It’s not you, it’s me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be free.

“There’s more to life,” they say.

My response, “what’s the point, anyway?”

Despite my absence, the sun will still rise before your eyes

Shining bright over this world full of lies in disguise

Each soul buried deep beneath protective layers of self defence & preservation,

Subjecting itself to eternal damnation,

Too afraid to reveal its true colours and face rejection.

We lock ourselves up in cages and deliberately lose the keys,

because cowering away in our comfort zone puts our mind at ease.



It’s all too familiar;

this feeling,

this silence,

this emptiness.

I think the universe finally decided I had taken a vacation from myself for far too long.

But I wasn’t homesick at all.

Why would I miss feeling like a lost tourist in my own head?

I’ve realized I can’t stay where I don’t belong.

I’ve already planned my next trip:

A leap towards eternal freedom,

A final sigh of relief as I watch the crimson rivers gushing over my palms, letting me sink deeper with each each ebb and flow.

I’ve been living in Lahore for almost two decades and just like any other place in the world it has its pros & cons, but I’ve always loved it; no matter how crappy it gets sometimes, it’s home.

For the first time in 25 years, two nights ago I felt unsafe in my own home. I felt genuine fear– something I have never actually experienced before. I mean, sure, I’ve been worried about things that now seem so, so trivial. But I have never felt as terrified and alone as I felt last Sunday night.

Before I go on to narrating what happened, I’d just like to put a “disclaimer” out there and say that if you’re going to tell me that whatever happened COULD have been avoided or that I should have handled it better, then please do yourself a favor and just fuck right off.
No hard feelings, I promise.

Okay, here goes:

Sunday, 22/07/2018

My friend and I were working the night shift and we had plans of going out for a quick bite- like we usually do once we are done with all our work and all the patients are stable and asleep. We finally decided to leave Ganga Ram at about 10:30 PM on Sunday- which is really not too late, considering the fact that a) it’s not the fucking 16th century and b) we have been out as late as 2 AM during Ramadan. For those of you who don’t know, there are usually a lot of drug addicts and “shady” – for lack of a better word- people outside SGRH on Queen’s Road. We’ve never had a specifically unpleasant encounter with anyone and just like we usually do, we left the hospital in my car and were busy talking about god knows what when suddenly, right as I was about to turn onto Jail Road, two drunk guys drove up really close next to my car and started banging on my window. We were both startled, but we didn’t react and i sped the car up. Just to be clear, this was literally two minutes after we left work- and in those two minutes, I know for a fact that I did not hit anyone or anything with my car, nor did I honk at anyone or anything.  So as i’m speeding up and we’re trying to make sense of what just happened, I see the same guys coming after us in the rearview mirror, only this time they had another friend on another bike. I tried driving even faster, trying not to fucking crash my car, but they managed to sandwich us at which point I was forced to hit the breaks, causing the car behind us to come slamming into my back bumper while I bumped into his bike infront of me. I look up to see them get off their bikes and walk towards my car and in that moment I was so ready to see him pull a gun out so I did what I thought was best and quickly reversed and drove off as fast as I could. Again, I kept driving straight at about 100 km/hr- which is definitely not something I’m used to since I usually never go above 70. I finally thought they had given up when they surprised us by driving up on both sides and slamming their fists on my windows and trying to open my door. When I accelerated even harder, one of them managed to break my side mirror off before we sped away. When I got to the end of Jail Road, they finally managed to corner us, forcing me to stop my car. This was when a traffic police guy got involved and stood there watching them harass us- violently screaming at us, slamming the windows, trying to open the doors, swearing at us. After about 5 minutes of uselessly watching the show, the policeman finally came over and asked me to pullover to the other side since there were cars lined up behind me, angrily honking at me as if I was enjoying this insanity. (We’re such a great, unified and empathetic nation, aren’t we?) Once on the other side of the road, they kept yelling at me to roll down my windows, which I continued to refuse to do- for obvious reasons. I called a friend and told him what was happening because I knew I needed help and he asked me to note down their license plate numbers and tell them that I’d called “15”. When I said that, the policeman said, “Madame, aap kisi male ko bulayein.”

Can we just fucking pause for a second? This fucking statement triggered me on SO MANY DIFFERENT LEVELS.
What is the point of the fucking police if I need to “call a male” to fucking “rescue” me? ISN’T THAT YOUR GODDAMN JOB, YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT? The only reason we were in this situation to begin with is because these worthless, pathetic fucks see two women alone and think they can do whatever the hell they want.

And honestly, we are all to blame for that. We let them get away with this crap.

Getting back to the story:

When they heard that I’d already “called a male” they suddenly decided to “graciously forgive me” for their inability to think with their brains instead of their dicks and drove off.

Whatever happened afterwards and how my friend helped us deal with it is a whole different story that I may, or may not share later.

But god damn, Lahore.

I’m so disappointed.


I’m a graveyard of broken dreams scattered around my own tombstone;

A toxic wasteland with a warning sign that reads “DO NOT ENTER”

I’m an impenetrable fort that’s empty with nothing to defend

Like a deep, dark ditch that never comes to an end.

I’m a dried up ocean with no water;

a garden of remembrance for the rotting corpses of all that once called it home.

But beneath the murky silt of my grimy surface,

I know there is still some fertile soil left, capable of sustaining life in this achromatic desert.

All it needs is some rainfall to put an end to this drought.


Wasting away,

one breath at a time

Like a candle in a vacuum,

thirsting for oxygen to keep its flame dancing

It doesn’t burn like it once did; blazing bright and full of passion

It continues to surrender to the darkness,

Accepting its fate,

Welcoming the end.

Tick Tock

Most days pass by like a blur and you don’t really give yourself a chance to take a step back and ask yourself “why” you’re doing any of this

But then some days each second seems to last an eternity and you find your mind plagued with questions like “why bother?” or “what’s the fucking point?”

“Who is this facade for?”

And no matter how hard you try to find a satisfactory answer to these questions, you just keep digging deeper into an empty, dark abyss

The darkness stops terrifying you after a while, though.

It’s the daunting, inevitable moment when you’ll finally decide that it really isn’t worth it that haunts you.

It’s a constant reminder that each day brings you closer to your breaking point and it’s only a matter of time before you give up.

Corpse with a Beating Heart

Have you ever felt stale and rotten?

Like an unattended, maggot-infested wound

Have you ever felt insignificant and small?

Like you’re somehow smaller than an atom, part of something bigger that wouldn’t be any different if it were one-atom-short?

Have you ever felt like your heart is being engulfed in burning lava, making you wish it would just stop beating?

But it doesn’t stop. It just keeps going, and you keep waiting in agony

You have no other choice but to helplessly wait for the pain to stop.

Have you ever felt like tempered glass that’s been struck by a bullet; shattered into a million little pieces, absolutely impossible to put back together?

Have you ever felt so numb, that no matter how deep you cut yourself, you don’t feel anything?

Because I have

But I really hope you haven’t.