It's all such an act and I've mentioned this before of course but it continues to haunt me, continues to surprise me.  Ten days to a fortnight after I realize where I'm going comes the actual breakdown. The actual realization and regret. Before it was all scripted, the disappointment, the tears and resignation. And now, when there are guests downstairs and actual work to be done I am incapable of lifting a finger.

I'm alright, I'm alright, I'm alright. It's for the best, four years will go by just like that, I can study what I please, it's another city, a competitive university, people have done worse, the parents are happy. Of course I'm alright.

And they're so happy that I listened and wasn't stubborn and didn't pull them further and further apart, didnt pick at the remains of what is left of a relationship. I'm getting lots of presents. So happy.

And all the congratulations and forced smiles and buying suitcases and straighteners have kept me so occupied. All of a sudden the phone rings again and I cannot, just cannot tell yet another person that I am excited.

All I can do is reassure myself that I did the right thing for me. In the long run this guarantees my freedom. And in that selfishness, I delight.

I'm alright, I'm alright, I'm alright, Except for now I'm not.

Redefining

Funny how just two weeks ago I was on top of the world. How long is two weeks anyway? A fortnight. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours. No time at all and yet, somehow all the time in the world.

I've had to come to terms with a few things these past few days. All of them have hit me hard and out of nowhere. They've been painfully consecutive. It's been difficult.

But today, after what seems like forever, I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow. Today I don't think I'm going to be 'settling' for LUMS next year. I'm actually getting slightly excited about it. Today I'm thinking about all the advantages that come with not being head of a society. Today I'm assured that by tomorrow I won't care about what he thinks of me. It doesn't matter anymore.

Here's to looking at all that you have and smiling. Here's to tomorrow.

Today

I learnt that the person who used to be your best friend can always tell who you smell like.

Oh, and I'm officially done with exams :)

Onward

It's funny really, knowing how next year will probably change everything for me. Certain battles I am resigned to fight such as my parent's letting go issues and some I'm not sure are going to be worth it.

I know that in six months my life will revolve around university applications and awkward dinner table conversations where I try to make my father understand that now, after seventeen years he finally needs to stop treating me like his favourite pet kitten and acknowledge that I really have grown up. Not while he was away on conferences or teaching but right there, in front of him while he looked away.

I learnt a lot this year. I've learnt to be at peace with complex relationships, to smile from afar, to let life take its course, to critique politely, to be less self centered and, most importantly, to let go sometimes. To list seems redundant because so many lessons cannot be put into words. They are part of instinct now, mistakes I will not make again.

But next year. I have no idea where I'll be or what I'll be doing. The people I will meet then are complete strangers to me now. Routine will change. Will values change too? Will I observe and laugh or plunge myself into everything with full force and learn?

I don't know. But this time next year I'll be making a decision. And that decision may or may not affect me for the rest of my life but it will sure as hell change everything at least for a little while.

What should be part of my mission statement...

I am never going to get married. This is not me being ridiculous, non conformist or just plain old inexperienced. This is me begging you to take me seriously. It seems as if it works for most people and I sure as hell can't think of an alternative but marriage is a lie for the most part. Unless you're extremely lucky and manage to find someone who will compromise for you as much as you're willing to compromise for them.

However, my expectations of people are not that high and never will be. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself and what you did with your life. And that is how it should be.

Well, for me anyway.

Looking Past It

So, Islamabad.

Not that I haven't done this before. Same fancy hotel and nine am breakfast. Same gloomy-ish weather and one hour drive to Murree. The foreigners, the sauna, being around my family almost constantly. Yeah.

Not that the foreigners aren't fun with their their easy smiles (especially Europeans, they smile and you can't help but think racial profiling is a myth and nothing more) and their inability to pronounce any word that requires soft syllables and Eastern accents. The twang is harsh be it American or British. More formal when it's British and more -how to put it- naive(?) when it's American.

I've been here three days. The first two days were spent in luxury, to the point where I should feel slightly ashamed of myself. The third evening we got into a metro cab and drove to a part of Islamabad where the roads were no longer level. Houses were squashed together and there was no electricity. Nor could I recognize the hum of a generator because no one in the vicinity owned one. The entire area was flooded in darkness and so we found the house with difficulty. My mother's cousin opened the door and we were greeted warmly. But she didn't interest me much and neither did her kids. Although I liked her well enough. Her father-who three years ago had smiled and said he senesed wickedness in my eyes- was my grandfather's older brother. He sat there in the corner and winked at me. A kindred spirit of sorts.

