She was in a yellow printed shalwar kameez, half sleeves and fitted shirt. Pretty I must say, slightly wavy hair adorned nicely and her specs suited her well. She stepped in, in the same display center I was with my mom. She wasn’t more than eighteen I think, maybe younger. After almost an hour drive and an hour more looking for a proper dressing table we would like to have in those different display centers, her presence was a charm, soothing but than…
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Virtue
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Responding comments.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Value of human life
Like I have previously mentioned in my entries I m having difficulties gathering my thoughts & imagination together. From last couple of days I was thinking to write about few things but every time I sit back, open the editor, fingers just jam, feels like I have nothing to say, every thought and every imagination become vague.
Couple of days ago a man was killed in a neighborhood. When the sun was burning 90 degree’s above head, in a day light, probably in front of atleast 100 people. I was there in the evening that day & everything seemed just fine, no one could possibly imagine something terrible like ‘that’ happened just few hours ago. An important thing like a human life seems to be the most trivial and it seems to agonize none but only the concerned. Sometimes I feel only devils get their dues. Why abhorrence? Where is the angle of hope? Justice – peace, where r u?
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Find me my imagination
Sir William Hamilton in his lecture once said “On earth there is nothing great but man; in man there is nothing great but mind.” And when u can’t seem to be in control of
I was going thru some of the blogs I found on net, I found some good thoughts, some good imaginations, ppl noticing small things while driving, thinking about them & putting those thoughts in words. What was I thinking last time I was driving? I had no answer. What did I notice? – Nothing. But it is not completely true; I know I was thinking, I always m; but what? I seem to have lost control over my thoughts; the imagination is not in my control anymore. Those r just the random chunks of thoughts, whims representing my fear, fantasies, wishes perhaps. My cloud castles.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Late Realizations
Date Posted: Mar 18th, 2005 at 07:01 AM
I have come to an anchor in my life where one just suddenly halts & look back. Look back on have-been’s & think about what will be the will-be’s? & realize how wrong I have been. I have ran after all the glitters that wasn’t gold at all (& the irony; I knew it wasn’t). I have ignored (or given a lot lesser time & dedication) to my true assets, I have brushed em away bcos those glittering things looked so pretty & attracted me like a huge magnet attracts small particles of iron. Perhaps its still not too late, perhaps there is a time to go back.
I have come to an anchor in my life where one just suddenly halts & look back. Look back on have-been’s & think about what will be the will-be’s? & realize how wrong I have been. I have ran after all the glitters that wasn’t gold at all (& the irony; I knew it wasn’t). I have ignored (or given a lot lesser time & dedication) to my true assets, I have brushed em away bcos those glittering things looked so pretty & attracted me like a huge magnet attracts small particles of iron. Perhaps its still not too late, perhaps there is a time to go back.
Immortal Night
(Short story written on March 5th 2005)
His pen froze, so did he except his muttering, which continued to slip of of his lips. Then like an old truck, he heard some weird noises from his own throat, before he went on a complete silence. He leered at a bulb, his eyes imploring, like a bulb can pity on him and will light up again – which ofcourse it didn't. It was intuitive its implacable power failure which left him all alone in the dark. It wasn't the dark he was afraid of, it was the thoughts, his own thoughts, his guilts.
"Is not the night mournful, sad and melancholy?"
"Yes" he whispered to the thought of what once Rabelais has said. He knew pretty soon his thoughts will become his prison blue. They will slowly crawl in and bring the past along, snare his mind. It was about to become another dead night, atleast for him. He was only and lonely from past six years since his lovely wife Afifa left for the heavens after a painful death. A death which wasn't in the book of thousand possible deaths.
Her name was Afifa Farooq, he loved it when his name was taken after hers, Farooq. Afifa Farooq. It gave him a strange satisfaction, a seal of their love, a
confirmation she was his wife.
"Tell me what you hate about me?" often she lilt with her beautiful smile like petals of a fresh rose will stretch a little.
"I cant figure it out what's not laudable" he would say and she would grin a little more with satisfaction, and there wasn't a bit of not what he told her. She was his asphodel, his blue angel, his xanthic flower. Before he met her he wasn't aware of aesthetics, her beautiful deep brown eyes taught him how to versify his words to praise – praise her. There wasn't a single occasion he could remember when Afifa didn't give him a strained smile whenever his gazes met hers and each time he only thought how beautiful her straight brown hair were with glowing fair complexion which go perfectly fine with her soft pinkish lips and deep brown eyes.
