(It's Not Always Pink)

2008-04-11T14:49:00.000-07:00

Almost twelve years ago …

Mohd: 10 months
Me: 11 years old

I pick him up and thrust him on our computer chair and swirl it around as fast as I can. It goes round and round and he bursts into cackles. I’m looking at him, his cheeks falling out of his face and his little head losing control. I put him down. With no control over his little body, he bumps his head on the floor and laughs so much, a string of baby saliva drools all the way down from his bib and moistens an area on the carpet. He picks himself up again and thud! He’s on the floor again, laughing even more than before. Soon enough, when his dizziness subsides into a stillness he doesn’t want to hold on to, he looks at me, then points to the chair. With his chubby little arms outstretched, he emits a soft coo - indicating in his abstract language that he wants another ride and we start all over again.

Ammi screams (as usual). “Kya kar rahi ho! Kya kar rahi ho! Chakkar mat dilaai jaao usko!”

But I don’t listen … the moment is too precious. Can’t you see what I see Ammi? His feet are smaller than my pinkies. He does not recognize his own face on a mirror but he understands what’s fun and more so, knows how to demand it ...

Twelve years later ...

Mohammad: 12 years
Me: well, calculate based on the info above : - )

He has grown up into those younger brothers who bug the nerves out of their older sisters. He no longer drools on carpets but he seems to enjoy showing us how runny his nose is when he catches a cold. He will fart ‘unforgivingly’. He worships the PS2. He watches his TV shows religiously. He loves burgers, but will not have one without Pepsi. He loves outer space. He loves cricket. He loves rollerblading, ice-skating, skateboarding … wheels beneath his feet (that have obviously outgrown my pinkies). He collects cards. What cards? I’m not sure. I just know all boys his age do it. The F word makes him grin and the S word makes him curious. He mimics his teachers. He wants to learn how to play the guitar. He wears caps on a bad hair day.

He hates it when I get cuddly. And I try not to get cuddly. Why make my little brother, I mean, why make a "big boy", uncomfortable? I do hug him sometimes. When he was a newborn, I loved the smell of his head. It was like baby powder. Of course I don’t expect him to smell like that anymore, but when he smells like axe, I can’t help but yearn for the time when he didn’t need this unnaturalness; so I ask him, “Deodrant?” He frowns. “Yeah! I’ve started like, sweating a lot!” He looks tanned. The feeble hair on his upper lips that was an innocent blonde colour has turned into a greyish smudge. I don’t have to tilt my head downwards to look at him. He’s my height and we stand face to face, like we did when I used to carry him. “Like, even my face sweats sometimes! See these pimples?” He points to an almost invisible zit near his chin. No more soft cooing. His voice is different. It seems he's trying too hard to sound like a teenage boy but hesitating to.

Ammi comes into the room, “Pagal mat bano! Kuch nahe hai! Nazar bhi nahe aata!”

But I don’t listen ... the moment is too precious. Can’t you see what I see Ammi? Mohd’s on the verge of hitting puberty!

2008-04-06T06:02:00.000-07:00

Got tagged by Dee

Rules:
1. Post these rules before presenting your list.
2. List 6 actions or achievements you think every person should accomplish before turning 18.
3. There are no conditions on what can be included on the list.
4. At the end of your blog, choose 6, or less, people to get tagged and list their names.
5. The tagged peeps write their own blog entry with their 6 suggestions.
6. Leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged.

Here goes ...
1. Invent something that would put the wheel, bulb and telephone to shame.
2. Visit all of the seven wonders of the world.
3. Compete on The Apprentice show.
4. Fly a rocket, not a plane.
5. Learn sign - and not a European - language.
6. Bungee jump off Mt. Everest.

Welcome Back Me

2008-03-20T16:42:00.001-07:00

A few months ago, I realized I haven’t traveled much outside Pakistan or UAE, so one evening while reading Oliver Twist with my little brother, I suddenly decided; I wanted to go to London. A few weeks later, I made it there ...

I felt like such a ‘small’ girl in such a vibrant place. And funnily enough, when I came back home, I was treated as the ‘big’ girl who went to London. These labels are a result of Pakistani-ness and Pakistani-ness always follows me ...

Adding masala to the nimco, while walking from Westminster Abbey to Trafalgar Square, in the midst of a swarm of tourists, cathedrals, museums, memorials, ancient buildings, pubs, street markets, souvenir carts, red buses and phone booths, this is what managed to instantly grab my attention and ironically, it left me amused for a long time …

Confessions

2008-01-12T14:52:00.000-08:00

Here are some things people don't know about me and tonight, I want to unburden myself.

- I spent my Eid money on laxatives once upon a time and lost 5 pounds in two weeks. I was ten years old.

- I flip through Vogue at magazine stands.

- I visit http://theskinnywebsite.com

- I spent the past year making small dietary changes. People have only very recently started telling me that I look less fat than before. They say I have lost some weight. I just smile and ignore because I dread my body becoming the focus of their attention. They don't know I have lost over fifteen pounds. And I want to lose another fifteen pounds.

2008-01-02T07:42:00.000-08:00

Ali: Fizz, remember you told me if I wanted something, all I needed to do was wish for it?
Me: Yea
Ali: I tried it but it's driving me crazy
Me: Ali why are you so unhappy all the time?
Me: Why don't you think of the things that you do have?
Ali: I don't have anything!
Me: You have a PS2
Me: You have WII
Me: You have roller blades, your skateboard
Me: You have a bike
Me: What more do you want?
Me: Why don't you just be happy about all these things instead of crying over ... I don't know ... not having a PSP!?
Ali: :(
Ali: oh man I wasn't even thinking of that

2007-12-30T13:32:00.000-08:00

========================

"'You have both suffered a lot,' he says. 'Now that they are going to kill me tonight, I want to free you as well. If you want to, you can leave Pakistan while the Constitution is suspended and Martial Law imposed. If you want peace of mind and to pick up your lives again, then you might want to go to Europe. I give you permission. You can go.'

Our hearts are breaking. 'No, no,' Mummy says. 'We can't go. We'll never go. The Generals must not think they have won. Zia has scheduled elections again, though who knows if he will dare to hold them? If we leave, there will be no one to lead the party, the party you built.'

'And you Pinkie?' my father asks.

'I could never go,' I say.

He smiles. 'I'm so glad. You don't know how much I love you, how much I've always loved you. You are my jewel. You always have been.'

'Time is up,' the superintendent says. 'Time is up.'

I grip the bars.

'Please open up the cell,' I ask him. 'I want to say good-bye to my father.'

The superintendent refuses.

'Please,' I say. 'My father is the elected Prime Minister of Pakistan. I am his daughter. This is our last meeting. I want to hold him.'

The superintendent refuses.

I try to reach my father through the bars. He is so thin, almost wasted away from malaria, dysentery, starvation. But he pulls himself erect, and touches my hand.

'Tonight I will be free,' he says, a glow suffusing his face. 'I will be joining my mother, my father. I am going back to the land of my ancestors in Larkana to become part of its soil, its scent, its air. There will be songs about me. I will become part of its legend.' He smiles. 'But it is very hot in Larkana.'

'I'll build a shade,' I manage to say.

The prison authorities move in.

'Good-bye, Papa,' I call to my father as Mummy reaches through the bars to touch him. We both move down the dusty courtyard. I want to look back, but I can't. I know I can't control myself.

'Until we meet again,' I hear him call."

Daughter of the East, Benazir Bhutto

========================

May her soul rest in peace

Blab

2007-12-14T14:50:00.000-08:00

So much has happened in my life over the course of my absence. And by absence, I do not mean my disappearance since Sahar's birthday (see entry below).

Almost exactly one year ago, blogging had started to create a khujli in me. You know khujli? Khujli is the Urdu/Hindi word for that sudden and mysterious, skin deep irritation that you feel at times. Itch you say? No. Itch is too pharmaceutical a word. You can curb an itch by applying dermatological products over the area but you need no such medicated cure for khujlis. For dealing with khujlis, you need a dash of animal instinct. It’s only cure is digging your own nails into yourself, and cutting it off in a quick motion. (Ever seen cats stretch a limb to their ears and do something that resembles a fast forward Bollywood dance? Yes! That’s a cat getting rid of her khujli) And believe me, if you don’t get rid of your khujli, you can end up with wrinkles on your face because regardless of where you are feeling khujli, it makes you squint, and that puts pressure on the sensitive area around your eyes.

By the way, I cannot believe I have managed to grab your attention with such meaninglessness and yet you're still reading this ...

... and you continue to do so ... surprising ...

It is as surprising as the comments people leave here; the few who still visit and expect something or, in a height of desperation, request something. I have thought a million times about why I stopped blogging. Perhaps I got intimidated when I found out so many of the people I see everyday were reading it. And considering how much my writing rubbish deviates from how I behave around others, being read by them can be as embarrassing as khujli on an area I do not want to scratch in public. Don't 'teehee'. I'm just talking about my nose.

