It was a dark, foggy night. It was the middle of winter, and the frigid air was brutal in it’s stillness. The inky sky spanned overhead, thick black clouds billowing and blotting out the moon.

He walked along the edge of the road, where a thick fog was swirling. His shoes clicked on the asphalt and the sound echoed in the silent night. His breath misted in front of his brown eyes. He remembered when he was a young boy, he would look for figures in the fog. He would imagine shapes and faces looming out. It used to frighten him, yet it held a mystery that he found tantalising. But now, he himself was one, an outline against the cloudy white blanket of the mist that surrounded him.

He walked forth, assaulted by the cold air and the swathing fog. But beneath the tousled brown hair that lay in a wavy mess on his forehead, his chocolatey eyes brimmed with tears. His jaw was clenched, desperate to hold in his feelings. His lip quivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the effort it took to bottle it all in.

His fingers grew numb and he couldn’t feel his nose anymore. He savoured the feeling. He wanted not to feel. He yearned not to feel. Because to feel was to hurt. And he had had enough hurt to last him forever. After every problem that came his way, he convinced himself that it was the last. He told himself that there would be no more. But then before he could even recover from the first blow, it struck again. Each strike stronger and greater than the last. The pain kept piling up.

He walked on in the fog, which was so dense that he could see nothing in front of him. All he could see was the pulsating wall of smoky haze and the street lamps that stood like sentinels, their light barely breaking through the fog to create a faint unnoticeable glow.

He willed for the fog to consume him, to swallow him inside it so he wouldn’t have to return to reality. He wanted to bury himself in this cocoon away from it all. He wanted to just…end. To stop existing. Living was painful. Death was too, apparently. Who knew?

And he thought of all that he had lost. Of all that he was losing. Of everything that was slowly slipping out of his grasp, being snatched away by the vicissitudes of the mirthless Fates.  He thought of the oncology report sitting in his apartment. He thought of the scholarship that he was about to lose. And he felt the weight of his worries pressing against him, crushing him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The tear slid down his cheek and into his mouth. The saltiness felt so familiar. His head was pounding, he felt it throbbing and each throb sent a spasm of pain through him. He could feel a faint ticking in the back of his brain. He felt it ready to explode. Because he kept it all in, he didn’t vent. It kept on building and building.

And now, alone in the middle of a deserted road in some part of the city, he knelt down amidst the swirling gloom and let it all out. He let the walls break. He let it all flood. He felt the tears pouring out. He felt the emotions breaking free of their shackles, tearing out of his body.

Suddenly, he felt the world brighten. He looked up to see lights piercing out of the draping fog.

This is what peace what must feel like.

This must be what closure is.

He squinted his eyes. The light was blinding.

In the fog, kneeling in the middle of the road, he looked like some fallen angel bowed down in prayer. Like some ethereal apparition, the halo of swirling light.

He closed his eyes. The light made him into a silhouette. He was a figure in the fog.

The car couldn’t stop in time.

The driver didn’t see him till it was too late.

Why is there so much noise?

The angels are screaming.

Why is there so much pain?

Why is there no peace?

I can’t take it any more. This was supposed to be my closure. 

The pain is fading. Is this the end?

I can’t feel any more.

Is this heave- 



After all the dreary times I have seen,

After all the problems that pile on top,

One doesn’t end and another will begin,

I have waited for so long for it to stop.

Now as I go on with my life,

Through this never-ending strife,

I have finally found some hope,

A ray of light through the dark,

And now I feel I can finally maybe cope,

This good-fortune I don’t sometimes believe.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this relief.

Maybe I can finally persevere,

And all this pain I can bear.


I cannot fathom the notion,

I cannot bear to think,

I have been betrayed by my devotion,

Which has pushed me to the brink.

What I feel goes beyond despair, 

I feel a crippling lack of hope,

Which goes past any primal fear,

And I can’t find it in me to cope.

