Dear You,
I thought I would start off this letter with some kind of memory that was so beautiful, it'd hurt to remember it; of clear, grey roads and the windshield coloured with melting raindrops holding blurred images of daffodil fields (and I must tell you that I feel beautiful that I have lived to see the sight and have a distinct image of it in mind), but I will tell you instead that I like this red dress and that I just laughed harder than I have done in weeks. And I am grateful, believe me I am.
And I will admit I've been trying to put together some words but all they've seemed is second-hand and half-hearted. Like the staler version of truth and a shadow of me. But moments like these make me whole, they make me feel like I belong here, I belong here in this red shirt, these black buttons, in the silence that is walking gently into this room at 12:08 AM after a day full of sounds and summer. I belong here and there is a song in my playlist that tells me I will always find my way back home. How can I not, when I walked into the kitchen to a fully occupied table, long lost sounds holding each other close for they'd come together as one after a long time. How can I not, when I can hear the love in your voice through a half-broken telephone line and grinning from ear to ear. How can I not, when you add the two extra o's to my name when you say it so that I feel loved. How can I not, when I find myself speaking so easily to you when everybody else just knows me as the quiet girl. How can I not, when you tell me I am special and your favourite. How can I not, when you pull me into a bone-crushing hug and squeal with me. How can I not, when you are as little as three years old and you say, "I want to stay here," and I hold you close and you add, "With you."
"Why are you so quiet? Why don't you speak? Kiya kuch zindagi main kuch aisa hua hay keh tum nay kaha yar ab nahi, ab kisi say nahi bolna?" Classroom floors, a game of truth and dare, my surprised face and her curious face. "I just can't." Maybe that answer did not suffice but it was the truth. I am grateful, I feel blessed. And to tell you the truth, I am the safest when I stand on my prayer mat during the last prayer of the day and it is dark and nobody can see my face or hear me and I am safe still. And I told a friend that I am a Secret. We are beautiful, golden secrets. I wish I would've answered, "I love everything from a distance." My greatest strength is love, I tell you. I can love and I am grateful.
I will tell you the truth, my life is not about pretty scenes and neat rooms and sweet dispositions and phone calls or even friends. But I know yours isn't too. Ours is something more intricate, flawed, imperfect - beautiful. My life is about the buzz that Friday creates, about lovely hands dripping with mango messes, about being out of breath in the summer heat, about walking under roofs where generations of memories have lived and about living something that is entirely mine, about living a page of my own story book in the loudness of Karachi and the haphazard happenings of summer. I wouldn't change this, I wouldn't be anywhere else because I am living something beautifully flawed and I love summer, I love summer because it comes along with so many colours and stories and sounds and clenches them firm in it's palm so that there is cacophony and the photograph reels and the voice recordings are mine, entirely mine, forever mine. There is greatness in Memory, and there is greatness in living it. For now, there are so many that I am breathing them in and I am thankful for everything, the good and the bad and my story for it is mine. All praise is for God.
Suppose you ask, "Why don't you speak to each other anymore?" Suppose you ask why I hesitated answering the call. Suppose you ask why I am different than before. Suppose you meet the version of me that grew over the past year and I meet the year-older version of you and we look and suppose we tell each other in tones of surprise that we've changed. In the end, there is a clock in your room, there is a clock in my room and it ticks and it tocks and the minutes melt into the days and the days into weeks and the weeks into months and the months into years and the clock in your room carries the weight of all this time. Of all that it brings and all that has happened. Because moments happen when moments happen and it is beautiful because it is not our doing; moments come together when stories collide each other and it is overwhelming just to think that they happen - that they happen and that they are for us and ours and things happen in minute, days, weeks. Things happen, things change, people grow, I grow, you grow, moments happen - and moments later, you are at a different stage, in a different setting and things keep happening. So words fade and my moments changed me and your moments changed you and that is alright. And in such a state, when things start fading you know that they were brittle, temporary. And the permanence of unconditional love through it all is what is beautiful, and to carry all those moments inside you under a roof you can call home is also beautiful. I have faith in the permanence of unconditional love, and in the beauty of things that were always mine.
It is late, I should sleep. The good and bad thing about all days is that they end and so this one ends too. I am not happy that it ended, but I am not sad either. So I will be grateful that we made it through another day and tomorrow is a new task. I have learnt to not under-estimate the magnitude of 24 hours. So much happens. No matter what, our life is beautiful, complete with it's flaws. I believe it is and I see that it is. I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank You for listening.
Love,
Me.
