foreboding boredom

The past couple of days have been mentally challenging for me, I just realised that I have two assignments due for the coming fortnight and it's been difficult to drum up the motivation within me. I don't know what I want from this degree, an escape in the world of linguistics or teaching does not really appeal to me as much it did a year ago when I was first starting a module in Language. This feeling of foreboding boredom fluctuates, I wrote 700 words after my sociolinguistics lecture but now when I think about going back to it, my mind shies away from even opening the document.

I just cannot force myself to work hard even though I want the best out this year. I have a split character, a part of me wants all this over and done with. Another small part wants the best out of everything I've been learning, I am interested in some of the topics covered in the lectures but that interest wanes as fast as it appears. Motivation is scarce, my parents do ask me how uni is but they rely on my own learning style to help me out. The frightening thing is that I feel like I have NO learning style, dedication or care for this degree.

I don't really know why I'm blogging about this but lately I feel like I've been so drained of creativity. I'm wondering whether this is simply a phase or something permanent, I guess only time will tell what's wrong with me.

that's what you get

What do you get when you put four sheesha high, provisional-license holding nineteen year olds in a car? D I S A S T E R.

The night was young and we were all so eager to show off how much we knew about driving, obviously my mate whose dad's car it was wanted to go first. I was pretty much unfazed by everything, having smoked more than the rest I was feeling sleepy and slightly woozy so I sat in the passenger seat and let the escapades unfold before me.
She inserted the key in and started the car, putting the car into first she tried lifting the handbrake but it just would not budge. Friend riding shotgun tried and so did my other mate but it was so stiff, we all fell giggling that our drive hadn't even moved a tiny bit and we were already stuck. So then we all tried together, two of us holding the brake and the other two pressing the button to lift it down- worked! That done, we advised her on lifting the clutch and accelerating, the car stalled and jerked backwards.

Finally, after four attempts we had the car moving backwards out of the driveway. Let it be known that the driveway is circular shaped and has two stone posts in the opening. Manoeuvring the car outwards was a mission, but we hadn't even reached the pavement when we realised we had an audience of five gasping and open mouthed in horror. 'You've scratched the car!' those words were enough to make my friend stop the car and get out, 'Where?' she walked round and saw six sharp scratches on the bumper and several small ones scathing the door.

Shit.

legions of the unmoving

There's an audience of one looking frazzled and a slightly frustrated that they even bothered to turn up for this belatedly organised show. Scratching restlessly at an unreachable itch on their back, they fidget tirelessly.
[the show begins]
Glittery backdrops and velvety curtains swish grandly to reveal a frail child. The watcher sits up straight, interested and intrigued they raise the binoculars to their eyes. The view is magnificent, loud yellows demand to be noticed and mauve swirls hypnotise the audience.
[action commences]
Swords are brandished and cuts are made. Blood spills and reddens the make shift carpet on the stage as realistically as the theatre can afford. Gasps are expected but a stifled cry can be heard slowly subsiding into the silence. Shouts are dramatised, there's no voice but wait. It's the observant who cannot hear.
[the curtain falls]
A pair of legs are stretched, fingers are clicked as if the place the bones into place once again. An applause begins half heartedly and then abruptly halts into an echoing chill.

save the children

Whilst I was mindlessly watching Russell Peters explain once again why Chinese and Indians can't do business together, I saw my mobile vibrate. Curious, I looked at the caller ID: 'private', letting my inquisitive nature get the best of me, I picked it up.

'I'm calling from Save the Children with regards to a text message you sent in support of the ceasefire in Palestine around Boxing Day time. We received over 135,000 text messages which have been forwarded to Gordon Brown. Can I ask what made you send this text?

' Well, purely for the sake of the children, the conflict has always wavered on religious boundaries and your organisation seemed to care for the humanitarian purpose of helping.'

'Yes, exactly, did you you that since Boxing Day over a thousand women have given birth and these newborns are in a dire need of humanitarian aid?'

She continued to emphasise on the needs of these innocent babies caught in the crossfire of this terrible tragedy. They are tomorrow's future inheriting the brutality of yesterday's mistakes.

I took these spinning thoughts and conflicted emotions along with me to work. My eyes felt raw at the sight of my cute little students struggling to make sense of the Arabic words in their textbooks. I couldn't help to draw comparisons to their lives with those born across the lands, warmth and love are given by every caring mother, but situations make these children more adult like for they are witnessing the worst kind of humanity.

