Posts Tagged ‘past’

Yesterday was an OK day, not one of my best but not one of what I call my bad days. Evening was wonderful, friends stopped by for a visit. They spent the night and left this morning. They had to be up early and left so quietly, not wanting to disturb our sleep, I didn’t even hear them.

I suppose it is natural that as I spend more time just thinking and reflecting back on my life and even on the world in general, different types of thoughts pop into my head. I suppose that shows my thinking process has changed or something. Even the mere fact that I will just sit and think back, is different from what it has been at times in the past. At different periods of my life there were times when I purposely kept myself so busy that I wouldn’t have time to think about my life. I suppose that showed a lack of internal strength on my part. To me, my life was in chaos and I almost seemed to be frozen in time not knowing what to do or where to turn. I too often took the easy way by not even allowing myself to think of my life at the time. Don’t think, avoid the pain.

I look back today; with I suppose is my “new mindset” and see each of those situations differently. Today, is all the hurt and pain gone? No, and maybe never will be. I can look back now and learn more from those mistakes or events, than sadly I did at the time. I now see each was just one small dot on the overall picture of my life. Each individual dot has brought me to be the person I am today. I am content with that; I am content and happy with my life today. Who is to know, maybe if even one small thing had happened differently in my past, my life, my thinking today could be different.

I even feel kind of silly, thinking of how every day I prayed asking for God will to be done in my life. Yet I fought so hard or felt so hurt when my will didn’t prevail.

I look around me and see so many people getting upset over what really are inconsequential little things. Sometimes it is almost like I would like to go and just give them a good shake, and say. Stop and think, think of the precious moments in life you are wasting being upset. We have to few of these moments and there will come a day when you regret those moments wasted. But, I look back and realize if someone would have said that to me a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have listened. I would have been too busy dealing with the issues of the moment. To busy, to wrapped up in one small dot in the overall picture.


I am trying my best to be I suppose you could call it a student of life. In my own way I am trying to learn and understand more about life in general and of people all people. To get a better understanding of actions and reactions to situations in life. What I am learning is of how little I really know or understand. Sounds strange maybe but I realize the more I think I learn the less I realize I understand???? A few examples of the things that having me going, HUH???

Now, I think it is a fair statement to make, that, the vast majority of people do not want to die. Now that sounds pretty straight forward and simple. I can easily understand that, I can relate to that. Now here is the part I just do not understand. We do not want to die so obviously we want to go on living, our lives are precious to us. Again, I can certainly relate. Now here is the part I don’t understand. We all recognize and appreciate how precious our lives are, how precious our time on this planet is. But, do we really? We each know our individual time here is limited, we see how precious it is, but what are we doing with it? Why do we take time for granted always assuming there will be many tomorrows in which we can enjoy life. I think we live with so many thoughts of the future we forget to live today. Not sure where I heard this: “Life is not about learning how to weather a storm; it is about learning how to dance in the rain.” Thank about that as you go about your day.

As a society it seems to me anyway, that we are only comfortable dealing with or even thinking about death and dying when it is maybe in the abstract almost. By that I mean when it is happening to people far far away. People that we are not related to or associated with in anyway and somehow talking about them dying is an “OK” subject. Or, at least it doesn’t seem to make us feel as uncomfortable. Suddenly though if the topic hits closer to home it becomes more uncomfortable, we don’t want to talk about it or even think about it. Is it the fear of loss that affects us so deeply. A loved one passes and we have a really sense of loss. It is not only a sense of loss but a real loss in our lives. Without that person there our lives are changed forever, no denying that. Our lives are changed yes but can be and will be just as good with time. i have to wonder, we are grieving a loss, is that our main fear in this whole thing. We are grieving our own personal loss what is missing out of our lives. I don’t know are we really grieving more for ourselves than the other person. I don’t know that was just a thought that popped into my head.

What about if we are facing our own passing? Well actually that statement applies to every single person on this planet, it is just the timing. Struggling with wording, does that make sense? Can we become so obsessed with not wanting to lose our lives that we forget to live them while we still can?