I am not going to present a summary of what has happened over the dates that will never make it to my archival list. Alas! What a chronological loss. It is sad because I will tell you something - a lot has happened over the past year, but let's leave it till there - just a casual, shoulder-shrugging 'lot'. If I started presenting the details, it would take me as much time to type them all in as it would take for my Organisation Theory lecturer to hush up once she starts talking.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm ... I'm lost ...

Maybe I should start telling you how dysfunctional my writing ability has become. Not that I had any before, but I could do far better than khujlis and hmm-ing. I used to write poetry which I still read for spiritual purgation and then wonder, "Was I really so creative?" We all compliment ourselves when we no longer deserve it. Notice what old women do when they see photos of their sixteenth birthdays? They smile their toothless smile and in their shaky voice, they say "Look how pretty I was!" So if I were to use the old woman analogy over my situation, then my writing abilities would be my teeth ...

Is that why you press your lips when you smile Fizza? No silly. I do that to hide the wrinkles on the corners of my eyes!

2007-10-14T18:01:00.000-07:00

Sahar's little corner of wishes ....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY babe!

Much love!

2007-08-23T13:57:00.001-07:00

I hate it when I'm online and someone asks me to send them pictures ...

2007-06-18T14:37:00.001-07:00

For a long time, I secretly held the broken pieces of my shattered dreams, pressed inside my hands so tightly that drops of blood were waiting to seep through my clenched fingers. Yet, I could not allow myself to open my fists because I was afraid that those pieces would slip out of my palms and land in a luckless spot where someone would crush them into a state of non-existence and I would have to spend the rest of my life in a world where my aspirations were killed under a stampede of despair. But he carried such warmth around himself that whenever we spent time together, my stiff fists would melt in the comforts of his aura and, bit by bit, one by one, the broken pieces of my dreams, would make way through the loosened confinements of my fingers and land on his lap like little cascades of displaced tears looking for a home. I was afraid he would pretend he never saw them, and snub them back into my hands by wiping them away but instead he traced their stains, matching each shape with the boundaries of those shattered pieces until the outline of every piece articulated another. Slowly and slowly, the enigma was puzzled out and long lost tracks were mounted back into my imagination.

Good Bye

2007-04-18T16:19:00.000-07:00

As I type this, my sister's with me - lying on the pillow right next to mine, curled up comfortably under more than half of the blanket (I thought) we shared. She's asleep - breathing in an enviable stillness.

It is 3.57 AM precisely. I'm entrapped in a state of helplessness - how else is one supposed to feel when missing someone they love - or loved (as if there's any difference).

Sometimes I wonder, when people go out of your life - do you miss 'them'? Or do you miss that awesome part of you that would only come to life during their presence - the part that would die the instant they departed? I would say the latter. The disconnection from that corner of yours which someone else takes away can really create an unwanted emptiness.

----

Suddenly, they turn around and you keep staring at their backs where your own reflection begins to appear. It screams at you and begs you to stop them but you just stand there like a bedazzled zombie who's new to the land of the dead. The further they go, the louder you scream. When the very last traces of their backs have finally started entering the horizon, and all you can see is yourself crying, you realise you are no longer a numb zombie, but you are that very reflection of yours. Those screams, were coming from within you. You then, take a step forward hoping you might still catch a glimpse of their backs before they enter the horizon, but - alas! you instead, find yourself stuck upon a dead-end of floating memories ...

2007-04-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

I used to think the corniest scrap I ever got on Orkut was some stranger asking me if I were a fitness trainer. The amount of scraps as corny as that one have made me immune to the 'Will you frandship me' requests. However, what I received today - I HAD to share!. Please - click the image above and have a look.

2007-02-17T12:15:00.000-08:00

I'm not sick of not-blogging but I'm sure many of you are sick of coming here and not finding any updates.

2007-02-01T10:25:00.000-08:00

Picture us planning a beach trip ...

Nalin: we don't have to barbecue!
Me: but what else will we do?
Owais: yeah man, barbecue is fun
Nalin: what will you barbecue?
Owais: *annoyed*
Owais: daal chawal
Me: *laughing*
Shazia: how can you barbecue daal chawal?

2007-01-23T10:49:00.000-08:00

My blogger needs a makeover. Do check back soon =)

Kids Say The Darnest Things

2007-01-02T06:13:00.000-08:00

It was my little cousin Hassan's seventh birthday on the 31st of December. We had a conventional family get-together - celebrated Eid, 2007 and Hassan's big day. His nine-year-old sister Asma sympathized.

Asma: poor Hassan

Asma: he has to wait a whole year for his birthday!

Me: don't you also have to wait a whole year for your birthday?

Asma: no

Asma: my birthday's in March

Happy New Year! =)

2006-12-23T07:59:00.000-08:00

One down, four to go ...

Economics was alright.

I have Statistics tomorrow and I cannot concentrate on what I'm doing. One of my closest friends is really upset over something and isn't telling me why because apparently, he/she can't (?) Yes I know people do this to seek attention, but I am too warm-blooded. I'd rather be patient and keep asking them what's wrong.

Fizza dearest, you're aching - aching - to crack their skulls and read their minds.

Chorro na, I respect people's privacy. If they want their space, let them have it.

You're not giving them that space.

Of course I am.

Then why do you keep asking them what's wrong?

I have to. Friends do that. They wait - inspite of how painful it is.

Painful?

Not being able to talk to them is killing me.

Is that why you're talking to yourself instead?

That's right - you see - I have completely lost my mind!

2006-12-20T09:47:00.000-08:00

I have an exam in twelve hours.

Intro to Economics.

The Economics I'm studying is very different from the Economics I knew before I took up this course. It's all applications and models. I can understand the UNO budget reports but I'm pretty sure I'm going to flunk my Intro to Economics course. It is not easy. And I don't like dabbling in things that make me feel thick-headed. I'm not thick-headed, ~~Maybe a little at times but~~ I hate sucking academically. And I hate stressing over something that won't really count. My exam tomorrow has nothing to do with the results of my final degree. And yet, it doesn't fail to haunt me. I am stressed!

2006-12-15T10:37:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry, but you are a horrible mother. The only reason I love you so much is because you keep reminding me of how lovely my own mother is. I feel bad for your daughter. If I were her, I would have killed you *grin*. Actually, I would still kill you *grin* ... okay, that's too quixotic ... but I can definitely thrust a basket full of tomatoes at you without feeling any guilt.

2006-12-11T12:25:00.000-08:00

I lost my cell phone ... =(

... the same one I had shamelessly publicized about here five months ago.

I don't understand ... things have just not being going my way over the past few months.

I left it in a taxi - that too, on an 'emergency' ride that barely lasted a minute. It's ridiculous. I move around a lot. Taxis, cars, buses, chalna phirna ... and I was never ever careless. Those few seconds were plain unlucky.

Jiskay pass bhi ho uska khayal rakhna! It was my virtual baby; my major source of staying in touch with all those I wanted to keep in touch with - bugging them constantly, or surprising them with my sms's at odd times - mp3s, pictures, videos, notes, reminders, alarm clock, bluetooth ... ~~how could I be so stupid???~~

2006-12-08T01:02:00.000-08:00

Video of the weekend ...

Corny but gives you a good laugh ...

2006-12-04T07:41:00.000-08:00

WANTED:

An instructor professionally qualified to teach how to handle people who disrupt other's personal lives.

I get surprised by my potential to hate sometimes.

I don't see myself as someone who has problems getting along with anyone. However, when, suddenly, every day, I'm feeling the urge to throw a particular person in the microwave oven hoping he/she turns into a freshly baked cracker that I wish a rat would hog on, I'm left in a bit of an identity crises and doubt that I'm as easy-going as I'd like to think.

Or perhaps, I stand justified. Some people are just indefensibly selfish. And they make you feel guilty for failing to adjust with them even when you know it is impossible. You sweat for them, bleed for them, cry for them, blow all your boogers out for them, hoping that they'd accept or understand, but no. All that you're left with at the end of the day, is ... that feel ... of possessing an uptight nose.

Grrr ... !

2006-11-22T10:35:00.000-08:00

I hate falling sick =(

2006-11-21T23:38:00.000-08:00

(Post)Secret of the week!

2006-11-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

Once I learn time management, I'll start posting regularly. Don't worry. I have not disappeared and I want neither of you to =(

Fizza says:
i know i know i suck at keeping in touch
Ozzy says:
lolz
Fizza says:
i need time management skills
Ozzy says:
everyone does
Fizza says:
no i'm serious!
Fizza says:
next time i goto the library, i'm borrowing a book on time management
Ozzy says:
but will you have time to do that?
Fizza says:
hhahahahahahahah
Fizza says:
good point!
Ozzy says:
this calls for a blog post!

Anyone willing to give me ideas on how to squeeze a year's work in a day will be more than welcomed! =)

2006-11-14T07:05:00.000-08:00

There's no mystery like the mystery behind suicides without notes, names scribbled on mountains and new borns smiling while asleep.

2006-11-03T12:11:00.000-08:00

Spend sixteen hours of continuous trotting in stilettoes and voila, welcome extreme measures of suicidal tendencies.