The innocence and ditzy nature of one student brought me to wonder whether such characteristics would be tolerated in such extreme conditions, would my student's cheekiness and silly anecdotes be appreciated in a child living in constant fear of a bomb? What about the little cherub-faced child with the shortest attention span, would frustration at her carelessness cause her to be shunted aside? These are children- innocent and sin free, such is the cruelty of life which makes them become victims of their situation.

Please raise awareness, contribute or simply make a prayer for these children. Check the website, there are millions of new lives being scarred and ruined by the evil actions of others.

v-day

All the singletons: open your umbrella.

In all honesty, my V-day went pretty well but I think that being told once in a year that I'm loved makes me feel depressed.Tell me everyday, shower me with gifts and leave me little surprises so I know I'm appreciated.

For all of you who feel lonely and upset-don't be, there's soneone special there for all of us and trust me: it'll be worth the wait. Commercialism and Hallmark cards shouldn't govern our hearts and remind us of exclaiming our love, do it everyday and happiness will be part of your daily routine <3

masochist

Disclaimer: fiction, people. Judge the way it's written and let me know your critiques. Thanks.

In the stormy darkness the two meet. Their silent smiles tell a story of a thousand lovers in the history of forbidden passion and forged relationships on the slippery slopes of conformity. Quickly, they rush towards one another, tripped over the brambles to hold hands. The chill brings a breeze and causes her to shiver. He grabs her closer, tightens his hold and pulls her towards him, 'Hey,' he whispers softly. She smiles in his chest and replies to him just as quietly, he entwines her fingers with his and she rubs his swollen knuckles.'What happened?' she brings his hand to her mouth and kisses them tenderly, he sighs, 'Fight,' the word pierces into the stillness. She pulls backwards and releases her hold, blinking tears as her gaze lifts upwards to his face, she gasps. His face is brought into focus by the moonlight, raw scars line his jawline and specks of dried blood shine in the night, the beauty she dreams about is marred by the vicious fists of his enemy. He turns his face away showing the unbruised side to her, 'I'm alright, really'.


What a skewered masochist.Really. Tell her you're hurting and it stings like a bitch, the screams you bite when you wash your face, be honest and she won't think any less of you. If anything, she'll pour her love and pathetic consolation into your wounds and heal them faster than white blood cells.

this is me today

I love the feeling of accomplishment, it's like adrenaline coursing through your veins when you know that the climb was worth the tears and sweat.

:D

rainbow

The little drizzles slowly trickle through,

Bright shining light creeps in

A band of colours dazzle in the cloudy sky

Red seeps into the orange which

Fades into yellow seeping into green

Stretching into a subtle shade of blue

Intensifying the indigo into violet stretches.

A moment of rare beauty achromatizes before me.

lasting impact

I feel like I'm deliberately stabbing myself into an open wound every time I speak to you. I'm internally torn, the rational, more skeptical part of me just wants to cut you out of my life forever. Never return your texts or emails, that way I know I'll feel calmer and at ease. My other side silently enjoys the conflicted state of mind I'm constantly in, it wants the rushing sensation of the tornado spiralling frantically at a speeding rate. The race and deliberation of my heartbeat fluctuates to give it more fuel, energy releases in spurts of gasped air. That's the fulfillment of the situation, the disruption is spilt over only to wreck my insides as the consistent churning continues.

I can't even bring myself to ask why am I letting you have this control over me. I can't put the words into motion and let them slip off my tongue. They're lying there impatiently toying with my conscience, obstructing any clarity or understanding to formulate a coherent sentence in your presence. Nothing seems so beautiful around you, but then nothing is as confusing as you. Let time tell the story, my selfish ego soothes my distraught mind, a little patience never hurt anyone these annoying anecdotes pop into my thoughts, clouding my judgement.

I continue to hold the knife and slowly let it turn towards the gash..

drained

A thousand conversations float on the lines of these wires carrying hopes, wishes and disappointments. Little sparks of electricity whizz frantically reaching their respectable destinations, the lines are often marred or distorted but nonetheless reaching a space of communication. Bright lights flash sparodically on screens across the world each denoting a new message, an escape from reality which refuses to silently distance itself from the words.