The hell that is Eid

6:15 pm

Today is the second day of Eid. Today the extent of my parents social life becomes evident…it seems anybody who has ever met ammi and abbu can never forget them. He/she finds it necessary to pay homage to them every eid, to bask in my mother’s wonderful interpersonal skills and to listen with awe to my father’s wonderful assessment of the political and economic situation of the world at large; while I run back and forth from the kitchen to the living room dragging a trolley full of whatever-I-could-find-in-the-cupboard or a tray of tea. I can’t stand visitors on Eid day. Or rather, I like visitors but if they come intermittently, giving me breathing space of an hour or so. This steady trickle is very very disturbing. I often forget what conversation I was having with whom, if I find time to actually carry out a conversation.

My inter-personal skills are zilch. I only realize the right thing to say twenty minutes after I should have said it.

I’ve had ten minutes to type this out. Ten minutes for myself throughout this day. Here comes somebody else.

11:25 pm

I’m praying to God almighty, the Holy Trinity, Satan, any deity or unity or trinity that can grant any sort of prayer that no more ‘mehmaans’ will show up. I’m pooped. The kitchen is spotless, the dishes are all washed, the living room is in order again and if the doorbell rings again I will go mad. At 9:00 I was about to start crying. I’m not social, I don’t like half my relatives and making tea again and again and serving the same things again and again and smiling and saying “asalam u alaikum, eid mubarak!” again and again…monotony, repetition, aaaugh augg augggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can’t stand Eid. People take time to visit relatives they avoid the rest of the year. I’m not that big a hypocrite. There will be no such mess in my life inshaAllah. I’ll spend Eid in the Bahamas if necessary, but I’m not going to go through the misery when I’m independent that I go through now.

Untitled Blog #2

UFF!!! Kiya satyanaas mara he main ne apne hourlies ka! I’m so screwed…there goes my dream of another 3.5+ GP. Khaer, it happens. Shit happens. If it didn’t, we’d all have constipation and a constipated world is an unhappy world. Let us thank God for shit, Amen.

Hmm…so I’ve massacred my chance for a Dean’s list, as well as given up on going to Germany for Heimtex (is that how you spell it?) and am clueless about CAD and marketing. This is going to be a bad semester. Sigh…and I really really really want money.

I’m serious, I need money. I have to buy a camera, a drawing tablet, a new look for myself, books, art material, maybe a car, as well as somebody to drive it for me, and a turtle which I will call Obi wan Knobi as a tribute to George Lucas’s amazing naming skills. Hassan stole “bling bling” which was the name originally planned for my future turtle friend but since it’s Hassan he’s forgiven.

And sadly, what with my grades dropping below sea level I can’t ask my dad for anything like a raise in my allowance or a loan. I’m not violent, so robbing a bank is out of the question; not promiscuous, so I can’t sell myself. I can write, but I digress so much none of my writing makes much sense. Plus, what do I write about? I’m not passionate about anything. I’m a gila monster! Slither, slither, flick tongue…

I can’t help thinking I came into the wrong field. Or maybe I just came to the wrong place. Or maybe I just don’t know what I’m doing at all. Maybe I can’t apply myself to anything. Maybe all I’m fit for is sitting in a corner, biting off the few millimeters of fingernails I have left and making sarky comments at people who are more talented, focused, and hard-working then me. Is there a career option for lazy bums who are bitter about everything in the world in which they have to do nothing but be lazy cynical bums?

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned :P

It hurts just the same. I keep telling myself it's over but it's exactly the same. You never get over your first love, though you may reach the point where you cant stand seeing him and the idea of having a conversation with him starts you yawning but you'll still not be over him. It's like the cut you get when a bangle breaks on your wrist. The glass goes inside the skin, there's a crazy amount of bleeding, and though it all heals at some point and it doesn't hurt anymore, the scar will always remind you how much it hurt when it happened. Crying doesn't help, neither does making a list of all his faults and other reasons he doesn't deserve you, nor the hour long counseling sessions with one's friends. You can't anesthetize heartbreak for some reason. It's cureless, like the cold except that the cold gets you sympathy. The damn thing.

But I still believe that everybody should get rejected at least once in their life. They should hurt and suffer, drive themselves crazy with humiliation and self-loathing, cry their eyes out and lie to everyone that everything is "all good" when it isn't. It's so far from all good that it's funny. I could claw his eyes out for ignoring my feelings, if i had nails. His not-so-gorgeous-face would have scratches inches deep, and then he'd have nothing to be so egotistical about. I'll never feel complete until I know where i lack, what he thinks i don't have, other than fingernails; and even that is lucky for him. Love is a bitch generally, but when it's one sided it's vicious and rabid as well.