The lawyer husband entered and all polite conversation ended. Everything he said merited a laugh. And he was informal. In a country like Pakistan where the only attention girls get from distant male relations is a nod and sometimes a smile, to have an uncle sit next to you and tell you all about his profession, the cases he handles, the people he meets and how Aitzaz Ahsan is a lying little reprobate (his words, not mine) is unconventional. He peppered his Urdu with enough four syllable English words to let us know he could speak both perfectly. Imagine. In a house where there is no generator and kids who were doing their Matric, there lives a man who casually tosses the word 'vernacular' around.

Being the daughter of a doctor, perhaps I tend to romanticize law. But the fact of the matter remains that at the core of both politics and law lie values. Freedom, justice, equity. What we dismiss as idealistic and cynically roll our eyes at but still aspire to and are excited by. The French Revolution may have been a gory, bloody mess but at the heart of it lay the cries of liberte, equalite, fraternite (the last one, I may be slightly opposed to) which despite everything still manages to uplift even the most jaded.

At the end of the day, all any doctor can do is tell you how to take care of yourself.

Just because

Today I spoke to someone who I thought used to mean a lot to me. I say 'thought' because he still does. It wasn't awkward at all despite the fact that I always find Skyping awkward. He still knows exactly what I am about to say which is something no one else really does.

I didn't realize before I spoke to him today that I miss him. I think he knows that. And I'd quite like to think that he misses me too.

There are times when I am overawed by knowledge. The depth of it. The diversity. The shades and colours.

The fact that I lack it on so many levels. And the impatience that comes with knowing that.

I should scold myself for such pretentious writing.

Listening to Michelle Branch gets me thinking

This is us watching chances fade.

No, not me being overly dramatic but me having listened to far too much Michelle Branch due to nostalgia.

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here. Not here as in on this planet because I feel there are some questions that answer themselves. For those of us who can't come up with our own conclusions then they should just accept the answer is 42 and move on. 'Here' referring to what I'm doing with my life. I have a Plan B (Journalism) and a Plan C (Law) and no Plan A. Because I figure you should love Plan A so much that when you talk about it, tears should automatically start flowing. Well, the first few times anyway. But that's not it. Not articulate enough anyway. Plan A should be the something untypical.

My motto for when I'm older. If it's typical then I don't want it. Not the quintessential part time working woman (journo? lawyer?) role, not the husband, the two kids or their car pool. Not the constant bickering, the compromises, the mid life crises (because yes, there is more than one) and the realization that eventually these people will leave you and all you have is yourself but then again who-are-you? I've seen all of that. I've seen how people cling to it. To it's order and routine and predictability.

So then what do I want?

Truth is, I don't know. I could say 'freedom' and you'd laugh at me. I grew up compromising. Staying quiet at the dinner table, biting my lip and being careful of my dupatta. That sort of thing. But sometimes I say 'freedom' out loud just to test it out. To taste it really.

I see typicality everyday. Dinner guests and their forced, polite conversation. I find it funny, when we're all sitting at the table, to wonder about how much we all really hate each other. But it's not just dinner table conversation. I see it everywhere. Friend's dreams and attitudes. (What are we talking about these days? Prom dates, of course.) Snide comments and the looks we all sometimes get. Okay, so I get them a lot. Even the opinions of teachers, the behaviour of strangers. I don't know. It's not something I can define. I just know that I don't want any of it. I don't want to be typical now -and unfortunately sometimes I am and sometimes I need to be - and I certainly don't want to be typical later.

I love phenomenal women. Audrey Hepburn, Baroness Blixen, Oprah, the Rani of Jhansi, Sujata Bhatt, my mother. It's really that simple. I want to be one too. And it doesn't matter whether I go for Plan A or Plan B or C if I realize that really, they were Plan A all along.

We've been put on this planet for a reason. To be untypical, to understand what it wrong and what is right and how huge the grey areas really are, to perhaps try and right those wrongs and most importantly to do what we love. Once we understand that things like prom dates, shopping, bitchery and infatuation seem miniscule in comparison.

After all, social suicide may just be a dramatic term and nothing else