- Writing in points is the new “thing”. Apparently it makes things easier to read by reducing the chaos, that would otherwise ensue, into minute points. After all neither I nor you have time to read half-hearted ramblings. I might as well try to write like this, though I already know I’m doing it wrong.
- I always have the wrong words for the right occasions. When the worst words do justice I choose the best I know and vice versa. I always know what to say, as long as it’s not the time to say it. As long as I’m not saying it to the right person. I never know what to say to you, do I? It makes me wonder which one of us is wrong.
- I’m hard to be friends with, you should know, you’ve been with me for 20 years. Sometimes a friend, sometimes an enemy mostly in between the blurred lines of narcissism and self doubt. People love the color gray until they meet the black and white that bounce back and forth on the borders of right and wrong. I hate the color gray, maybe that’s why I try to make us into something darker and more bright. I never know what to associate with you.
- I’m studying engineering, but my self esteem is not a sin graph against your quick witted remarks. Do you ever listen to yourself? Or are you one big disagreement with the world? Would you cease to exist if there were only consensus? I think you would, but you don’t think so do you?
- You are so full of it. How do you not puke more often?
- Stop smiling at me and take me seriously for a change.
- Sometimes I don’t know whose the more toxic one in our pathetic little display of love. One of these days I will leave you but you couldn’t care less could you?
- I don’t have the time to hear your rebuttal. You always reply, why don’t you ever talk first? Why do I always talk first?
- Is it because you have no one else to talk to you? Never mind I know what you’ll say to this. I’ll leave this at 9 points.
Honestly this such an apt award for me, because the title I got in my last year of A levels was Ms. Sunshine
to which one of my best friends Irhah replied “Kitni depressing sunshine hai.” (how depressing this sunshine is!). I am also excitable and generally over-react to happy stimuli such as the presence of dogs within my near-sighted vision range. In other words, it takes very little to make me jump in pleasure.
However, who the fuck named this blog man? Apparently, according to Tehreem (who tagged me. That’s one rule down) anyways, it’s given to people whose posts bring sunshine to your life. If my post bring sunshine to your life then honestly kitni depressing sunshine hai? Why are they not doing their job? I don’t know.
Moving on, from unnecessarily long salutations this is the deal basically I’m sharing this so people know wtf to do.
1.) Thank the person who nominated you in a blog post and link back to their blog.
2.) Answer the 11 questions sent by the person who nominated you.
3.) Nominate 11 other bloggers to receive the award and write them 11 new questions.
4.) List the rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award logo in your post and/or on your blog.
Right moving on to the questions:
1. What would you choose between life and death?
Life. Always life. But whose life? But that’s not the question.
2. Which country would you like to tour in your vacations?
Pakistan. But like in a tour way, for recreation,probably Italy.
3. Should money dictate your career choice and why?
To an extent, yes it should. Nobody should be left dying on the street. I wish we lived in a perfect world where pay was not based your work, but we don’t.
4. You are late for a meeting but there’s an injured child on the road. How will you cope up with the dilemma?
Call 911. Tell them the street. Continue on my god damn way. Pray
that my boss is fine with me being late.
5. Your most recently played song?
Okay, so it’s oh no for a second I thought it was aaj jane ki zid na karo but thank god it’s not that it’s actually glowing by the script.
No wait it’s jaane wo kaisay log the…no or is it…tu nai jo na kaha… I have this feeling it’s some deeply romantic song that even if I remember I will vehemently deny listening to.
6. Happiness is ….?
Very hard to write on.
7. Rainy nights or sunny days?
8. Why are we unable to think of questions when we are given the opportunity to?
The same reason why we aren’t able to answer questions when finally asked, with the level of sarcasm that we wanted to.
9. I know the last one was what it was so here’s a more interesting one. If you were to choose one element or physical feature from nature to define yourself, what would it be and why?
Tehreem, why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to. I would choose myself, because I am a physical feature of nature; I exist, I am a product of nature and probably some unfortunate accident, also I define myself.
