The coin- A short story

She stepped out. Holding the five rupee coin in her hand, she was determined to end the nagging humanity inside of her and donate five precious rupees to charity. She had taken the coin out purposefully. Hiding her face with her dupatta, she hurried on and streams of thoughts ran through her mind; she thought about all the times she passed this very bridge, and of all the beggars that caught her eye.  She thought of their pitiful expressions, and the way she turned her head away when she felt guilty. What could she do? She worked so hard for money; she had so many stomachs to fill. Today was different, having contemplated sufficiently, she decided it was okay not to buy her medicine for the day, which she managed to obtain, one everyday. Instead, she wanted to help the lives behind those accusing, hurt eyes. Walking past the familiar bridge, she saw the bearded man, who sat down at the very corner. Wait. He’s smoking cigarettes, how could she give him the well-earned money? If he can afford to buy cigarettes, he does not need it. She walked straight past him to the woman, holding the baby in her arms, who stood at the same spot everyday. The woman doesn’t seem to be unhealthy at all, she thought. In fact, she had fat on her arms that put my skinny ones to shame. No. She doesn’t deserve it either. Looking at the small traffic-boy, she felt a tinge of guilt. He’s so young. If I give him the money, he will get used to it. I will be responsible for spoiling him. Absolutely not; it is better to pass him by than letting him have the money. Beggar by beggar, her mind came up with excuses and reasons. At last, the bridge ended. She had reached where she had wanted to. Please forgive me God, she whispered. Her hand slipped into her purse, and when it came out, the five rupee coin had disappeared.

Changing Dreams

People have weird ideas for finding a soul-mate. By 'some people' I am referring to myself. I have my goals set. I know what I want to do, I'm just not sure how. I know where I want to live and I already have a few blue-prints for my dream house, more than ready for construction. What I look for is a person who would want my dreams, who would understand. I always end up choosing the wrong people, misjudging them just because they're different. I did not understand the concept of 'better half' until a few weeks earlier.

A soul-mate is a person who has dreams of his own, but gives them up and makes you give up yours. You will not be asked to do so, no. There's just going to be moment when you realize, I don't want what i want anymore. I'm not as ambitious about my career as i was yesterday. I don't want to live in the Playboy mansion anymore. You start wondering what changed, and you realize, love happened. You want what they want. Everything is now, US. He should be hateful, the person who made your resolutions waver. But he's not.

I know i'd probably be eating my words if things turn out to be even worse than situations i've previously encountered. BUT. I've concluded that, if you want to make sure who your 'soul-mate' is, don't look for the person who also wants a house in the woods like you do. Keep your eye out for the one who always wanted a glass roof (not to be taken literally) and you find that idea even better than yours <3

Eighteen

Birthdays passed. Preteen to teenage. But I've always judged how cool my age was by calculating the number of songs relating to it. One song that has been always been my fantasy to relate to is She Willl Be Loved by Maroon 5. When I was sixteen i used to sing it paraphrasing the song to "Beauty queen of only sixteen..."

Point being, now that I am eighteen, I shall listen the hell out of this song.

Something I sang

I recorded a bit of one of my favourite songs last year and never showed it to anybody. I found it today and thought 'What the hey, I'll put it up anyway."

So here goes!

My song

HALLELUJAH

This might just be THE moment of my life.

I always wanted to do something cool for a living. Like watching a movie and eating popcorn then writing a review about it and getting shitloads of money. Well, today I have come close.

I've gotten an offer to watch 3 documentaries a day and write an abstract summary about what's in each of them. AND I WILL BE GETTING PAID. They even asked me how much I would charge. I feel so sophisticated.

Feeling like a sir

You know you've lost your friends when...

When you are in school, it seems like your friends are yours. You have a right over them and whatever they do, you feel responsible because they're YOUR friends. Telling your mum about that one time your best friend cheeked the teacher, your mum's gonna flip out because 'you must have had something to with it too'. You're accomplices and partners in crime. It's not  bad feeling though. It is a freakin' AWESOME feeling. You did something weird, you thought up an absurd explanation to something, you found out A is dating B, anything at all, and you know exactly who you're going to call. You grow up with your school friends. You grow up with your college-mates and university buddies too, but school is the only era that counts. The growing up is so profound and obvious that you feel different from day to day and you have someone to feel different WITH.

