Will you love me since I’m neither young nor beautiful?
Will you love me since all I have is my aching soul?
I know you won’t.
Because you don’t.
It’s that time again.
The time for review and reflection. The time to look back, at all the good and the bad, and “resolve” to do better…
For me, only in retrospect though, 2012 was a good year; better than 2011 in many ways.
I am still naive in many regards. I still let my hot head rule my words. I still wear my heart on my sleeve. I still worry too much and over-think everything.
Despite everything, I feel I have grown. Both up and out of my shell. A bit.
2012 was the year in which I managed to perform a very essential duty due a Muslim. I rarely blog about religion – thoughts, beliefs, opinions, practices, etc – but it was both a time with family and with God that I cherish. This was one experience that I won’t ever forget in my entire life, and I pray to God that there isn’t a point in my remaining life that this happens. Though it wasn’t easy, if I could go back, I would do it all over again.
The year also marked important career decisions. I once again tasted the thrill – and hardships! – of job search and the application & interview process. Now, I’ve finally settled down at (my current) work, quitting one internship and an earlier job in the course of the last twelve months. Having gotten the hang of operations, there are many moments where I really enjoy my “hidden” power and influence. Overall, I am just really thankful that all these opportunities did come my way.
In this regard, there are also lots of new people who have come my way. Some really nice ones. And some old ones have secured an even more permanent position in my (scarred) heart. Their presence through the best and lowest of times, their patience through my blubbering, and their ability to give me perspective is highly appreciated.
A shout-out to finally acquiring a smart phone (though still not smart enough to use it, it turns out) and applications like Whatsapp & Viber.
There was only a normal amount of reading and a minimal amount of writing, except here on the blog. Maybe 2013 would be the lucky year?
I did find some new favorite bands and musicians though: Mumford & Sons, Florence & the Machine and Of Monsters & Men. And it is just a coincidence that all of these have words starting with ‘M’. Promise!
At the same time, 2012 was also the year when I had my first major accident, after having a driving career of seven years. Mostly, my own fault. It was scary and I learned how fear makes a person scream. Yet, I was once again very ‘lucky’ since I wasn’t hurt and only the car was damaged. And that I didn’t have any passengers. Phew!
2012, in retrospect, in one word: lucky.
Cheers to that and hoping that this one would be a good one as well!
When you tell me the truth, boy,
I’ll run away and cry
But, I’ll be happy, happy, happy
I’ll be happy with my plastic smile and a lie
I think one of the best things I ever did was post the lyrics to I’m Sexy and I Know It and really “admire” the song on my blog.
I think I actually miscalculated the “fame” of this song. Let’s face it. My blog is read by only a handful of (very nice) people. And the only reason I get a steady stream of visitors these days is because of the above-mentioned “admiration.
Everyday, there are an average of five visits to this page. Variations of the name are an ever-present part of the Search Terms section as well as the Top Searches one. The song name was also two out of five terms that made it to the top search terms in the annual report for 2011 (after 6 months of blogging).
It’s kind of annoying because all those people just want the lyrics to the song, a song that I like so much. But fine, I can live with that. I don’t think I should be looking at a gift horse in the mouth, you know.
But it’s more so because people can’t obviously spell the word “know” or “sexy”. I also remember seeing a misspelled “and” even! Yikes!
So, I thought I’d share with you all a wonderful parody that I came across. It’s not the only one out there but it is just too cute for words.
Check out Elmo from Sesame Street in The Elmo Song.
What you sing versus what I hear in my head:
A seemingly lame song bashing that is more lame than the song…?
I would agree wholeheartedly.
And a one, and a two…*hit the music*
When I walk on by, girls be looking like damn he fly -Like a G6? Now that would be cool!
I pimp to the beat, walking down the street in my new lafreak, yeah – All those girls are wondering whether that’s a jacket or something
This is how I roll, animal print, pants outta control – Erm, all the animals at once?
It’s Redfoo with the big ass afro – I wouldn’t have known otherwise.
And like Bruce Leroy I got the glow, yo – Um, I will have to take your word for it.
Girl look at that body – Do I have to?
Girl look at that body – But but but…
Girl look at that body – Okay, faaaine!
I work out – Are you the first person to do so? *confused*
Girl look at that body – Didn’t I just look?
Girl look at that body – Oh, aren’t you a persistent little bugger?
