Early birds vs. Night owls

I wake up. Check my phone. It's 5:00. I jump out of bed. The house is silent. Everybody who has the authority to tell me what to do, or irk me with their presence is asleep. I go out to the terrace. The street is deserted.

Freedom.

Early birds: 1
Night owls:0
***

It's 7:30. I'm in school.
"Good morning," I yell to one of the people who come to school early.
"Huh? Yeah. Morning," she groans back.

"You look awful, what happened? " I probe.

"Oh," She brushes her hand in the air. "Went to sleep around 3:00 a.m. Soooo sleeeepy."

"What? Why?"
"Facebook. Everybody's online at 1:00."
"Everybody's stupid. They're wrecking themselves.I went to sleep at 10:00. Woke up at 5."

"Why? What is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean whats wrong with me. Your'e the one who's nocturnal."

"But you're the only one in this grade who sleeps early. You're 16. Stop being such a loser and join  the club."
"Never."
"Suit yourself."

Early birds: 1

Night owls: 1

***

It's 2:30.  I sniffle . I log on to ted and there is a new TED talk on the merits of sleeping on time.
I curse my nocturnal friends, the people who think they're all that just because slumber befalls them when they should already be in bed. I know they're just naive and they're wrecking they're health and I'll still be sexy when I'm 40. They'll see.

Early birds: 2

Night owls: 1

***

Its 7:30. I usually start to wind down and get ready for bed but I have to start getting ready for a wedding. I've already lost significant cognitive function. After almost burning my clothes  while ironing them I get a slap on my head. "Kaha tha na. You should have taken a nap in the afternoon,"
I dismiss the chide.

Early birds: 1

Night owls: 1

***

It's 9:30. My eyes begin to close as we're going to the wedding. Everyone in the car is excited. I just want them to shut up. I want my nice bed. I want to not go in a party that will last till 12:00. A party where the caterers themselves will have to push the guests out. But I don't have a choice do I? It would be impolite to not go. 

Early birds: 0

Night owls: 2

***

It's 10:30. The food hasn't been served yet because the bride has yet to arrive. My head rests on a table top. I'm not even waiting for anyone or anything anymore. I can see a horde of family members passing me, some looking my way expecting a Salaam .I look away and close my eyes. Maybe if they'd come earlier, the bride would've arrived earlier, and the food would've been put up and the party would have started earlier and I wouldn't have had to endure such physical torture. Maybe I would have been the life of the party instead of looking like a person fallen. Maybe I would've said the Salaam.

Early birds : 0

Night owls: 2

**

It's 11:30. They're calling me to get a picture taken. I gave up any sense of social etiquette an hour ago and am sprawled across a sofa. It's embarass- no. It is heaven.This couch was there for me when nobody else was. I need to shut my eyes for just a...

"Batool, Batool! Come. Last picture," somebody screams.

 I zombie-walk up the stage and pose for maybe the ugliest picture ever.  

Early birds: 0

Night owls: 2

*** 

It's 12:30. My family is getting in the car. We're finally leaving. Dad has to sort of push/hold my hand to get me in the car. When I was younger and 3 times lighter he could just carry me. 

Early birds: 0

Night owls 2

***

I reach home, too sleepy to change. to brush my teeth. to remove my makeup. Damn you nocturnals. You win.

Early birds:0

Night owls: 3

When All Hell Broke Loose

There are days
When all hell breaks loose
When the devil seems in control
When we use words we shouldn't use
Ego bruised, Intellect abused
When you and I fight
We both always lose
It is in those days that I am of no utter use

My body collapses
I pause
Relieved to be okay now
Relieved to not be deceived by my own cognition
But then my condition relapses

There are days when all hell breaks loose
When we get bad news
And it's a battle we didn't choose
And I am bruised,bored, behaviorally challenged and
Oh so confused

There are days when all hell breaks loose
When people are cunning, cruel
Albeit it is not my fault
Because I was nice to you
I did you no harm
Yet you still continue to
Do what you

