Will you still love me at 2 am when I’m crying so hard I can hardly breathe? Will you still love me at 3 am when I continue to do so? And at 4 am when my sobs have died down but tears still continue to run down my face? Will you love me still when I push you away not wanting to pull you down with me, with the heavy burden of my soul ? Will you love me still when I choose not to believe a word you say because I’d rather hurt myself than hurt you ? Will you still love me when I’m too broken to be picked up, when with every touch I protest and bleed more? When I’m too hard to handle and too fragile to move? Will you love me still? Will you?
It has been both the best and worst year. Worse because I hit the rock bottom in each and every sense of the way; personally, socially, academically, spiritually, religiously. Sure I’ve been damaged in too many ways. Sure I have had my bleak days. Bad days. Dark days. Darker days. Darkest days. In a way it has been an year of disappointments after disappointments.
But the best because i couldn’t have learned the things I learned any other way. Best because now I know there is no way but up from here. Best because I know now if I survived that, I can survive anything. Best because even through everything, at the end of the day I’m filled with so much gratitude that my heart is about to explode in utter submission to His expended benevolence. I cannot be anything but thankful. I’ve realised it’s in the process of losing that we gain. But most importantly I learned to notice the collateral beauty in absolute devastation.
Today my heart is swelled with gratitude. For all the things and all the people who have extended towards me so much kindness. For God, who has never left my side despite of countless times I’ve turned my back. Despite of the times where I shut everything down and away. None of it even matters anymore since here I am standing. I’ve wobbled and stammered, fell and shattered but Here I am. Living, breathing and struggling.
Today, I’m proud of myself for making through one hell of an year. And immensely thankful for what I have, especially few friends who have been there for me through all the shit. You know who you are.
This will be my last post for a little while. I’ve a lot on my plate right now that I need to focus on for coming year. I hope for all of you the bestest year ahead. I’ll come back soon. Thank you for always being here for me. I appreciate it more than words can ever describe❤️
He shoved her against the wall. Her back hitting the concrete with a loud thud. A painful breath escaped her lips as she felt the impact surge through her back and spine. It felt like her heart crashed against her chest wall and the only reason it didn’t leap out of the cavity was because her ribs didn’t let it. And it wasn’t just the physical impact of the shove that made her feel that way.
She fell to the ground in a trembling mess as he came running to pick her up.
“Oh my God. Shit shit shit. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He babbled the words trying to lift her up. “I didn’t mean it.”
She didn’t have to see the bruises to know that they had already marked her shoulders as she whimpered in pain when he touched her.
A part of her despised it. But a part of her still warmed up to it. A part she needed to smother. Like the way his arms were smothering her as he took her in his embrace. The embrace that now felt more like gallows than home. His arms felt like thorns etching into her skin as she tried to recoil away from him but failed to do so.
“I’m so so sorry.” He kept repeating the same words.
She couldn’t cry. The pain was searing through her body in violent frenzy, running through her veins and lungs looking for an escape somehow. Only to return back to her heart in vain. She didn’t say a word and he kept spitting some more meaningless apologies as they sat on the floor in air that reeked of heartbreak and hundred broken promises. And the only thing that was kind to them in those moments was night as it stood a silent witness to their downfall. There was nothing left between them but question marks about love, if there ever was. Even ‘nothing‘ felt like a lot more than what they two had left between them now.
Tonight I wanted it to rain. I wanted to hear the rain drop outside my window, softly landing without the fear of fall. I wanted it to rain, I longed for the sound of it to seep into my veins. Because today was all about pain. Today I questioned a lot of things like why do we have to suffer so much? …a little too much? Why do we always have to beg and plead for it all to go away? Why can’t it just be so kind once In a while and leave on its own, close the door quietly behind it and let us breathe; without the fear of our heart exploding with every rise of our chest because pain is seeping out of its every pore. Nearly bursting at the seams.
You carry pain like boom box weighing heavy and pulses like radiation. Walking from door to door looking for answers until you fall devastatingly tired and weary on a cold floor that sends chills down to your spine. It feels like you will break into two. Your weak bones breaking, snapping like twigs but they don’t. There is just raw pain and nothing more.