2006-11-03T11:10:00.000-08:00

Buying clothes:

1. Do you look at country of manufacture or quality of manufacture?

A: Quality.

2. Do you make sure they are natural fabrics?

A: No. I don't think I care. I should though!

Generals:

3. Sunglasses, fashion or protection?

A: It doesn't cost to protect with style.

4. If you were a dog, would you bark or bite?

A: Bark when I want to. Bite when I should.

5. Do you turn your cellphone off before going to sleep?

A: No I don't! It gives me a reason to get mad at those who call/message me while I'm asleep! =P

6. You came home from out and have an hour to go before going out to meet a friend, what is the most probable thing which you'll do in that hour?

A: Refresh if I'm all shabby-delic. Wouldn't want to look bad for a friend! If decently coiffed, I'd use the fact that I have to be out soon as an excuse not to do anything constructive and hence, I'd kill time relaxing; painting nails, reading, surfing the Internet, hogging.

7. What's you favourite state of chocolate; liquid or solid?

A: In between ... velvet-textured, the type that melds into soft, chocolate cream in my mouth ... *sigh*

8. What would you choose; a noticeable pay hike or noticeable improvement in work environment?

A: Pay hike! Actually, both.

9. What do you enjoy more; staying indoors with friends talking meaningfully or hanging around with friends outdoors?

A. Staying indoors with friends talking meaningfully. (... and meaninglessly =P)

10. If all the music artists come to a deliberate agreement to perform their last concert on the same day, whose concert will you attend?

A: I'd stay at home.

I tag: Sahar, Dee, Staind

2006-10-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

In two hours, I'll be a year older.

26th Oct 2005 - 26th Oct 2006 has been awesome. Let's see what lies in store for my upcoming age.

2006-10-23T04:04:00.000-07:00

I remember what life was like ten years ago. It was 1996. Seventh grade, notorious friends. I had a Sony walkman that made the efforts of getting under the 'cool' tag a little easier (remember 'cool' was such a 90s thing?). Spiderman was out. Batman was in. My evenings were filled with studies and the radio's Request Show. I used to request the same Spice Girls' song over and over again only so DJ Fadi would recognize that but he never did (I had a crush on his voice ...). School was fun. I loved my English teacher. She made me 'discover' English Literature. I was studying Greek myths. The Internet revolution was just beginning. I remember using the Internet for the first time. I had searched for Shahid Afridi on Yahoo! He had just debuted and that too, as a star and I was curious to know who he was ... actually ... I wanted to know what he looked like. Mariam was way shorter than me. Ahmed was sunburnt. Mohammad was a chubby little toy and our lives revolved around teaching him how to walk, talk and play cricket.

All my family friends, the sweet uncles and aunties, the amazing childhood partners-in-crime, who are now scattered in every part of the globe, were here, in Abu Dhabi and Dubai - car drives away.

But there was no Ali.

I can bring myself to relive every childhood moment but no matter how much I try, I cannot imagine how Ali wasn't a part of it. And while most of us would love to be twelve again - pah! I'd rather be a wrinkled fifty-year-old and watch after my thrity-seven-year old baby brother than be a pretty twelve-year-old and not have him around. You can sue me for my unusually in-depth analysis later, meanwhile ...

Happy 9th Birthday Ali! Love you loads and cannot say it enough!

2006-10-23T04:02:00.000-07:00

Eid Mubarak and prayers ... God bless you ... yes ... you --> *reading this* =)

2006-10-13T17:53:00.000-07:00

Until I was eleven years old, I used to think Jerry from Tom & Jerry was a teddy bear ...

2006-10-06T10:16:00.000-07:00

Hani tagged me. (Thank you =P)

I am thinking about ... my gorgeous sunglasses that my three-year-old cousin broke half an hour ago.

I said ... I'm never going to buy him Smarties again and I [truly, madly, deeply] mean it.

I want to ... have Starbucks / go shopping / study / restore sunglasses back to their normal shape.

I wish ... I owned a laptop.

I miss ... my sunglasses / Bilal.

I hear ... cricket commentary and my siblings laughing.

I wonder ... how I'll make it through a year in college considering the mad domestic life I have.

I regret ... a lot.

I am ... self-criticizing / whimsical / perturbed / sarcastic / obsessed with pink.

I dance ... not.

I cry ... more now than I did when I was a child.

I am not always ... as pessimistic as I come off!

I write ... because I can't sing.

I need ... to get a life / coffee / Bilal

I finish ... stories? Never.

I tag ... Sahar

2006-09-30T09:21:00.000-07:00

After a month-long absence, I believe I will not hesitate to admit that I am suffering from a major blogger's block.

It all started when I impulsively decided not to blog 'for a while'. While we attempt to create spaces in our heads, we don't realise how they fill themselves up.

Imagine J.K Rowling had kept her world locked up within ...

Please don't abandon me. I cannot promise resuming to my attempted creativity, but I can still entertain you with my endless ramblings ...

A classmate gave a presentation on LOTR. When he finished, I asked him, "Why didn't you mention anything about Orlando Bloom?"

He laughed. I was serious. Orlando Bloom is not hot. He's not sexy. He's not a hunk.

He has the face of an untold fairytale.

He resembles the character your grandma creates in your imagination when she tells you tales - either about the merman who swims miles to save a little girl from drowning, or the romantic knight whose kisses could spill souls into dead princesses, or that portrait a woman paints and finds herself falling insanely in love with.

I would pay to watch Titanic again if Orlando Bloom played Jack Dawson.

Yes, romance is my genre. When Zoofi asked me my favourite movie and I told her it was My Best Friend's Wedding, she asked "Don't you like LOTR?" I nodded. "So? Shouldn't that be your favourite film?" I shook my head. "Ugh! I bet you loved Titanic!"

... which brings me to ...

A restaurant, me, family and My Heart Will Go On in the background.

Me: Oh God! Let's ask the waiters to shut it down!
Sister: Yeah reminds you of the over publicized dumb Titanic.
Me: ... and also how Jack dies!

=(

2006-09-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

I'm still not over it.

----

hey fizza baji..hows evry thin?????how is KV goin:P..well school has started as u know...it ws freezin in the mornin nd its summers ..i cant imagine winters..ill freez..lol..it ws an interesting day..goin 2 school listnin to music...me nd safdaddy got into a fight...i ws sayin safdar school is on the left he said no its on the right...safdaddy ws rite...my bad...my frst class ws math..i ws learning wht i did bak in 8th grade SIMULTANIOUS EQUATION....nd the students were finding it hard....each period is like 75 min yaar..dimag kharab hoo jaa ta haiii...my next class ws chemistry..whn i enterd the room i saw my teacher nd she lookd like a student...i thnk shes 24 or 26 ill find out :D....it wnt borin...she made us listn to a chemistry song..very sad sad sad song...thn came the gym class i got lost nd got there late like 10 min aftr....he made us run a foot ball field fr 20 min...nd it ws like 6 degrees nd we all were wearin shorts..thn he made us do push ups 30 of thm...nd many other things....it ws fun made frnds..thn i hd lunch..we hv a big cafeteria..all i could eat ws fries..i ws just lookin arnd nd these group of 4 ppl come 2 me 2 boys nd 2 grls askin me question abt r u new..where r u frm...we talkd fr abt 10 min thn ths weird girl comes to me and asks me a very very weird question..i shall not say wht she askd me....it does nt sound good...i will tell u on msn...thn finally my ENTREPRENEURIAL STUDIES came....i ws waitin fr ths class all day long...i introducd my self to evry 1 nd found an indian frnd...we watchd a video of DONALD TRUMPH how he built hs career..i found it really intrestin...durin lunch i saw really disturbing sights... u know wht i mean? lots of thm... if i hv a hard assignment i will forward it to u :P ok?.....while commin bak it ws cold nd it started rainin...came home all wet :@......life is different here...very different...nd disturbing....ok me off now..talk to u laterzz..missin all of u very much..esp U :$....chao ... bilal

2006-09-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

Abu Dhabi from my window ...

2006-09-11T01:25:00.000-07:00

I'm such a sucker for natural beauty.

I don't know ...

There is obvious beauty. It shouts outloud, the people 'gaga-fy' you. But after a while, it gets very boring - meaningless physical attraction. You see them in a pyjama and a baggy T-shirt and you think 'pfffttt' ...

And then; there is the not-so-obvious beauty. It whispers slowly and grows in a person, and it keeps growing and growing and growing - everyday they look prettier than they did on the previous day. You just can't seem to get enough of them. Even if and when you see them in a pyjama and a baggy T-shirt, you think 'cuuuuuute!' ...

What's wrong with me?

I don't think all beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Some people just have that ... well, I'll say it ... 'vein'.

I don't know whether make-up or hairgel can create that vein in a person or not but I do know that sometimes, it can take it away.

Okay, I feel I'm just going this for the sake of blogging ...