Wow, I really got off track here as I rambled on. I’ve got to share a new perspective. It is when you lose people in terms of relationships. When people get into relationships or what you call friends with benefits, this is time when their priorities change; they value their partner more and dike you whenever they want to. This is so unfair. For the past six months this happens frequently with me. What to do? I can’t get any solutions to this issue. Then I thought how about we be the same with them and talk to them the way we used to. They may realize some day that they were wrong and come back to you, but this technique of mine seems to be a heart eiderdown, it’s not working too. Good luck to all those people who fall in this category.

As this was the last post of this file, I’ll take a week off before I start a new file.

Good Day 🙂

Feeling pretty good, will try and get outside for a little fresh air and exercise.

Mother’s Day approaching and I have been spending a lot of time thinking of my own dear mother. In some ways it is hard to believe it has been 21 years and she still baby’s me. I can remember some of our talks like they were yesterday. In other ways it seems almost like forever since I last got to those lectures from her. Isn’t it almost strange how the passing of time can seem different? Maybe it is just our mood at the moment that determines if 21 years ago seems like yesterday or like it was forever ago.

My mother is an amazing lady. She had such a great internal strength that just kept her going through anything and everything. To say she had a hard life would be an understatement but nothing kept her down or really even hardly slowed her down. Her social work outside home that was part time and yet still came home and did everything in the home. It is only now with my more mature and I hope wiser eyes that I can really look back and see things as they were. It is only now that I can look and really see and appreciate how strong she was, how much she endured, how much she gave and how much she loved. How much I selfishly seemed to expect her to sacrifice of herself for me. I always felt love to my mother but those feelings just never even seemed to enter into the equation. I just knew what I wanted, what I expected and was mad if it didn’t work out the way I wanted. OK, granted I am talking about when I was a kid. From my youngest memory she was always just there and did everything for us. That she was there and that she would do everything was just taken for granted, just automatically accepted as the norm, was expected as who she was and what she was there fore.

I can see that when I was really young that would be natural. I kick myself so often now, when I think back and really wonder why when I grew into and advanced in my teens wasn’t I able to see this. I think I was just so self absorbed in my own life, my own wants and desires I just didn’t see things for what they were and just accepted that this was the norm, as it was the way it had always been, and as the way it should be.

It truly wasn’t until I had been out on my own for a few years that I began to really see things more clearly and I suppose in fact stop taking her for granted. I experienced life for myself; I worked and studied full time and had to come home to the house hold stuff. It was only then that I began to take on an appreciation for all that she was doing and of how hard it was on her year after year. As I advanced in my teen years I did a few things to help out around the house, but any effort I put in was pitifully small.

I look back with feelings of guilt, wondering how she must have been made to feel realizing that somehow she had been lowered to an almost servant status. Somehow, I don’t even think she ever likely saw it that way, more as her role in life as a mother. I know in my mind I certainly never saw her or thought of her as a servant or anything of the sort. It is just I realize that really that is how she was so often treated. Never did I see it or realize it at the time.

I think of the times she must have felt so disheartened, so frustrated, so tired and maybe even so unloved. I can’t remember any specific examples but I am sure there were many times after a hard full day at social work when she came home to 2 complaining little grandsons. Hungry and complaining about the minutes late she was. “Didn’t she realize, how inconvenient this was for me. I may have had plans for the evening and here she was late. Didn’t she know I had to have eaten and be out by a certain time or my plans might be delayed.” “Why couldn’t she understand how I had every right to be upset with her?” I was at the same place a couple of years back.

I regret it so much, how could I have allowed myself to grow into that mindset. Embarrassing as it is to admit it I did.

Reality didn’t hit me until a couple of years after I had been on my own dependant more on friends and less on family. I was likely feeling pretty proud of myself for my new found independence being off on my own. I remember arriving late afternoon, just before supper/dinner time. There were my 2 nephews, complaining of being hungry and wondering why mother was late getting home from work to prepare the meal. I guess I had been transformed, because I remember being shock, thinking what is the matter with you guys. You can cook for yourself and why aren’t you cooking supper for mother when she gets home (huh they’re kids). You are just sitting here, what is the matter with you. Somewhere in there it came to me that just a year or two previously I had been sitting on the same couch waiting in the same impatient way. Here I was questioning what was the matter with them, huh, the same thing that had been the matter with me. It was like a light had gone off in my head, the realization had set in. I remember that during this conversation my mother in fact arrived home and immediately began preparing the meal. Well with my new-found insight I was in there trying to help but she just kept shooing me away.

