Let go.

Sweat was slithering down my back. 

My heart was pounding fast, like the beat of a snare drum.

That familiar laugh kept ringing in my ears.

I heard the lock turn and the door creaked open. The masked captor was back. With a kitchen knife. Imagination running wild with possible torture techniques he would subject me to, my mind wandered to a long forgotten movie about the mafia which I never finished because it was too gory. 

"Eat it" he said pushing a plate of rotten sliced apples towards him. 

My hand struggled to hold a piece of apple because I had been handcuffed to the bed frame. Using my thumb and fore finger I ate it in one bite.

"Please!" I whispered. "Let me go."

Within seconds the knife was at my throat and his breath on my neck. 

"Just like you let me go?

LET ME GO IN THE WOODS ALONE!"

***

"Truth or Dare?"

I didn't know how we ended up playing this moronic game with the neighbourhood kids. It probably had something to do with the long summer day which kept dragging on and on.

I was 11. My brother was 12. 

After a monotonous round of "Who do you like?" questions (none of which were answered truthfully) the bottle landed on my brother. 

Trying to impress everyone he boldly picked Dare. 

"I dare you to go into the woods and bring back a few wild berries to prove it." said one kid.

"But my parents say there are dangerous animals out there" a meek protest offered by the youngest in the group.

"He shouldn't have picked Dare then if he didn't have the guts." 

Someone started clucking like a chicken and everyone sniggered. 

Willing to prove he was brave enough my brother got up and headed towards the woods. Kids cheered him on and I was amongst them, proud of my big brother. He disappeared into the cluster of trees and we waited. We waited and waited. After fifteen minutes fear began to gnaw at my insides. I didn't believe the campfire stories to be true. We went there to pick berries all the time. No one volunteered to go look for him with me. Scared, all of them went home. I had no choice but to call my parents.

A missing person's report was filed. A community search was arranged. Dogs sniffed through every inch of the area. But we never saw him again. Not until my kidnapper took off his mask and slit his little sister's throat.

Click, Click, Click, Flash!

Instagram: @memealeph

11th May 2013: Beginning of a revolution.

The first vote of my life will definitely be the most memorable.

I voted for Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf. Simply because I admire Imran Khan's personality. He is the change I want to see in my country. Everyone deserves a chance at proving themselves. People doubt whether Imran Khan is competent enough, he might not be able to deliver. They have a point but I know for certain that the other parties are DEFINITELY offering empty promises. Is history not enough to teach us a lesson?

Anyway the experience was indescribable. Let me start from the beginning. I woke up at 12 PM in a panic. I dreamt that I was too late in reaching the polling station and had missed my opportunity. As soon as I woke up I dashed to my parents room and asked them what time were we going to go and vote. Turned out my father had already returned from there without voting because the line was too long. My mom said we'll go at 3PM. I urged them to leave as soon as possible. Our family and friends who called recounted that it took them 2 hours or more. Finally my parents caved to my requests and we left our house at 1PM. Before leaving we made sure to grab some water bottles and caps thanks to some Tweeples who had tweeted these important reminders. We arrived at the polling station in no time. It was a government health institute in the adjoining neighbourhood.

The long lines of people only made me glad to see the Pakistanis finally waking up and taking a step towards democracy. I joined the end of the line in high spirits. After waiting a few minutes we met with two women who had already voted. They looked at our voter's slips and told us to join the other line which lead to our polling booth. We thanked them and proceeded to the queue. It was a mad house at that side of the station. There was one entrance for voters (men AND women) which served as an exit as well. People were pushing  from the back of the line and a few arguments broke out between voters of different political views and the voters and the police. The "Typical Pakistani behaviour" taunts were heard.

Thankfully, we didn't have to wait there long and were ushered inside. We hurried on upstairs and joined another line. After waiting for an hour, passing the time by talking to the other women (majority were PTI supporters), my mom spotted her friend who was the coincidentally polling officer. She went ahead to get our vote verified but was peeved to discover we had been wasting our time at the wrong booth. This time we made sure to ask a few responsible looking people before entering the room.