2006-08-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

Now that my aunt has left, I'm living the day that I had been dreading for two years (ever since I found out she was going to leave for good). Separation? It's unbearable. I don't know what to do. I've been helplessly crying for the past few hours now. I don't know if I'm ever going to stop missing them. I don't know when I'll feel a tiny bit better.

Please enjoy my absence for sometime, I don't want to blog for a while ... and thanks for reading this trash.

2006-08-29T04:51:00.000-07:00

I'm suffering mixed emotions.

1) It is my last day of work. I could stay longer and make more money but I have other work to take care of and it's as important. Nevertheless, I will really, really miss working.

2) My Aunt is leaving tomorrow morning. Canada. Stupid Canada. Many people have left Abu Dhabi but, as selfish as it may sound, my aunt's farewell has to be the most painful. It breaks ... well ... it shatters my heart! I love her so much! Her, my uncle, Teetoo, Safaddy and Bilal! I love Bilal more than I love anyone in their family. Or my family. Or anyone's! Yes Bilal is it. No more Bilal? What am I going to do?

And you want to know along with all that murkiness of goodbyes, we got this news yesterday ...

3) Dad has won two KLM tickets to fly to any country in Europe! :-/

Is it my fault I'm confused/happy/sad/nostalgic/excited?

2006-08-27T22:55:00.000-07:00

Switching channels, I ended up watching The Oprah Winfrey Show last night where Dr Maya Angelou appeared for a poetry recital. I have read a pazillion poems. This, can easily be classified as one of the best out there. It is a Christmas poem, but entirely universal. I dedicate this to me. Silly shmilly? It's been two years since my encounter with people who could have altered my life. I cannot seek ways to realise how blessed I am having gotten out of it. I want to write about how I feel - today - but I always find myself at a loss of words. Hence ...

An Amazing Peace

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God. Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.

On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other

At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth's tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.

We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace!
We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace!
We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation

Peace! My Brother.
Peace! My Sister.
Peace! My Soul

2006-08-26T22:14:00.000-07:00

I'm very disappointed in someone. It's very true when they say that the people closest to you hurt you the most.

This exceeds anything anyone has ever done to me. And I don't know what to do. =(

2006-08-24T01:32:00.000-07:00

Flip flops, jeans and coffee ...

I love working on Thursdays =)

2006-08-21T02:45:00.000-07:00

When I find myself victimized by someone's artificial attitude in overrated glamorous parties, I go home.

Once at a far relative's mehendi ...

"Fizza beti! Kesi ho?!" I turned around. Oh no, not her! "Theek thaak." I muttered disdainfully, so she would realize I did not welcome her hollow wishes. However; not the type who would care to listen to others, she embraced me with her long arms outstretched and I was suddenly wrapped in shroud of a musty smell that was wafting from her collarbone and slipping into my breaths. She was hugging me. Tightly; so tightly that the sweat soaking the padding of her undergarments, oozed through her chiffon blouse and moistened my shoulders.

Gasping for air, I slowly pulled myself away from her body while she bogusly smiled at me, "Barri pyaari lag rahi ho!" I didn't believe her. How could she think I looked pyaari? My hair was covered. She always criticized it.

Three years ago, I met her at someone's funeral where she expressed her doubts about the permanency of the way I chose to dress. "Beta I hope yeh bus fashion hi fashion may ho. For God's sake don't wear it forever!"

Last year, she came over to invite us to her son's wedding and pretended to feel anxious about my marital status. "You know Barri Aapa na? Unki beti Sehrish also got a purday ka josh at your age, laikin boys bhi na these days! Ab Suno. She got a rishta from Amreeka. Khabar suntay hi, we sent them Sehrish's fotu shotu, laikin when the larrkay ki amma saw it, she toh foran refused. 'Na baba na I don't want a bahu whose jhumkas my Bablu can't see!' Socho! Tch Tch Tch Tch! Such a good rishta gone to waste! Aray the larka was so rich! He had a poora ka poora dollar store in Brooklyn! How will Sehrish ever find such a good larka again! Thank god after some zabardasti we convinced Sehrish kay khuda ka wasta take off the pardah! She's back to normal now. Bus jeans and T shirt. Aray Amreeka Landan walay larkay? They all want wahan jesi gori gori modern wives. Ab beta you are also kaafi samajh daar! No need for all this extremism! Warna socho toh zara, you will have to settle with a lambi daarri wala mullana."

Her words echoed like a distant nightmare. I wondered whether Sehrish was married while Auntie felt the edges of the pashmina I wore. "So soft!" she remarked. I was waiting for her to ridicule me again. "You don't feel hot?" Here's a start. I shook my head.

"Aaj kal ki larkiyan! Ya toh they're fully dhaki chupi! Ya phir they are bikul nangi!" And there you go! "Ab dekho, I'm not saying ke you become Malika Sherawat! Baapray! She toh only limits her wardrobe budget to chaddis! Chee!" I nodded my head and squinted my eyes. It was my way of saying 'Chee!'. "You know Barri Aapa na? Unki beti Sehrish ... " Not the same story again! "Ab Suno. She got a rishta from Amreeka ... " I was wearing a ring on my finger. A solitaire. It wasn't mine. It was Ami's. I could have lied and told sweat-drenched-Auntie I was no longer single and did not have to worry about a 'lambi daarri wala mullana' but thankfully my impulsiveness faded away as I imagined aunties jumping around me like a FIFA Cup winning football team does around their captain; isn't that how aunties normally react when they find out about someone's engagement? I kept quiet and glanced at the buffet table. Several silver hot pots full of delicious desi temptations were aligned from one end to the other. I picked up a plate and began filling it with kachoris and potato cutlets.

"Ab beta you are also kaafi samajh daar! No need for all this extremism! Warna socho toh zara, you will have to settle with a lambi daarri wala mullana." She had memorized these few lines like a second grader does his or her elocution competition speech.

"Jab Maha was coming back na, mera matlab from Hajj, toh I went to the airport usko lenay. Ab I thought kay jab woh bahar aai gi toh she will be full dhaki chupi so I jaldi say flung my shawl on my head. It would look bura na ke beti Hajj kar kay aai hai and her besharam Amma is receiving her nangay sir? Acha now suno, the funny part. Jab finally she came outside na, toh lo! Only in a kurti-pajama! And bus aik chota sa dupatta latka huwa in her gala! Haww? Yeh kya? Array so many tiptop larkiya jo before Hajj don't even wear dupattas wapis aati hain in full time naqabs! I thought kay Maha toh wesay bhi is already thorri Islami type you know always doing matam, matam, matam aur astaghfar jeans weans toh toba toba never! To phir kesay such a mazhabi girl is coming from Hajj without purdah? Tab she said to me wohi sab jo I believe, ke Amma Islam may jo cheez practical nahi hai, woh main kyun karoon?"

I looked at my plate. It was quite full by now. "O beta the food is delicious! Acha you eat now. I'm in jaldi. Your uncle na, he doesn't eat in parties jab tak kay I don't serve him!" She kissed my cheek and disappeared into the green and yellow hues of the crowd while I frantically searched for my sister, who I finally found laughing in a corner with my cousins.

"Uff Mariam. Kidhar thi tum?" I said, munching on my kachori.

"Aap kahan thi?!" She snapped back.

"God you see her?" I pointed at sweat-drenched Auntie. "She had me entrapped in her petty talks!"

Mariam nodded, "Oh her! Yeah! She is obsessed with your hijab Fizza Baji!"

I wasn't surprised. "Yes she is! Isn't she?!"

"Yeah she kept lecturing me on how wrong it is of me to leave my hair exposed while my older sister's is covered."

I went home.

2006-08-19T08:48:00.000-07:00

Him: I had a great time last night
Her: But you hardly talked to her!
Him: I don't think so
Her: Oh yeah? What does she do for a living?
Him: She's a design ...
Him: ... law ...
Him: ... design ...
Him: ... law ...
Him: ... design ...
Him: Doctor!
Her: She's a real estate agent.
Him: What a waste of medical law decorator degree!

I love white-trash sitcoms =)

2006-08-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I loved spinning in the empty centre of our living room - rapidly - until I could see ripples on the carpet. I'd fall on them and terrorized myself imagining the ceiling would collapse. But soon everything would turn so still that I'd get up and start spinning again ...

2006-08-10T12:52:00.000-07:00

I just received this e-mail. Someone wants to view my MSN space. Right - I have an MSN space too. Sue me. It's not public though. Hence the following:

I'd like to see your space, but I don't have permission to do so.

Will you please give me permission to see it? whtsup my life stinks i just wanted to change and not be freak and do drus so if your one just chill dont do somthin that you will regret because you only have one life so thats my life i have a brother thats dum and does not understand

An interpretation of the message pasted above would be highly appreciated.

2006-08-08T02:06:00.000-07:00

[nevermind] says:
fizzy pop lose sum weight
[nevermind] says:
or ur just wasting one hella pretty face

My ego is confused. Should it hit the ceiling or dump itself in the depths of an overloaded garbage truck?

People can be downright mean in the strangest possible ways.