"And what is it that you love me about?" he often inquired holding her hand gently though he already knew the answer thousand and one times.
"Your Atticism and" with a slow blink of her eyelids she would turn her gazes towards him making a direct eye contact and offering him a fresh smile "when you avowed your love for me with the best adorned words I ever heard in my life". Something in her voice always gave his soul exhilaration he could never explain.
His thoughts yanked him again and he remembered Sadia Ashfaq. Sadia was eight, a naïve kid, a slow learner, but an adorable girl with wavy black hair and her beautiful big black eyes (Although she had a difficulty maintaining eye contact and she used to take few moments before understanding and responding even to a simplest question asked). Her upper lip was little plump than the lower and her cheeks fluffy.
*****************************************
"Whats this smell?" Haroon turned his face back between the front seats and asked.
"Must be Sadia, I presume since she takes an hour figuring out how to brush her teeth every day she skipped the practice this morning" Farhan instantly upbraided Sadia like he always did.
"Farhan. Behave." Mrs. Akmal raised her voice while her eyes glued on a windshield and both kids turned away their faces giggling. Mrs. Akmal was Haroon's mother and picking up these three kids from school was her routine. Though a traditional house wife, she knew how to drive and perhaps the reason why this became part of her responsibility. She was thirty seven, slightly over weight. Okay; a little more over weight, Yes most of you will call her a 'fat woman' but she was soft as cotton bud, could never say no. Mrs. Akmal widened her eyes like she always did on every traffic signal and hit the breaks; car stopped nearly ten feet before the line. She didn’t bother to put it back in a first gear and move little closer.
"Excuse me" Sadia raised her hand, her index finger pointing upwards her gazes still out of window "I did brush my teeth this morning" her voice meaningful.
"Welcome to the history pal, she just replied my pre-Adam comment" Farhan giggled [i]"Besides can you please look at one of us so we could know whom you are talking to?" Haroon was giggling with him already.
"Farhaaan" Mrs. Akmal roared again trying to put the car back in the gear without educated feet on a clutch.
Farhan was always sardonic but he would never hear a mocking word for Sadia from anyone else. He received reprimand from his teacher's number of times for the same reason. He had those stubborn looks with sharp looking eyes. What he often wondered was, was Sadia slow in thinking too? Or does she understand but just couldn't deliver the response on time? Either way he loved her. Her and Haroon, they were his best friends. It was just the magical egg he couldn't break, a bubble he couldn't burst.
The reason he was trying to act bitter was because they had planned Sadia's birthday in the evening, he was trying to be as nuttier as he could before the big surprise.
. . .
. .
.
These were some the lines published on the same day His wife Afifa died. These and the part of story about her surprise party when Sadia was verily happy. Sadia was in her casual green knee length cotton frock and white pajamas when her dark quiet drawing room suddenly transformed into a flashy noisy clubhouse.
*********************************************
His instinct declared it was a thud of a hit, probably vehicle hitting a beast or a man. He turned around to see almost robotically. Shocked, traumatized. Afifa was tumbled down on the road, fluttering. A van savagely hit her and ran away. He roared, disquietly yelled his lungs out "AFIFAAAA" but he felt his voice was coming from a different world. Lubberly he ran towards her and yelp again "H. . HELLPPP..PP". Her displaced arm trembled on the road up and down, her face filled with blisters and her hair still calmly trying to be in rhythm with wind like foliage in spring. The scene agonized him, he couldn't advert and with a concussion he held her face in his palms and put it in his lap. He felt a shooting pain in his backbone.
"Please Helpp" he cried. "help me. . .help’er. . HELPP Afi"
Her skin livid like one of those Halloween's makeup, she went pale, spongy white, some weird voices coming out of her throat but he never heard her speak again after that. He saw plea in her eyes and pain. Paramedics reached not before seventeen minutes.
**************************************************
Dissolved in tears he was and night was still young when he heard the heavy barking of street dogs outside the window which brought him back from the memories. Dogs are funny creatures they roar and they yelp. He wiped off tears with his right hand and looked at his radium dial watch on left. There were still few hours before the dawn. His thoughts started to crawl in again.
He can still feel her gore on his hands; her desultory body. Her eyes begging to help, help her out of pain. She spent eleven days in hospital before she died and not for a single moment she was at peace. He would never admit but he know in his heart he wished for her death too – maybe it was the only way to get her out of misery, but how could he? Death for his beloved wife? This thought tears him apart in pieces.
