Saturday, June 28, 2008
A brand new nick-name
Salams. Queen El Slobbo!! Thats my new nick-name! My house resembles a major junk-yard... I am the unproclaimed queen of slobbiness!! I hate cleaning up. Bummer!!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Much Ado Abt Nothing!
Asak once more. Writers are the most down-trodden piece of crap in this world... unless they MAKE it. You will guess I'm struggling (ha ha)... so anyway... once you do become a well-known writer, you command respect and a biiig wad of notes for the gibberish you periodically turn out. I'm sleeeeeeeeeeeeeepy, tired and as always struggling.. in more ways than one!
Last night, I played on real cricket pitch!!!!! it was awesome!!!!!!!!!! i coulda been a professional!!!!!!!!!!
Last night, I played on real cricket pitch!!!!! it was awesome!!!!!!!!!! i coulda been a professional!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Methinks this world is but a trial...
Asak and Hi. I probably owe my readers some laughs... but today I'm just not in the mood for it. I feel wronged, cheated and rejected. Thats because thats just what happened. I got the editorial axe today, biiig time. "Never darken our inbox again," they implied mercilessly. I wanted to mope, cry and scream... pull at my hair in a rare moment of emotion... but I could not believe that it was over. R.e.j.e.c.t.e.d.
My writing may not be perfect, but its definitely at par with what those other people are writing. Why the axe? Contacts. Goddamned contacts. You gotta know someone important in Pakistan to get things done. If you are good, so what? Big deal! Wake up and smell the coffee, or in this case, the stinking contacts!!!
Tension pulls gently at my sanity. I am expecting houseguests who would be much happier if I wasn't there to spoil the fun. They irritate me, they intimidate me, and whenevr possible, they incinerate me. So I have get myself mentally and physically prepared for the great invasion of privacy.
There is however, a ray of hope, from an NGO called HOPE. I am secretive, will not disclose just yet.
My eyes are bloodshot, and I am willing that magazine to fall apart without nice, old doormat me to provide them with articles. But they will go on, just like my life mercilessly will. I need to growww upppp!!! I happens. Its okay.. sigh.. if only!
I want to throw up. I am, as usual, in a great big mess.
All my best, khaki
My writing may not be perfect, but its definitely at par with what those other people are writing. Why the axe? Contacts. Goddamned contacts. You gotta know someone important in Pakistan to get things done. If you are good, so what? Big deal! Wake up and smell the coffee, or in this case, the stinking contacts!!!
Tension pulls gently at my sanity. I am expecting houseguests who would be much happier if I wasn't there to spoil the fun. They irritate me, they intimidate me, and whenevr possible, they incinerate me. So I have get myself mentally and physically prepared for the great invasion of privacy.
There is however, a ray of hope, from an NGO called HOPE. I am secretive, will not disclose just yet.
My eyes are bloodshot, and I am willing that magazine to fall apart without nice, old doormat me to provide them with articles. But they will go on, just like my life mercilessly will. I need to growww upppp!!! I happens. Its okay.. sigh.. if only!
I want to throw up. I am, as usual, in a great big mess.
All my best, khaki
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The queen of hearts
In The Name of Allah, The Beneficent, The Merciful
Peace and Blessings of Allah upon His Beloved Messenger Muhammed (sallallahu alaihi wa aalihi wa sallam)
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS
She is vicious, and the only thing missing in her repertoire of weapons is a pair of fangs. I wait on her hand and foot, day and night and cook, clean and wash after her and never complain, instead I offer her niceties. She is a sworn enemy of my sleep and it agitates her so much when I sleep that she begins to sob pitifully. Tell me, is it mere coincidence, or she rotten within, that whenever I want to eat, she requires my free-of-cost 24 hour services, thereby abandoning all possibility of me feeding myself? I want to curl up in bed with a steamy mug of hot chocolate and a good book on a cold night and she decides that will simply not do, and I need to get the rear end in action, so naturally the novel and the hot chocolate become mere notions which people like me might as well give up on. She has decided I’m not quick enough for my young age and has vowed to make me run around on errands until I rival Maria Sharapova in speed and alacrity. Whats more, she feels I never had a lot of respect for the powder-room attendants and has made up her mind to teach me a lesson by making me clean poop all the time.