That truly was a life changing moment for me a great moment of learning. Never did I treat her the same, or even see her with the same eyes again. She was elevated back to her proper position as my respected and loved mother.

My mother is a wonderful Lady, she taught me so much. So much that makes me who I am today. The lesson she taught me here was to look at all relationships in my life and make sure I am treating everyone with dignity and respect. I learned that lesson that day, and it has stuck with me.

It is kind of a special time for me. It is like a humbling time of gratitude. Sometime today the blog will hit a 3.5k hits. I am in awe wondering how in the world my ramblings have attracted such attention.

With this humble feeling comes almost a feeling of guilt. I know many research, write and edit their posts before putting them up. They put real effort into what they write, I just sit down and type whatever comes to mind, spell check is the only tool or checking I do of anything. That lack of effort compared to what so many others put in just somehow doesn’t seem fair. I am a very blessed a lucky guy.

Every single person on this planet has at least one thing in common. We are all going to die at some point in time. It is inevitable; we cannot escape that reality. This fills most if not all with an over whelming feeling of dread and even fear. The thought of our own mortality is something we just don’t want to even think about much less talk about. To many it is like a taboo subject. Is it like an ostrich putting its head in the sand. If I can’t see it around me and if I don’t think about it maybe it won’t happen to me. Well guess what it is going to happen to you to me and in time to everyone. Can we not bring this taboo subject out of the dark at least enough to be able to talk about it and help others as they deal with it. Am I suggesting that the topic of death and dying be brought so much to the fore front that we become a society so focused on death we just run around daily contemplating our own demise. Of course not that would be ridiculous, so what am I trying to say.

Live our lives to the fullest on a daily basis. So often we endure life rather than live it. For many myself included for many years measured the quality of my life by material possessions and where I saw my life in relation to where I envisioned it being in the future. I was so busy envisioning how my live would be in the future I forgot about living in the day, enjoying the day. It was always my life will be better when: I finish school, I get a job, I have a family……..

As I reached or acheived one milestone another had already taken its place, leaving me still unsatisfied”knowing” it will be better WHEN.

My constant focus on that elusive future “when”, kept me feeling lacking in what I had at the time, a good life.

Hearing those words come out of your doctor’s mouth: you are dying can surprisingly have a very positive impact on your life, if you allow yourself to have that mindset. It can be a real eye opener. Opening your eyes to really see the world for what it is a truly wonderful place. A wonderful place that, yes, is filled with nagging little annoyances. Nagging little annoyances that if we allow enough of them to latch on to us can drag us down to a point we are no longer able to see the forest for the trees.

It is only now that I can look back on my life that I can see I allowed myself to see just how much time I wasted. What at the time seemed like a major crisis, was in the big picture of things nothing but a nagging little annoyance that I blew way out of proportion. Really sad when I think of it. A moment of negativity caused by really nothing but a nagging little annoyance deprived me of so much and it is only now I can see it. A moment spent in negativity is a moment of happiness gone forever. Can we or better put will we allow ourselves to learn from the mistakes of others. I see life differently now by sharing as I am, will others learn from my mistakes, I don’t know.

Living a “good life” takes effort. What do I mean by a good life? Living a life that will allow you to ultimately face your end with no regrets over things said or unsaid, done or undone. Living life is the way to prepare for a good death.

Living throughout our entire lives there are always 2 ways we can look at everything. This applies right up to and including the time when we face our own demise. I have some time left on this earth, how much I don’t know. I love this life of mine so I can either live it to the fullest. Not give up on living it until it is taken from me. Or, I could just give up on it now, curl up in a ball on the floor and become an angry, nasty person to be around, poor me. Why would I give up on living life before it is taken from me.