=(

2006-08-07T04:47:00.000-07:00

That long wait for the phone to ring, jumping on Ami-Abu's bed with Ahmed and Mariam screaming chota bhai! chota bhai! chota bhai! on top of our lungs, calling Ami so we could listen to chota bhai cry, visiting chota bhai in the hospital the next morning ... tiny toes, pink fingers, cotton cheeks ... isn't it a wonder how eleven years later, this chota bhai can still make me as happy as he once did sleeping in his little crib?

Happy Birthday Mohammad!

When Insha Allah, a decade from now, you're twenty-one, ~~chasing girls and cigarettes~~, and want money for late-night nonsense, but Ami-Abu refuse to give you anything, and Ahmed Bhaiyya has spent all his life-savings on hair-gels and Mariam Baji is married to a cricket stadium and Ali is [still] obsessed with watching cartoons, don't expect me to help you out!

Speaking of now, these very moments - every time you sing Bohemian Rhapsody or Smells Like Teen Spirit and ask me how Freddy (Freddie? Fredee?) Mercury fell ill with AIDS and why Kurt Cobain committed suicide, I wish these men were still alive and I could be the one to stab them to death for robbing your innocence away. (Picture how would I look - all violent, killing famous musicians? =D) Khair, but when you look at your pet turtle (that has been living entirely on its own in an abandoned corner of our place for aeons and aeons) and then you tell me that 'he' is definitely a male because if 'he' were a female 'he' would have laid eggs by now, I want to record your words in a time capsule and give them to you on your hundredth birthday just so you could see what we see and realise no amount of rockstar wannabeism can change the fact that you're such an adorable idiot!

2006-08-03T02:07:00.000-07:00

Browsed through this blog. Couldn't read all of it because just some of it was more than enough to make my cry. Actually, I felt very blessed but it's always painful to realise the [heartbreaking] revelations that come from feeling someone else's pain ...

... read that blog and you'll know what I mean.

2006-08-02T10:36:00.000-07:00

This is for my cousins who left Abu Dhabi sooner than they should have. Some torture ...

Go on ... envy =)

2006-08-01T00:09:00.000-07:00

"Fizza ... "

"Jee?"

"Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't ruin your talents by devoting yourself to housework."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean housewives end up frustrated."

"Some do, some don't ... "

"They leave their fathers' houses very pretty, very petite, glowing and all and within a year, their bodies are sagging ... "

"I've seen very active housewives who ... "

" ... their skin is rough, they have dark circles under their eyes ... "

"I think Ami wouldn't have been able to handle the five of us if ... "

" ... their nails are cracked and they're talking about nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing but children and husbands or religion ..."

"Haan toh aur ... "

".. and uff .. they become so judgmental. They don't see the world that is existing outside themselves you know!"

"I suppose it depends."

"It does but it doesn't get the best out of them. Look at career women. They have sensible reasons to keep their minds off such nonsense. They help society. They have more to worry about than food, laundry or baby spats. They interact with the world. They wake up everyday and look good."

"Well ..."

"Really, really, it's true!"

"Not all the time!"

"Tell me whether you've seen a housewife who hasn't lost or gained weight?"

"They raise children. It's not easy!"

"Oh do they? So many women just leave their kids and spend time in salons and parties and all ... "

"... like I said, it depends."

"Tell me about any career women you met that you weren't impressed with?"

"Pata nahi ... may itna notice nahi karti ... "

"... the way they talk, the way they walk, the issues they discuss, the clothes they wear ... always, always sensible and realistic ... you won't find any who wouldn't impress you, trust me ..."

"I don't know about that but I know for a fact that Ami is far prettier ... "

"...aray I wasn't making a personal attack ..."

"... than Condoleezza Rice ..."

----

Leave it to me to shut some extremists up.

2006-07-26T07:32:00.000-07:00

My name comes with a puzzle. It's actually an Arabic word - 'Fedda' ... which when written, shares its calligraphic curls and dots with Urdu, but in Urdu, it's pronounced Fizza. Meaning? Silver. Colour or metal? I don't know ...

If I were the colour, I would be used to describe the streaks of hair that cling to an old woman's scalp.

If I were the metal, I would be a tarnished, locked-up treasure chest with no key.

I am an indistinct voice; an endless whisper that echoes incessantly with mysterious desperation rustling through ... I fade into silence every time you try to listen and hiss yet again, when you begin to walk away.

I am the tear that springs from the depths of your heart where unspeakable emptiness persists; and while aiming to spill through the corner of your eyes, I get stuck in your breaths and choke your throat. Either you entrap me, or I feel afraid to let go.

I am a petal that withers off a blossoming flower and is strewn into a bowl of potpourri. Amongst dried fruits, lavender oil, crushed spices and shots of brandy, I lay soaked in a mixture of artificial floral scents, helplessly yearning to go back to my pure state.

I am a candle, melting down the edge of an elevated surface. When the flame vanishes into a wisp of fading smoke, I slowly harden and become solid ... I strive to defeat fire despite knowing the struggle will turn me into a frozen cascade dripping in mid-air ...

I am the piece of skin that dangles from a wound. I try as much as I can to hide and protect my bruises because they burn even under the mildest exposure. I hang loosely from the corners of the cuts. It's where the bleeding begins by sprouting as a thin black slime, and then melting into a stream of red threads. Why is blood so repulsing? Because it is a raw part of our inner selves; ashamed at revealing naked the flesh I once concealed, I scrape off. And from being that part of a living thing that could feel the sense of touch rushing to its spirit, I turn lifeless and numb, like brittle onion peel.

I am a feather that curls itself and spins o'er its own shadow. I coil around dust; I twirl with little dead leaves. I tickle your ankles and disappear into the vastness of a hollow whirlpool underneath the sky. It may seem like I'm rejoicing my freedom but really really, I'm a prisoner. A lonely prisoner entangled in the wind, trying to make my way through a labyrinth of intangible spirals. And every time I complete a loop in the air without descending to the Earth, I prove, to you and to myself, that a broken wing, can fly on its own ... all alone, all alone ...

2006-07-26T03:17:00.000-07:00

etisalat has blocked youtube and when im this disappointed i dont care about typos grammar or punctuation i suppose only a few days are lefft brfore blogger is banned ...............

2006-07-24T03:32:00.000-07:00

I'm going to add this on the list of infinite reasons why I love my baby brother ...

guitars rock says:
fizza baji
Fizza says:
yeap
guitars rock says:
ur blog is not working
Fizza says:
how come?
guitars rock says:
i dont know
Fizza says:
give me the link
guitars rock says:
fizzabaji.blogspot.com

*rofl* Ali, you always make my day! =D

2006-07-24T00:58:00.000-07:00

And here is the Secret of the Week from my favourite website.

[I am at work, fyi =)]

2006-07-22T05:43:00.000-07:00

I'm discovering bright futures at the cost of slaughtering the present as gruesomely as a frenzied Eid bakra. This is the most confusing dilemma I have been in. Life can be one ridiculous soap opera.

2006-07-18T04:02:00.000-07:00

There is something very timeless and classical about this skin. Cliched, but I like it.

2006-07-12T22:44:00.000-07:00

I asked a cousin of mine to get me Hershey's Symphony. She was going to USA and stopping over in Abu Dhabi on her way back to Karachi, but unexpectedly, didn't. So all my chocolates are in Karachi =(

Bilal's SMS: These chocos are so good! I can't resist them! She brought 22 big bars. I'll save you 4 and give them to you when you get married :P

I forwarded it to my uncle - you know - I was telling on Bilal - 'Uncle dekhain isko!' type of thing. He usually takes my side so Bilal doesn't bug me too much.

Uncle's reply: I believe it is time to prove how much you love this particular chocolate.

Now what?

I Am Fiz

2006-07-08T03:48:00.000-07:00

Little girls love my dressing table, and flutter about my room wearing my jewellery because - heck I've been a little girl - they want to feel like their Baji.

Little boys enjoy my company because thanks to my baby brothers, I know what they like and what they don't, and [no matter how badly I want them to] I never to ask them to sit properly.

Uncles like my self-confidence and enjoy having discussions with me, notwithstanding that my views would make no national difference.

Aunties pity me because they believe I'm never going to get married.

Money Can Buy You Everything

2006-07-06T12:55:00.000-07:00

Even the people closest to me don't realise the bouts of guilt I suffer when I splurge on shopping - despite how badly I need to replace some stuff - I feel bad about spending too much money on them, and sometimes I feel very silly for feeling so bad ... alright enough drama. This time, I let myself go. Please don't assume I'm being very Paris Hilton but there's absolutely nothing I know about cell phones [except SMS and phone books]. Luckily, I've been getting rich. Henceforth, I set out to purchase the prettiest 'pink' phone that was out there without worrying about the money. Memory space? Bluetooth? MMS? Infrared? Who cares when what I found is very pretty, insanely stylish, and irresistibly pink! =)

Mr F. Mehdi

2006-07-05T23:17:00.000-07:00

UAE expat laws bother me because I love this country and would like to live here for as long as I can push Allah and make Him do so. It's not my fault I was born here. You don't choose your 'home'. I would love to keep coming back without visa hassles. I feel we should have a permanent resident status if we've spent twenty plus years here! However, more than anything, my intention is not so much to be able to express my views about it but to have my name appear in newspapers - *grin* - come on, it looks good - 'F dot Mehdi', in a little corner that thankfully no one reads [your head = 'thankfully?'] Unlike the last few times that I've excitedly showed the newspaper to my parents so they could read my name, I'm not going to do it today. You know why? Because go here, search for the letter from F. Mehdi and tell me where would you hit your head if you were me?

