freedom is the freedom to choose whose slave you want to be.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

14th June 2006

I stood outside the door to Asma's living room for two slow minutes. Hysterical giggling obscure remixed Indian songs and shrieks spilled out from under the door and I said to Allah Mian 'please make this easy' and in fifteen minutes I had the perfect exit strategy, of course Ali and Umair weren't coming over to study, of course I went home and slept, relieved.

I call Apya at her house and she's really at our house and she says these two people were asking about you and that's exactly who they are: People. Two little persons, so very real, Yumna's hugs are real and warm and fat and Abdullah watches clean and they smell clean and beautiful.

I GREed and the essays are my favourite part I want to do this again they leave the doors open for sociologists and psychologists and dreamers and economists and isn't that just my niche.

But this score I don't have the heart to tell Bhayya and fuck this music filling up my brain again slowing me down filling out the empty spaces where t h o u g h t s should be.

And I don't have the heart to say it but there's just so many things happening at the same time and yet as the urgency disappears rapidly and expectation dies one germ at a time I give myself time and this too shall pass but I feel like a helium balloon with a stone in the middle. I'm grounded, but dude, I could float.

So whatisitwhatisitwhatisitthatkeepsmesofuckingedgy? I can understand this feeling of my life falling into place and the dislocation this unfamiliarity of having myself as the vortex the very centre of my universe the clarity the feeling of never belonging in a place for more than five minutes easily bored and shifting and twisting myself in new directions to find out who I am but what I don't understand is really, how light my body feels on the mattress.


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