Along that thought line, this came to mind. I can’t change my future, I have no control over that. What I can control is the final lasting memories I leave behind.

To all my family and dear blogging friends, on this milestone post. I thank you for the prayers and loving support. Ponder over this post.

The first few weeks we were together, my mind was on over-analyzing overdrive. It was understandable – our coming together had been so unexpected and shocking, we had each spent the last months on very emotionally fragile ground – and so I allowed it. I remember feeling stunned at how, despite how completely unexpected this had been, it nonetheless felt right. From the get-go, it felt right. We make total sense together – this was the first positive thought I allowed myself, the first acknowledgment that this was good, that it was o.k. to allow this.

Those first weeks my brain could not stop. There was just too much to accept, to adjust to, too many of my old ghosts coming back to mess with me. In typical Miq’s fashion, the over-analyzing led to our first disagreement, a day-and-a-half that had me feeling terrified (at the intensity of my thoughts) and miserable (because I didn’t want to feel what I felt, and I didn’t want to express any of it, and I didn’t want us to fight about something as abstract as my fears).

Maybe it was then that I made my brain shut off. I could see, however valid all those thoughts and concerns were, that this was no way to go about things. I called to mind instead all that mumbo-jumbo about one day at a time and crossing that bridge when you get to it. I figured those clichés were better than what I had going on at that moment, and that maybe I should stick with them.

I feel like I can’t let these emotions out. My brain keeps telling me to stop, to hold still. It is doing its job – protecting me – and I’m feeling resentful of it because I feel less and less like I need that kind of protection. Here, then, is the crux: my brain is doing what I asked it to do (what I forced it to do), but now, even as this same brain recognizes that I’m in the right place with the right person to let go and dive in, it’s not letting me. My brain knows that if I take that plunge, then that will be it. Everything inside me will tear loose. And while there is no fear that I’m just going to gush everything out like an idiot, there will be a definitive shift, one where the guard will slip, where my heart will have more say and play an equal part in my decision-making.

I am not balanced. I can’t integrate these two parts of myself even though the general tone here – the way this relationship is developing – clearly indicates that this is a good, happy, healthy (safe) place. If I stop and pay attention to what my brain’s been able to figure out, if I take the data from all these months and compute it, the result is this: I am happy. I am with someone who compliments me in so many ways, subtle and not, and whom I admire and respect and whose company has become vital to me. I have something that is fun and tender and honest. I have a real, true friend who excites me to my core.

I am happy. While there are dozens more things I could say about what the data shows, that right there is it. And even though I am happy with a happiness that feels rich and healthy and right, there is still this imbalance between brain and heart, this line that I teeter on, trying simultaneously to be smart but not think, to feel but not be a fool. To just do things right.

As usual, perhaps the answer – the missing link, in this case, between head and heart – is time, and that idea, to take each day as it comes. But I suspect, too, that I could use some courage here, some guts to just take that deep breath and completely dive in.

I was drinking my morning coffee, wondering what to write for a New Years post. All I could think of was death, then I realized the most important topic I being a puppet for a very very long time. So how about squirming with this new topic. Though this one is targeted to a specific audience only and everyone may not understand.

“May the very worst day in you future, be not nearly as bad as the very best day in your past”. My very  best wishes to all in this new year.

Got to the computer and checked email and there is a message from an old friend. It is just too good not to share.

Those first weeks my brain could not stop. There was just too much to accept, to adjust to, too many of my old ghosts coming back to mess with me. In typical Miqdad fashion, the over-analyzing led to our first disagreement, a day-and-a-half that had me feeling terrified (at the intensity of my thoughts) and miserable (because I didn’t want to feel what I felt, and I didn’t want to express any of it, and I didn’t want us to fight about something as abstract as my fears). So now this is more of a communication note rather than a post/blog.
So people usually think they are the finest blaming everything on you and you have to survive the force. The past 2 years were awful, I was walking on the wrong path, but I suggest this is human scenery; we usually commit gaffes and then get them right. So I am on an expedition to set those mistakes right. But I guess I am a puppet with several strings each handled by different people, asking me what to do and what not to. I am just sick of it. You sit far away trying to find mistakes in what I do…huh!!!. So I am an egoistic guy with a lot of attitude problem, so here I go, I don’t give a shit about what is happening or what will happen. I have around a million things to take care of and I don’t want to waste time in these petty issues trying to convince a person in what I do is right.