Not again, not this time,

Even I need some relief,

From this heavenly joke, this celestial crime,

Now I’m doubting my beliefs. 

The pain never goes anywhere,

And time may heal the wounds,

But the scars are yours to bear.

These demons won’t be drowned,

They are yours to endure,

This time the light won’t be found,

And in death lies allure. 

The Final Step

With the wind howling against my body, I stepped towards the precipice of the cliff staring out to the sea. The wind was belligerently pushing me back, raging with all its might against the direction I wanted to go. The night sky was clear and a million stars blazed overhead. In the middle of the sky, against a velvety black backdrop, hung the moon in all her glory. A glimmering organza of silvery light trickled down from her, casting itself upon the roaring waves and amalgamating into the black water, creating a sparkling visage of melded darkness and light. The tantalizing moonbeams flitted and danced over the vicious water, beckoning by their glitters. Calling towards them. Calling for me to join them.

The wind was cold. And I was clad in just a flimsy shirt and jeans. I had no idea what to wear and I wasn’t aware that there existed any proper attire for ending one’s existence. And I wasn’t too concerned about pneumonia mainly because I didn’t think I would be alive so long for it to pose a problem to me.

I took a deep breath. The frigid air burned my throat but I didn’t care. I felt alive. They say you never feel as alive as when you are near death. They are right.

It was like my body was alerting me to what I was giving up. Because suddenly I felt aware. More aware than I had ever felt before. I was aware of each muscle, each tendon and each nerve in my body. I felt my heart beating ferociously inside me, as if savouring its last moments. I felt the adrenaline coursing through my system. I felt my brain go into overdrive, filing through all of my memories and thoughts, desperately searching for something to dissuade me from my intent. But I didn’t worry. I calmly let my life flash before my eyes. I was in no hurry.

Beneath me the sea was vehemently crashing against the cliffs, the resounding sound amplified by the surrounding cliffs. The resonating sound was like a cacophony around me. The timeless chaotic music of the sea.

My throat was dry. My eyes were dry. My mouth was dry. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t sad. I was just…done.

Too long I lived with the pain. For too long I had survived with these feelings bottled up inside me. I had kept them holed up inside me, stashing them in the back of my head, burying them. Now the dam had burst, and the flood had ravaged me. I was now ready to end it.

The pain had been set free, a demon destroying my happiness.

The regret had been unleashed, a monster ruining my memories.

The hopelessness had been unchained, and now every shred of resolve had been eviscerated.

And I realized what the problem was. My existence caused more pain than it did relief. I was a source of endless discomfort to all those around me. To all those who cared. I didn’t want to cause any more pain. I was tired of hurting others. I was tired of disappointing them. Of disappointing myself.

I was a disgrace.

I was a burden.

I was nothing.

I take one more step. My feet are now on the edge, I am perched precariously on the edge. This thin rock under my feet is the only thing separating me from death; from bliss; from freedom.

I look down to the jagged rocks and the angry waters below me.

I look up to the stars twinkling with such earnest.

I look ahead to the horizon and see sea as far as my sight goes.

I open my arms.

The wind howls again, this time its not that adamant. This time its a melancholic wail. This time its pleading.

I stand on tiptoe.

I am ready.

One last breath.

A single tear escapes my eye and slides down my cheek.

My mouth curls into an involuntary smile.

I send a silent prayer of forgiveness to my friends and family, but they’ll be happier without me.

With that I swing forward on my feet and launch myself over the edge.

The wind whistles in my ear. It beats across my face. It is mind numbingly cold. The water is rushing towards me. The moonlight is reflecting off the water, its iridescence is mesmerizing.

I close my eyes.

I’m flying.

I’m free.

Then there is the impact.

I don’t even feel the pain.

All I feel is silence.

I feel disconnected.

I feel the bliss.

Then I feel no more.

An Insider’s View of my Head

Today I’ll be trying my hand at writing something that isn’t tragic, but border-line humorous. Bear with me.