There are days when all hell breaks loose
When people who love you are the ones who tolerate you
But what you do has their love
Neglected, unrequited, abused by you
Yet you couldn't care less
About the effort they put into you
Even love has a price

There are days when all hell breaks loose
When you who once were a rainbow, a light
Now you're grey, a fuse
People continue to party
The way that they do
And all you want to do
Is go to your room
Dig your head in a pillow
Tears profuse

There are days when all hell breaks loose
When people are smarter, prettier and more self-assured too
And I don't know what the hell I'm going to do
And you shove the trophy in my face
"You lose," you say
Yet I have nothing to display,
Nothing to prove
That I'm as worthy, as competent as you

But I'm a warrior
I have some pretty functional neurons too
And though this day has been hellish tomorrow might just be
Heavenly too
Do not be so flamboyant,
Because even if I'm a little slower than you
I can run fast if I choose to
I'm talking to you Life

I'll kick butt out of you

Just a puff

It was 9:30. Me and my family's flight back home was a day ahead. I was at this Arabic restaurant, Marrakesh, to meet some relatives who'd hatched up a rendezvous at the last minute to meet us before we left. Not like we were really important people or anything. It would just have been considered impolite to not have had met them.

I generally don't enjoy family gatherings or anything. Sure a comment here, and a laugh there are some highlights I remember. The food's good too. But there's nothing that gets me going. Probably because of the stark contrast of age between my cousins and I. The younger ones at gatherings usually play together or are glued to a screen. I can't exactly run around playing tag being the um ... "petite" thing that I am nor can I stay glued to a screen. Like I said. It's impolite.

So I do what I usually do. Sit and observe. And at Marrakesh it is no different.

The ambiance though, gets me going. Arabic music hums softly in the background. Dim lights hang from the pillars erected above. And oh look, there stand the Petronas Twin Towers in their 88 storied glory.

"What do you want to eat?" Abbu asks.

"Whatever you guys are," I respond.

And then my father proceeds to the ordering. I continue the observing.

A svelte waiter with a pompadour paces across our table. He's sort of... sucking, I guess on this shisha and places it on a table where two Chinese women sit. The woman with the colombre barely notices the waiter who's either standing at this table because he wants her to smile at him or to elicit a tip who to his utter dismay is responded with a callous "Thanks". She takes the pipe and inhales deeply.

Intrigued, I look around some more. Almost everyone here was smoking shisha.

No matter how much they tell you at school, how smoking causes your teeth to yellow, skin to sag, how it is not cool to smoke , it still looked cool .And even if cool isn't the correct word, I can safely say that watching people smoke does cause you to wonder how it makes the smoker feel.

And so I too, imagine myself smoking just like the other diners at Marrakesh; decked, rich, independent, impeccably toned all the while exploring the profundity of life through deep conversations with my friends.

Just then a waiter places a shisha on my table. The men in the family start smoking.

I must try this.

"Ma, may I smoke? " I question my mother.
"Ask your father," she answers.
 I turn my attention to father.

"May I smoke Abbu?"
"Yeah, sure." He replies and hands me the pipe.
"No, I was just asking whether I may smoke. Don't exactly want to."

"Are you sure, Bushra? " asks an uncle of mine while gesturing toward the emerald vessel.
" Huh? Oh no no no no. I'm good." I reply.
"Oh C'mon. You've done everything that you could possibly do in this country. You've been on the Vuvuzela twice for crying out loud."
I shake my head.

Well,I do want to smoke. Says a voice.
But no. I don't want to. Replies the other.
C'mon. it's just a puff, a harmless puff.
No. It is still a puff. remember what you studied in 3rd grade science class. Prevention is better than cure.
But its just a puff,babe. You're not getting addicted from just one itty bitty smoke.
But it's unhealthy. Like 12 cigarettes at a time or something, unhealthy.
But you'll have a story to tell. people won't think you're a whimp anymore. You'll be glorious.

And just then John Lennon's "Glory" starts playing in my head.
But what will your friends  think- GLORY
And its bad for your lungs and- GLORY
ONE DAY. WHEN THE GLORY COMES. IT'LL BE OURSSS.