What about the mistakes the accusers had made in the earlier period. Aren’t they accountable for what they did? Though I know my side is a little heavier but still mistakes are mistakes like the sins are sins.

Fizzy Time…

Posted: November 9, 2009 in Random Moments...
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Time is messing with me. On any given day, I’ll forget that this dimension of me and my parent’s relationship is quite old. I forget because before this – this tenderness and affection and deeper sharing – there was a friendship where we communicated a lot and regularly hung out for dinner and casual visits to our relatives. And while back then it was that and nothing more, with no idea that it would blossom into this – this so sweet, so exciting, so hopeful – the truth, it is clear now, is that we were building something that in this new stage of our relationship has given us a sense of comfort and knowing that makes it feel like “we” may be new, but we have some good roots sown beneath us. The relationship has now entered the phase where parents are your best friends. No strictness and No Nagging.

My memory of some friends does not go back just a couple of months; it goes back further, to all the personal things we’ve shared, the fun nights grabbing some drinks, the meals we relished, the adventures we took together, the times when a simple idea (i.e., “dinner”) turned into hours and hours and hours of us talking, talking, talking. There are hundreds of email exchanges, and – at last count – well over 4,000 text messages between us. These people are called the FAMOUS SIX. There are words, so many words – covering the mundane, gossiping, expressing hurt and anger and uncertainty and wonder and shock and giddiness.

There all these things – things that ultimately can’t be quantified even as I try to do so here – that give me this sense that we are solid and further along, from a closeness/knowing each other’s perspective, than might otherwise be true of people who have been hanging out for a couple of months and now I could challenge anybody “we are die hard friends”

Ah, that blasted damage. I could easily tell myself a lot of rational stuff about that damage, and how it was central to one (very, very messed up) individual; but the thing about the damage is that it went deep. It was too many years of hearing the same shit over and over, of being treated a certain way – and after a while, the damage won. I was utterly defeated when I lost hope. I didn’t believe shit of what my luck and hopes had devoted so many years to drilling into me, but the effects of those words and the treatment of life broke me. I’ve been shadowed – even as I’ve felt better and stronger and less stressed and more hopeful than I have in many, many years (possibly ever) – by that damage, and by this big, scary question: what if everyone else will always see me as these people did? From there, it expands: what if I’m silently being judged? What if I’m undesirable? What if I’m too talkative, too bossy, too boring? What if I’m unlovable because my room is a mess? What if I’m not interesting enough or my interests are lame? What if my annoying habits are just too unbearable? etc., etc., etc… The paragraph was coded but concerned people would understand as I don’t intend to reveal everything on this open forum.

This is the thing I’ve been able to conclude about the life that was mine: it was made clear, in every possible way, that every single thing about me was judged, and that I was rejected in various ways for those very things. I’m not even exaggerating that. I could give a list of specific examples, but honestly, it would be too humiliating.

Does no one ever get truly accepted for who they are; and is everyone seriously judged for every. Damn. Thing. – For choosing long hair over short, or for not possessing about being thin, or for lavishing too much attention on technology and not dogs?

I gotta tell you, I’m wondering if I’m crazy right about now.

Time. A real chance. As we grow into our relationship with friends and family, as our feelings deepen, I have faith that the damage will continue to diminish.

Because surely, I can’t ask people to staple a sign to their forehead, assuring me that there’s no judging going on, no intent to reject?

Or can I? Would that be too weird?

I heard people quoting:

People are never bad…it’s just the time that makes them bad.

Noah and His Ark…

Posted: October 23, 2009 in Flashback..
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I’ve waited until the end to write about my friendship with my father. The joy of discovering male friendship is clearest in that friendship because it took an era to appreciate it. A father is not a pal — he is the figure of authority and stability. For my part I was lucky that mine lived to see me when I grew into an adult, and that together we found we shared interests and forged a genuine friendship.

