Indecision

This is probably an understatement but I’m a very indecisive person. I don’t know why but I’ve always felt the need to ask people what I should and should not do. By the end of the day, I’ve asked so many people that this puts me in yet another dilemma of having to decide between a hundred different advices. I want to narrate one such instance because I know there are a lot of people out there who might be undergoing such situation themselves.

It was in 2014 that my mother got me enrolled in a Chartered Accountancy Institute. I don’t know what made me agree to her suggestion, which was more like a desperate solution to my never-ending problems. After months of refusal, that night, as I sat beside my mother, I agreed to get enrolled in the program. It was of course, an experience that taught me a lot and made me resist having more of it. After two wasted years, I started having second thoughts about my career. Come to think of it, I never envisioned myself as a Chartered Accountant. Yes, it does feel good to have that label with my name, but how about an Author? A literature major with one amazing story that sets me into becoming a well-accomplished author is what I wanted but was not quite sure. In January 2017, I took up a degree course in English Literature major. August 2017 was the most difficult time for me in terms of my academic decisions. I was torn between what to choose and what to leave. People told me hundreds of different things but deep down, I knew finance was not me. If I write Finance and Literature on a paper, the sight of the latter would make me as enthusiastic as that of the former would undermine my confidence. Thinking about all this makes me quite satisfied with the person I’ve become now. A few months ago, I was absolutely clueless about what I wanted but I guess sometimes it just takes a minute to make some of the wisest decisions of your life. I thought about it a lot. And as I sat there explaining my mother why I absolutely did not want to continue with CA, it hit me that that was it. I did not want to continue with CA.

 

And before I knew, it was over. They say the end is the beginning. With an end to CA, I put myself in an even bigger challenge; I was offered a job during my internship which I keenly accepted and if I had to regain the confidence I had lost during my crooked CA journey, I had to stick to this decision. To date, I’m managing my work and studies together. I’m sure it’s not a big deal; more than half of the students around this world successfully pull it off but I’m new to this, just beginning to adjust before my life changes further. Every day, I leave my house around 7:45am and its not until after 9:00pm that I return home. It is tiring but did I mention I’m as patient as I am indecisive. In hopes that what is to come will be far better than what exists, I continue. Let me tell you something. It is not easy. At times, its very devastating because there are a myriad of things I want to do right now. I want to: learn driving, learn French, find time to work out, build my portfolio, create a new blog, read a million books, write one of my own, learn different cuisines, and perhaps improve myself as a person. As much as I want to do all of this, I want to stay where I am for a while and watch things work out for me like they always have. When people ask me to quit my job, there’s an unfaltering sense of curiosity that hits me deep down; why? Why should I quit something I like doing? Yes, it is one hell of a day but I know better than to leave something I’ve just started and am just getting used to it. These are the times I need the said patience more than ever. Its 2.5 years until I graduate. 2.5 years until I enrol into Linguistics major. I think that’s a lot to help me adjust into this new way of life and find time for the other things I want. And so, in hopes of getting myself there, I end this piece but only to return to it soon.

 

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8:38 am

That morning, it was unusually cold. A ring from a distant relative woke me up. When I saw her name on the screen and the time in my phone, I couldn’t keep the annoyance off of my sleepy self. Nevertheless, I decided to answer it. What triggered that action was in fact a selfish thought universally acceptable. Is it always the thought of someone passing away that talks us into doing things we’d never have agreed to do before? For a fraction of a millisecond, I thought something might have happened to my grandmother. That was perhaps why this woman was calling me. Had it occurred to me that she had called to complain about my unknown whereabouts, I would have never answered her call. We talked in whispers for a while for everyone around me was sleeping; my cousins were here from London and I couldn’t afford to wake them up- not when they had just slept after their persistent attempts to wake our neighbours.

 

The call was, needless to say, very displeasing. There she was, my cousin’s wife shouting in her widely abhorred squeaky voice and here I lay on the hard punishing floor mmm-ing and hmmm-ing at literally whatever she said. If it’s any consolation, I’m not a generally insipid person but at times it’s really the actions of the other that make me one. The call that lasted for a good 3 minutes-yes, that was painfully long- much to my ecstasy, got disconnected right after. I was immensely grateful to God for bestowing such a blessing on me. As I lied there on the roughly carpeted floor trying to open my eyes, I heard the noise of someone waking up. It was 8:38am and I knew no one could be up at this time; at least not before me.