I would choose fire. Loud, Bright, out there, warm, dangerous and does NOT like to be cuddled.
10. Have you ever suffered a panic attack. If yes, what was the first thing you tried to get rid of it?
Well, this is weird but the first thing I had to do was identify it for what it was. Then I distracted myself by messaging a couple of friends then they messages a couple of other friends it turned to a gigantic like group messaging thingy. mind you without internet, so I had to text. So yeah basically I distracted myself.
11. How much do you sleep in a day on average?
- Do you curse a lot?
- Ethics or morals, which one is more important?
- Are morals even important to begin with?
Do you ever ask questions and not so subtly tell your own opinion?Ok, don’t answer that one. What is that one opinion of yours people don’t agree with? Did you answer none to the first one? Why are you so boring?Do you want to be wanted or needed?
- What is the first word that comes to your mind when I say: Love?
- What is something you’ll never understand?
- When do you feel extremely lonely?
- Do you feel proud that I find you worthy of asking questions?
- What is your opinion on narcissism?
- The most endearing trait one can have is….?
Man, if you’re reading this please do this. Nobody does my questions and I’m left with unanswered questions in my fucking mind. DO YOU KNOW THE PAIN OF UNANSWERED QUESTIONS?
Also follow Tehreem she needs like one more follower to the 100 followers.
Then she can like make that post thanking all of us for following her and move on with her life.
Hello, 10 year old me. Judging by the title you’ve realized that, indeed, you’ve written letters to yourself before. You can read the previous one here. But it would just confuse you.
We live in the same place, though I live a couple of floors above. You’d think by the consistency, that nothing has changed. Falls still turn the valley red and summers still bring more rain than sunshine. Your hair is the same length, yes I know you never want to cut it again because of how thick and beautiful they are, also yes people thought you were a guy and that shit was embarrassing, let’s assume they never grew. The truth is that they did, you got them cut anyways, and you look more confident now. Your glasses still fall of your nose though- all the fucking time.
You’re still hyper. You still love sports, well cricket, you love cricket. People compare you to Anjali from kuch kuch hota hai. That makes you smile, doesn’t it? I know how much you love her.
You weigh less than the normal human, you still do. You hate being bossed around. You still write and avoid drawing like it’s the plague. You’ve never managed to complete a novel. Your friends still really like you. You’ve got lots of them. You still hate romance. You still hate makeup. You hate boys. You have the patience of your dad. Unfortunately.
You still like to ask questions. You over-analyze things. You pick up languages fast. You can’t write romance because it doesn’t touch your heart, but you write it anyways. You still never write about God.
You wanted to be a Quran- teacher, that’s not going to work out so well, we both wish we could do something about that. We both still like innocent by Taylor Swift. You can’t figure out why I’m stating obvious facts you, it’s because it’s important for me to know that I am still you. I’m sure you’ve only read this far for awesome insights on your future.
Well, that’s too bad, because you really are the same. I know that might make you feel that you haven’t grown in 10 years. Go, run. You love running. Never stop.
PS: Pakistan will win the Champions Trophy in 2017, beating India. Stop crying over their loss in 2007. Put a bet on them, first on India’s win in 2007 then on Pakistan’s win.
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THAT’S HARAM?
Yes I cursed, leave now.
Is that, this is one of the only pieces on the internet you’ll find about you.
I can’t blame introverts, I suppose. What kind of an extrovert would be watching YouTube videos? Shouldn’t we be partying and waking up with a hangover? What kind of an extrovert would be sitting here writing in their free time? Possibly one with no friends, maybe no one to hang out with, extroverts don’t write. Do they?
The problem with being an extrovert is that we’re a majority, or so people claim, and we’re everywhere; except on the internet of course, or libraries, or in our homes, and we definitely aren’t writers. The problem with being an extrovert is that you’re supposed to be everywhere, except you’re not. (Sounds like God to me.)
Extroverts with their inflated self-esteem and use pretentious attention seeking devices such as existing and possessing a good sense of humor. How annoying, people who actually like other people.