2006-07-02T03:33:00.000-07:00

People complain about why I'm chronically unavailable and not publishing 'deep' insights on my blog - with reference to that, here is news that reaches a bit too deep ...

----

Thu Jun 29, 7:34 AM ET

MULTAN, Pakistan (Reuters) - Fateh Mohammad, a prison inmate in Pakistan, says he woke up last weekend with a glass lightbulb in his anus.

Wednesday night, doctors brought Mohammad's misery to an end after a one-and-a-half hour operation to remove the object.

"Thanks Allah, now I feel comfort. Today, I had my breakfast. I was just drinking water, nothing else," Mohammad, a grey-beared man in his mid-40s, told Reuters from a hospital bed in the southern central city of Multan.

"We had to take it out intact," said Dr. Farrukh Aftab at Nishtar Hospital. "Had it been broken inside, it would be a very very complicated situation."

Read rest here.

----

I laughed like a witch suffering an overdosage of prozac when I read this. I can't help but picture this man, complaining about his pain in Punjabi, then looking at his X-ray and swearing.

I suppose I should no longer blame Scrubs for revolving around absurdity. And you know, we can legitimately say "hey ... I'll shove a bulb up your ass! ..." and know that it is a possiblity ... Ewwwwww! According to Zohair ... "Mankind's greatest invention up his behind" ... indeed! *rofl*

2006-06-29T02:11:00.000-07:00

There is something entirely laughable about this report I read in Gulf News today.

2006-06-27T12:02:00.000-07:00

The worst thing about being 'busy' is not being able to ramble endlessly here =(

I miss you dear online corner! *cry*

I wish I could major in blogging ...

2006-06-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

One person, one word, one second ... is all it takes to break me down. What makes it harder to survive through is the isolation that follows. It surprises me why anyone would think I'm devoid of feelings. It surprises me why anyone would think that I don't cry.

Magic Mosquito Ring Tone

2006-06-19T03:52:00.000-07:00

The moquito ring tone is plain freaky. It literally crawls through your ears and into your brain but your parents don't hear a thing. If you have little children around you, they are likely to keep as far from it as possible while the adults would wonder what's there to 'listen' to. Read here if you don't know what I'm rambling on about. You can listen to the ring tone by clicking on the RELATED LINK section in the middle of that page. If you are a kid or a teenager and have healthy ears, the sound will make you want to kill yourself. If you are in your early twenties, you will hear it but the sound won't be irritating enough to cause you to feel suicidal. If you are 31 or above, you won't hear it at all. My little brothers could hear it from far, far away. I could hear it only in the room it was being played in. My parents couldn't hear it and so, in desi style, chose not to believe us. Mariam and I had a blast at a mall where we were scaring children. We would silently walk behind them, as they ran along with their parents, play the ring tone, and watch them turn around with confused expressions on their faces - one kid even began hitting his ears and gave us a very bad look. The funniest thing about it was that the parents had no idea what we were upto. Thankfully, no kid complained to them about hearing an unusually weird noise. Otherwise, Mama and Papa could have easily started to fear their child was epileptic.

2006-06-17T03:17:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the clarity that comes when I'm awake in the middle of the night staring at the emptiness slowly fill with the traces of the breaths I exhale and realise the difference between people I live to love and the people I'll die loving ...

2006-06-10T03:32:00.000-07:00

Exactly two years ago ...

2006-06-06T13:10:00.000-07:00

Please excuse the lack of creativity and the fourteen-year-old-girl writings you have been reading on my blog for the past few weeks.

I'm busy and I get very tired.

2006-06-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

Asad, my Internet hero, published a hilarious article on Chowk. I had earlier read it on his dormant blog, but reading it again felt, for some reason, more amusing than ever. I want to go to Switzerland, buy the finest chocolates, and shower him with them *halo appears over head* ... then pick them up and eat them ... yum ...

----

I'm very happy, and it's a refreshing change =)

Proof That Ahmed Is A Hardcore Metrosexual

2006-06-02T05:35:00.001-07:00

Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: *watching TV*
Me: *remembers there was something important to tell him*
Me: Aray Ahmed ...
Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: Ahmed ....
Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: Ahmed suno ...
Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: Ahmed uska phone aya tha aj subha ...
Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: Ahmed ... guess karo?
Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: *frustrated*
Me: Subha phone aya tha keh rahi thi ...
Ahmed: *typing on the computer*
Me: *thinks of a better way to get his attention*
Me: *looks at tv*
Me: *bingo*
Me: Aray Ahmed this guy really, really looks like you!
Ahmed: *turns around to look at tv*
Ahmed: kaun kaun?

2006-05-26T17:10:00.000-07:00

3 AM, I get an SMS informing me about a sudden death of a 19-year-old, who shared a name with someone I knew very well just a few years ago, so I confirmed despite being mighty sure it couldn't be him - but it turns out, it is ... no I did not get teary-eyed, just knots in my stomach, tight enough to make it entirely impossible to digest this terrible news!

My prayers go out to him and of course, his sisters, mother and father. I have heard losing a child is the worst thing that could ever happen to a parent, but I know for a fact that even in the darkest parts of hell, I couldn't imagine losing a sibling at such a tender age.

----

Who knows how many civilisations are buried underneath where I sit today ... billions exist, billions extinct ... and yet the instant I get up from prostrating against dust during prayers or the instant I gobble up a date to break my fast, I slowly begin slipping into a materialist corner of myself that makes me behave as though I'm convinced I'm immortal.

Haha, heehee, eating, drinking, watching tv, chatting, shopping, talking, planning, planning, planning, planning for a wandering future where certainty only lies in that it would bring us to our final breath - life is but a preparation of death but why is it that the only time I feel close to death is when someone else dies?

God bless and forgive :(

My Selfish Entry

2006-05-24T09:34:00.000-07:00

Three years ago, I was almost engaged (read: married!) to a very eligible man, job shmob, settled shmettled ... The pressure on me was so strong, I gave in, then spent several nights in tears and hiccups so I could take my decision back, because normally, any eighteen-year-old female like myself would have done that. I had no practical reason to reject him, according to aunties. Wasn't that proof enough that I was too immature to get married?

----

I still see my ex-prospective husband sometimes, with his gorgeous wife who resembles a (excuse the weirdness of what you're about to read ... ) model in a soap ad! She has a very creamy complexion and spotless skin! She glows so much, you feel like you haven't washed your face when you stand next to her. They have a child too; an adorable baby, who can land himself on the cover of a Mothercare catalogue. And everytime I see all of them together, I feel a huge sense of relief that I refused to marry him ... :-/

Alone

2006-05-18T11:32:00.000-07:00

----

The worst part of being honest with someone about what you're going through is to have them lecture you back on how wrong it is to feel ungrateful, only to increase your bouts of guilt, and realise that despite how miserably alone you feel, it's not as painful as trying to make others understand.

:: Original Entry Has Been Deleted ::

2006-05-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of work to do. A lot. And none of it is mine, so it feels like a major punishment in hell's labour camp.

i need ~~to start living for myself~~ prozac.

D.D.S (Damned Damning Psychos)

2006-05-14T13:21:00.000-07:00

I spent all evening crying ...

I hate tooth doctors. I have another appointment on Tuesday.

I keep reliving him digging needles into my gums and I don't know what to do but wish we were born without teeth.

[... which we are :-/ ... ]

Why aren't our teeth made of salt? Or those artificial brittles made of nonmetallic minerals fired at high temperatures? Don't feel you lack intelligence. The latter is just a dictionary definition I found of the word 'ceramic'. Imagine we had ceramic teeth. We could take pottery classes and learn how to artistically solve dental troubles ourselves instead of visiting evil dentists. "How many times a day do you brush your teeth?" "Twice or thrice, even five." "Then maybe you're not brushing them properly." Yes, that's exactly what it is. There are so many ways to brush teeth right? Can't it be your fault Doctor? Can't it be you, exploiting people by telling them that the right way to brush one's teeth is in an up and down motion when the right way is in fact some different one; perhaps one that doesn't even require a toothbrush but some magical wand a tooth fairy gave you so you could keep it for yourself and your rich family? Can't it be you who probably prays to your satanic needles that people like me, who have no threshold for pain, suffer excrutiating tootache and rush to you so you can purchase your CKs and BVLs or DKNYs or Ds and Gs or some other fancy combination of the English alphabets? See you on Tuesday!

A Classical Paradox

2006-05-11T07:16:00.000-07:00

"I'm going to go visit the Art of Living Centre because I want to start yoga, but what I don't like about yoga are all those monkey positions that they expect you to find 'relaxing.'" - Ozzy

What was I thinking trusting Ali?