 

Being an early riser has its pros and cons. I don’t know why, but I always came to face the pros. This morning, like any other morning of my life, was beautiful. As I did my hair and washed my face, I was entertained by the mesmerizing chirps of the little souls that wandered outside my house. It’s quite inexplicable but I’ll try to explain anyways; in another instant, I was thoroughly intrigued by the idea of writing this morning. And so, I began. Not sure if this piece does justice to my overwhelming desire to write but I think I heard someone say better to write crap than not write at all. If that someone was myself, I’m not sure. But I’m glad to have written something this morning. I think I owe the achievement to this time of the day.

Home

They must have been really hungry for as soon as she set down the bowl, one of them-the brown one came jumping on its feet and started gulping the milk with a ‘plop, plop’ that indicated desperation. After what seemed like a few seconds, the mother made its way towards the bowl. Perhaps it was waiting for its kitten to satisfy itself first but the hunger was too much to be satiated in just a matter of seconds. The other one remained under the wooden table as they drank; walking, hopping, meowing around.

She stood there, waiting and gazing at them with the love of a stranger for yes; they were very strange to her. She had not looked at them and found herself filled with so much endearment before. And in an insane moment, there crept in her a desire to touch them. She had never touched them before nor had she ever wanted to. Turning her back to them, she breathed a deep breath-the kind she breathed when she admired nature. Embracing the early morning delicacies, she fell in wonder all over again at the crisp of the rustling leaves against the beautiful melt of the orange horizon into the blue and the gold. In a distance, she thought she heard a sparrow- the chirpy tweet that she relished waking up to.

It was not very windy that morning but she could feel the composure in the breeze; she knew there was some, for it had always soothed her. When she broke from her reverie and turned around, they were fast asleep. One does not like the tough cold porch floor for a bed. In that instant, she realized there was much more she could do instead of just reaching out to feel their fur. Calmly rushing inside the house- she dared not wake them up- she unlocked the kitchen cupboard beneath the cutlery drawer and retrieved a small basket which instantly made her cough. It was dusty and old and a tad too tiny for a family of three. But it was all she had. So she dusted it and spread her favourite woolen mat that she had once knit for she didn’t know whom back then. It was a blend of threads of different hues; there was a pleasant shade of purple, beach blue and baby pink. The borders were green and torn. It was lovely and all she had.

It is never gentle to wake one up as he slumbers. After pondering over the thought for a momentary lull, she settled the basket close to them beside her periwinkles which would provide a perfect shade from the afternoon sun. She waited and found herself silently wishing for them to climb up to her snug spot of affection. A peculiar feeling moved in her bosom when the white one woke up, started pecking at the edge of the basket and after realizing it was nothing to eat, it struggled climbed onto it. Not long had passed before the other two imitated its steps.

With a heart filled with warmth, she looked at them, her gaze growing intent with each blink. They were beautiful. A set of deep blue eyes opened into slits, reminding her of the small marbles she used to play with when she was six. They lazily watched her and soon tugged their owner into a deep sleep. She reveled in the sight like they reveled in the soft blanket. It was all she had but she had brought them home.

‘The wound is the place where the Light enters you’-Rumi

Have you ever felt like something is going the wrong way yet you feel satisfied? I think one does or might once in his life go through this feeling. I don’t know what exactly it is but sometimes you just need to let life take its take on the things. Let the Purpose prevail. In the past couple of months, I’ve endured the worst and best  kind of feelings, I’ve also done things I’m not exactly proud of but then again, I it is the bad that teaches you because had there been no chill, how would you have appreciated the warmth?