My dad was above all a sole proper tier. I never knew how much he slogged to earn every penny and bring it home, I always thought we were rich and lately (4 years back) I came to know we belonged to the middle-class of the society. He never said “NO” to my wants; even the cigarettes I used to smoke were a part of his earnings.

Always, my relatives wanted to tell me what a great man my father was. Everyone in the world knew that — he never made a lot of money, or invented a new product, or pioneered in box-making, or taught a young genius, or had done anything worthy of note. But people would tell me this man is a river of knowledge and if you are his son then you must me proud to have him as a guardian. Every one believed him as a fine business man, best father and a genius husband.

So do I. When I had fever, he would sit by my side and was concerned of my illness, whenever I was down I heard mom calling, dad called to ask, how are you now?

But to me in childhood he was less a saint or hero, more an ordinary guy with too many faults. He approved of nothing that I did, disapproved of almost everything, and let me know in a loud voice where and how I had let him down. As he was also strikingly handsome, soft-spoken (generally) and a self made man, his employees would fear him as he was stern at work. I’ve never regularly been to his factory but had heard him talking to mom quite often.

Still, none of his works made much difference to me. I wanted him to be like the other fathers in town, with plenty of toys and encouragement for his boys. If I wanted to skate, I had to learn by myself. So, too, if I wanted to hangout, or skate or go to beach, I was either restricted or these luxuries were compared with my academic results. Now when I grew up I see my sister’s attitude towards her children and now I think my father was very right.

But if I wanted to be a big man — honest, trustworthy, capable of doing what I said I was going to do — why, I imitated him.

Because he was busy growing his income, he had little time for his boys. For my part, I respected him as a father, an entirely self made man and a man everyone in town admired, the man my mother, considered as the best husband. Like many of the men of his time and place he was a stern disciplinarian with impossible-to-reach standards. He was old-fashioned in every way, including keeping up his clothes, the fragrances, the dressing, and the car in the approved and finest manner possible — which meant we had to work harder. We did it all, and today we agree among ourselves that these were the best things we ever did.

We had his guidance, complete and without question, as long as we did what we were told, but what we never felt we had was his friendship.

Dad would never come to the sports I had in school or attend the PTM’s, He didn’t much care about how well I did in sports — our mother, who never missed a game, did — but he always insisted that I took the toughest academic classes and never did well in them.

As I got ready to graduate from high school, in 2006 at age nineteen, Dad very much wanted my brother to major in business administration but he never insisted to me to do anything he wanted, may be because I had always let him down.

When I planned to be an entrepreneur, I was actually imitating him, he was disenchanted, I was now past the point when he would kick or spank me, so he let me know how he felt verbally. I had promised, and he had told my mother. Now he was dishonored. Still, it was my life and I could lead it the way I wanted — but my way wasn’t his.

Dad always told me”You are not made for business; you would definitely suffer one day”.

The words caught me up. It had never before occurred to me that I could do such a thing as add to the sum of the world’s knowledge. Once at the end of that lecture I went up to Professor and told him that I wanted to do what he did for a living, and asked, “How do I do that?”

He laughed and replied, “Stick around and I’ll show you.”

Right after, I went down to the registrar and told him that I wanted to switch to a Social Science major. He said that was fine with him, so long as I wanted to go on to graduate school in Social Sciences. Fine with me, I said.

My brother didn’t help much. He, too, found medical to be not to their liking, all that chemistry, physics and the like. That left Dad without a successor.

My father, who always talked about religion with me or anyone else, replied that he agreed with me. We used to sit and discuss religion and he would force me to offer daily prayers and simultaneously do all the social work I was into. I regret ignoring his advices.

By this time it was clear to me that he knew more about the religion than I did. On his own, he had embraced my interest and read deeply about the religion. His newfound support of what I was doing was the most important thing in my life.

He had always been somewhat rigid, insisting that I do as I was told and toe the line. I was keenly, gratefully aware that he had made an exception for my embrace of history. By the late teenage, after my brother went abroad for higher studies, I was left alone. This was the time when I thought I could have my father as my best friend.