To our relief there were only 5-6 women at the actual booth but it didn't get any easier. The government school teachers were not used to dealing with such a large turn out. Their actions were sluggish and lazy. One woman had a spoonful of Biryani in one hand and a pen in the other. She was constantly getting up to either place her lunch box in a secure place or get more ballot papers. When she stood up to go and drink water everyone protested and offered her their own bottles. 

After putting my thumb imprint, I received my ballot papers. There were a lot of  election s ymbols on that page. Camcorders, rabbits, tents, bottles and etc. I stamped on the Bat, waited for it to dry and then fold and put it in the boxes.

We came out of the building happy with ourselves and went to celebrate with Gloria Jean's Coffee where we shared our voting experiences.

PTI won the seat from my constituency (NA-126) and they've formed a strong opposition against PML-N. So my tale has a happy ending after all. Voting is one of the basic rights of a citizen and I'm glad I was able to fulfill my duty as a Pakistani.

Pakistan Zindabad!

Diary

This is my third blog post. I was going to be regular but I didn't have any ideas that anyone would have been interested in reading. But the main reason I created this blog was to transcribe my thoughts. This was supposed to me my diary. A VERY public diary. But since there's an exclusive Top Blogger's Club (which is never going to grant me membership) it might as well be my personal space to vent and rant to my heart's content.

I've tried keeping diaries on and off many times but never developed the habit of sitting down to write about my day. My maternal grandmother keeps a diary. She's been writing every single day since her college days. Mostly it's important news she's received (birth, death, illness) or money she has spent but it's a productive way to end the day. (Hey, that rhymed). One time my sister and I kept a mutual diary inspired by Jacqueline Wilson's Double Act. We wrote in it for months but then one of us threw it out, I don't remember why. At other times I didn't like what I had written (mostly mean and hateful comments. Yes, I can be very bitter at times) so I tore out all the pages. 

Zahroon Malik, the protagonist of Zindagi Gulzaar Hai also writes an e-journal. And the 
female lead Kashaf manually writes one since she cannot afford a computer. They only write about how they perceive the other sex and share their innermost thoughts on life. I could do that too but right now I don't have any profound thoughts floating around in my head. 

I thought of starting a dream journal once too. But that would require me waxing eloquent first thing in the morning *insert "Ain't nobody got time for that" meme* I wake up at 6.30 AM and I have to squeeze in Fajar prayers, getting ready, breakfast, bag-packing (because I'm too lazy to do that the previous night) into the half hour I have before the college bus arrives.

So, anyway, this is all I have for now. My longest post to date and it wasn't that hard. I should keep doing this. Let's see if I follow up on that resolution. 

Buenos dias!

Movie Review: The Help (2011)

It's a good thing last night's dinner plans got cancelled because I finally caught "The Help" on TV.

Based on the novel of the same name it is set during the peak of the Civil Right's movement in America. (Breif history lesson: The Civil Right's Movement was a political struggle to secure equal rights for minorities in the eyes of the law.) The story is about the housewives of Jackson, Mississippi and their relationship with the "coloured help". 

The privileged ladies dump their young children on their maids while they indulge in gossiping, playing Bridge and their so-called philanthropy (ironically for the hungry children in Africa). In return for their long hours of service the black women only received injustice. Fed up of the whites controlling their lives, the maids agree to tell their woeful tales to Skeeter, an aspiring writer, for her first novel.

A touching story bringing to light the morbid issue of racism which is still present in most parts of the world today. The movie got me thinking about how we treat our servants. Although we do not go to the extent of humiliating and belittling them, do we treat them as equals? Do we offer them what we're eating or do we expect them to eat leftovers? Are they allowed to sit on the sofa or on do they have to sit on the floor? 

I leave you with a quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.'s famous speech:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

Beginning

Created this blog months ago and I've finally gotten around to posting something. I'm very sleepy right now so I'll make this short.

Hi. I welcome you to an abridged view inside my head. I can't think of anything interesting to say about myself so I'll just list down some random facts.

1. I'm a dog person.
2. I live to eat.
3. If I had to choose between the TV and the laptop, I'd pick the TV.
4. Supernatural is the greatest show ever!
5. I want to travel. Everywhere.

I'll make the blog prettier soon. For myself if not for my non-existent followers. In the mean time, enjoy this song.

You Don't Have To Lie - Robert Schwartzman 

Adios!