Imagine if you stayed forever like you are right now. Although I wouldn’t mind staying under my cosy blanket with nothing but things to write with everyday, I think no one likes permanence of their state. Then why are we afraid of change? But heart is a vulnerable little thing. Right now, my best friend is undergoing some worse times of her life, I’ve never seen her like this. But i wonder why she’s afraid to go after what she wants? Perhaps she’s an egoistic maniac? Why so afraid of the consequences? You don’t know where the ship you sat in takes you. I wonder if my life was a story book, would I flip to the last page and see how things turn out for me? I might as well get killed at the hands of curiosity but I would dare not read the last words. As much as i’d like to read them, I think I’d like to utter them first. What’s more important than keeping your heart at peace? I don’t think it is ego that wins this battle. It never did.

Because only when I write a word today, am I capable of writing more tomorrow. No one ever sees dawn without dusk, a tree before a plant and a book before a word. I fail to understand what stops people from expressions and if it is mere rejection, then are animals better than us? There is a cat which keeps lingering around my house, and after I sometimes shoo it away, I wake up the next morning only to find it there again. She tries her best to steal an entrance almost everyday after getting kicked out of the house. If she doesn’t give up, why do you? Fear will always reside in you, you only have to calm it down. Calm it down with some of your wildest dreams. Calm it to the point that it has lulled itself to sleep.

Have a good night. ❤

 

Five Thirty A.M.

My first post on my new fiction blog. ❤

whenthewatersglitter

When the voices of Azan- the Call to Prayers- elicit hints of ecstasy from the far ends of the streets and the wheels of the bicycles turn recalcitrant outside the Masajid, every being in the vicinity wakes up to the mesmerizing darkness of the morn.
It was not exactly an exotic view from where she sat but it was enough to make her not covet to move away from there. It was altogether too impossible that such little sparrows could make her feel something entirely too strong and uncanny for every time she lifted her head up to wait for words, she realized they came naturally just as the leaves on a nearby tree made no effort to move and were moved naturally. That was when she realized the power of morning prayers.
The chirps started subsiding and the sun waited to rise from behind the clouds. It seemed…

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I have a vested interest.

Tenure, She Wrote

In the fourth grade, I was obsessed with marine science and sonar technology, and I’d spend Saturday afternoons watching The Hunt for Red October instead of Saved by the Bell. That summer, I toured a Navy sub in dry dock– my first time! — and I asked the officer leading the tour when we’d be going to the sonar room. “Sorry, kid. It’s classified,” he said. Masking my disappointment, I replied that it was okay, because I was going to be a sonar technician when I grew up, and I could wait until then. “But they don’t let girls on subs,” was the officer’s surprised reply, as he looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns. When I asked why not, he told me I wouldn’t want to be stuck on a sub with a bunch of smelly guys anyway. My “Then…why aren’t there submarines for just girls?” got no reply.

So, I have a vested…

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I WAS ONCE IN A CAVE OF ANIMALS

Exactly what do you think a man might resort to just to grab the attention of a woman? Among whatever you choose to think, I’m sure you might never have come across someone so weak who out of his utter desperation would stoop to throwing a mere item of stationery at a woman just so she could turn around and glare at him. Whatever pleasure he gets out of it?

If you have ever been inside a cave of wild animals, you would know just precisely how insane it is to breathe with them. Recently, I have come across some people who remind me a touch too perfectly of such voracious animals. Tell me what would you call such a man? I don’t know how much he deserves to be called as such but there’s one thing I can assure you about: he needs help. Not because we sympathize with him-that, we never will. But because we realize how difficult it is for him to comprehend the fact that he needs to cure this sickening sickness.

And do you know what knocks us dead? That someone would even have the audacity to side with these shrewd men. Can you imagine the barbarism? Where I come from, I can because I come from this world: a blend of lusty eyes and bloody hands. But no matter how fiery a lion gets, it is an animal after all-an amateur, far from being able to differentiate between right and wrong.

I met a wise man once. He said something that made me laugh and I found myself caught up in clutches of inspiration. It however, saddens me to mention what he said here: I had always planned to use his words with more glee. ’An eighteen year old woman is ready to get married and have kids. An eighteen year old boy is ready to play football.’

Even as I write, I cannot help but revel in the feel of this very idea. Years of experience taught him that. Days of observation help me prove it. So whatever game those men choose to play, one day it will surely drive them to regret it enough to quit it because if they don’t have the guts to face us, they don’t have what it takes to be a man.