Girl look at that body – What part of this don’t you…?
I work out – Ugh!
When I walk in the spot, this is what I see – You better make this plausible…
Everybody stops and they staring at me – …okay, I take that back…
I got a passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it – Yeah, I wondered what that smell was.
I’m sexy and I know it – Whaaa?
I’m sexy and I know it – Only you, my friend, only you.
When I’m at the mall, security just can’t fight them off – Some people just like bullshit.
When I’m at the beach, I’m in a Speedo trying to tan my cheeks – My dinner just backed up on me; give me a sec.
This is how I roll, come on ladies it’s time to go – Roll away, please!
We headed to the bar, baby don’t be nervous – I’m not nervous; just utterly repulsed.
No shoes, no shirt, and I still get service – They just want you gone quickly and that’s the only way.
Girl look at that body – You need to listen to me…
Girl look at that body – …seriously…
Girl look at that body – Make me!
I work out – And your point is?
Girl look at that body – You’re retarded aren’t you?
Girl look at that body – Yup! I knew it!
Girl look at that body – It all makes sense now.
I work out – And clearly you missed a few essential etiquette lessons.
When I walk in the spot, this is what I see – Oh mercy! Being blind on top of being retarded would have been really unfortunate.
Everybody stops and they staring at me – Yeah, they’re thinking how you can stand upright with that massive head of yours.
I got passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it – Dude, you can get arrested for that!
I’m sexy and I know it – Looped cassette?
I’m sexy and I know it – Yeah, looks like it!
I’m sexy and I know it… – Def(rigging)initely!
Check it out – No!
Check it out – F off already, man!
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah [x4] – Oh God! And I thought Rebecca Black was bad!
Do the wiggle man [x2] – No, I’m fine with the twist, thank you very much.
Yeah I’m sexy and I know it – Not when you’re “wiggling”
Girl look at that body – Have you stopped “wiggling”?
Girl look at that body – Okay, but what am I looking for?
Girl look at that body – Abs? Really?
I work out – Yeap! That is a girls’ first criteria.
Girl look at that body – You don’t have anything new, do you?
Girl look at that body – Like a stump of a third arm?
Girl look at that body – Hmmm, don’t see a stump..
I work out – Oh how original…!
Yeah I’m sexy and I know it! – We all enjoy a little game of pretend. You won’t be packed off to the madhouse for this delusion, no matter how hard I wish for it. Crap!
This poem is a re-blog from: Kind Of Love
I want that cardigan and sweater kind of love
That I’ll hold your umbrella in bad weather kind of love
The opening of Buick doors and visiting hospital floors,
I want that trembling, heart-arresting kind of love
That morning ambling, afternoon of resting kind of love
The paying when you said you would and saying that my cooking’s good,
I want that burning 50-yearing kind of love
That turning up my hearing aid to hear you kind of love
The I’ll let you hang up that elk if you will dance to Lawrence Welk,
I want that memory of agile kind of love
That growing stronger even when it’s fragile kind of love
The knowing where your pills are kept and slowing down for pain-filled steps,
I want that sweeping, you can’t fight it kind of love
That sweetening your tea because you like it kind of love
The folding of your sheets and whites to hold your aching sleepless nights,
I want that wrinkled, call-of-duty kind of love
That when I look at you, I still see beauty kind of love
The veined and spotted holding hands now chained and locked in tarnished bands,
I want that cardigan and sweater kind of love
That better, worse, together now forever kind of love…
Rainy season is back. Lahore was once again beautiful and green. And I remembered this piece that I had written a couple of rainy seasons ago:
I stood against the window, silently staring into the desolate and dreary outdoors. The glass pane quivered and the wind whistled in from the cracks under the door. Outside, the rain poured down into the hot summer evening. The sun had not set yet but had vanished behind the cover of the dark grey clouds that filled the entire sky, lit up occasionally by a bolt of lightning. They did not look as if they would let up any time soon.
And the rain. It wasn’t simply pouring, it pounded down heavily. It pounded on the houses, the roofs, the driveways, the cars, the pavements, the yards, the vegetation; everything was deluged from the downpour. The trees shook swayed around as gusts of wind hit them and plant beds had become ponds with flowers.
