People.

I’m glad you like New York. Really.  But what am I supposed to say to you when you tell me about it? Probably just that I thought I wouldn’t be able to compete against skyscrapers, paper dreams and being so far away from home. And so I called you difficult, mocked video calling and let you go.

Fast forward a few months and you can’t wait to go back. You wait out your turn like you always did but the city is always on your mind. I’m confused as to whether I want to see you or not but you leave me with little choice and for that I am eternally grateful.

Thank you for always calling long distance but we’re going to be very far apart from now on and that is probably that.

I’m glad though, that your smile twitched just a little bit when I walked through the door. I was pretty nervous too. 

I managed, somehow, before the evening ended to perceive the hopelessness that needled through her veins. Underneath all that rouge. I winced and turned away. Recollections for another lifetime.

 She grew up and married some great, glorified green passport holder and even after they moved away she would send me pictures of people she’d be scandalized by and say ‘Look at how they’re sitting, we don’t even sit like that and we’re married. Married. Can you imagine?’ And I’d always feel a little disappointed. I look at her life and wonder when and how she erected such flimsy boundaries and that no wonder people’s lives come crashing down so easily. The fences that separate their black and white are rarely made of more than paper and a whisper of fear. No wonder they fall apart.

Apparently letter writing is a lost art and for some reason, I’ll probably end up writing him one, lick the envelope and send it off. Whether I’ll be doing this for him or myself requires further self examination and I’d argue, at this point, that I’m done for a while. 

You try too hard not to try at all. I think we’d probably fight too much, fall too fast and eventually just fade out. Forget. 

He needs glasses to read the menu now and it always breaks my heart a little to think of him as an old man.

He told me he’d call back and when he didn’t I realized that he was not to be waited around for and that really truly I had accepted that a while ago. So maybe I’ve grown up a little bit.

The air in this city is too bloodlusty for winter to stay long anyway.

 And as for that last book. Well Mr Kundera, I’m never going to finish a book of yours if you keep making your characters fall in love because I already know it’s not going to end well.  I hope your Tereza found her happiness though.

Your eyebrow piercing left a mark.  I didn’t even notice it until someone else pointed it out because you carry yourself with such purposefulness it’s like you planned the whole thing. Even though you never plan anything. Not colour scheme, not the boys you fall for and not what you’ll be doing tomorrow. You’re going to do so well though and I’m going to miss you the most. 

 She pulls up in my driveway every afternoon. I have never seen her lips move once while teaching me how to drive. Because, like so many other things this is something I’ve had to relearn. And so I pausestumblejolt my way down an unforgiving road, narrowly avoid a few cars, break a couple of traffic lights and eventually figure it out. Refigure it out.

Eccentric is what comes to mind. She wears her rings with such flair and sets me straight every single time.  She throws exactly what I’m supposed to make a living off of back in my face and reminds me why I do it. Much love.

Turns out he actually did know this city like the back of his hand and God, I eny him. The first night I got back, I picked up a black marker and wrote ‘Don’t’ on my left hand. When it faded away, I wrote it again. And again. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t be stupid all over again.

 My mother looked at me over the edge of the menu and said ‘You will never want a normal life will you?’  I knew she was thinking of engagements and grandchildren and part time work and for the first time ever, I hesitated before saying ‘Probably not.’

He comes to mind every now and then. An old man who, when I was learning how to crawl, looked over the edge of his newspaper and told my father I was going to have plenty of affairs. I don’t think he meant I was going to be unfaithful once married because well, you can maybe tell that from a walk but certainly not from a crawl. He probably just meant that there were going to be plenty of boys hanging around. Nobody in the family talked about it much but when they did they said he had a gift. They’d never call him a prophet because God forbid that would be blasphemy and if this wrinkled, rich old bastard didn’t deserve a place in heaven, even if just for predicting a future whore, then who did? To this day, I see the fear in my father’s eyes and, brat that I am, rub his nose in it and then do my best to look completely innocent. When the old man breathed his last, I didn’t go to the funeral and later on when everybody was busy weeping I spat on his grave.

