Tag Archives: diary

Yes, My Plans Reject Me but I AM NOT YOU.

A idea, a pamphlet, a distraction

it becomes embedded my my nerves as well.

I plan. Plan so much; routes, times, lists, pictures, speech.

And when the day hits I go.


When I do what do I feel? Happy? Content?

Like I have finally achieved something?

Perhaps it’s just that I left comfort, done something. Found a Me.

Made a draft that I painted in full.

Because when it doesn’t happen I feel death.

I feel a heart crumpled, a vein blocked.

A mind melded to a lumped throat

Drawings of routes, times, lists, pictures and speech useless.

A waste.

Crying won’t help so don’t go about sad.

Plot. Plan more. Keep doing it again and again and again until I plan Perfection.

I plan Happiness.

I plan Contentment.

One day I will find Me.

and you? You can just watch. You can chat, misunderstand, hate or even be wiser than me.

But me? I will have done life.

I pray my Lord stays with me. Always.


Waiting is the Watchword


That’s the keyword for today.

Wait for the hot water. Wait for the sun to rise. Wait for the tea to cool. Wait for a bus. Wait out fellow commuters slugging along Longford. Wait for the end of assembly. Wait for the next colleague. Wait for the test to end for surely these seconds could pass for minutes.  Wait for another bus. Wait for my door to open. Wait for my ride. Wait for that receptionist. Wait for a dozen incorrect logins to verify. Wait for salaah to begin. Wait for this lab door to open. Wait for it all to begin.
…and yes my list may have ended there, as my teacher came along and finally unlocked the lab, but sadly it was not the end of my wait.
However, the real cherry on the Waiting Pie? You never asked, but I will nonetheless reply: The third bus of my day.

That 20A national express that sped away from campus as I stepped out its “convenient” automatic doors. Leaving me to wonder around aimlessly for 32 minutes.
Why, thank you Coventry for the regular prompt rotation of buses.

And here I am unable to a acknowledge that these choices I’ve made are for the best.

Because here on this bus where I sit (the fifth bus of the day) my empty stomach and medicated mind wonder: Why does my head feel sucked up of all air? Barren. And yet heavy too, in all its stillness. Like the wide expanse of a parched desert-scape, airless and stifling, only accepting the stark, unforgiving rays of the scalp. Tightening.  This is how I found my coherency (much later); tangled and strained. As for the goals I had? Well those I’m sure will come back to me once I breathe again.

In hindsight, as I read over this entry I realise much of it may seem incoherent and exaggerated. But reader understand that the human being is complex and every one of our minds holds the capacity for infinite combinations and variations.

It just so happens that on this day my mind, body and soul felt used up. I do not apologise (except to my health). I do believe however, that every tear, strength of will and challenge that we shed, show and solve can only make us all the more stronger.

Here’s to us all on the days where Brain and Body rage war on Ambition. Kisses and Hugs on the house.

And through all difficulty and every ease we should turn to the Most High. I pray that I always do. That the Angels above become so attuned to my voice that even my whisper of help (or happiness) brings forth the rushing response from Above. Ameen Ya Rabul’Alameen.

and unto you Peace.

Interview? Conversation? Dude, Just Pass Over a Manual. A Test Sheet Is Also Welcome…

I don’t think I could class it as an interview.

Perhaps because my experiences with formal interviews (and their subsequent etiquettes) are pretty rusty, practically corroded. Either way there were questions but not unlike a conversation.

Is it usually a conversation? This freaks me out.

There should be a manual for these things. Which I probably wouldn’t read, after all I didn’t even write a list.

I’d like to know which words, feelings and thoughts are appropriate.

Never before this have I expressed an interest in studying psychology. Then I’d be able to psychoanalyse every reaction. Scratch that. I still DO NOT want to study psychology.

I’d die. [queue appropriate melodramatic melody]

But K (my sister) said something I’m very thankful for yesterday, amongst many other great things: “Everyone’s experience is different” and that I am not like sister A. She also stated that my mums knows this.

This brought me more comfort than she’ll ever know.

Because if we spend life thinking we should feel like this or we should be acting like that person, or she did it this way so it much be the way then how on earth will we be able to evolve and is not the way of true worship to live your life with all its whites, darks and colours yet still find Allaah? Building that connection with my Lord through all He gives me and all I try to give in return? I pray that whatever happens is for the best, that it is accepted by my Lord and my those that matter.

I pray that the result is a source of salvation and eternal happiness, joy and contentment. Ameen thuma Ameen. and unto you Peace.

that Room with a bed

A mirror

The door

The bed

Shelves, obviously.


and carpet

and duvet

and window.

Fan with




books and

more books,


and a cup


a bin.









then laptop

with glasses.







cork board

and toiletries


and meds.


on lights

above more

then more





Let’s Glide Through An Index

It’s that time of year where I purchase a new diary and categorise all the aspects of my life. I make complex tables of my routine and charts of interest. Then come those lists. The list I don’t believe will ever stop. I don’t think they can. The listing of everything; from key dates and numerical references to books I want to read, to the purchases I’ve just made and the meds I need to take.

And it makes me extremely happy. It keeps me calm. It helps me understand.

and upon you be Peace