2006-05-10T03:27:00.000-07:00

Finally, I took the courage to tidy up the cabinets of my dressing table, leaving whatever I used, inside it and the rest, outside. Every type of feminine junk imaginable was scattered all over my room and I was sorting out stuff I could give away to others from stuff I would give to a garbage truck. Ali entered and sat down in the midst of it all. I was too busy to look at what he was upto. A few minutes later, I heard him get excited.

Ali: OH COOL!
Ali: Fizza Baji!
Ali: Can I give this to my teacher?

Without bothering to cast a glance at him, I nodded.

Me: Yeah yeah!
Me: And if you find anything else here ...
Me: .. that you could give to some girl in your class ...
Me: .. just pick it up and take it away ...

He got up and started stumbling about.

Ali: Naah!
Ali: I'll just give this to my teacher.
Ali: She is going to love it!
Me: Really?
Ali: Yeah you know she has soooo many black dots on her face.

The peculiarity of that rushed a sudden chill of panic in me. I looked at him. His back was to me as he was making his way out of my room.

Me: Ali wait.

He stopped and turned around and I noticed he was holding a brand new packet of blackhead removal strips.

It's Picture Time

2006-05-09T09:22:00.000-07:00

A part of my cousin's abstract masterpiece, where she has depicted each of my family's member - the patterns in pink shades portray me.

A psycho calling attention to his disturbing hairstyle proving stupidity can be very creative.

Mariam's distorted reflection, and err, my hand, on Madam X's sunglasses.

Do they look like mother and daughter?

The most exotic place, anyone I know, has ever been to.

Yes, my name minus its last letter is printed over a pink coloured beverage but I can never relate to the decoded format of this poster ...

Mariam, Akbar and the swankiest fountain in Abu Dhabi.

I-Wear-Red-Shoes on the Great Wall of China - isn't it a wonder that two wonders of the world have both been captured in a single snapshot?

My hunt for glamour in the strangest places.

I thought I had a humble home.

Her name is Fizza [too] and she [too] wants the world to look pink.

Finger and a thumb in the shape of an L on her forehead

2006-05-08T02:03:00.000-07:00

After a very lousy day, full of intense willingness to lock yourself in the bathroom with the hope that sobbing secretly would slowly change everything, and when you step back outside, your world would look better again ... my sister downloaded a karaoke version of Smashmouth's All Star which I gave a shot.

I cannot sing.
... definitely not English songs in my desi accent that distinctly pronounces every letter and breathes between sentences.
Mariam fell off the chair laughing at me.
I couldn't keep up with the tune and messed up the lyrics.
Mohd and Ali were very confused and couldn't understand what happened to their sisters.
I have no idea why I am giving such vivid descriptions of my own humiliation.
I have lost my ego.
Same as 1. but this time, imagine it in bold.

2006-05-06T14:54:00.000-07:00

:: From kAy's blog ::

This is to all those who know ...

I miss you =( ...

2006-05-03T09:08:00.000-07:00

My cousin Akbar, the king of cute smiles and harkatain, fell down while running about frantically, and injured his head bad enough to lose consciousness. What followed were major panic attacks. Ahmed throwing water on Akbar, his father hitting his face, his mother praying for help, his sister screaming, my little brothers, Mohd and Ali crying like wolves on fire, my parents trying to calm them down, and me, I don't know, I think I kept begging Ahmed to rush to a doctor, or I stood there frozen, watching Akbar's irises move in opposite directions, shocked to digest I was not in a nightmare and that it was my favourite baby in the world going through it =(

Anyway, Akbar had suffered a concussion. Since his condition began improving soon, doctors said there was nothing too serious. Nevermind the deeper medical details or the tensed night we all had.

When I met Akbar this morning though, he was back to himself. Naugthy, rebellious and adorable. The doctor had warned us to ensure he did not run or jump too much within the next 72 hours; which is impossible since running or jumping is what he enjoys most - after 'talking'of course. Besides, one cannot tie up a three-year-old from running or jumping. It is also difficult to convince my brothers not to play around him and unfortunately, Akbar gets tempted every time he sees them. Watching them play, arouses him to go crazier.

So I thought, instead of scaring them with fake threats about doctors and injections like desi aunties, instead of ordering them to behave properly and risk becoming a bad Baji they would bicker about in the future with utter disdain, how about put my manipulative side to use and challenge all three of them to a game of yoga?

Vengeance

2006-04-30T17:45:00.000-07:00

Even though, [I often feel] an unwanted texture of niceness has moulded my face and seeped into my soul, there's a mean streak inside and it isn't dead.

Someone, [we'll call her TM?] slapped my brother Ali [twice!] because he snatched away a spray-gun full of water from her two-year-old son [we'll call him KB?]. Didn't Ali do the right thing? Little children aren't supposed to play with water. But KB began crying so loudly, Faith Hill would have given up had I challenged her to compete with him! Since TM couldn't bear the earsplitting noise, she shut her boy up by slapping Ali. How could TM slap Ali? No one slaps Ali. With my anger management skills on hold, I privily took KB to a corner, asked him to give me the spray-gun; then continuously sprayed water over him until he began squinting his eyes and started to look like how the infamous American president would if he were to helplessly shiver under a raging monsoon.

TM thought KB did it to himself and like a typical mother, rushed for a towel, wrapped it around him, until it absorbed all the wetness along with any unseeable traces of influenza. Afterall, no mother can see her child in discomfort. Isn't my mother a mother too?! A mother with such undue naivety, she always fails to defend herself [and Ali]. Thank god for me. No. Thank devil for me. Of course, I feel awful about treating KB the way I did - drenched his clothes so that they clung to his body running chills all over, then made him go through the nightmare of resembling George W. Bush for a few minutes of his life. Life he's too young to recognise still. And it's not as though Ali had been seriously hurt. Just been slapped lightly. No pink palms printed on his cheek or anything. Crazy, aren't I? Paranoid? Over-possessive?

God, I'm capable of being a terrible, terrible person! The only good thing that's come along with this is the easiness I'll feel in getting rid of a rishta that I'd want to reject. All I'll have to do is mention the link of this entry on my bridal resume.

Tsk tsk tsk tsk ... I think I'm going to spend a huge part of the next few weeks justifying why I behaved so badly with a kid ...

... no one slaps Ali though!

2006-04-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

Quitting fizzy drinks is the best thing I've done since shelving self-help books and so-called women's magazines.

I'm proud of myself ... [oh quit it with the teenage IQ, you're such a baby Fizza, grow up, shut up, *eyes rolling*, *ignoring*, etc, etc ... if people can still mistake me for a fifteen-year-old, I have every right to act like one ... ]

2006-04-24T10:50:00.001-07:00

In a bid to meet Irfan Pathan, Mariam did everything to attend a formal cricketer's dinner, but it didn't work. She also begged to get hold of a VVIP ticket but that didn't work either. She went to the stadium on a normal ticket, and at the end of the match, she asked the security guards to call Irfan Pathan, but they refused, so she screamed his name outside the Indian players' dressing room and what do you know? He came out! If you don't believe me, ask him. It was hilarious. And scary.

I'm hardly ever in the mood to blog these days.

2006-04-23T03:17:00.000-07:00

Remember the insanity? The day dreams? The restlessly peaceful nights? The bliss in the distractions? Happy Birthday to someone who exists in my memories like hidden hazelnuts in chocolate bars. God bless, always.

2006-04-19T15:33:00.000-07:00

I really, really enjoyed the match! Not the match but trotting about the stadium, lol

2006-04-16T01:18:00.000-07:00

There is a lot of disruption in my life …

I find temporary relief in muttering or crying to myself at odd times, or leaving the house for a walk or the library or the gym or some meaningless grocery shopping.

Some things are better left ignored and hopefully, let Allah take care of it all when He sends the angels of death to take away the spirits of people who make me realise I have a knack for violence as every second of the day, I feel like running a bicycle over them.

Ab kya karoon?

2006-04-07T18:52:00.000-07:00

My eye infection and fever suddenly vanished. I'm serious. I woke up Thursday morning; no throat pain, no headache, no flu and most importantly, no itchy eye. But when I spoke, I realized a thirteen-year-old boy's vocal chords had miraculously replaced my original ones. Confused? You know, when a teenage boy's voice is breaking, etcetera etcetera, in just one sentence, it goes high, low, deep, shallow, high, low, deep, shallow and he sounds like a soft-spoken donkey.

Maybe this is a side-effect of sudden curing from illness? Either way, I'm scared. And I miss my voice. Not that I sounded like a flute but my voice was nothing like the broken trumpet it is right now.

To those who have grudges against me, here's some good news ...

2006-04-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

Just overnight, I got attacked by evil germs.

I have a horrible throat infection and high fever. The last time I had bukhaar was in 1998 and if I ever told you in the past eight years that 'I have fever', I probably lied to make an excuse to cover up something else. Maybe I was not in the mood to see you or did not want you to see me. Or maybe I just wanted you to say nice things to me. [I was not very secure during my early teenage years.]

