White Noise.

You can't escape it, the noise. You can't flee from it. It penetrates through the thick walls, through closed doors. It travels to the quilt you are curled under in a desperate attempt to evade it. But it passes through, and it continues past the pillow covering your head inside the quilt. It snakes in between the vaccum in the middle of your ear and the headphones that blast music to drown out that noise. It grows over the beat of the music bellowing into your ear like a formidable, daunting whisper.

It's the background hum that never recedes. Instead, it continues to built up in intensity against all odds. It rocks your threshold. Slowly breaking your hold on tranquility. It throws you into a cyclone of commotion. Clamour. Racket. Uproar. It tears away the shred of peace you hold on to.

You scream. You scream so loudly in the depths of the night and in broad daylight. It's like a shadow that haunts and stalks you, no matter what time of the day it is, no matter what your surrroundings are. It pinches your fears, fueling them into a burning rage. Bubbling hot inside you while you are in a desperate attempt to cool off.

No one understands as you stand on the threshold of insanity; breaking down brick by brick, unable to hold still. All your attempts seem frutile. Nobody sees the fear behind your glassy eyes. No one notices sweat that breaks on your face. No one realizes what pain you are in. And nobody hears your silence screaming.




-Momina.

Your Insistence Is Adorable.

Everything in the vastness of space is in a state of perpetual motion. Every tiny speck and every gigantic object that exists because several such tiny specks came together... everything, is moving. Shaking. Hovering. Vibrating. From the tiniest electron revolving around the nucleus of an atom to a huge star in a galaxy eons away. It is all moving, gently and crazily. Silently. And I am sitting here, still; suspended in all that motion. Waiting to be lifted. Waiting to be moved or removed by an unseen force. I am the glitch in the system, the nut that refuses to rotate while the rest spin in wild, silly circles. I am right in the center of a moving world, stationary. Useless.

I can see you, sense you, reading me, following me around. Trying hard to decipher me and my struggle. Putting such great effort in thinking about my past and my future. And I don’t even know about my present. I see you trying to visualize my story, trying to adapt it, picture yourself in it.

“What happens? What happened?” I hear you ask yourself, incredulously, as you turn another page to my story, as you see me running from the horrors of an unexplained monster. Running in vain. I see you crease your forehead, run your tongue over your dried lips, change your drooping posture, so that you won’t get tired. So that you’ll be able to read a little more without interruption. Your insistence is adorable.

You are tired. You didn't sleep all night, you were so engrossed in reading me, thinking about my story and tweaking your perspective as you moved further, word by word. I was there with you, without you realizing. I was watching you enthralled by a story that wasn't even your own. So I asked myself why you did that? Why did you hurt yourself over someone else’s tale? Cry over another’s pain, laugh at someone else’s joy? Why do you sit here, your eyes following me, your mind wrapped about me, when your own story remains abandoned, unwritten?

I've chosen to be the glitch. To stop, to drag on so that you’d become agitated. So that you’d put me you aside for a moment and look around and see what your own world has come to. The ignorance of your own reality so that you can indulge in mine is flattering. But I realize I've been doing the same. Trying to indulge in your story, figure you out while you try to decode mine. I've been trying to stop you from interpreting me, all the while looking forward to your reactions when you finally unveil my end. All the while we've been simultaneously reading one another, embracing tales not our own. We are linked this way, you see.

So, when I see you handling me with such care, adoring the curve of each word, cherishing the way every scene of my story falls into the other, melding beautifully and unlocking a mystery, I melt. I see your eyes shining at my happiness, you cheeks wet at my sorrow, I never realized I became so much to you. And I never grasped how focused a part you became of mine. After all, without you I am just a dying script, drying ink that will eventually fade to nothing. But you never let that happen. You've treasured me, spending so much time with me and thoughts about me when I wasn't even there with you. You became the lips that spoke my story, the syllables were written but you sought people and shared them. And I have come to realize now that I fell in love with you every time you opened my story, over and over again just to share my repetitive joys and tears one more time. And each time when you held me carefully before giving the story to a friend and whispering a loving, ‘Take care of it’.

And I have fallen for you each time I heard your sigh of relief when you once again held me in your hands.

-Momina.

*This piece has been written keeping this in mind: 

That Moment.

Do you remember those moments when you were talking with someone and suddenly the walls went down; the walls that defined the middle lines between acquaintances and friends? Do you remember those moments after which it was all simple, frank? When you no more had to think before you said something. And when you asked without worry, and answered without logic. That moment when you were suddenly friends, do you remember?

What did you spoke of? What simplified it all? And does it matters, that moment? Or the moments before and after that? Were there circumstances? Did you want to be friends or were you mortal enemies? Do these things matter?

They do. For that moment you gained. That moment you changed. In that moment you were something special, for each other. Not just another person added into a friend circle, but someone you looked forward to speaking. That moment was special. Not because it was easy to talk afterwards but simply because you could talk without barriers. You could dare to approach a subject, to start a conversation, to point out a wrong, to level an argument.

That moment, was everything. 

-Momina.