I cannot begin to tell you how many times I’ve heard the phrase “What the hell is wrong with you!?” over the 16 years that I have been gracing the Earth with my presence. And my reply is usually along the lines of “Various experts/psychologists/I/smarter people than you have failed to figure that out.” Now today, for only you guys, I will take you through the incredibly fascinating place that is my brain. Readership discretion advised for moderate language and slightly disturbing content.  

I wake up, with my phone’s alarm blaring incessantly into my ear.


My phone’s screen will now be saying “GET UP NOW BEFORE I BEAT YOU INTO THE 22nd CENTURY YOU LAZY MORON.”

Yes, I know. Threatening myself is the only way I know I will cooperate with me. 

Then I, in a total span of less than 8 minutes (Yes, I counted with a stopwatch), I get ready for the torture that is school. The next 4-5 minutes will be spent in trying to calm my hair down since they want to so vehemently ruin everything. (I’ve tried EVERYTHING you might think of but my hair just love rebelling against me) I don’t style them or whatever I JUST TRY TO MAKE THEM SIT THE HELL DOWN. GOSH!

I’m getting real tired of your shit, hair.

Ok I’m going to cut you all off if you don’t sit down.

Ok I’m so so sorry just please please PLEASE listen to me for once.

Fine whatever I’ll just look like I don’t own a hairbrush for the rest of the day. 

After breakfast, which consists of a glass of milk/cola/lemonade/juice along with a handful of almonds or something: I don’t get hungry in the morning, or actually most of the day but that comes later on ahead.

So I leave for school, headphones in my ears and singing along to whatever is my favourite song at the moment at the top of my voice (unless I’m too sleepy) until someone begs me to shut up as I sound like, and I quote, “a dying goat.”

OK so I reach school relatively early. That means that I am mostly the first or second person to school. But that is cool, I just read a book or something on my phone or complete my homework or whatever because that is how I roll.

And please, don’t even begin with the whole “Ermaghaarhd who reads books on their phone? That’s so lame. Who reads at all? Like eww” crap with me. I get it, you have nothing more to do than play Temple Run on your phone. I don’t judge you (Okay I kinda’ do) but leave me alone. I like reading on my phone.

Now I usually have to wait from 20 to 30 minutes for my friends to start arriving. Till then, I just sit silently in a chair in the corner, observing. Till then my brain is somewhat like:

Oh why the hell would you say that? That doesn’t even make sense.


Oh never mind you. You seem oka-WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT SHERLOCK!?

Guuuhreat! I was waiting for someone to start arguing over football. Do you have nothing else to talk about?

I wish these imbeciles (my friends) would hurry up to school already.

*telepathic threat* Ok if you imbeciles don’t come within the next 5 minutes I won’t talk to you ever. 

Ok I probably will but just hurry the hell up.

As soon as one of my friends show up (hereto referred to as Forehead, Sloth, Midget) its like I transform into an energetic maniac and I immediately forget anything and everything I wanted to tell/ask from one of them. We joke about and be generally awesome (I’ll dedicate an entire post as to the ‘how’ of that in the future) and then the lessons commence. Now in school during lessons I generally have the same-ish thoughts all day long. Lets discuss those a bit.

Oh dear Lord this is so easy. Why are we even wasting time on this crap?



What the hell is that kid doing? Like don’t put that there! GO WASH YOUR HANDS.

I bet Emma Watson’s hair smells nice.

*waving pencil* Accio paper! Accio paper! OMG IT MOVED A BIT.

I wonder what happens in Supernatural Season 9.

*remembers an internet joke and begins laughing*

I should start working out.

I would be such an awesome ninja.

I can almost see it, that dream I’m dreaming. But there’s a voice inside my said saying, ‘You’ll never reach it’ Eve-WAIT WAS I SINGING THAT OUT LOUD?!”

I may be on the side of the angels but don’t think for a second that I am one of them.

We have this IRRITATING kid in class who asks the stupidest questions. Stupidity physically irritates me.