She realizes I am an abysmal cook and turns down food that is less than perfect, and in an effort to show just how disgruntled she is, she disdainfully spits a choicest mouthful of my sincere culinary endeavour right across the room, which I, of course, humbly clean up later. Even if I am feeling totally under the weather on a particular day, I can forget about a sick-leave! And yet, I love her. Scratch that, I adore her with a zealous passion. And I wouldn’t give her up for anything. After all, my faith tells me I have paradise under my feet because of her!
I am talking of course of my little monarch who rules my heart. My girl aged a year and a half. I would barely realize all that I am giving up, or going through, if I hadn’t actually jotted it down. For there is something about her trusting and innocent smile, which makes me fresh as a daisy after a virtually sleepless night. She speaks one word, I can barely make sense of it but it sounds like ‘mamma’. My heart melts into rivers of love and I enthusiastically come up with new recipes for what generally seems like the joint effort of the cow, the hen and the fertile earth. By some strange twist of fate, it always falls into the category of unidentifiable gloop, at times accented with a pungent smell. However, judging by the fact that the last time she spat out her lovingly created food, it didn’t go farther than the edge of her bib, she seems to have enjoyed my latest attempt.
A part of me cant wait to pack her off to school when she is of age while another side desperately wants to hold on to the little girl that has been my companion each day as I go through the motions of housework. I treat her like a major nuisance when she flits about the vacuum cleaner like she was the one who made it all possible, but I dread the day when I will actually be missing the botheration. I do need to learn to let go, I know that, but please, not just yet.
Many years ago I played her role exactly. However, I was most certainly blessed with tastier food. I was made a fuss over, cuddled tenderly to sleep, hugged sympathetically when I got hurt, in a warm loving embrace, the smell of which is still fresh in my mind... the deep contentment that dispelled each doubt, qualm and worry. Suddenly, I realize who really is the Queen of Hearts.
You would be relieved to learn that this editorial has finally come to an end, for there is very important phone call I need to make back home.
Mom, I miss you
Peace and Blessings of Allah upon His Beloved Messenger Muhammed (sallallahu alaihi wa aalihi wa sallam)
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS
She is vicious, and the only thing missing in her repertoire of weapons is a pair of fangs. I wait on her hand and foot, day and night and cook, clean and wash after her and never complain, instead I offer her niceties. She is a sworn enemy of my sleep and it agitates her so much when I sleep that she begins to sob pitifully. Tell me, is it mere coincidence, or she rotten within, that whenever I want to eat, she requires my free-of-cost 24 hour services, thereby abandoning all possibility of me feeding myself? I want to curl up in bed with a steamy mug of hot chocolate and a good book on a cold night and she decides that will simply not do, and I need to get the rear end in action, so naturally the novel and the hot chocolate become mere notions which people like me might as well give up on. She has decided I’m not quick enough for my young age and has vowed to make me run around on errands until I rival Maria Sharapova in speed and alacrity. Whats more, she feels I never had a lot of respect for the powder-room attendants and has made up her mind to teach me a lesson by making me clean poop all the time.
She realizes I am an abysmal cook and turns down food that is less than perfect, and in an effort to show just how disgruntled she is, she disdainfully spits a choicest mouthful of my sincere culinary endeavour right across the room, which I, of course, humbly clean up later. Even if I am feeling totally under the weather on a particular day, I can forget about a sick-leave! And yet, I love her. Scratch that, I adore her with a zealous passion. And I wouldn’t give her up for anything. After all, my faith tells me I have paradise under my feet because of her!
I am talking of course of my little monarch who rules my heart. My girl aged a year and a half. I would barely realize all that I am giving up, or going through, if I hadn’t actually jotted it down. For there is something about her trusting and innocent smile, which makes me fresh as a daisy after a virtually sleepless night. She speaks one word, I can barely make sense of it but it sounds like ‘mamma’. My heart melts into rivers of love and I enthusiastically come up with new recipes for what generally seems like the joint effort of the cow, the hen and the fertile earth. By some strange twist of fate, it always falls into the category of unidentifiable gloop, at times accented with a pungent smell. However, judging by the fact that the last time she spat out her lovingly created food, it didn’t go farther than the edge of her bib, she seems to have enjoyed my latest attempt.