And of course, that  reminds me of the uncle who used to sneak into the kitchen and stir scotch into his chai just so he could stand being around the rest of the family for an hour or two. But that’s a story for another day.

‘I met a prostitute who used to be a Grammarian.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah I’m serious. She needed a ride and she ended up telling me about where she went to school.’

‘So then what?’

‘So then I bought her an ice cream cone and gave her a hug’

‘Of course’

Last week.

Not a looker, he sways with the music and spits at all things Imran Khan. 'Waapis ao, I've grown an affinity towards you.' It takes plenty of hash for him to admit to being a hopeless romantic. I keep my mouth shut.

I looked around at where I was, mouth covered with a scarf for the first time in my life. Some village called Sajjikot. We climbed all the way down a hill and back up to see a waterfall and I wanted to sit there forever but then my scarf slipped from my head and a man frowned and I remembered where I was. When we finally go to the house, the women were loud and happy and affectionate. They pressed food down our throats and called for countless rounds of tea till we finally begged their leave. Four hours in a car to get back to Islamabad and while everyone slept I read Dr Faustus who sometimes reminds me of myself.

'Tis magic, magic that hath ravish'd me'

Sometimes I feel a little lost and want to run up to somebody, anybody and beg them to tell me how to feel. And when. Make me angry, make me sad, make me happy, make me love. But then I have an eight am class and a two pm one, a stint in the library, an evening out and a good book so I forget.

Six girls in Islamabad and free for the weekend too. An icy, happy blur. Different cities make us all happy. We can act out of line and nobody can say anything. Nobody knows us. Nobody cares.

Veena Malik makes me happy. I'm not getting into a feminist debate here. She just does.

She chose a kurta for some odd reason. A shawl went around her shoulders and as she looked at herself in the mirror she wondered who this was for. A man, a phase or a bit and a piece of the truth?

He's not a looker for sure so why would I give him the time of day?

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.

Oral Fixation.

I feel like I appreciate both company and solitude more now.

I value being alone. Value it because it is difficult to be alone here and hence to be savoured. An evening walk, a morning on the terrace, a solitary smoke.

I met someone today who asked me what my greatest fear was and I told him it wasn't rejection or being penniless but being unhappy. That I would never want to wake up thinking I should be living someone else's life. He told me to read Fitzgerald but it turns out we've both read Gatsby and that is ironic.

I treated today like a Sunday because there need to be more Sundays in a week, in a month, in a year.

I like to watch him smoke but I don't like smoking around him. He makes me self conscious. Mostly though, he makes me feel young.

Dawn came and I went for a jog just because I could.

I crushed the last bit of cigarette and realize that winter is finally here. Goosebumps on my skin told me so.

October is already waving goodbye. Two more months and we'll be seeing off the end of a long year. Where did it even begin? With tears and a promise that now I'm finding difficult to keep.

Lahore is lovely and despite the obvious pull of alliteration that could not be truer. Soon work will pile up and I will stop noticing morning dew. But for now.

The boy I once asked for a secret is far away. Sometimes he calls. We talk and I realize he is done measuring out his life in coffee spoons but he still can't quote from Caesar and I have always held that against him, pretentious brat that I am.

I could write pages and pages about the fact that I no longer live at home, will hopefully never live at home again. My mother came for a day and after she left she called and told that it had finally hit her. That I was gone. That now we would visit each other.

For the first time ever I wasn't sure what to say.

Hey you.

Sometimes I see bits and pieces of you in other men and it fascinates and terrifies me to no end. Last Saturday night I didn't even know what I was doing and then all of a sudden I did and when I got back it had 'you, you, you' written all over it. He's probably never even met you. I'll never really know what he's up to either.

I hope he fades into the background. He's as unreal as you were.

But still, there are nights when I think of you and smile. I'll give you that much. You made me smile like nobody else could. Despite the fact that I knew what you were like.

Much love.

Today.

Today, while lugging groceries up three floors after haggling with a rickshaw driver, I realized exactly how much I've changed and how good this place has been for me.