Locked Up In Fog

‘Always aim for the moon, so even if you fall, you can land on the stars.’

She played with the word of the quote in her mind while tears streamed down from the corners of her eyes and disappeared somewhere in her hair. As she stared at the bunk above her, even the stars seemed too far; past the two bunks above her, the roof, the second story and the limitless distance towards the sky. An impossible journey.

She looked at the hardwood of the bed above, staring back at her and wondered where her life was going. She was nowhere. Life had always been so perfect for her, the choices were never her own, just an illusion at that, but she enjoyed them nonetheless. She had honestly nothing planned for her future, and it wandered off in the forbidden lands of nowhere. But finally a decision was reached and she struggled with all her might to take it from there; she had an aim, a door to reach.

But karma, karma was a pain in the behind, the door of opportunity was nothing more than an illusion, a mirage in the dry dessert that she had taken to be an oasis, a disappointment that sent her crashing down, with all her spirits drowning in self pity and accusation. Before her lied nothing but a barren land, she had journeyed from nowhere to nowhere. At first she had had a goal to chase, that would have been her way out, but now there was no goal, no target. The planes of disappointment spread out vast in every direction she looked. They were limitless and she had no clue where to go and nobody to guide her.

Tears came stronger than ever as she realized the reality of her situation again. She considered calling her best-friend and spilling out all her worry to her but she had probably done all she could; she had helped her up after she had crashed down under the weight of disappointments and dusted her down, raising her drowned spirits. She had felt a lot better then, but now, weighing her options she had to admit that she was stuck, her mind clogged.

She heaved muted sobs in the dark room as the night grew longer. Eventually she fell in a chain of weird dreams that woke her up every half hour or so, every time greeted by the everlasting darkness. At sunrise she sat up in her bed with a throbbing head and stinging eyes that were red and strained as she contemplated on her series of dreams, they had felt so meaningful but now they just seemed like pointless gibberish. She sighed, but couldn’t bring herself to sleep again.

The days became unnumbered as she went through her daily routine. She felt bored out of her wits yet there was so much to do that the day passed away in a blur. The nights were the same; an endless series of little sleep and deep dreams that lost meaning as soon as she pondered over them. Her thought had attached themselves to her mind like a leech, they sucked all energy out of her, her state was all she could think of and it always left her with a numbing headache that sent shivers down her spine and flooded her in cold sweat. She was stuck in the dry planes of nowhere looking for answers while her life had become a struggle, a question of her existence, an effort to live everyday one after the other in a single hope that somewhere she’ll find a response, a sign, a guide. 

Details

She ignored the lift, opting for the stairs instead. She climbed each step dejectedly; hands buried deep in the pockets of the plush terry robe that she wore over her pajamas, her head hung low. Her head was throbbing with a piercing headache that was inclining her eyes to close; dark tresses that had escaped the bun atop her head hung loosely around her face. She didn’t know if she encountered anyone while she was trudging up the four floors, if she did she didn’t bother returning their kind nods and pleasant greetings. She didn’t know how to feel, there was the fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach making her want to cry but tears wouldn’t come. Maybe because she had buried them deep inside, and she was wounded somewhere inside too, seething at the lost of her own spirits.

She entered her apartment and sighed, she really did want her tears to come out. She tucked the annoying strands uselessly back in the bun only to have them fall across her face a minute later. She sighed again, aloud and pulled open her desk drawer. She pulled out a cigarette, it was built differently than the regular ones; rolled much longer and thinner she found them somewhat elegant. In fact she had reserved it for a right time and this was it, she needed it. She opened the curtains and stood by the window letting the sunshine color the darkened room, as she lighted her cigarette. She held her hand protectively in front of the match as she lit it, remembering how when her friend had first lighted her a cigarette the stingy smoke wafting from it had made her cringe but now it didn’t affect her, she breathed it in.

She looked out at the sun, unblinkingly, as her eyes strained from the strong light. She took a swig of her cigarette and blew away white smoke, it wafted up forming patterns that drifted apart and disappeared in the white ceiling. Much like her dreams. As an early smoker she had smoked less and engaged herself much more by making random patterns in the air with the wisps of smoke escaping from the cigarette. Now she watched as the thin blue tinted stream of white smoke evading from her cigarette filled the room.

Her headache that had reduced to a numb at the back of her head fired up again. She winced stubbing out her cigarette at the window sill, forming a black ring among more similar ones. She was agitated. It felt as if her gut and lungs were blocked, the smoky room made her want to gag, she needed air. She threw open the window. This was not what she was supposed to be, what she wanted to become. Why was life playing this horrible game with her?? She rummaged in her open desk drawer and found her cigarettes, throwing the whole pack outside. This was not what she had planned to be, not her future. This was nothing expect a monster eating her inside. Something welled up deep inside as she was suddenly at a loss of energy. She sat on the bed as tears pricked her eyes. She was not this. She brought her knees to her chest wrapping her arms around them she closed her eyes and rocked back and forth trying to calm herself. She wanted change, not soon but now. She sighed again letting her tears brim over. And as the war breeze wafted in she soon lost her wrecked self to sleep. 

-Momina.

Packets Of Inspiration

You know what’s a weird combination? Cheese Parathas and Hot Chocolate.

Life is full of these weird arrangements, and these are the very thing that make life complete. The every now or then shocks at how perfectly or poorly two odd things fit together. Life filled with such and other queer analogies of life.But I know how often we encounter these tiny things that bear resembles to everyday life and this is not about that, or any other analogy of life. This is about how important they are, and how realization linked to them is essential.

At times we are so lost in life after a tragic incident that we forget what we really are, isolating ourselves we look for both, a piece of mind and peace of mind. We extract ourselves from our everyday life and fall into a trance of sorrow. But we forget, we overlook the fact that piece of mind and peace of mind are both what comes to us from out mere daily life.