His character, eight year old Sadia who was mentally slow was enjoying her birthday party that evening in the magazine's pages. How could she? His wife was out there in the middle of road dieing and she is celebrating her party? Her sin wasn't venial. Deep inside him he never forgave Sadia. He gave her a lung cancer and made her agitate, wrenched her every inch, he gave her every pain he possibly could. Despite of public dislike of the series any longer he made her suffer. Afifa spent eleven restless days in hospital; he gave Sadia eleven restless months before he finally killed her in a ruthless manner.
Sadia! With her wavy black hair and big black eyes appeared in his dream after almost an year, like always she took her time to understand what happened to her, why so much pain so sudden. She gave him a laconic lugubrious look and her eyes only had one question. Why lynch? And he saw a little pearl appearing in her left eye and disappearing somewhere at the middle of her cheek. She looked so much alike Afifa, the moment he felt he didn't killed Sadia but he was a murderer of Afifa – his wife.
"Dhaaarrrrrrr" he blinked on a vibrating irritating sound of a truck outside the window. Sun was about to reborn spreading the light in millions of lifes, if not his, atleast its shine will wash out the memories for the time being. He was being lull, woeful. It was another day to live. At the end of the longest night is a bright sunshine and the immortal night was slowly fading away in the dawn.
His pen froze, so did he except his muttering, which continued to slip of of his lips. Then like an old truck, he heard some weird noises from his own throat, before he went on a complete silence. He leered at a bulb, his eyes imploring, like a bulb can pity on him and will light up again – which ofcourse it didn't. It was intuitive its implacable power failure which left him all alone in the dark. It wasn't the dark he was afraid of, it was the thoughts, his own thoughts, his guilts.
"Is not the night mournful, sad and melancholy?"
"Yes" he whispered to the thought of what once Rabelais has said. He knew pretty soon his thoughts will become his prison blue. They will slowly crawl in and bring the past along, snare his mind. It was about to become another dead night, atleast for him. He was only and lonely from past six years since his lovely wife Afifa left for the heavens after a painful death. A death which wasn't in the book of thousand possible deaths.
Her name was Afifa Farooq, he loved it when his name was taken after hers, Farooq. Afifa Farooq. It gave him a strange satisfaction, a seal of their love, a
confirmation she was his wife.
"Tell me what you hate about me?" often she lilt with her beautiful smile like petals of a fresh rose will stretch a little.
"I cant figure it out what's not laudable" he would say and she would grin a little more with satisfaction, and there wasn't a bit of not what he told her. She was his asphodel, his blue angel, his xanthic flower. Before he met her he wasn't aware of aesthetics, her beautiful deep brown eyes taught him how to versify his words to praise – praise her. There wasn't a single occasion he could remember when Afifa didn't give him a strained smile whenever his gazes met hers and each time he only thought how beautiful her straight brown hair were with glowing fair complexion which go perfectly fine with her soft pinkish lips and deep brown eyes.
"And what is it that you love me about?" he often inquired holding her hand gently though he already knew the answer thousand and one times.
"Your Atticism and" with a slow blink of her eyelids she would turn her gazes towards him making a direct eye contact and offering him a fresh smile "when you avowed your love for me with the best adorned words I ever heard in my life". Something in her voice always gave his soul exhilaration he could never explain.
His thoughts yanked him again and he remembered Sadia Ashfaq. Sadia was eight, a naïve kid, a slow learner, but an adorable girl with wavy black hair and her beautiful big black eyes (Although she had a difficulty maintaining eye contact and she used to take few moments before understanding and responding even to a simplest question asked). Her upper lip was little plump than the lower and her cheeks fluffy.
*****************************************
"Whats this smell?" Haroon turned his face back between the front seats and asked.
"Must be Sadia, I presume since she takes an hour figuring out how to brush her teeth every day she skipped the practice this morning" Farhan instantly upbraided Sadia like he always did.
"Farhan. Behave." Mrs. Akmal raised her voice while her eyes glued on a windshield and both kids turned away their faces giggling. Mrs. Akmal was Haroon's mother and picking up these three kids from school was her routine. Though a traditional house wife, she knew how to drive and perhaps the reason why this became part of her responsibility. She was thirty seven, slightly over weight. Okay; a little more over weight, Yes most of you will call her a 'fat woman' but she was soft as cotton bud, could never say no. Mrs. Akmal widened her eyes like she always did on every traffic signal and hit the breaks; car stopped nearly ten feet before the line. She didn’t bother to put it back in a first gear and move little closer.