The gloom created by the rain was intense. Not a soul could be seen anywhere. A handful of cars whizzed by but they were only blurs in the rain. Even the stray cats and dogs did not come out to bathe in the rain, as they usually did in the summer. Ghost town, I thought to myself, at the lack of the evidence of any living being, and then laughed at my own silliness. Ghost town, indeed. I knew for a fact that everyone of the houses around my own house was occupied and at least one person was home.
But the laugh was hollow and bare of any genuine feeling. And I could feel the gloom seeping in from the cracks under the door. It crept in like a poisonous gas, edging in slowly and silently, unseen, unheard. It swirled around the perimeter of the entire room and engulfed everything within. It seeped into the sofas and the cushions and the stools and the tables and the ornaments and the hanging pictures and the old wooden desk in the corner and the old oak chair behind it and the papers on the desk and the books in their shelves and the big, dirty chandelier in the middle of the room and the floor and the ceiling and the walls and even into the small fire.
The room started to feel colder than before, as if all the warmth and cheerfulness had been sucked out of the room. The fire actually began to flicker and die down in the grate and it took several pokes on my part to stop it from dying out completely.
With a huge sigh, I settled myself in the one-seater sofa, with a magazine, with a view of the outside. With my feet relaxing on a stool, I stared out of the window. The gloom had gotten to me as well.
The anguish and sorrow in my heart were already unbearable. Now, with the rain still pattering away all around me, my pain seemed to be alleviated a hundred times than before. In a moment of utter despair, I threw the magazine in my hand, as hard as I could, at the window. It struck the glass with a dull thud and then slid down the wall on the floor beside the stool in a flurry of glossy coloured pages.
My eyes filled with tears and sobs racked my body as I silently began to lament my loss. And looking out of the window, at the everlasting rain, I felt as if the skies were also mourning. I felt as if they had wanted to tell me that I wasn’t the only one in pain. They had tried to console me but the grief been too much. And so, they couldn’t help but weep for my loss.
But suddenly I realised that something was different. The skies were expressing their grief over my loss but they weren’t entirely silent. And at this thought, I couldn’t help but smile wanly through my tears.
And then, it was everywhere. The moment I stopped crying, I could hear it clearly. It was the most wonderful thing I had heard in a long time.
Shunting aside all sorrow and fear and inhibitions that I generally had, I ran out of the room and into the corridor and opened the front door. Slightly hesitant, I took off my shoes, threw them back into the house and gingerly stepped into the rain.
I was immediately drenched. Dripping and still being soaked, I crossed my driveway and walked into my lush front yard. The soft and slippery grass tickled my shoe-less feet. I turned my face towards the heaven and felt the rain drops sliding down my face. They felt cold and soothing on my hot, flushed skin.
And standing there, face upwards, arms open, feet bare and soaked completely, I could hear it loud and clear. The Music of Rain was present in each and every drop that fell from the majestic sky to the thirsty ground. At first, it seemed to be mourning, just like me. A sad little drizzle. Speaking of nothing but utter misery. Feeling only sorrow, sharing my pain.
But slowly, it dawned on me. The Music of Rain wasn’t a melancholic song I was hearing in my mind. Yet it was just that. It didn’t have a happy vibe and yet it did. It was both things at once. It was sorrow and it was joy; it was happiness and it was sadness; it was pleasure and it was pain; it was contentment and it was frustration. It was different and conflicting and yet, it was the same and compatible.
I finally realized that life is a delicate balance of the happy and the sad, the good and the bad. I had allowed myself to drown in my own sorrow, whereas life had a fair share of both for everyone. Even me. Only, I had to give life a fair chance, to prove itself.
Sure, you’ll have your share of misfortunes and complications, the Music of Rain assured me, but you have to remember the silver lining.
Feeling better than in a long time, I opened my eyes. The sky was still filled with grey clouds and the rain was pouring. The mud under my feet smelled sweet and wet. The trees and bushes and the grass seemed cleansed of all the grime of the past. The air was lined with the sweet scent of a multitude of flowers. The chirping of a few birds, bathing in the rain filled the distant air.
And I…I, too, felt cleansed of all troubles and sorrows of the past. Felt like a totally new person.
Smiling, I shook my head at my earlier thoughts, my past self, and walked back up the drive into my warm and inviting house. Before I closed the door, I stood for a moment and listened for it. Yes, it was still there. The Music of Rain was still there. And in a sudden moment of clarity, I knew it had always been there, and would always be still there. You just had to listen for it.
I guess I just need to always remember this.