Our every little action is a piece of mind for us; everywhere we look there are examples surrounding us. All we need to do is see them, really look at them, absorb them and they’ll imply themselves. They are tiny packets of inspiration overlooked on a daily basis. They are reminders of what will become of us if we rose too high, too close to the sun. They are tokens to tell us that however much we differentiate ourselves inside we are all the same and we all have the same place to return to.

Dividing one’s self does us no good, interaction makes us wise. Imposing certain limits doesn’t hurts, it does you good. Shutting up your past maims you deep inside; learning from it facilitates you a lot. Weird combinations are often the very answers we want.

-Momina.

Love, Life And Everything Nice.

What was originally meant to be posted on 1st January 2013. 

Her cuteness cannot be captured in pictures, nor her actions in mere words. Descriptions never do her justice; always lacking, too incomplete to her real character. Life without her is unimaginable and often I sit and wonder what life was before these five years?

When we didn’t come home anxious to see the same face daily, without a tiny person to hug after it’s every little accomplishment? What was life without her annoying whines and adorable gestures? Without her art on walls around us and rooms devoid of her beautiful laughter; without her to make most of every situation.

I bet life was incomplete, dull, without her to talk of and love, without her to weave endless stories for. What was it like when life lacked her hilariously smart views and her tiny hands to clutch our own? How hollow and lifeless I am without her. 

Here I am, at eighteen years of age, already having known what actual love is. It resides here with me in the form of my five year old sister; this darling little creature without whom life is unwanted, for whom all my prayers are formed. My life is molded around her; she’s my life, love, laughter and everything in between.

-Momina.

Eye to Eye

The air was humid and I could barely see in the smoke that occupied the room. I clenched my eyes shut and kicked down the door to the next room; my partner and I barged in, looking around for signs of life. I moved a cupboard and that’s when I saw her, covered in soot and clutching something close to her chest. She trembled all over and looked at me anxiously with her deep dark eyes and as I looked into them everything muted, I could sense the commotion behind me, my mates shoving me away and taking the bundle from her. She looked down that instance and fear struck her eyes; fear that wasn’t there before, she shook her head vigorously, muttering something.

I went close to her in order to hear her, ‘my baby, my baby’, she whispered as my friend tucked the blue baby under his arms and ran outside.

I looked at her shivering there in the hot room, with fire all around us, urgently draped a safety blanket around her and told her the baby was going to be fine. Maybe it was the confidence in my voice that I was trained to keep, or she really did believe me because her eyes sparkled for a moment and a faint smile touched her lips, ‘thank you’ she said. And then her eyes lolled back into her head.

I returned her out and we resumed extinguishing the fire, usually I was too occupied to think of anything, but today, I couldn’t let go the expression in her eyes. It was not fear, she had been sitting in the stuffy cupboard in a burning house for God knows how long, and yet there was no fear in her eyes. No fear for herself passing over to the other side. But it was something I knew too well; she had seen death, felt it, almost been swallowed up by it. And yet, escaped it. I knew it, been there and I had never met anyone who had seen death up close like myself. Never found someone I could relate to, talk to. My life was purposeless and I’d taken this job where one was faced with death risks every now or then.

I looked for her after work and got around to the hospital where she had ended up. On inquiring I was directed to a doctor who told me she was no more, the baby had survived, she was too weak though. Too close to death itself.

-Momina.

Spent In Time Traps

I am stagnant. Stuck, trapped, in time. Where, exactly? I know naught. And I am confused; undecided about whether to move or not. The effort to move requires energy and that seems to be lost. No matter how hard I try I cannot summon it. Besides, I don’t think I want to move. I am a captive of my sanity, or is it my insanity? Spellbound in my own conscience, unwilling to escape even when I can. It’s an easy way out, but it seems too much, a journey I am reluctant to make.

I can’t read or think or write. It’s seems like ages when I last wrote, or attended to business that needs to be done. It all seems pointless. I just want to sit back and watch everyday go by, no issues of time or jobs due. No nothing. Every day, though, there’s a moment when I think, when I know that I can do anything, be anything, and conquer all. But in a blink that reserve of energy is gone and I am left in an abyss of futile thoughts. Just like that. I let it go too soon maybe. My actions seem so slow. Like the feeling when you take sleeping pills and everything goes so hazy that you need minutes to think something so simple. That trance? It feel like that. Yes.

Oh well, there’s always tomorrow right? Today we can sit back and relax and just worry later…tomorrow. And act too, of course. It’s seems like a petty argument between now or never, where I am lost. Being tossed around, not struggling but misplaced. Waiting for a sign, for strength.

-Momina.

Fire & Ice

She had stepped out for only a moment; she assumed it would be the same cold and dark night as usual. But now, she was standing there in the light drizzle staring mystified at the sky, for almost twenty minutes. The sky which was not dark and brooding like everyday but orange as if it burned. It was extraordinary, beautiful yet scary. Transfixed she looked at the wide stretched horizon, the burn started deep from one end and faded into the grey sky at the other diagonal end. The night was lit like day, but sun had set long ago and not even midnight was upon them yet. She shivered despite the several layers she wore, something invoked deep inside her as she tore her gaze reluctantly from the orange sky, suppressing the urge to cry at it, she rushed inside.

She huddled in the three blankets, squeezing into a ball, hugging herself but not managing to stop trembling. She ducked inside, sealing all sides of the blankets, breathing hard in the stuffy air, wishing the cold to subside. She dare not even take an inch of her out; she felt cold as ice but her temperature rose way above. A fire blazed deep within her while the rest of her body turned to ice.

-Momina.