A part of me cant wait to pack her off to school when she is of age while another side desperately wants to hold on to the little girl that has been my companion each day as I go through the motions of housework. I treat her like a major nuisance when she flits about the vacuum cleaner like she was the one who made it all possible, but I dread the day when I will actually be missing the botheration. I do need to learn to let go, I know that, but please, not just yet.
Many years ago I played her role exactly. However, I was most certainly blessed with tastier food. I was made a fuss over, cuddled tenderly to sleep, hugged sympathetically when I got hurt, in a warm loving embrace, the smell of which is still fresh in my mind... the deep contentment that dispelled each doubt, qualm and worry. Suddenly, I realize who really is the Queen of Hearts.
You would be relieved to learn that this editorial has finally come to an end, for there is very important phone call I need to make back home.
Mom, I miss you
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Problem-Os
So.. salaams once again.
I am a down-trodden individual, with a dangerously low self-image. I hate the way people don't reply when I mail them... its frustrating and annoying. These days, i find myself waist-deep in many problems. If I were to rant and rave about them, it would do little to cure these. Suffice it to say, that between children, home and freelancing, I feel very much like a squashed cabbage.
I am striving for inner peace, which I think we all are... I want to binge on something really yummy, perhaps chocolates, and some truly mouth-watering, gourmet ice-cream, with a refreshingly bitter taste. Lucky I don't have the means (presently) to indulge into such cravings.
This will probably feel like gross incoherance to my valued readers, but I want to ponder upon Appearances. I dislike the way people portray themselves; so eternally perfect, and so deliciously well-groomed. Why, someone like myself would come across as a certified nincompoop, simply because I have simplicity! On the other hand, is everyone as successful, happy and marvellous as they seem? I have me scruples. Deep down, I'm sure everyone has had a taste of my worst days.. and that is saying something... yessir, even those supremely successful people, who can intimidate anyone just by their so-sure gait!
I am a down-trodden individual, with a dangerously low self-image. I hate the way people don't reply when I mail them... its frustrating and annoying. These days, i find myself waist-deep in many problems. If I were to rant and rave about them, it would do little to cure these. Suffice it to say, that between children, home and freelancing, I feel very much like a squashed cabbage.
I am striving for inner peace, which I think we all are... I want to binge on something really yummy, perhaps chocolates, and some truly mouth-watering, gourmet ice-cream, with a refreshingly bitter taste. Lucky I don't have the means (presently) to indulge into such cravings.
This will probably feel like gross incoherance to my valued readers, but I want to ponder upon Appearances. I dislike the way people portray themselves; so eternally perfect, and so deliciously well-groomed. Why, someone like myself would come across as a certified nincompoop, simply because I have simplicity! On the other hand, is everyone as successful, happy and marvellous as they seem? I have me scruples. Deep down, I'm sure everyone has had a taste of my worst days.. and that is saying something... yessir, even those supremely successful people, who can intimidate anyone just by their so-sure gait!
Its been days since I blogged. I decided to let it roll tonight, for you see, I am longing to vent out my emotions. First things first, assalamualykum wa rahmatullah.
Continuing from where we left off, I hate to say it, but the world around us consists of nasty people. As I mentioned before, I am a writer. I can't quite think of anything else where its so hard to 'make it'. I wonder how the writers of yesteryear managed to put food on the table! For certainly, in my case, I don't even manage to put a smile on the blasted editor's faces! Editors have a strange way of using you, and then discarding you, nay, flinging you away, like a particularly sweaty sock. But then, one might argue, is that not how our universe functions? Alas, for me... I genuinely care for people, respect them, and believe in lasting work relationships. Ok guys, I know. I'm nuts.
Continuing from where we left off, I hate to say it, but the world around us consists of nasty people. As I mentioned before, I am a writer. I can't quite think of anything else where its so hard to 'make it'. I wonder how the writers of yesteryear managed to put food on the table! For certainly, in my case, I don't even manage to put a smile on the blasted editor's faces! Editors have a strange way of using you, and then discarding you, nay, flinging you away, like a particularly sweaty sock. But then, one might argue, is that not how our universe functions? Alas, for me... I genuinely care for people, respect them, and believe in lasting work relationships. Ok guys, I know. I'm nuts.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
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