Shifted to Tumblr… not completely!

Alrighty blog-fellars. I’ve decided to use this blog only for my writing posts and not music or photography or fashion or book and movie review posts. You see, I made a tumblr account a couple of weeks back and I’m finding it so much easier to blog about that stuff on there. It’s perfect for short, review blogs AND much more easily accessable to the online surfing public.

Not that I’m a very consistent blogger anyway *shamefaced*, just thought I’d let you all know and maybe redirect you there if you’re more interested in that: beedazzeld.tumblr.com I’ve sort of become a tumblr-oholic… First it was twitter now it’s this. Ah well, there always has to be one thing another. I do have to fill that empty void I now have with something right? Something to pass my time and not think too much of nothing and everything. I think too much, did you know that? I might have mentioned that in a previous blog. Not sure. But I do.

So yea… just wanted to keep y’all updated! Muahh x

No More

The walk is long, my steps are small. Short and laid back, like there is all the time in the world.. and all the opportunities yet to come. The path is clear. Smooth and slightly spongy, as if it’s saying: Yes, walk on. You’re legs won’t tire… not while I’m this light to each step of yours. Like I’m treading on water.
The sky is vast. Open and endless, glorious in it’s nakedness. Not a cloud to be seen, not a storm to be predicted. It’s entire body thrown out against the horizon beckoning me to come. Come and discover what is yet to be discovered. I walk towards it. I look forward. There it is, there’s the horizon. I look sideways; but it is there too. I look back; and there. And there and there. I whirl around thinking to myself, well then, where are you beckoning me when it is from all sides? There is all of you everywhere Horizon, but there is only one of me.

The path is indeed smooth and perfect and it points in only one direction so I follow the path. Horizon, you shall have to wait. I walk on. My steps, small. I feel light. Light and bouncy. As if, if I walk any quicker I’ll lose control of my own body, as if I’ll then be whisked away with the care-less wind. I am my own, nobody else’s. I shall walk slow. I want my being to remain my own. I whip my hair around, relishing the feel of my open hair beat against my neck, my face, my eyes. I am indeed my own.

The sun then rises high in the endless void of nothingness. Where are the clouds? Sky, where are your clouds? I ignore the sun, for I am curious. I get no reply. Just that resounding silence thrown back in my face by the The Endless Void itself. I look towards the sun, and am blinded. Go away, sun. You hurt my eyes and without my eyes I cannot see. The sun ignores me and continues to release wave after wave of that blinding shimmer. Fine. I will look for shelter.

I walk backwards, back where I came from. I retrace my steps and walk away from the sun, turn my back to it. Turn my back to that gorgeous sunlight that spreads more good than bad. I do not know this. I do not care. It’s getting in my eyes!

I skip. One leg forward then another. At the same pace I was at, when I was walking. My hair whips from side to side and I am happy. I see a little smudge at the faraway horizon. What is that? I increase my pace just a tad. Is that a house? or a ship coasting the faraway waters? Or is that another darker version of the ghastly sun? I stop skipping and start to walk. Faster. Faster. I am jogging. Now, I’m running. I’m curious. I’m always curious. What is that?

I am sprinting, and still that speck does not get any bigger. Why is it not getting any closer? I have covered many miles and still it rushes further away from me. I run. I keep running. The sun moves high in the sky, right atop me and still I run. Sweat trickles down my forehead, into my eyes, down my neck, and still I keep running. My limbs start to ache, my muscles start to scream, and still I keep running.

It does not get any closer.

And it never will.

Yet, I keep on running. I run and run and run, until I myself… am no more.

Sorry

There are so many different ways in which one can say sorry, in which one can express regret. Why is it then that when it really matters, that sorry hardly makes a difference in the grand scheme of the situation. There is not a single person on this planet who hasn’t done things to cause pain or anguish to another. It might differ on a scale of one to ten… but ultimately, nearly always ends in either an expression of repentance from either one side or both; or just the persisting dispute, neither willing to weaken.

Different individuals express their regret in different ways and sometimes… just sometimes, that ‘sorry’ is not really understood. One might just say sorry outright and the conflict would end there, another might try and make it up by their actions, uncomfortable with saying the plain and simple word, and then there might be the one who is not able to say sorry or do anything physically to show their regret. Rather, there’s just the silence that is supposedly supposed to speak volumes.