"Excuse me" Sadia raised her hand, her index finger pointing upwards her gazes still out of window "I did brush my teeth this morning" her voice meaningful.
"Welcome to the history pal, she just replied my pre-Adam comment" Farhan giggled [i]"Besides can you please look at one of us so we could know whom you are talking to?" Haroon was giggling with him already.
"Farhaaan" Mrs. Akmal roared again trying to put the car back in the gear without educated feet on a clutch.
Farhan was always sardonic but he would never hear a mocking word for Sadia from anyone else. He received reprimand from his teacher's number of times for the same reason. He had those stubborn looks with sharp looking eyes. What he often wondered was, was Sadia slow in thinking too? Or does she understand but just couldn't deliver the response on time? Either way he loved her. Her and Haroon, they were his best friends. It was just the magical egg he couldn't break, a bubble he couldn't burst.
The reason he was trying to act bitter was because they had planned Sadia's birthday in the evening, he was trying to be as nuttier as he could before the big surprise.
. . .
. .
.
These were some the lines published on the same day His wife Afifa died. These and the part of story about her surprise party when Sadia was verily happy. Sadia was in her casual green knee length cotton frock and white pajamas when her dark quiet drawing room suddenly transformed into a flashy noisy clubhouse.
*********************************************
His instinct declared it was a thud of a hit, probably vehicle hitting a beast or a man. He turned around to see almost robotically. Shocked, traumatized. Afifa was tumbled down on the road, fluttering. A van savagely hit her and ran away. He roared, disquietly yelled his lungs out "AFIFAAAA" but he felt his voice was coming from a different world. Lubberly he ran towards her and yelp again "H. . HELLPPP..PP". Her displaced arm trembled on the road up and down, her face filled with blisters and her hair still calmly trying to be in rhythm with wind like foliage in spring. The scene agonized him, he couldn't advert and with a concussion he held her face in his palms and put it in his lap. He felt a shooting pain in his backbone.
"Please Helpp" he cried. "help me. . .help’er. . HELPP Afi"
Her skin livid like one of those Halloween's makeup, she went pale, spongy white, some weird voices coming out of her throat but he never heard her speak again after that. He saw plea in her eyes and pain. Paramedics reached not before seventeen minutes.
**************************************************
Dissolved in tears he was and night was still young when he heard the heavy barking of street dogs outside the window which brought him back from the memories. Dogs are funny creatures they roar and they yelp. He wiped off tears with his right hand and looked at his radium dial watch on left. There were still few hours before the dawn. His thoughts started to crawl in again.
He can still feel her gore on his hands; her desultory body. Her eyes begging to help, help her out of pain. She spent eleven days in hospital before she died and not for a single moment she was at peace. He would never admit but he know in his heart he wished for her death too – maybe it was the only way to get her out of misery, but how could he? Death for his beloved wife? This thought tears him apart in pieces.
His character, eight year old Sadia who was mentally slow was enjoying her birthday party that evening in the magazine's pages. How could she? His wife was out there in the middle of road dieing and she is celebrating her party? Her sin wasn't venial. Deep inside him he never forgave Sadia. He gave her a lung cancer and made her agitate, wrenched her every inch, he gave her every pain he possibly could. Despite of public dislike of the series any longer he made her suffer. Afifa spent eleven restless days in hospital; he gave Sadia eleven restless months before he finally killed her in a ruthless manner.
Sadia! With her wavy black hair and big black eyes appeared in his dream after almost an year, like always she took her time to understand what happened to her, why so much pain so sudden. She gave him a laconic lugubrious look and her eyes only had one question. Why lynch? And he saw a little pearl appearing in her left eye and disappearing somewhere at the middle of her cheek. She looked so much alike Afifa, the moment he felt he didn't killed Sadia but he was a murderer of Afifa – his wife.
"Dhaaarrrrrrr" he blinked on a vibrating irritating sound of a truck outside the window. Sun was about to reborn spreading the light in millions of lifes, if not his, atleast its shine will wash out the memories for the time being. He was being lull, woeful. It was another day to live. At the end of the longest night is a bright sunshine and the immortal night was slowly fading away in the dawn.
Titleless
Date Posted: Jan 29th, 2005 at 09:47 PM
It was a disturbing siren. Like someone is crying on ur head -- he cries & screams harder when his pain exceeds the limits of tolerance. And than his voice goes down, only sobbing is what remains -- like after that huge pain he has no strength left to cry, to scream.
I was about 100-150 meters away standing in a terrace. I was quiet -- unwantedly listening to the siren, looking at that ambulance & than looking at the traffic to see if it was possible to give the ambulance a way. YES IT was VER MUCH POSSIBLE.