Some past old memories were a blast; we six used to sit together in our parent’s room which we called the Noah’s arc and talk on general topics, those times were amazing. It was until that time when my elder sister got married and migrated to the USA, sooner or later my brother planned to shift abroad for higher studies and my younger sister to got married. Now dad is the grandfather of four cute children. Those days were like life had sugar contents in it and now it seems someone had mixed salt in the tea.

My mom, who belonged to a very rich family, a family full of geniuses. She got married to my dad and tried to adjust with him, this was when my father migrated from Burma to Karachi. She is an embroidery freak and was an awesome cook once upon a time. I always had that feeling that mom and dad both admired my elder brother the most and I was left behind, may be because I always brought ignominy to the family.

I never want to travel abroad or leave my parents; I am currently working to make them by best friends. The future of the family seems to be a little blur; it seems we are heading towards a dark endless tunnel. I always had a feeling that after my parents, me and my younger sister would live together and our other two siblings would meet us once in a year or two, that means walls of formal behavior rising to the horizon.

My dad, a steadfast friend. He was my first and always most important friend, I don’t know if he thinks that way or not but I want life to give me an opportunity to die for him. I didn’t learn that until the end, when he taught me the most important thing that the love of father-son-father-son is a continuum, just as love and friendship are expansive. If everyone would be like my dad, literacy would never curtail.

Weeping Tears…

Posted: October 13, 2009 in Flashback..
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The first blog was a hit fit, still I forgot to mention some very important people in it, and I would try getting over with it in this one. Actually I had risked everything in life, may be for fun, honor, adventure and to show off. Whenever I screw up things I always had God standing by my side and helping me out of the quick sand. If I rank people who have helped me in life then the super power stands first, though I am unthankful to him and betray him every time, he gives me chances and I always ask for one more. Muneeb Shahid, a very good friend of mine, passed away three years back in a cross fire between political enmity, he wasn’t given any chance, life moves on and we one by one head towards our final destination, I may die tomorrow and people may forget me with their past. Sami Iqbal, another victim in this world, who died of a car accident last year, he never knew karma would get him so early. This seventeen year old lad wanted to be an engineer but Alas! Life deceived him in his teenage. I may be next. People say Satan has a long life and so do I, I agree to it but God doesn’t grade me as Satan.

Life is a bitch, a statement said by almost everyone, as this world is termed as tyrannical. We ourselves have made it cruel. You bully a dog and expect him, not to bite. This world and dog are synonyms. I, being a patriot respect my country but have we done anything for it? We are born like a cowards and die like one; even if we are courageous we blame our parents or family for not letting us be a patriot/work or die for the country. We get to live in this world only once; life is short, so live like a soldier and die like a martyr. Fahad Raes, another part of my life, was caught by the Pakistani agency and was blamed of involvement in terrorist activities. This man had courage and was a true patriot. The definitive torture by the brutal forces made him insane and thus he landed in a mental asylum in Hyderabad. This guy has been left alone since 2007. No one has seen him since then, just because of the fear that we may get caught in the same case. A man who dosent even know the meaning of terrorism is caught in terrorist activities. I still love my country but hate its contents. You leave your home every day with the intention of not returning again, you’ll either get killed, kidnapped or raped, and if incase you return your heart is broken, someone has either ditched you or you just saw the real faces of life.

When people walk away from you, let them go, your destiny is never tied to anybody who leaves you and it also doesn’t mean that they are bad people, it just means that their part in your story is over. Life is like a story book; divided into chapters with multiple characters and you never know what will happen next. We got independence in 1947 but we got dependent on corruption. We screw up lives as if it is nothing for us. People are killed in a brutal manner as if this country has become a slaughter house.

A preventive war, to my mind, is an impossibility today. How could you have one, if one of its features would be several cities lying in ruins, several cities where many, many thousands of people would be dead and injured and mangled…. That isn’t preventive war; that is war….. It seems to me that when, by definition, a term is just ridiculous in itself, there is no use in going any further.