I wanted it to rain and soothe the wound that just doesn’t seem to stop bleeding. That just opens once in a while no matter how much bandages you cover it with or how many times you suture it- it opens like it never healed to begin with. And then it bleeds. And you rush to somehow make it stop until you realize the more you resist, the deeper it afflicts and the harder it hits. So, you finally drown beneath it. You let it drown you until you can’t breathe. And you can tell this is the day, you died a little inside.
I just wanted to hear it rain and maybe mask that mourning. The soundless snapping of severed arteries and occluded veins. It felt like the whole season of autumn within me. How it’s so damn beautiful yet everything is dying
She was dying a thousand deaths and I couldn’t save her from the carnage taking place right in front of me. I could see her struggle to breathe with every gasp of air that felt as thick as molten lava slipping down her throat. And she had no other option but to chug it. Let it burn holes through her windpipe with every intake.
The pain though, was in her eyes. It was an avalanche and I could see her asphyxiate under it. There was a torrent of undiluted anguish- as crude and concentrated as venom. And I could see how with every thump of her heart beat, it was being pushed down her veins and into her arteries. Deeper, deeper, deeper. Much deeper than I could ever manage to reach.
I could do nothing but sit there and watch that pain gush out of her system like flood, as an outpouring flux engulfing me. If only she didn’t have to die a thousand deaths in front of me. If only our love wasn’t a tragedy. If only saving her was as easy as holding her hand at this very moment. If only, if only, if only.
If only she would lift up her head and see me looking at her. She would understand, how somethings are not meant to be fixed. Somethings are better left broken. Because sometimes, broken is beautiful and so is she.
Side note: This post is dedicated to everyone who has ever suffered from loss. For anyone who has known grief. For anyone who knows what it’s like to lose someone you love. Whether the loss was physical in the form of death or an emotional/metaphorical loss. I see your pain and I know how it feels❤️
‘Girls like you’ your mother says
‘are going to be disappointed a lot.’
She’s chopping coriander so fast that her hand is a blur
and you’re 12 and you’re standing
like a tremble, grubby knees and tear stained cheeks,
an offering in front of her.
‘Why?’ Your voice is a quiet shake.
She puts the knife down and calls you ‘jaan’
she holds your face in her wet hands,
you don’t flinch because this
is what love looks like
she kisses your forehead like forgiveness
‘because you mean what you say,
you think other people are the same.’
She tells you that she spent four years
trying to learn their language
but people ask how you are
and walk away before you can tell them.
‘I’d rather be silent.’ She says.
‘At least being quiet is honest.’
You’ll come home seven years later
wearing your heart like a bruise
on the inside of your sleeve
‘mama,’ you’ll say, voice like a thunder crack
‘he said he loved me, and I believed him,
I shouldn’t have,
I think that he lied.’
She’ll be older then, but she’ll kiss you
just as tender, just as birdlike.
‘Is it my fault?’ You’ll ask.
She is half lioness, half woman. She is all roar.
‘Listen to me’ she calls you her soul again.
She says it in your language so you know
that she means it.
‘You are so infinitely tender,’ she takes the frown
of your face in her hands and holds it carefully
‘People will not always know what to do with that.
You can’t ever be sorry for the way you loved,
You can’t be sorry for who you loved.
Don’t ever let them bend you backwards
don’t let them make you hard or bitter.’
Her voice turns into a growl
‘You did not get this from me.
Somewhere inside of you there is rain.
Somewhere in your stomach,
something beautiful is growing
and it is infinite.
Don’t you let them try and take that from you,
you are open and you are a flood,
someday someone is going to want to die in you.’
– “Jaan-E-Maan” by Azra Tabassum
(Jaan-E-Maan means “My Dear” in Persian and “Darling” in Urdu language.)
