Outliers.

Too much to say, too much to say, too much to say.

I always thought I was smart enough not to believe but now I've realized it's always better to take a side and be stupid about it. To argue it till the blood goes to your head. To whisper it. To dream it. To believe it. I just need to find my truth. Find the thing I should foolishly cling to.

I'm going to watch their love story unravel before my eyes, weep for them a little and then tell it to the world.

Three panelists talking about post oriental Islam. All old men (why always old men?) Hoodbhoy is on a roll tonight. There's applause whenever he bangs his fist on the table. 'Communicate' That's all they want from us. 'Tell people that secularism does not mean anti-religion' Endless applause. A whisper of revolution, even. 'Communication' a boy sitting near me is done clapping 'Who will listen?' He reaches for his bag and I see a tattoo. I wonder if his parents know.

Malcolm Gladwell has changed my world and now I want to be an Outlier too.

He sang for me. Some toned down version of a Maroon 5 song and my day went from terrible to less. Walking  back to the campus at one am we talked about the sheer arrogance that comes with assuming how special we are. 'But of course' He said, dropping me to the hostel 'We will always will think so'

Of course we will. 

Nighttime

Eleven pm and we try to sort out the tangle that our lives have been. I hate talking about him because he's new but now I realize I've never seen him in the daylight. 'Excited to go home?' He asked and I said yes. Yes I was. He squeezed my hand.

Just another party and I didn't even really want to kiss him but I was tipsy as fuck and realized that it didn't really matter anyway. Just another pair of lips. Moving. Halloween this time and of course Lahori men take full advantage of an excuse. Make up, black wings, fancy shoes. It's two am now and they're all too drunk to say no to a pretty girl selling cigarettes. We've partied enough on the side because we know the brand guy is never going to pay us the 3k each he promised. I love watching degenerate old men at parties. Too old to dance, too old to fit in. Why are they here? To sit in a reserved lounge and watch other people dance and drink?

Already dark at seven pm as I wake up in my own bed. From my room I can hear them shouting and I count days till I can go back. I was excited to come home but now I feel like a guest. It will take time to redefine home in my head and to accept that bits of home are everywhere. I brace myself and go downstairs. They stop talking when I enter. They will need time too.

Five am and I walked onto the terrace to see a girl already sitting there, crying. I take one look at her and turn one eighty degrees and back to my room to shed a few tears myself.