The Bigger Picture

When among all the rights you do, a tiny bad thing done by you doesn't matters. But it does, not to you of course, for you think it's only fair that you attempt a tiny bad thing in your otherwise pious atempts but it's wrong and unfair to the one unfortunate person that is losing something. It's unjust to them. And it break them inside that you'd do the right with everyone, but wrong with them.

The thing about us is that we categorize. We favor. And we do it without taking in account the consequences. Without going in details, favoring the big picture. But that very picture is incomplete without the details. Stare a little longer and you'll see the missing patterns, the place where you missed it. The wonderful picture suddenly looks very very ugly. And that detail that you missed is often the reason some people break down deep inside. You become the reason, because you don't value. You value yourself. We can stop entertaining people for a material thing but we think a thousand times before we acknowledge a person over material thing.

We need to look at the bigger picture, not just a sweeping glance, but really look at it, taking in details before you act or add.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #9

When I step out of the house, my first instinct is to look up at the sky, to search for the clouds or feel the rain on my face. Today when I stepped out around four I looked up even before the porch ceiling was out of the way and when I noticed the sky, I sighed. It was beautiful; dotted with random white fluffy clouds overlapped by grey ones that made them look like they had blurry edges that transfused into the sky. It was beautiful, there's no other words for it. I am entranced by clouds, I guess it's pretty obvious considering I write a lot about them. Sigh. The blurry edges presented a different story to me, altogether. Like the stage beyond exhaustion, when tiring becomes funny; when the line between reality and imagination blur, when they merge. Those moments when you can believe what you see, even though whatever you see is probably half your imagination. The moments when everything makes sense, yet the next moment it's all senseless. That absurd, silly state. The wonderful reality of the moment.

-Momina

The Magic We Make.

Picture source: Waliya Najib Photography

I like cliff-hangers. They leave so much more to be desired, to be imagined... to be created. It gives you a sense of reality and creativity in a mix, an unpredictable outcome. It's the perfect blend. But every now and then (mostly now) expectations have disappointments to follow and so the perfect blend forms in our minds but it does not happens. And of course not, didn't we all learn eventually in life that there was no such thing as magic and it was all tricks. So life plays a trick, it all just ends right there in our heads, and as we face time and life, in the back of our mind, the out come to that cliff-hanger keeps altering, forming and deforming. But it's not pointless. Magic might just be an illusion but the real play, the trick, it can result in lots of good; it can lead us to faith even if for only a while, it enchants us and puts a smile on several faces and for a moment, a tiny moment we imagine ourselves standing right there up on the stage awestrucking people with the magic we make.

-Momina.

Hide n' Seek

At times we are the ones that seclude ourselves, wanting to submerge in the background, to the resultant hum of everything from the past. It feels so safe, so reassuring to have those hours to ourselves. When we shut off our phones, break contact with the world, all in search of a little peace. And when at last we emerge, there are endless questions about how and where we’ve been, the chatter about everything we’ve missed. We feign sadness then but in our heart, we sigh a grateful sigh. These are the games we play with people, of occasional hide and seek from life.

And then there are these very games that are played by life on us. When in the most focused times of our lives we are forgotten by people. We fall in the blurry background, among other things, wanting to be noticed but failing. When we are expelled from life, and nobody takes notice, when life’s just a slow walk, and you crave for a little interaction. Those are the times that leave you wondering that do you really do a lot more than you should?

When life throws you back in the cycle of life, there are no questions, no nothing. You were not missed, but you were gone.

-Momina.

Sun-drenched In Winter Rain

I am sitting outside in the severe cold, in the shade of the porch while the rain beats down heavily around me. The winter rain has left everything looking gloomy and the sky is a dirty blue. The sound of the rain varies as it falls; sometimes falling in lights drizzles and the next minute it's pelting down heavy with utmost noise and clamour. The cup of tea besides me_only been consumed half_ has gone cold and the music ringing through my ear-phones faintly is lost somewhere among the sound of the rain. The only sound is that of rain, distinct and clear, and the occasional thunder when the clouds strike. Like the sound and velocity of the rain, the scene varies; switching between  bleakness and streaks of sunlight. The cool breeze wafts the rain towards me and it dampens my feet and my face as I lean towards it. The rain diverts its direction and the naked wind strikes my face, stinging. I don't move.

My face is numb and I can't feel my body. Thoughts run through my head, unstoppable but my mind's too occupied by the rain; they run like the background noise, trying to lure me towards them but I pay them no heed. They still flip constantly, though, one after the other and never skipping a beat.

My eyes are closed, my mind numb; the sound and smell of rain over-taking me. It's utter chaos yet there's a calmness that can never escape. It's the war of peace. I hug myself, trying fruitlessly to protect myself agaist the wind whipping around me, I could easily walk five steps, go inside, make a fresh cup of tea and sit besides the heater. But I don't... I won't. Realisation strikes when it rains, and getting me inside while it beats down is impossible. I pluck out my ear phone, stuffing them in my pocket. I suppose nothing can chill me further now and with that thought I step out in the open, out in the rain. I look down at the water flooding and clashing around my feet and then upwards as the sun breaks through the clouds, strokes of it coloring everything around. The rain descends still, not bothered by any hinderence and so I stand as rain drenches me. I stand there, paused till the last drop hits my face.

-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.