Did you just ask that? I mean are you kidding me? Did you actually legitimately ask that from the teacher? HE JUST EXPLAINED THAT THRICE ARE YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING? 



I give up. You are hopeless. 

You ask one more question and I will bludgeon you to death so violently your own parents won’t be able to recognize your mangled body. 

My whole day goes like this, torn between relentless hatred towards some people, affection towards other accompanied with a boatload of detached nonchalance. The breaks are fun because my friends are all insane.

School goes on nicely. There are lessons you want to burst out screaming and run away flailing wildly (i.e. Maths) and other lessons when you have to keep in the urge to burst out laughing (i.e. Chemistry). Some lessons when you get so bored you imagine what would be the most inconspicuous way of stabbing your neck with a compass and ending this torment but in the end, due to a lot of patience, imagination and napping you get through it.

And then its a calm and fun ride home crazy city where NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO DRIVE and its so hot you can practically feel the sun screaming ‘DIE OF DEHYDRATION’ at you.


Either put on better songs or lower the volume. 

THAT SONG IS LITERALLY 5 YEARS OLD. GET OVER IT. *puts in headphones and listens to Led Zeppelin* 

I hope there isn’t a lot of traffic. I want to go home and rest.

The city: “Haha screw you. STREET CLOGGERS ASSEMBLE!”

Then you finally get home, tired and cranky and relax and go to sleep bury yourself under the Atlas-worthy load of home-works, tests, revisions and other academic hoojinglies. When I finally get a few minutes, I watch the new episodes of the many series I follow.

I should probably study some Urdu.

Haha no! Lets watch some How I Met Your Mother *pum-pum-ra-ra-raaa-ra-ra-ra-rarara-raa*

IF I feel like it, I eat half a plate of whatever is at home at the moment. When I get free, finally, I am so out of energy to do anything so I just giggle at random stuff on Tumblr or see how one of my fandom is doing nowadays.


Also my midterms are near.

No brain, shut up! CASTIEL!

Good point.

Also, my neighbours have an outrageously loud generator RIGHT next to my window.

Don’t start it. 

I’m warning you. 

*goes to window*

Ok they’re starting it.

I wish it explodes and burns their house down in a fiery inferno and they are all trapped inside it and I watch from my window, the flickering glow reflected in my eyes. 

They started it. 

You are all the spawn of Lucifer himself, you inhabitants of hell.

*screams* “SCREW YOU ALL”

The day at home goes good: tiring but good. Plus I text with Sloth and Scarface all the time and Forehead calls once in a day mostly.

Then I blog too but that has been infrequent recently, so sorry (if anyone even bothers reading all this crap)

When I get so tired I can’t even do nothing, I collapse into sleep, Lana Del Rey slowly lulling me to sleep. This is the time when my mind is on the brink of shutting down so it tries too hard to squeeze out all the craziness before I go to sleep, otherwise I have very weird dreams. (Like last night I dreamt I was falling and I woke up)

Oh its time for you to go to sleep? Lets talk about how that sounds like footsteps in the attic. 

I can’t help noticing how that shadow looks like a little girl wielding a knife.

Ssh! Go to sleep!


*glances towards knife concealed behind bed incase of emergency*

I wont sleep. I can’t be murdered in my sleep.

*3 minutes later* Screw that shit I’m off to sleep. 

That is how an average, un-depressing day goes. There is so much more that I think that I can’t put in this because it may be too vivid or cruel or demeaning or I may seem too mean or cranky or whatever.

Anyways, you just went through a VIP tour of my mind. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Till next time, ciao!


Ok this was the first time I wrote something like this and any feedback would be appreciated. If you liked it, do tell me and show this to your friends. 