For all of us who haven’t patched things up, who didn’t get the chance to say or show that they’re sorry, whose conflicts just phased out without any actual reconciliation, there is always regret, and that regret stays there for the rest of our life. Whether pulsing energetically in the centre of our heart or tethering into a dull ache below the surface of everything else; it is there…

…and almost always, occasionally, comes back to haunt us.

[Written in March 2009]

This is not a shoe. ~It’s not now, is it?

Really? Then is it something we just slip on our feet, since that’s the only place it’ll fit, and use to walk around.

Oh, wait… but that’s what a “shoe” does! So yea, maybe this isn’t a shoe after all.

Hang on a second though, isn’t that what THIS does?!

…O.o…

~Pfft. Frigging douchebags. Lamest design I’ve seen them come up with so far. Are they trying to be witty, or something?~

DiaryEntry1: Out to the Sea!

It’s pretty coincidental how, just last week, I’d been talking about how MUCH I loved sunrises and sunsets in my post No Idea Why. Lo and behold, a couple of days later, I’ve booked myself to join a group of people to go on a boating trip around Jumeirah, roundabout BurjAlArab and The Palm, for not only the ride, but a swim way out in the sea as well. The cherry on top? We were to meet up at 5 in the morning! Though met with a bit of apprehension at first, I cheered up immensely when I realised that we’d be witnessing a sunrise. From the sea! Excellent!

To start from the very beginning, I’ve been attending these very interesting Time Management and Strategic Visions Workshops since my early teens, and the trainer, Suleman Ahmer,  had not only become my dads close friend but recently my mentor as well. Every time he comes to Dubai he gives us a call and orders rather than asks, that we show up at his workshop. Again.
No matter how many times we go to his workshops, they never get old. Each workshop has new stories to entertain and inspire us, new people to befriend and learn from, and new material that hastens us to take note of, and store for further use. In short, we don’t even need to be called by him anymore. We know the dates, and we just show up, much to the entertainment and pleasure of dear Suleman Bhai, and usually with a few people in tow to whom we introduce into the Time Lenders Family (which is what he calls the vast network of people who have attended his various workshops and who work with or for him).

So this month’s Strategic Visions Workshops was filled with a new and fresh batch of people, out of which some were completely new, some had attended other workshops but not this one, and some had attended this workshop but had come for a refresher (which by the way is very important as well ;)). Day 2 of the workshop was commenced by an announcement by Suleman Bhai. He’d organised for a cruise to take us from the Jumeirah Harbour round about The Palm and back; and enjoy a spot of diving before our last day of the workshop the next day. He’d met the boat-guy just that morning, while taking a stroll after fajr-time along the beach with a few people and voila. You can imagine of course, what everyone’s reaction was.They’d come to attend a workshop that could help set their purpose in life, and organise their goals. But not only was the workshop a thoroughly enjoyable, insightful and unforgettable experience, but they were getting a cruise in the deal as well. (albiet, we had to pay, but I think everyone was thinking more along the lines of: we’re always so busy and this sounds fantastic!)

So back to the main blog-topic.

We left Emirates Towers that evening, thoroughly pumped and excited about the next day. My parents weren’t going so my brother and I set our alarms to wake us up at four the next morning.

And what happens? The typical: we sleep through our alarms. Our mum, shakes us awake at five and we jolt to our senses, throw our clothes on, grab our bags, and essentials for a dip in the sea and rush the car to the harbour, pushing our luck since we were set to meet at 5:20 and end up reaching at 5:30. (We were a Time Management Workshop bunch after all :P) Needless to say, we made it on time, others were late and we finally set sail towards BurjAlArab in our respective boats. We were on the larger yacht, and the rest of the men were scattered between two motor-boats.

(These are not our boats, it’s just the Jumeirah Harbour)

I wish to God I’d taken pictures of the interior of that yacht! When you enter the entire inside seemed like the size of just my one room, but when I went down the steps to the three cramped bedrooms and single bathroom, I felt like I was in heaven! I could actually LIVE here. There was a tiny makeshift kitchen up ahead and a tiny table and cushioned seats situated right above it. The whole set-up was adorable, gorgeous and actually liveable! The AC was cooling comfortable and there was a forty-six inch plasma TV to one side of the sitting-area at the front. I would have sat in there the entire time, had the boat not sped up and the frothy waves outside start to look so inviting.