I thought I would start off this letter with some kind of memory that was so beautiful, it'd hurt to remember it; of clear, grey roads and the windshield coloured with melting raindrops holding blurred images of daffodil fields (and I must tell you that I feel beautiful that I have lived to see the sight and have a distinct image of it in mind), but I will tell you instead that I like this red dress and that I just laughed harder than I have done in weeks. And I am grateful, believe me I am.
And I will admit I've been trying to put together some words but all they've seemed is second-hand and half-hearted. Like the staler version of truth and a shadow of me. But moments like these make me whole, they make me feel like I belong here, I belong here in this red shirt, these black buttons, in the silence that is walking gently into this room at 12:08 AM after a day full of sounds and summer. I belong here and there is a song in my playlist that tells me I will always find my way back home. How can I not, when I walked into the kitchen to a fully occupied table, long lost sounds holding each other close for they'd come together as one after a long time. How can I not, when I can hear the love in your voice through a half-broken telephone line and grinning from ear to ear. How can I not, when you add the two extra o's to my name when you say it so that I feel loved. How can I not, when I find myself speaking so easily to you when everybody else just knows me as the quiet girl. How can I not, when you tell me I am special and your favourite. How can I not, when you pull me into a bone-crushing hug and squeal with me. How can I not, when you are as little as three years old and you say, "I want to stay here," and I hold you close and you add, "With you."
"Why are you so quiet? Why don't you speak? Kiya kuch zindagi main kuch aisa hua hay keh tum nay kaha yar ab nahi, ab kisi say nahi bolna?" Classroom floors, a game of truth and dare, my surprised face and her curious face. "I just can't." Maybe that answer did not suffice but it was the truth. I am grateful, I feel blessed. And to tell you the truth, I am the safest when I stand on my prayer mat during the last prayer of the day and it is dark and nobody can see my face or hear me and I am safe still. And I told a friend that I am a Secret. We are beautiful, golden secrets. I wish I would've answered, "I love everything from a distance." My greatest strength is love, I tell you. I can love and I am grateful.
I will tell you the truth, my life is not about pretty scenes and neat rooms and sweet dispositions and phone calls or even friends. But I know yours isn't too. Ours is something more intricate, flawed, imperfect - beautiful. My life is about the buzz that Friday creates, about lovely hands dripping with mango messes, about being out of breath in the summer heat, about walking under roofs where generations of memories have lived and about living something that is entirely mine, about living a page of my own story book in the loudness of Karachi and the haphazard happenings of summer. I wouldn't change this, I wouldn't be anywhere else because I am living something beautifully flawed and I love summer, I love summer because it comes along with so many colours and stories and sounds and clenches them firm in it's palm so that there is cacophony and the photograph reels and the voice recordings are mine, entirely mine, forever mine. There is greatness in Memory, and there is greatness in living it. For now, there are so many that I am breathing them in and I am thankful for everything, the good and the bad and my story for it is mine. All praise is for God.
Suppose you ask, "Why don't you speak to each other anymore?" Suppose you ask why I hesitated answering the call. Suppose you ask why I am different than before. Suppose you meet the version of me that grew over the past year and I meet the year-older version of you and we look and suppose we tell each other in tones of surprise that we've changed. In the end, there is a clock in your room, there is a clock in my room and it ticks and it tocks and the minutes melt into the days and the days into weeks and the weeks into months and the months into years and the clock in your room carries the weight of all this time. Of all that it brings and all that has happened. Because moments happen when moments happen and it is beautiful because it is not our doing; moments come together when stories collide each other and it is overwhelming just to think that they happen - that they happen and that they are for us and ours and things happen in minute, days, weeks. Things happen, things change, people grow, I grow, you grow, moments happen - and moments later, you are at a different stage, in a different setting and things keep happening. So words fade and my moments changed me and your moments changed you and that is alright. And in such a state, when things start fading you know that they were brittle, temporary. And the permanence of unconditional love through it all is what is beautiful, and to carry all those moments inside you under a roof you can call home is also beautiful. I have faith in the permanence of unconditional love, and in the beauty of things that were always mine.
It is late, I should sleep. The good and bad thing about all days is that they end and so this one ends too. I am not happy that it ended, but I am not sad either. So I will be grateful that we made it through another day and tomorrow is a new task. I have learnt to not under-estimate the magnitude of 24 hours. So much happens. No matter what, our life is beautiful, complete with it's flaws. I believe it is and I see that it is. I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank You for listening.
Love,
Me.
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