So here’s to the extroverts who might be reading, extroverts who are tired of being misunderstood, extroverts who’re loud and perhaps more importantly extroverts who are quiet. Shy extroverts, obnoxious extroverts, extroverts who understand they just react more to dopamine than their counterparts and extroverts who don’t understand the meaning of the term dopamine, this is all for you.
Sadly though, this is going to be loads of crap, because most writers here tend to be introverts.
Or writers who think they’re introverts.
Sigh. Amazingly for a long time, I used to pretend to be an introvert too. A person who, I believed, was one of those cool dudes , who didn’t need people, who weren’t needy, who could stay alone for long periods of time in a dark corner and not move.
Why would I want to sit in dark corners, drive myself to isolation, pretend I’m alone with my thoughts, when actually I’m just alone, well because it’s fucking cool right?
That is not introversion, but I’m not going to talk about that here.
I’m going to tell you what extroverts are because google sure as fuck won’t.
Biologically speaking extroverts are people who react more to dopamine, which simply put means, when we are happy, we are happy.
In the book Personality: What makes you the way you are, David Nettle gives the example of two men.
One of them lost everything he had, you know how people go from rags to riches? This man went from Ambani to Dharavi. How would you expect a man like that to act? You would expect him to have given up on life itself. However, this man was working hard to get back his status.
Whereas the other introverted man was getting a promotion, and getting married to the love of his life. How does he react? Meh.
Of course those weren’t his exact words.
This is just one of the differences of course.
Another one is that we get energized by talking to people around us. Social interaction? What a sin! Why is this woman talking to me? I’m not interesting, who cares if I have a demonic tattoo? Well, we do.
But some of us have a problem, it’s called shyness. Or in extreme cases social anxiety.
That’s why introverts have it easy.
Oops; unpopular opinion.
“Farees, you’re an extrovert right?”
“Why’d you run away from that scary looking man who you thought was continously staring at you even when he wasn’t?”
I don’t know. Maybe. I thought he was a scary looking man who was continuously staring at me.
“Farees, but what about nice woman who was drawing in the bus,”
“She’s way to cool for me to talk to,”
“You’re such an introvert,”
Extroverts everywhere, return from their parties, stop having sex, and chants:
“She’s not one of us,”
Introverts everywhere, look up from their books,
“You guys are too loud,”
Ten sad one-liners.
- He stinks of old memories…or is that alcohol?
- He leaves first thing at dawn after he’s answered the call to Lust.
- She laughs at the mirror, in horror.
- Her eyes are as blue as the bruises around them.
- The maid looks at the acid with pity; she knows what it’s like to burn so much.
- Mother used to sing him to sleep, now the monster under his bed has devoured her.
- The glass shards of empty beer bottles break like his bones under strain.
- They are called many names; family is the worst one.
- Some people buy freedom from cages at the price of chains.
- His hand trembles when he holds the cane. 80 year old but childhood memories stay the same.
I’ll start with two facts. One; I’m not a patriot and two; I realize that’s a horrible way to start a blog post about a country. However, I feel compelled to thank this country for helping me find myself; not once or twice but many many times.
Since I don’t usually thank people, or say sorry, or approach concepts with a normal human decency, I don’t really know how this will turn out or whether I will even publish it by the end of it.
For me, Canada is an emotional attachment, a defining piece of my personality, but a part hard to write on. Like the page of a diary, you crinkled up but couldn’t rip apart.
Like the engulfing blue of a serene lake. The waves lap at your feet, as you jump at the prick of the coldness. It’s not summer yet you remind yourself, but it’s never summer so it doesn’t matter.
Like the blanket that leaves your feet bare, but only just.
Like the beauty of dying leaves, that you call fall. Like the hanging mist on a summer’s farewell.
Like the kiss of dawn that makes the sky turn pink.
Canada is poetry.
Canada brought me to poetry.
Therefore some parts are too brutal to talk about but some parts must be said.
So here’s a random story about my life that nobody asked for, because I always speak the most and say the least.