We had great fun. I’d taken my camera and as luck would have it, the battery died in the first 5 minutes we’d begun. I was nearly in tears, because there was just so much god damn scope for photography. Everywhere I looked, I’d see an angle or light shaft, or image I’d want to capture… and I couldn’t. It was devastating. I did get a few pictures in though, so you’ll have to make do with these. Unfortunately.

We had a great time, sped round the outside of The Palm, then reared back and headed towards a small island near the Diera Harbour. We anchored there and everyone jumped off for a swim. By the time we were heading back, the sun had risen high up in the sky, unleashing its full glory, and beating its harsh rays down on us. That was the moment I realised that in the summer, that was the absolute perfect time to go boating or even just to the beach. The time right before the sun came up. Because it was neither too hot, nor too cold, AND you got to witness the gorgeous sunrise.

We’d got there at the perfect time.

By the time we got back to the harbour, gathered all our missing belongings, and got organised into our respective cars it was nearing 8:15. The workshop was supposed to start at 8:30, and the trainer… was with us. You can visualise and imagine how it was, that we sped to the hotel, everyone running to the showers, getting changed into respectable clothing and racing to the conference room to the awaiting people who hadn’t joined us on our cruise.

The trip was fantastic, the workshop started of fantastically, and in the afternoon, Suleman Bhai extended our break, booked another free conference room, which the attendants then equipped with bedspreads and pillows, so we could take a short power-nap to revive ourselves. A “Qayloolah”, in his words, which would allow us to run on full energy the whole day even though we’d only had about four/ five-ish hours of sleep that night. And you know what… it actually worked!

Resolution No.2 to myself: Wake up at fajr everyday and stay awake afterwards…. AND perform “Qayloolah” from now on. May Allah help me implement this.

P.S. Resolution No.1 was: No more caffeine. I was addicted to coffee… so this one has been pretty hard. But Al7umdulillah, I’ve carried it through till now. Three cheers for me!

Hamaisha dair kar daita hoon main har kaam karnay main ~ Munir Niazi

This is one of my most favourite urdu poems. It’s about how we delay in doing everything, from keeping a promise, to calling someone, to saving someone from a horrible fate right before their death. We realize our responsibilities when it is too late. When the promise has long ago been fulfilled by someone else, when that call you had to make will no longer be answered at the other end… when you reach to convey news to change someone’s fate, that person has already died. We delay absolutely everything. Walking on and on in life, blind to the consequences of what we choose to shed behind us…

Hamaisha dair kar daita hoon main har kaam karnay main
Zaroori baat kehni ho , koi wada nibhana ho
Usay awaaz daina ho , usay wapis bolana ho
Hamaisha dair kar daita hoon main har kaam karnay main
Madad karni ho uski,yaar ki dharas bandhana ho
Buhat daireena raston par kisi se milnay jana ho
Hamaisha dair kar daita hoon main har kaam karnay main
Badaltay mosamon ki sair main Dil ko lagana ho
Kisi ko yaad rakhna ho, kisi ko bhool jana ho
Hamaisha dair kar daita hoon main har kaam karnay main
Kisi ko mot se pehlay kisi gham se bachana ho
Haqeeqat or thi kuch us ko ja k ye batana ho
Hamaisha dair kar daita hoon main har kaam karnay main

Munir Niazi

Painted faces

We paint our  faces,
to disguise who we really are.
We drape ourselves in fashion,
to pretend control of shining personalities.
We fling blame onto others,
as if it is our right – others, undeserving.
We shove past them in the Race,
striding ahead, uncaring of those less fortunate.
We stride through life,
believing everything is ours to take,
And then look down on those,
who choose otherwise.

We are indeed the makers of our fate
But we confuse ourselves.
Our choices are ours alone,
and though in that moment seem right,
will look upon us from that faraway Spark,
the Spark we then strain towards.
The Spark we all think we deserve.

We deserve nothing but what we have chosen.

We run on and on,
but fail to learn from our falls.
We jump, those that are impossible
and land unbeaten on the other side.
How did we come to cross the impossible?
By right? or by wrong?
Or by this. Or by that.