About 8 months ago I participated in a badminton tournament, semi final was one of the most intense match I ever had in my life. I dived on the concrete pavement multiple times. By the third time I already knew my knee was bruised and bleeding. Logically I should have stopped but illogically I continued to dive the next fourth and fifth time anyways, knowing all too well it’s gonna hurt like hell once the adrenaline rush dies down. Now, there is a permanent scar on my knee. I look back and think why did I do it to myself? I mean the dive was not necessary (who intentionally dives on a freaking concrete pavement anyways? ) I had hurt myself by the first two times. I should have avoided (and I easily could have) the next multiple dives. But I continued to let it hurt me. And in the end that’s what I was left with; A permanent scar.
Few weeks ago I was looking at it running my finger over the faded mark. It made me think of all the other times we let others hurt us over and over again. Is it because we think it will start to hurt less by I don’t know, the 10th time? Or is it because we think they will stop doing it at some point? But they never stop, do they? They continue to strike just the same way, pounding, beating. Each strike stinging harder than the one before. Until our heart cracks under the merciless blows and cries for help but we carefully hush down it’s screams, telling ourselves that this pain is worth it. Heck sometimes we even tell ourselves we like it. The worst part isn’t that they hurt us or continue to do so after we have almost bent over backwards to make it all work, the worst part is we let them do it to us. We let them. And it always, always ends up doing more damage than good. We somehow convince ourselves we deserve this pain, we convince ourselves that pain is unavoidable part of it all. We become more and more accepting of it until one day we wake up and realize how we are permanently scarred. And it’s too late to do anything about it.
We think it makes us somehow pious, better than lot, because we are doing such a high service by holding on despite of all the pain and hurt. We consider letting go a loss. I look back and wish I knew this back then, that sometimes holding on makes you lose more than letting go ever does. Because then it all becomes a cycle. You sacrifice, surrender and lose; even yourself in the process. And for what? Nothing is worth losing pieces of yourself and certainly not to the pain. Not by any chance, not by far means. Not ever.
I can only hope, that we learn not to let anyone hurt us so much so that it leaves permanent marks on our chest. So that with every breath we aren’t reminded of how much of ourselves we lost while all that time we were a standing witness to our own destruction. I can only hope, we love ourselves enough not to let anyone do that to us. I can only hope, that we heal. I can only hope that we learn to forgive ourselves because we all eat lies when our hearts are hungry. And let light enter us through the broken gaps. Because if anything, we deserve it; Light, Love, Kindness, Healing.
“If they must go then let them leave. For they cannot take back the love they never gave you. The one you deserve but never received.”
(Chaos: This week let’s embrace disorder and it’s creative power.)
There is this moment before the heartache. When you know it’s coming. It isn’t there yet. You don’t even know why you think it’s forthcoming but you feel it in your bones. Like your soul has felt it coming from miles away.
This moment before the pain is about to hit you and you know it will devastate you. It hasn’t arrived yet. But you know it will. And you know it will open the wounds again. The wounds of decade that took centuries to heal.
You prepare yourself beforehand. You are sure of its factuality. So there is this night, where you lay on bed and you don’t really know why your heart is sad. Neither do you know why you want to cry. But you do.
And then all of a sudden there is this moment of realisation that this is you mourning for what’s about to become of your heart. Which is already hanging through the gallows waiting for the final call to its execution. The strings are cut one by one with which it hangs firm and it slowly looses grip. And you know it’s about to fall. It hasn’t fallen yet. But you know it’s about to. You already know. And there isn’t one damn thing you can do about it. It’s inevitable.
It will come like a tide of the ocean that slowly builds. The more it gets closer the more ferocious it becomes, and you know you are going to fucking drown. You try to save breaths, prepping yourself for the impact. But you know no matter how well you’ve prepared yourself, the tide is going to come and it will break you. Like beads off a pearl necklace; You will spill. All the pieces of yourself that you put together one by one all this time will spill…just like that. Like they were never stringed together so tenuously to begin with. Like they had always been so haphazardly splattered across the floor.
Though none of that has happened yet. But you feel it coming and you know it will happen. So this night where you are trying to make sense of why you still can’t find peace? This is the calm within the storm. Where you know the storm will soon reach the core of you and you will be blown to smithereens.
And so, this is you; grieving.