Enter college, scattered friends, less frequent calls and all that you ever feared. Still, it is all okay because you still have a common ground. My friends wanted to study premedical and i had no interest but I decided my friends were worth studying subjects i don't like and i opted for it too. Bad luck though, we got into different colleges. Anger, tears, complaints... Still, we were studying the same stuff so we knew what to whine about, we could still plan group studies and we could still bond over valency of electrons. We were BFFs like we'd promised to be on the back of our tee-shirts on our last day of school.

Next, our practical life started. I knew I couldn't even memorize the names of all subjects a doctor has to study, let alone pass them. My friends wanted to be doctors and I decided I should not waste my life doing something I am no good at. So I chose something entirely different. I transferred into arts and there is now a two thousand mile (exaggeration) distance between our institutions. I tell myself: physical differences do not matter, Wishaal. Your friends love you and they will keep loving you. A little voice inside my head replies: They might love you, but they don't need you now.

For me, friendship has always been a dependable thing. Something quite selfless. I believed in absence makes the heart grow fonder rather than out of sight out of mind. The very foundations of my belief are faltering. A few weeks back we had some arguments. Had we been in school they would have dissolved in a few tears and playful slaps on the back but, as we are in PRACTICAL life now, all differences are irreconcilable. I have to think before i speak now and that hurts me because the reason they were my friends in the first place was that i could say what i wanted to and they understood me, they stood up for me, they helped me through and always listened to my side of the story. Now i see them sticking up for someone they need and i realize i'm not important anymore. I can't call my friends my OWN now

...and that's when you know you've lost them.

HER

A short story.

 It was a dream. Or was it? 30 years and still I remain in doubt. But that day I remember, oh yes. Clear as lake water. I remember HER. All these years of recalling her, I could have thought up a name, a nickname at least to refer to her; calling her a girl, a woman or any such word of femininity is an insult.
        Whenever i start thinking, i don't just randomly start. I get out my favorite armchair, light the fireplace, dim the lights and close my eyes...
     1980. Some far off town in Iran, the name of which has long been changed into something more modern. I don't even remember the place properly, can't even point it out on a map probably. I had gone to Iraq as a volunteer; there had been an earthquake. I began field work in the ruins of some building which had fallen. My friends and I spent hours everyday in the blazing sun.
   One day, 20 or so days after we started working there,we were attacked by a bunch of kids who asked us for money. We spent a few minutes playfully arguing with them, then i got bored, turned around and saw HER.
 In a bright orange dupatta, those green eyes met mine for only a second. I spent my whole life on that one second. High cheek-bones melting into her cheeks, which converged to produce her perfect mouth which was partly open with subtle surprise. Maybe i was staring too intensely; i joked to myself. Her jawbone sharped curved to her ear. That was all I could see. But this perfection, this apparition, this is not what i remember most about her...

      Right across her right cheek was a deep mark, A scar.  Stretching out from her brow to lower lip. Dark as midnight.

It was as if an artist ruined his most prized sculpture, just to save it from the Evil Eye. I don't know where she got that mark, but i like to believe God put it on her face. Maybe because he didn't want her to be vain? Or maybe because he wanted to show the world how nobody is perfect.

I think it was both.

  That face has been dissolved into my veins, imprinted onto my brain; not because of the girl, but because of her scar. It changed my whole outlook of life. It led me to understand that no matter how perfect, how amazing or how ideal a person's life seems to be, there is always a gash upon it. Not on the face? Then it might be something you can't see. Nobody, nothing is perfect. You could look at Cinderella, and say she had a happy ending. But even she had a rough childhood. So nothing is complete, and nothing is ugly either. You just have to look for what you have and others don't!

  She had a scar on her beauty.. that scar taught me life.