Does it matter?
Methinks not.
Not to us.

Us who are far above.
Us who have conquered all.
Us who take what we want; when we want.
for it is our right, is it not?

We are above it all.
We are amongst the ones who have it all.
We have won the Race, yes we have.

Or have we?
Which race is it exactly; that we have won?

No idea Why.

So, yea. I’m a shameful and in consistent blogger – I know. Most of my time is spent doing, hmm… let me think…

Well, absolutely nothing really.

Or other things along the lines of “Nothing”.

~

I’m sitting here, at work – at my desk- in the office, that consists of just just one large room, a make-shift kitchen (WITH a sink, and micro-wave, thank God.) and a teeny-tiny bathroom (in which you have to squeeze past the door first, and shut it to get room to just stand at the sink or even squat on the pot. Interesting huh?) Each day, every day, there is me, my dad, and two other workers. That is it. Makes for a pretty “interesting” work-life and experience don’t you think? Especially considering the whole day is spent just sitting at each of our respective desks, (with absolutely NO privacy, considering the entire office is just one room, with NO dividers.) typing away at our respective computers. No room for distraction. No room for a quick sneaky phone-call, or chat with the “office-mates” to make the monotony of office work a little more bearable. Oh, and to top it all off. The gorgeous, shiny blood-red cherry on the top is that my dad… is my boss. And that’s not where it ends. His desk… is Right. Next. To. Mine.

To sum it all up: I am utterly exhausted by the time I’m home at the end of the day.

~

Okay, I just read what I’ve typed about work and I think it’s safe to say that I was being utterly and unfairly mean. I’m sorry daddy! I love you. It’s not that bad really.

Getting up in the morning and the thought of spending the rest of the day, sitting in one upright, uncomfortable chair in front of one screen sort of disheartens me. But by the time I’m here, fresh after my cup of coffee and buzzing to start rocking the Career-world, I’m fine. Even sort of happy about not sitting about at home, and wasting my time, gobbling junk food and watching episode after epsiode of TV Shows that are nothing but drama, sex, drama and…. well, more sex.

Bad Sahar!

~

My work here mainly consists of three things:

1. Dealing with building the clientele of the company. Sending out as many emails as possible and organising our mailinglists.
2. Organising all the filing systems. Keeping track of all reciepts, bills, salarys etc.
3. And, basically showing up to work and to meetings to add to the meagre number of employees and maybe contribute, if by any chance I’m able to understand this “OpenSource” gibberish talk, that passes over my head every time we sit down to have a meeting.

Okay, that last one was really mean again. Sorry, yet again.

~

Anyway.

I’m bored. I’m sick.

Of Life. Of Living. Of Families. Of Friends. Of Relationships. Of the effort it bloody takes to maintain relationships. Of sleeping. Of waking of up. Of staring into space. Of my heart, that seems to be beating rather pathetically these days. Of Arguements. Of Caring. Of not-Caring. Of Worrying. Of not-Worrying Enough. Of Disappointment. Of Hope. Of Faith. Of Sunrises. Of Sunsets.

No. No, not sunrises and sunsets actually. I could never get tired of them. They’re too exotically beautiful to ever get sick of.

Basically I’m bored, I’m sick, of everything.

I think I’m having a sort of Mid Life Crisis. Or not. I’ve been in this “Could not give a fuck” phase for about 6 months now. I get boosts of positivity every couple of weeks, where I rise out of my shell and embrace the world and it’s people as it is, and as they are. I’m filled with renewed energy and pumping adrenaline to try it all, to over-throw every obstacle in my way. But alas, it is always very short lived. Four, five days, a week max; and I’m back to my “Fuck you world” state.

Why, God why?

I know why. I’m not a dumb fuckwit. I know why. I’m just too God damn lazy – No, you know what. I’ve used the word “lazy” so many times, as an excuse and as my reason, that it just doesn’t hold any meaning any more. Or not as strong a meaning in reference to my “situation”. Maybe “comatose” or “lackadaisical” or even “enervated” would be a more conceptive word for it.

Hmmm,. I wonder when the lightening bolt will strike and wake me out of my stupor. Or when the astounding epiphany will descend to dawn understanding in my eyes and fill me with purpose. Or when someone will walk into my life, as an angel, and make me realise, at last, the error of my ways. Or when an event will occur to shake me so completely that I will be a 100% (or even close) changed woman!