I started writing when I was 7. My first poem was about tying shoelaces, which at the age of blowing dandelions instead of expectations, is a proper problem. So began my journey of venting out my daily life struggles to pieces of paper. I entered my first poetry competition here, in fact, I studied poetry here. The only poetry I’ve ever studied from school came here, in third grade.
Without Canada there would have been no Frost in my life. What an ingenious pun, I know.
Come to think of it; my favorite poet was Shel Silverstein, who taught me that writing doesn’t have to be tragic even when on a sad topic. For those of you who don’t know Shel Silverstein, he writes deep and thoughtful poems that are laced with humor and imagination; a life lesson enveloped in childhood.
But that’s not all he writes, of course for a third grader…I’m glad that’s all I saw. I wouldn’t have been able to respect his humor then, as I do now.
So there I was 9 year old, the first seeds of competitiveness had bloomed in my soul and I wanted to win this competition. We are taught that winning isn’t everything but fuck that shit I’m brown and Canada isn’t going to take that away from me. The beauty of it, is that it doesn’t want to.
We had to write a poem on a color. My friends chose your average colors. You know like pink and purple. Every girl with their pink and purple bullshit- and let me tell you I was no different. Those were my favorite colors, but I wanted to be different. So I wrote on the color white.
My teacher told me that I was shortlisted to get published. It was between me and a boy who wrote on green and a girl who wrote on pink. I was told later I won, though I never saw that copy of the book so I can’t confirm.
It’s not a simple story of win and loss, it’s about being unapologetically myself. God knows, being myself was a crime I’d have to apologize for, for the rest of my life back “home”. God also knows that I was closer to him here, but that’s a personal story, and it’s not because I was a child then, it’s because I hadn’t been molested.
So thank you, Canada, for accepting me but most importantly for making me. For teaching me, in a span of three years, what being myself means. Here’s to the doses of self esteem and respect you instilled in me. Those are the only ones I got on time. Here is to beating up boys in a game of Teen Titans ( I was 10… and explicitly challenged by a boy. He said “Boys are better and stronger than girls,”). Here’s to running. Running so fast that you leave everyone behind, except yourself.
Here’s to watching the fireworks, in the moment I’ll never forget. Here’s to sitting on the lake-shore staring up at the sky wanting to be swallowed whole by their remains. Here’s to the full moon and the incandescence of a present my anxiousness destroys. Here’s to the merriment of patriotic people who gathered only to celebrate; who cheered from the roof tops, here’s to the crowded buses where you don’t get catcalled. Here’s to the day I’ll never forget.
Thank you for the best moment of my life.
I have so many memories stored in my brain, rattling to be let out. If only words would do them justice and my brain would allow them to escape. Somethings aren’t as easy to write as jumping on a pile of leaves.
Thank you, for teaching me what love is. Unfortunately for me that’s all you ever taught me; to love. I love too much now, I love too easily but most importantly I don’t hate. When I do, it seems unnatural to me, even when it’s justified.
Like when you supported USA when they bombed Syria. Or when you made that arms deal with Saudi. Indigenous people are angry with you too aren’t they? Black Lives Matter doesn’t trust the Toronto Police. Also what’s up with that white woman demanding a white doctor?
I’m not saying you’re perfect. I’m not a patriot.
I’m saying; thank you.
I owe you myself, that’s the biggest debt I’ve ever had to pay.
Oh no, I have to pay back my loans for college tuition. That’s the biggest debt I have.
Comedy is cringe-worthy, though watching stand up is my favorite past-time. The problem with humor is that very few of us get it right and yet we are all inclined to believe we are hoots.
Let’s be realistic, I too was drawn into the delusion that I have a sense of humor. Only recently have I begun to question whether people laugh at my jokes or at the one making them.
I still don’t know but that’s the quest of life figuring yourself out.
However there are people who do in my opinion hit the right spots. The first name that comes to mind is Chandler Bing.
Of course I’m not going to hold everyone up to the impossible ideal of Bing’s legendary status as the king of sarcasm. However, lurking around on YouTube, has introduced me to many comedians. Thought many of their jokes quickly get old.