"Can I please have that?" I ask.
My dad rolls his eyes his head giving me the I-have-a-really-indecisive-daughter-look.

I give the pipe a one-second look and quickly inhale and blow out. Unfortunately, there is no cloud of smoke.

"You didn't do it properly. Breathe in deeply," says my uncle.

Okay. Smoking, take two. I follow the instructions this time, taking in the slight grape flavour that came along with the smoke. A cloud comes out, but malaise sets in.

"Here." I hand the pipe back to my father.
"Sure you don't wanna do it again. Take a picture maybe?"
"Nah." I chuckle. It was definitely the most unfatherly thing he had ever said or done.

Nevertheless, it was a let-down. Smoking seemed cool. It wasn't. It was supposed to be more than just a puff. It was supposed to be this forbidden magical place within me from where would unleash this maniacal she-beast who would raise an army of bad-bloods and wipe out, no, eliminate every single hater in her path. Maybe that is a bit too much for a single smoke. I definitely hadn't smoked enough until the nicotine had kicked in but I didn't want to.

Guess, I'll just go back to observing. Something that actually gets me going.

We the Class of 2016

Its July. School will reopen in 3rd August. *Deep sigh*

I'm not sighing because school is opening. I'm sighing because school is ending.

It never did occur to me that school would actually end. Indeed my scholastic career has seemed immortal. It just seemed like grade after grade rolled by. But then I came the ugly truth- this life isn't a circle; it is a straight line. And I'm almost the end of it.

Its ugly because I've loved coming to school. Seriously. At times when people pray for a holiday I'm complaining how irresponsible it is to close have an off in a country where strikes are frequent, how we'll just end up just skimming the syllabus and how they'll rush with work the next day. Probably because it the most happening place in my life. I'm not too sociable with my neighbourhood kids or anything. So yeah.

But we are the class of 2016. And this is the last year of school whether I like it or not. But the last year gives everyone a lot of feels. For some its senioritis.Here are my arbitrary feels:

The last year reminds me of dying. on one hand it feels like I'm 90 and the entire world is younger than me.Those older than me have died, leaving me at their place. I'm wise though and the younger ones may ask me questions. I KNOW I'm at the finish line but suddenly instead of running to the end like that:

And I am VICTORIOUS

I'm standing at the end , turning my back against the line and looking at all the other coming towards the end. I wish I could run the race again and feel the strain on my body just once more.

And at the other hand it feels like I'm suffering from a terminal disease and the prognosis states I have one year to live. It comes across as a slap in the face. But I was so healthy? How can I even die. Is what I think. But obviously I can't change much though.

And on the third hand (if that were even possible,having three hands), it feels like rukhsati. School raised me, educated me, molded me. And now its time. time to leave, go to another home. A new home. So yes. Cue tears. We'll hug our teachers who became parents, our classmates who became siblings, get in the vehicle give the place a good look once and leave. 

One good look

But there are some people who are glad at the thought of leaving school. It's the moment they've been for.

And now they get to leave like a boss.

Is this the ideal scenario? But let me ask you a question. What usually happens in the movies? There is a "Once upon a time", there is crisis, there is a denouement and there is an "And they lived happily ever after. The END."

No matter how much lambasting the protagonist faces during the crisis, when the end is happy his perseverance, struggle is worth it.

And no matter how happy, how glorious, how heroic he is throughout the movie if the end is not worth it you can't help feeling sorry for the poor guy. It's true. I'd rather be that parvenu who had a rags to riches success story instead of that rich actress who was once loved and then became a drug addict and died. The end, makes all the difference.

But if the people who are dying to get out are happy and I'm not who's the loser now? Should I make sure I'm miserable in 11th grade or should I glorify my not so happy ending. To be honest, I don't know at the moment.

But then I watched Interstellar and I guess I've found the answer. I know what to do now. Rage.

