other plot twists combined, and made even better by Mama Karma’s comment about how they’re hippies so they don’t see it as a drug.

Go figure.