Take All India Backchod for example. There videos are top knotch, their stand up comedy, not so much. I just don’t know what makes profanity so funny? #Cringe However, I will say, that they do have tons of relatable content. I enjoyed their show on star world as well.
Recently I have begun to like Daniel Fernandez. I stumbled across his videos on YouTube, they were brilliant. And as anyone who likes comedy will tell you, by brilliant I mean his opinions vastly agreed with mine.
Hassan Minhaj the host of daily show and the brown guy who annhilated Trump, with his humor of course, is also brilliant.
I think the best things about them on stage are there expressions. Hassan’s bewilderment in homecoming king, Fernandez’s amusement at the situation of India, are ways of expressions that go beyond the scope of what they’re saying.
Personally I think, Minhaj’s body language on stage is half the humor. He makes me want to make a fool out of myself too. But God save the comedy world in that case. He’s hyper, his eyes grow the size of Jupiter, he’s a great imitator, and he’s smart. It’s rare; clever comedy. How do I know it’s clever? Because I can’t understand it.
Fernandez is unapologetic. He has opinions that could get him lynched in the hostile environment of South Asia. He makes people uncomfortable with his unconventional view.
Unconventional (adj): Different. Abnormal. Kafir.
He’s casual on stage, slight hand gestures and very little movement. Almost no erraticness. He has an amused expression on his face and a look of perennial bewilderment. As if we are the comedy he’s watching- and we are.
Perhaps that’s what all comedians do; they show us our true faces devoid of all the filters of caste,creed,religion,morals and ethics. It’s funny that we as a society are willing to kill the writers,artists,humorists,musicians because we can’t stand the atrocity we have become. People criticize artists for being melancholy; melancholia doesn’t get you killed, satire and humor does.
Nafrat bikti hai. Hate sells.
Moving on from stand up comedy though TO THE INTIMIDATING WORLD OF WORDPRESS BLOGS.
I recently found an amazing blog which actually provoked me to write this blogpost . Now this blog has all the ingredients of good humor, that is, it makes you laugh. I have never seen someone look at the world they way this blogger does. Sure, I’ve read plenty of famous people, most of them in my native language of Urdu, and questioned whether they look at the world like that or do they spend hours thinking of this stuff. Well, this answers my question. Some people just have a peculiarly creative way to look at things.
A way that doesn’t push you into depression.
Now I’m strolling through the blog posts trying to find out funny lines but all the lines are funny. So I’m not going to quote any. A lot of the content though isn’t as relatable as the stand up comedy I watch however it is still the right blend of sarcasm and warmth.
And there’s another blog. So this guy, is the shit. I’m sorry for the lack of poetry in that sentence. Look at the title of the blog; Narcissist writes letters to himself. Relatable? Check. Sarcastic? Check. Refined writing skills? Check. Hopeful? Check. Bleak? Check. Oxymoronic? Check. I cannot find the words to compliment this one. You need to check it out yourself.
It’s easy to make people cry. It’s harder to make people laugh. Comedy is probably the most cringe worthy thing I can think of; look at shows like Komedy Nights with Kapil. It makes me bleed tears of agony.
Yet there’s people who not only make me laugh but help me refine my sarcasm. I hope to serve the world in the same way.
Also these are the videos I truly enjoyed on YouTube, all of them are Indian, though I’m not Indian. Share some more if you want.
- The Death Penalty– Daniel Fernandez
- Nationalism and Patriotism– Kunal Kamra
- Homecoming King- Hassan Minhaj
- The Freedom To Offend- Daniel Fernandez
- Honest Indian Wedding Series- AIB
- Honest Engineering Campus Placements- AIB
- White House Correspondents Dinner or as I like to call it brown man insulting orange man (Clever, I know.) – Hassan Minhaj
- Feminism– Daniel Fernandez
Also if you guys have blog suggestions that fall into humor/satire/comedy please share. I need my oxygen.
Also, Also, I couldn’t find a link to Homecoming king it’s on Netflix though do watch it, esp if you’re brown.