A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

It's 7:24 & the maulvi sahab is having some trouble with the loud speaker during the Isha'a adhan. I suppose I should be studying but my own sneezes keep distracting me. Oh, and the mosquitoes. I sometimes question their existence, but they in turn might be questioning mine.

My English teacher said something today that made me smile. "Betrayal is a terrible thing. I experienced it once. I wrote a lot of poetry after that."

I've been feeling strange. Almost as if I were floating around in someone else's abyss. The last few days have too, been quietly tamed by the hushed silence that winter brings. It's that time of the year again, when I lie down and I can hear every clock ticking from near & far. It makes me feel watched.

My friend said to me today that I've seemed to forgotten about her. To be honest, I've forgotten about a lot of old things trying to remember the new ones. Excuses, excuses. I'm great at excuses. And writing down convincing applications to account for unnecessary absence on college days, also. I haven't forgotten, though, I just - well, I just haven't remembered.

There was a boy who took part in the elocution today, and he was blind. It felt good to be part of an audience that gave him a loud, standing ovation after he won the first prize. After I sat back down, I closed my eyes for a little while and felt the black nothingness, once I did. Then I opened my eyes, had a good look at the lights on the stage, the few blue sweaters in the audience, the red colour of the gown of the girl sitting right in front of me, the uncomfortable movements of the girl behind the podium, the distant look on the face of one of the judges; everything. And I felt so small - just my eyes are worth all the praise in the whole wide world, for the Almighty. Thank you, dear God.

Taj Bibi was telling me, offhandedly, how the roof of her house needed repair and how they'd all feel cold at night. She then proceeded to laugh and add that she'd boiled rice just for me. My problems don't even feel like problems anymore.

You never know; at the end of the day, you might get written about.

Thank you for listening.

Love,
Me.