Scum of the Earth

I attended the 1st National Conference on Communication, Voice and Swallow Disorders in March this year. While one of the speakers there was giving a presentation, somebody sitting on a seat right beside me mumbled,  "The disabled are the scum of the earth. It's worthless working on them"

It was an utterly ridiculous thing to say in a conference where majority of the people were working with mentally or physically challenged people. I'm just glad nobody else heard. So, even though I  was a bit taken aback by the statement as I too wanted to work for the disabled too, I didn't pick up an arguement with this guy because to be honest I didn't have anything to say in order to invalidate his statement. I sort-of kind-of believed it deep down and knew that society at large held the very beliefs as the guy sitting next to me.
But I pondered over this that very day and now I believe its pretty unfair to call anybody scum. I'll try to prove why through this blogpost.

But before diving in let's define scum.

Scum: a worthless or contemptible person or group of people.

So, the disabled  are assumed of as scum because they aren't thought of as useful members to our society- they are worthless and therefore contemptible. They are utterly dependent on the resources of a country which could otherwise be utilized towards something important like I don't know educational projects or infrastructure. Projects that could actually lead the country to some prosperity. However the problem with disability and especially mental disability is that sometimes all effort comes to no avail. Hence the scum label arose.

Others were once thought of as scum too. For instance women and blacks.

What does calling a vulnerable or apparently worthless group "scum" imply? It means that you wished they hadn't been born. That you're just tolerating them as part of your "mercy". And since they are so useless, so scummy,  there really is no point in actually working for them.

Well, I certainly don't think Stephen Hawking or Temple Grandin were scum. Or Oprah Winfrey or Malala Yousufzai. Or Michael Jackson or Martin Luther King. These "scum" turned out to be more useful to our society then the typical non-scummy people horsing around the planet. They refuted the very definition of scum - they proved to be useful. So just because something seems like scum, it doesn't mean it has to turn out to be scum.

When we call something or somebody worthless we immediately have this paradigm formed which warps out thinking into believing that they'll never be of any use, what psychologists say is caused by an implicit stereotype or through unconcious bias. This has far reaching consequences on the stability of society. According to the article here: Adults and even children may hold implicit stereotypes of social categories in which they belong. Without intention, or even awareness, implicit stereotypes affect human behavior and judgments. This has wide-ranging implications for society, from discrimination, to personal career choices, and understanding others in everyday social interactions. If negative stereotypes are present regarding a specific group, group members are likely to become anxious about their performance, which may hinder their ability to perform at their maximum level caused by the stereotype threat 

What if the scum of the earth stereotype hadn't existed so negatively huh? What if we did all we could do to improve the disabled, try to integrate them and then make them not-scum. Surely we'd have more Hawkings, more Grandins, a better world.

Also if the scum should be left to deteriorate because they take too much time to get fixed then what happens when this attitude trickles down to other groups whose recovery or improvement was time consuming or even impossible.

Then cancer victims would be scum too. Since they'd die anyways it would be just sheer naivety to give them the medicine, chemotherapy or the Wish right? 

Wrong. Somebody invested the time, effort and money. Had it not been for them treatments like chemotherapy wouldn't have existed. It would have not been possible to treat cancer in its earlier stages. They didn't throw in the towel and walked out of the lab muttering under their breath "Scum. Scum!" and a bunch of other profanities when they were unable to find the answer at the given moment. They persisted. That is how chickenpox, yellow fever and polio became curable. Which is why I believe  the disabled too can be aided because if in the quest for a cure for cancer if we've gone from nada treatment to a modicum of it then so much is possible.

The elderly would be scum too.  They get sick often. They don't have much time to live either. So don't give them pensions or old homes. Would you deny a home or healthcare to your own parents? I'm glad love exists and most people, actually care about the well being of others. And if the "love" arguement fails to move you then I think Malcolm Gladwell can be of assistance. In his 2008 Newyorker article titled "Late Bloomers" he argues that while some people showcase their talents early in life like all those child prodigies, violin virtuosos and ballet afficianados there is another type of person who becomes successful later like say at the age of 40 or 50 and in some cases 70. This Cracked article here proves how the elderly aren't scum.

And what about children? Child rearing is just so hard and expensive and the children so plain irritating. They're scum too. What'll happen then will we stop working on children too?  I'm not even going to elaborate why that's a bad idea while living in a country like Pakistan because it is already what is happenning.This will.