Any one of those things will do. Or anything else even. Just… anything. To get me out of this halfway place I’m in right now.

Where I know I have a problem.

I know what the problem is.

But I’m not able to do anything about it.

No, that’s not right. Correction: I’m CHOOSING not to do anything about it.

~

And I have no idea why.

The Edge of Love (2008)

The first time I watched this movie, I shrugged it off as a random story set in the 40′s, irrelevant to anything or anyone today and a great watch for just the one time. I bought the DVD for the sole reason that Keira Knightley and Sienna Miller were part of the cast. I pulled the CD out of the player, placed it back in it’s cover and clean forgot about it. This was about two years ago.

A sudden urge to watch it again took over me when I happened upon a picture of a scene where Vera (Keira Knightley) and Caitlin (Sienna Miller) were fooling about, laughing. It stirred a memory of the two friends – best of friends and the conflicts that threaten the bonds between them and their lovers.

I saw this movie in an entirely new light watching it the second time round. I loved everything about it: the clothes, the dialogue, the humour, the drama, the plot and all the ideas revolving around it: the laughter, the betrayal, the disappointment, the love, the deep friendship that forms between these two complex and conflicting girls.

What really tugged at my heart strings was that precise friendship… But I’m jumping ahead of myself. Let me introduce a little of the plot without giving too much away.

The Edge of Love is loosely based on the writer and poet Dylan Thomas and the novel “A Farm, Two Mansions and a Bungalow” by D. N. Thomas. The plot of the story is not based very loosely on real events and people. It’s set in the early 1940s in the midst of World War II, more precisely: The Blitz. Vera Phillips is a lone girl, a performing singer in the underground shelters when she happens upon her childhood lover Dylan Thomas (Matthew Rhys). Their feelings for each other now freshly renewed, they strike up a friendship and later on Vera is introduced to his wife, Caitlin Thomas (Sienna Miller), a vivacious and gutsy girl.

Trying desperately to squash her feelings for her old lover she finds an unlikely soul-mate in Caitlin. Though Caitlan is aware of  Vera’s feelings for her husband they’re friendship quickly strengthens while the unconcerned and reckless Dylan loves his wife and simultaneously loves Vera also, careless about the tangle and mess that would be sure to follow.

Along comes William Killick, a war soldier who is dazzled by the beautiful singer Vera. Thwarted by her at first, he eventually manages to open her up to him and a strong courtship follows. Dylan, jealous of this new addition to their otherwise tight threesome, acts out. And of course, follows a series of events lead one by the other, that tests each of their relationships and threatens to tear the two girls and their lives, apart.

You see the war. You see the devastation of the war. You see the effect it has on the people, on these characters and how they desperately search other, meaningless means to fill their lives with something other than the pain and destruction not only of the ongoing war, but of their own selfish doing. Towards the end, the fine lines between all the varying emotions blur and run through each to other, fiercely colliding and causing damaging struggles faced by the two women and men.

Here are two different trailers for the movie, the first one is a silent trailer, more of an impact I’d say. And the second one is probably the official one. Personally, I like the first better.

Here are a couple of shots from the movie. The first half of the movie is set in the city, and the second half is then in rural Wales. The setting of the first half is in total contrast to the second half. Not only because its city against countryside but also because the characters, the events and the chemistry change, in quite sharp contrast, just as the setting does.

On all rounds, a captivating, heart-wrenching and gorgeous movie to watch. One that sucks you in whole, so that you feel everything the characters themselves are going through.

The Observer

I wrote this poem about four or five months back, when I’d got some particularly horrible news. Quite a number of thoughts were prancing about in my mind and I guess they sort of came together to form this. Keep in mind though, I am not a particularly skilled poet. This is the only poem I think I have ever written.

Stars shine bright in the velvet sky.
The moon glows insistently, unabashedly.
Girls. Boys. Girls and boys, walk past;
stroll past, laughing, chatting. Whispering. Gazing.
The night goes on and the sun rises high.
pulsating warmth, brightness. Positivity. Opportunities.
People are born. People are buried.
Everything surges on. Life goes on.

Me. I’ve stopped.
I am rooted to a standstill. Forever The Observer.