There was another voice; I could hear from the same traffic, it was the music from one of the cars there. There was this other guy on a driving seat smoking, puffing the smoke as if it was the most relaxing moment of his life. I felt like; for them, the ambulance dosent exist.
I thought to go out there & try asking ppl to make the way for the ambulance; but I knew it would take 10-15 min for me to get there & the ambulance will be able to get out of this signal jam in 5-6 min, but who knows those 5 min were crucial. There was a chance to save atleast 3 min but none seemed interested (or think of it this way, atleast u would save 3 min of that annoying siren but no not even that).
After two other red lights, finally it found its way out ...
It was a disturbing siren. Like someone is crying on ur head -- he cries & screams harder when his pain exceeds the limits of tolerance. And than his voice goes down, only sobbing is what remains -- like after that huge pain he has no strength left to cry, to scream.
I was about 100-150 meters away standing in a terrace. I was quiet -- unwantedly listening to the siren, looking at that ambulance & than looking at the traffic to see if it was possible to give the ambulance a way. YES IT was VER MUCH POSSIBLE.
There was another voice; I could hear from the same traffic, it was the music from one of the cars there. There was this other guy on a driving seat smoking, puffing the smoke as if it was the most relaxing moment of his life. I felt like; for them, the ambulance dosent exist.
I thought to go out there & try asking ppl to make the way for the ambulance; but I knew it would take 10-15 min for me to get there & the ambulance will be able to get out of this signal jam in 5-6 min, but who knows those 5 min were crucial. There was a chance to save atleast 3 min but none seemed interested (or think of it this way, atleast u would save 3 min of that annoying siren but no not even that).
After two other red lights, finally it found its way out ...
Motivational Stories
Date Posted: Jan 29th, 2005 at 09:05 PM
I used to like them. Liked the way someone would start his/her convo with a nice story that will make u feel better (often I do the same) but what is the truth?
Its like smoking & justifying by saying my unkil is 80, he smokes & hes still fit, no cancer, no heart disease no nothing. While ignoring the fact there r hundreds of patients getting admitted in cardio ward every day mainly bcos of smoking. Hundreds more, catch the lungs cancer.
We talk about exceptions & make it feel like it happens every other day with every other person -- truth; is opposite. Anyway, who cares?
I used to like them. Liked the way someone would start his/her convo with a nice story that will make u feel better (often I do the same) but what is the truth?
Its like smoking & justifying by saying my unkil is 80, he smokes & hes still fit, no cancer, no heart disease no nothing. While ignoring the fact there r hundreds of patients getting admitted in cardio ward every day mainly bcos of smoking. Hundreds more, catch the lungs cancer.
We talk about exceptions & make it feel like it happens every other day with every other person -- truth; is opposite. Anyway, who cares?
Complain Center
Date Posted: Jan 19th, 2005 at 03:51 AM
Why do we mostly cry in our journals & blogs? Why dont we mention the thousands of blessings we have in our life rather we talk about those few things that dont go in a way we want?
Lets rename them. Lets call them Complain Center. (Journals/blogs dosent seem quite right to me anymore).
Moreover; what I also wonder is -- if these thoughts r really private why do we share them online? Okay for actually more or real private thoughts we have private entries... right? Then why we allow few of our buddies to view them? Isnt it denaturing?
Is it bcoz those r the good friends? Or is it our exertion for them to see how sensitive & full of emotions we r? So they can pay heed on us... enough of crapy thoughts for now.
Why do we mostly cry in our journals & blogs? Why dont we mention the thousands of blessings we have in our life rather we talk about those few things that dont go in a way we want?
Lets rename them. Lets call them Complain Center. (Journals/blogs dosent seem quite right to me anymore).
Moreover; what I also wonder is -- if these thoughts r really private why do we share them online? Okay for actually more or real private thoughts we have private entries... right? Then why we allow few of our buddies to view them? Isnt it denaturing?
Is it bcoz those r the good friends? Or is it our exertion for them to see how sensitive & full of emotions we r? So they can pay heed on us... enough of crapy thoughts for now.
The Last Warning
Date Posted: Jan 14th, 2005 at 10:50 PM
Today cousin had an accident. Car smashed, doesnt look like a car anymore. Alhamdulillah he is fine, no harm done.
A friend of mine had a severe pain in his chest the day before yesterday. Docs say it was an angina pectoris. He received his alarm of warning, no more smoking, diet control & no more tensions. He is just 29.