I'm just trying to say here that if you treat someone like they're stipid they might live their entire lives believing that they're stupid so is the case with scum. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

So if you want an earth sans scum you'd better start treating people like they're worth the care, the effort.

Becasue nobody is actually scum.

To Paint (Thy Face) Or Not To

The worldwide cosmetics and perfume industry currently generates an annual turnover of US$170 billion. 

Gosh.
People really use a gargantuan amount of that stuff worldwide. I often debate amongst my family and friends whether we really need makeup to look good. Because:

There are women who have an everyday makeup regimen . Before going to a meeting of the 30 meetings of the day, they touch up their makeup. Even though it is against school rules I see my peers sneakily putting on lipstick.

They believe that their face is a blank canvas and a way to beautify is by painting it. Through makeup they can conceal their flaws and accentuate their features. It gives them that extra oomph.

But then again, it also means that they do not feel comfortable in their own skin sans makeup. Plus, there can also be a thing such as overdoing it.

Yikes

Then there is also the case where when you do not have makeup on and people see the real you.

So hot

But then again, there are girls who don't like makeup much. To them, the face isn't a blank canvas. It is already a painting, a masterpiece. Who in their right mind would muck up a masterpiece with yet more paint. They were born that way and they like it. Okay, the occasional lip gloss doesn't really matter, but not too much. Not too dark. This is as intense as it gets.

~*.{glamarous}.*~

Added bonus: Guys don't like too much makeup and the no makeup-makeup look is trending.  

Although I sort of come in this category I've seen how my makeup loving peers just look amazing. So while the girls who don't put on too much makeup blend in, the ones who love makeup obviously get more attention. 

Blending in

Standing out

Truth be told, I can't really put my finger on as to what is better? No makeup or lots of it. This argument may be used for other methods of beautification. I mean, do people really need to curl their hair for when they are going grocery shopping? Does she really need to be so decorated with jewellery everyday?

I don't know. You decide.

A Warrior's Neurons: Savour

A Warrior's Neurons: Savour: I have seen so much improvement in my cousin. He's started Ritalin which is an ADHD medication. The results are encouraging. He's b...

My Mind Is A Rut

My maid brought along her daughter to work one day.  I later got to know after enquiring from her that this kid was in the first grade.

Usually my servants' children or relatives would stay hidden in a corner of the house, only moving when my servant instructed them to assist them in their work . These usually children don't make a sound. Do nothing to get themselves noticed. But this kid was different.

It took her five minutes to stand beside me. A further two minutes to start flipping the pages of my book.  I was completing my homework , you see. After a little while she started to ask me some questions. I was too engrossed in my homework to reply properly, ergo I would just mumble a little "Haan," which means yeah in Urdu.

A while later I have her using a pointer on some paper I have given her . I was baffled by what she wrote because, well kids of a maid are supposed to be illiterate right? WRONG. This kid had just broken free of her stereotype and had proved me wrong.

My dilemma was that I assumed. I had one look at the child and without getting to know her more I jumped to conclusions. I trapped her her in my mind in a sort of prison where the other illiterate people I had known in my life lived. I'm not saying illiterate people are criminals or villains to our society. Or that all of Pakistan's lower class is illiterate. In fact many of my maids have been sincere, kind and hardworking people who have had to forcefully adopt the despised occupation because of circumstances. Circumstances like a lack of schooling. The lack of schooling arose because they were female, poverty stricken -and oh I almost forgot-also because of us. Yes, we have also contributed to their illiteracy because we never gave them a chance, didn't realize their potential.

Had we provided them the opportunity, the tools to combat these circumstances Pakistan wouldn't be standing at the 180th number in world literacy rates . Had my mind not been a rut I wouldn't have had misjudged her.

I love how in Regina Brett in "Life's little detours" broke down the word assume in 3 parts as ASS|U|ME. So when we assume we make as (ass) out ASS of  (you) U and (me) ME.

I assumed. ^This is what happened. Maybe this is why Pakistan stands at the 180th number in literacy rate in the world. Because we assumed.