Like a scalding wave in the unending flow of time,

Like a scything knife somewhere from the past,

Like a resonating scream of some unforgiven crime,

Like some explosive truth with a fiery blast,

No matter how far and fast you run,

Your shadow clings to your very side,

As do all you lost and each loved one,

Who always stay with you and in your heart reside,

The pain is a thing of wonder,

The pain it hurts but its absence you cant bear,

Because the pain is a reminder,

That they were real, that they were here,

That what you had was no mere dream,

You realize the finality of death,

Yet how unreal it always seems,

And you feel them in every breath,

But the months and years start to meld,

And life starts to move on,

The grief it gets a little quelled,

But your heart knows they are gone,

And the tears bring no more solace,

No yelling unburdens your soul,

This is a test of Fate you must face,

Even though you can never again be whole,

And you hope the memories fade,

But you never want to forget,

They cut your heart like sharpened blades,

And you can’t scream just yet,

But just tolerate and be assured,

And though your mortal shell may never be cured,

Your souls will reunite when you finally go,

And you can finally not weep and cry,

And move past the sobs and sighs,

But you will sleep tonight and face tomorrow,

With your poor heart bursting with sorrow,

As long as you might live.

Harry Potter Appreciation Post

I am well aware that this is not what I usually write but this is something that needs to be said. Mild spoiler warning.

When most people inquire about my favourite book and I blurt out Harry Potter without a moment’s hesitation, the amount of people who look at me with contemptuous condescension is higher than I care to admit. Now let it be known that I have read everything from Twilight to Coelho and Archer and Larsson and Dan Brown. But those books have never struck me as hard as this heptology has. This is a post that every Potterhead (that is the colloquial term for die-hard Harry Potter fans nowadays) can relate to and a post that every Muggle (non-Potterhead) should read. If I even get ONE person to read this series, I will get the satisfaction of accomplishing something worthy in life as well as the eternal gratitude of that one person.

Now on to the actual appreciation. Although, Harry Potter is a novel that kids are encouraged to read, the meaning of the books matures as you yourself mature. Every time I reread the books, I understand something new in the books. Because in the span between the re-readings I’ve understood something else in life. These books aren’t for any specific age. They are universal. But the meaning each person derives from them depends on the person himself.

Literature is like a piece of cake. The more layers it has, the more delicious it is. -Anonymous

Now Harry Potter has more themes than I can count and more fascinating things about it I can begin to list. But the theme of the books, according to the authoress, is death. This is because these books were impacted greatly by the authoress’s own anguish at losing family and living in poverty and dependence. Whoever read the books and didn’t understand this point didn’t read the books at all: Harry Potter is not a tale of little kids waving around sticks and learning how to turn rabbits into hats and riding broom-stick. That is just one level to it. Harry Potter is an intricate tale revolving around the constant war between good and evil. It shows the importance of bravery, moral fibre, loyalty, wit, the allure of power and the strength of love and how purity is always stronger than evil. Each and every character represents something. Each death has a meaning. Each event has its purpose. And the characters are so intricate that it eludes belief. For example, how Snape went from being the most despised person to the most loved in the span of one chapter. It is practically unreal.

Now I could sit here and with examples, write down a really long critical appreciation, elaborating the metaphors and the symmetry. Like for example, Remus Lupin is a metaphor for HIV and how all those with it are shunned by society. And how Dumbledore was a representation of gay rights. Or I could shut up and let you experience the magic on your own.

Harry Potter is a story that brings you together. Like whenever I meet someone, the first question I ask them to ascertain their awesomeness is what they feel about Harry Potter. (Ironically, 2/3 of my best friends are Muggles) I’m not saying that being a Potterhead is a sole criterion to awesomeness, I’m saying it is a major contributor.

Harry Potter is a story that stays with you, characters that live with you and deaths that haunt you. Now I would honestly and with every core of my fibre request all Potterheads to add to this and send it on. Because this is a story that deserves to be read. And I request all non-Potterheads to read the stories.

And even when I’m wizened and old, I’ll be sitting somewhere with a HP book in hand, a cold sea breeze playing tantalizingly on my skin. And people will see the book and say: “After all this time?”

I will simply look at them, smile, and whisper.