When Mohammad had bukhaar last week, I gave him huge lectures on body resistance and that he could get out of his bed using his will power. I was so wrong. I had forgotten how helpless you feel.

How ash-like food tastes. Even water tastes like morning breath. And the cold feet. Not bridal cold feet. Feet that remains frozen despite 100 degrees. [Ironic isn't it? You're ... ugh, stupid grammar ... I mean YOUR ... body temperature rises but you feel terribly cold. One of the many reasons I never understood biology.]

I hate it. The inability to fall asleep. And the headaches. And the nausea. And the already-irritating-and-incurable eye infection. And most of all, the lack of strength to scream at myself.

2006-04-01T15:55:00.000-08:00

These days, with my eye infection gone bad, I wake up looking like Steven Tyler.

Doctor said I have a dry eye - cornea disorder. He asked me "Do you sleep with your eyes open?" I made myself replay that question in my head to confirm if I had heard it right. The last time I was asked so was by my Mathematics teacher in seventh grade but she meant it metaphorically. Doctor sahib expected a literal response. Not "Uhh ... "

He turned to my father. "Does she sleep with her eyes open?" Dad nodded. "Yes."

I wanted to hide behind the dangling sleeves of my shirt.

"So when she's asleep, her eyes are continuously in contact with the air, which is why her left eye has dried up." This is Dad's version of what the doctor must have said. I wasn't listening to the doctor. My concentration span couldn't help but feel distracted by the thought of how I must look like while sleeping "with my eyes open".

In my head, I looked like the mysterious human corpse that lands on the sea shore. If that sounds callous, then how about those scary-looking dolls whose eyes shut when they're positioned horizontally and flick open when they're positioned vertically. Of course in my case, I'm the scary-looking doll overlooked by a toy factory's quality management department so my eyes don't shut when I'm laid down and the little girl who imagines she's my mother has to hit my face five times to shut my eyes ...

... I know ... poor description. I lost my attention before you lost yours. I suppose I'll settle with resembling the dead body on the beach.

Anyway, I have to wait at least one month before my eye heals. =(

The screen's light is beginning to hurt. Before I suffer headaches, I'm going to go sleep. And while I do so, I'll warn my family not to show my face to someone who lost a loved one in the Indian Ocean tsunami. Sorry if that sounded insensitive. If my apology remains unjustifiable, read the very first line of this entry and decide for yourselves if that itself is not a punishment enough.

Good night.

Eye Infection

2006-03-27T00:36:00.000-08:00

Blogger will remain absent for a few days.

WD40

2006-03-25T07:40:00.000-08:00

I went to Al Nahda Boys' School this evening for some Science Fair and felt so old, I could spray WD40 on my bones :-/ [I don't know if that made any sense; I had heard my gym instructor use that phrase in a similar situation once when a machine long out of use wasn't functioning properly.]

----

*** The personal weaknesses,

the unasked questions,

the undiscovered answers,

how can my own life be a war against myself? ***

The Evil Sister

2006-03-24T01:53:00.000-08:00

I was chatting to someone who asked me about my brother ...

<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
ahmad said he might get married next dec
<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
i mean the comin one
Fizza says:
yeah i dont know man, he's been making his marriage plans since he was 13 so i wont say anything
<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
lol
<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
lol
<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
lol
<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
lol
<<-- NaJJu -->> says:
lol

God, what's wrong with me? I'm always making fun of my brother on my blog.

Awwwww, etc.

2006-03-20T07:43:00.000-08:00

A conversation with my two-year-old cousin who doesn't understand/know/speak a word of English ...

Him: Ami kay pas jana hai

Me: Ami sleeping

Him: Ami sleeping nahi

Him: Ami achi

2006-03-17T06:54:00.000-08:00

A friend sent me an email expressing anti-skinny-women sentiments, but it didn't work with me. I hate the obsession I have with my weight. I want to be thin. I'm not fat ... oh who am I kidding? ... I am sort of fat ... more towards being fat ... but I'm definitely not thin ... and I want to be underweight ... at least by 5 lbs ... I know what you're thinking ... just get over it ... I ... can't!

Leaving my teenager-IQ aside, the heaviness in my eyes has been triggering me to pluck my eyeballs out and place them on my sidetable and drift off to a peaceful sleep. The swelling makes my face uglier. I've been resembling a frog, a teary-eyed frog. Perhaps, these are indicators enough that I should really, really visit an ophthalmologist before I lose my sense of sight to avoidance of being seen as an overweight toad ... uhmmm ... or I should see a dietician ... uhmmm, you know if Ahmed or Dad read this, I'll be dragged to a psychiatrist! Ha! Ha! I love my men =)

----

Two months back, I e-mailed Metroblogging.com about starting an Abu Dhabi metblog. Now that it's almost-ready, I don't know why I initiated the idea because this city is so restless that I'd run short of the buildings to blog about. Excuse my lame attempts at sarcasm. But what will I post there?

Nevertheless, the name of the city might appear on top of the list because the list is arranged alphabetically. And these little accomplishments at promoting Abu Dhabi, make obese people like me, very happy.

Don't Judge Me =Þ

2006-03-14T02:02:00.000-08:00

I thought Ata-Ur-Rehman's shoe slipping out of his foot and flying into the air while he was hurling the ball, was the funniest [and corniest] thing that ever happened in a cricket match until I saw this.

Ramblings

2006-03-13T02:19:00.000-08:00

I'm going to accept, that no matter how much I try, a part of me will always live with the fear that fate successfully outplays whataver it is I decide to embark upon. What happened a year and a half ago was small enough to leave me physically unharmed, but strong enough to steal my future. If that sounds like an exaggeration, then welcome to the bitter part of my existence where the sweet-litting-somethings I wanted out of life just two years ago, exist today like decaying fantasies.

I've been flooded with questions which I've answered as briefly as possible or just lied about, not because I didn't know what to say but because the truth is either too long or impossible to explain.

Leaving aside the unlimited sufferings people all over the world go through everyday and leaving aside the 'kidnap victims' who are severely tortured; please forgive me for feeling remotely worthy of being the centre of my attention. Thank you. The worst thing about whatever happened with me, has to be the loss of 'self-security'. Like ... walking on the streets without a sense of repulsion comes naturally to most of you. I, on the other hand, have to assure myself a million times that the strangers, shopkeepers, the cars, aren't criminals. And most of the time, I just want to stay at home and overeat. It's an embarrassing confession, I know. People laugh. Oh they laugh hysterically. They don't understand. I don't expect them to and pray they never go through a trauma.

At this [so-called 'golden'] point in life, I just exist. Mourn the absence of self-confidence, dread sleeps that comprise of haunting nightmares, watch everyone I grew up with live the lives I dream to live. It's a sick feeling - to feel this distanced from people I'm close to, to no longer feel like everyone else. How long will I remain entrapped in self-imprisonment? I'm not sure.

---

Whenever the miracle moment arrives, I'm going to pretend ...

... it's lunch time ... Ahmed is acting like whackjob on the dining table ... Ami forces me to eat ... I refuse ... she asks me to go to the tailor ... it's 2:45 pm ... if I didn't go now, he'd pull his shutters down ... [that almost sounded perverted] ... it's Sunday tomorrow ... I don't say anything to Ami ... Ahmed is looking at the reflection of his face on the steel surface of a thermos ... Sharik comes running and looks at Ahmed on the thermos ... he laughs ... I laugh ... Ahmed laughs ... Ami asks me about going to the tailor again ... Mohammad and Ali wonder why we're laughing ... I tell Ami I'll go later ... she frowns ... Ahmed, Mohammad, Ali and Sharik are all posing in front of the thermos ... they ask me to join them ... I get up ... I look at the thermos ... Ahmed's chin, Mohammad's neck, Ali's nose and Sharik's head are elongated ... I laugh ... my face is added to theirs ... I stick out my tongue ... it looks like a frog's ... we all laugh together ... with my jaw magnified, my smile looks like a poster at a dental clinic ... Ami approaches me with a huge bag of clothes ... 'jaldi!' ... had I known back then what the jaldipana would bring me, I would have wished mothers were more intuitive ... I take the bag and leave ...

And this is the point that I wanted to bring you readers to, using my ineffective writing skills; "... the bag ... "

Whenever the miracle moment arrives, I'm going to pretend that it's 28th August 2004. I'm not going to start afresh, I'm just going to continue ... how? ... by refusing to take 'the bag' from Ami so I could enjoy the funny mirror on the thermos instead and you know what I'll have?

A reflection of a larger-than-life smile ...

2006-03-11T12:29:00.000-08:00

I'm sick, et al ... excuse me ... but I miss you too =(

P.S. Dear me - get well soon.

P.P.S. Yes. I can feel lonely enough to write myself a little prayer.

2006-03-10T00:11:00.000-08:00

Curled on my bed, with a cup of hot vanilla latté, flicking through the glossy pages of Friday magazine, is what makes weekends oh-so-special even for people like myself!