2 weeks ago another friend's dad had a heart attack which he couldnt survive.
I have a 102 temp, flu, tonsils & I feel I m in no control of myself. I cant concentrate, I have to recheck what I m writing every other min, I have to re think. All bcos of this tiny virus which I cant even see with a naked eye -- helpless; is what I feel.
All this; indicating that one day it will just happen so sudden. I wont get time to undo the wrong. It will be painful. & when I think more, this electric shock runs into my backbone. I ask myself -- M I ready? -- R U ready?
I dont know who to blame, me or this beautiful materialistic world. I know after 15 min I ll be chilling again in café or with friends when the pill works for now. I will forget I ever thought about this; until I get the next warning. Who knows -- if this was my last warning.
Today cousin had an accident. Car smashed, doesnt look like a car anymore. Alhamdulillah he is fine, no harm done.
A friend of mine had a severe pain in his chest the day before yesterday. Docs say it was an angina pectoris. He received his alarm of warning, no more smoking, diet control & no more tensions. He is just 29.
2 weeks ago another friend's dad had a heart attack which he couldnt survive.
I have a 102 temp, flu, tonsils & I feel I m in no control of myself. I cant concentrate, I have to recheck what I m writing every other min, I have to re think. All bcos of this tiny virus which I cant even see with a naked eye -- helpless; is what I feel.
All this; indicating that one day it will just happen so sudden. I wont get time to undo the wrong. It will be painful. & when I think more, this electric shock runs into my backbone. I ask myself -- M I ready? -- R U ready?
I dont know who to blame, me or this beautiful materialistic world. I know after 15 min I ll be chilling again in café or with friends when the pill works for now. I will forget I ever thought about this; until I get the next warning. Who knows -- if this was my last warning.
Beast
Date Posted: Jan 11th, 2005 at 08:32 PM
Perhaps human is the only beast which bites & kills its own kind with such a barbaric way. Interestingly enough it often doesnt use strength, power or even weapons but just his gestures, actions & words. It is always a competition of being the best, whether it is just a matter of looking cool, being the smartest or knowing the most. Pity, perhaps a better approach for being the best could be to prove urself by improving ur skills or urself in whatever the race is about, rather -- what we see is proving others wrong.
Evident or concealed deep inside our hearts its a continuous war between us. The moment u lose ur balance on a battlefield -- they will attack & wound u to death. You ll breath but u feel u r on ur last leg, the pain -- the pain is bad, the pain is death.
Even though, all of us at some time of life does undergo the worst feeling, but once recovered we r ready to give the same experience to someone else. I heard if u face something really bad u would never want anyone to face the same thing again (so logically u should be the one trying to help others) to avoid, or if they have, help them recover, make them feel better. Though -- dont see it happening.
Interestingly even if u do help, the same person ll bite the hand that feeds him when recovered & than go find others
. Do u ever think before u speak? What u r about to say to someone, what if someone used the same words for u?
Perhaps human is the only beast which bites & kills its own kind with such a barbaric way. Interestingly enough it often doesnt use strength, power or even weapons but just his gestures, actions & words. It is always a competition of being the best, whether it is just a matter of looking cool, being the smartest or knowing the most. Pity, perhaps a better approach for being the best could be to prove urself by improving ur skills or urself in whatever the race is about, rather -- what we see is proving others wrong.
Evident or concealed deep inside our hearts its a continuous war between us. The moment u lose ur balance on a battlefield -- they will attack & wound u to death. You ll breath but u feel u r on ur last leg, the pain -- the pain is bad, the pain is death.
Even though, all of us at some time of life does undergo the worst feeling, but once recovered we r ready to give the same experience to someone else. I heard if u face something really bad u would never want anyone to face the same thing again (so logically u should be the one trying to help others) to avoid, or if they have, help them recover, make them feel better. Though -- dont see it happening.
Interestingly even if u do help, the same person ll bite the hand that feeds him when recovered & than go find others
. Do u ever think before u speak? What u r about to say to someone, what if someone used the same words for u?
Since I m not much of a Blogger
I thought i would copy/paste some of my previous journal entries from my darling GS on here. I dont know if in future i ll keep entries at both places same, neither m of sure if i ll continue to write as a blogger. It is a new thing to me, a strange one & not the one i m very much comfortable with.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Just for the heck of it
I ve been trying hard to set up an account & blame me for it; i suck at these machines even tho i have practically took classes to learn em for four or more years. Lets see if it allows me to post this shit.
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