- in the name of Allah - 

how many compositions will I need to write, how much paper will I have to burn, to once again set these embers alight, to once again declare a lesson learned? how long can fumes fuel the flame, when all the wind has blown away, and life has all the torches tamed? could there be any such catastrophe, that one breathes it in again and again, a monoxide to steal away all one's dreams? imagine from this the state of blissful sleep, pouring away all the troubles of pasts un-lived, leaving no cracks in which phantoms may creep. I've had many such moments, alas but with eyes open, where the path I'd taken, was only one the Nomad could've chosen. it had so many thorns, not sharp or pointed, only unkempt truths too long avoided. had I to repeat that choice to let her go, to allow the winds of fate to blow their way, I'd make it all the same, even if I was to be but her astrolabe. how then could one, who'd tasted of a thing so great so little, dare or care to risk the heart again, when he knew the balance of life was a thing so fake, so brittle? for the ones born worldly poor, for the ones who needed truth and nothing more, there is no concurrent alchemy, to extract from earnest blood a means beyond gold or metallurgy. intentions alone cannot pave the roads, stoic hearts cannot tell clear from cloudy skies apart, and such is where my chasm lies, that within these truths, I could not have tasted love a little more, before from me it left to die. 

- in the name of Allah -


What would clouds be without rain, if no drops fell to earth, how would grasses grown green, where'd love blossom if not from hurt? why don't shadows ever complain to lights, how they aught to be seen more, whether day or night? no, each taking turns in the spotlight, playing their parts on stage, like fine wines never to be drank, adorning the covers of life's games. alas for roles, these never seem to have ending, each person or purpose, needing endlessly to be attended, whether refined or raw, whether hare or tortoise. how many patiently dawdle, time dwindling, looking for merriment or marvel, finding neither but distractions aplenty with truths entombed in sparkling marble. my ticks never tock for the social, no external needs impressed onto mine just because someone else's drink needs flavor or some rogue needs a purse to swindle, nope, my clock chimes only for reasons mine. in this I find no acceptance from any, though I desire it not I seek it somewhat as by nature intending, reflexively unadept at melding two discordant forces while neither has means or motive meshing. I envy the sky and the winds, the birds and the rain, they get to be free and fly and soar without weight or imagery imagined but untamed. gravity, amongst other such propensities, is an archnemeses waiting for Atlas or some such mythic figure to swoop down and carry meniality away from my dreams. laugh I must as life breaks each and every such candle I put to flame, that I mould but one more to breathe away its final wisps and resume this ever-tiresome refrain. onwards this pattern goes, in but infinite shades and hues, until my bill is paid and my soul finds what it has all along felt due.

- in the name of Allah - 

numero deux 
 
 were I able to turn back time, going back to those precious moments, when lights were still brightened, when torches carried purpose, I'd still untie your boat, let your raft drift free, for though well we paired, I had not coin with which to forge your destiny. I knew then not nor even now, which path is mine to take, for nothing's glowed as much, since my dream (you) was put to stake, thus I wander these shores an aimless ghost, with luggage only to remind, of that which haunts me most. let irony parade, let sarcasm fly, for all the inkwells dried, could not form you from memory into mine. there can be no consolation, for such a mighty loss, only a brighter light to outweigh the darkness, a new pain worthy of hope's steep cost. what damned me then, damns me still, may damn me til the end, were all those prayers and tears that I'd spent, wishing I had some left had they not all disappeared. it may one day prove true, that I was saved a worser fate, or reserved a far-away delight, yet in my mortal eyes, I can see but loss, of one thing for which I'd truly try. so many promises, so many hadiths, so many hopeful whispers said in bed before sleep, it seems all I have are empty hands, but its true, ghosts have no shape, how can their words have any meaning too? 

 

- in the name of Allah - 


As another Ramadan rolls around and that peculiar time of the year is once again here, my dissonance between the present and my past looms as large as ever. Muslims are truly such curious people. They believe in beautiful, sometimes fantastical ideas, yet when it comes to the integration of such beauty into the world in which they live, there is a sort of disconnect, as if they expect that the image of everything and everyone they see will or somehow should reflect that inherently out-of-place idealism, without actually processing the reality of what happens around them in life. Take for example as divorce, one of the saddest realities facing the modern world. Muslims seem to emanate a belief that it is an impossible, ever-distant concept, something that could never pervade their perfect little castles of world-belief. Yet all too often reality comes along to crush these antiquated and utterly naive notions into dust. Not just this, but there is also an expectation, similar to the American Dream concept of the mid-20th century, whereby the notions of "white picket fence", "2-3 kids", and "9-5" job first gained widespread popularity, an aspiration everyone aimed for and achieved, according to the myth perpetrated unto the children of the baby boomer generation. Everyone thought they could simply follow the protocol of going from Pre-K > Kindergarten > Elementary > Middle/Junior > High > College > Graduate school > house > Marriage > kids > etc, and that there would always be jobs in the economy to support this trend, no matter how many decades it lasted. Alas! All quotas must one day be fulfilled as job sector growth could never keep up with the influx of every succeeding graduating class, and it is unfortunate that the (immigrant) Muslim generation has realized(?) this fact a decade or two too late. One of the biggest dangers of idealism is that it can effortlessly weave itself into delusion at the drop of dime, without anyone becoming the wiser. I would posit that Muslims today are the most susceptible classification of people to this vulnerability. Perhaps it is an ingrained trust in Allah that is taught as to be a bit of an opiate for harder times, when things aren't looking up, that people need not open their eyes to the truth but weakly hope that somehow these problems will solve themselves. I'm not sure most people know how to differentiate between what is truly tawakkul (reliance upon God) and what is actually an opiate in different form being taken to simply dull of the pain of harsh realities. For the record, I do not know how to make the distinction myself, it appears just too eerily familiar that one is the same as the other, so I try to avoid needing either to quell anything I may feel. Consequently, there is the result of me choosing to be who I am today, a highly disillusioned, disenchanted, disenfranchised, utterly cynical Nomad wandering his own desert because this barren world absolutely has no warm pastures for him whatsoever. Part of the frustrations I have with Muslims in today's world is that I see in them foolish and naive idealisms that I held once in myself (somewhat paradoxically, I still love dreams and believe that the child-like innocence with regard to knowledge and the world is the most precious elixir in existence), and I cannot stand to see who I was in the mirror, that ignorant fool who expected so much (in reality, it was maybe 1-2 things in all out of life: the girl, maybe the job and own place to go with it) yet due to timing being a bitch could never could see that dream come to fruition. Life happens, but everyone reacts differently to loss and none can the take the role of judge for someone else's fate. Given my rocky road at the present, how likely is it that I can once again see and believe again in great and fantastical things being within mortal grasp? (the immortal grasp has never been in question, it is this world and this world alone with which I have always had serious beef - so as a relief I can still count myself with those who believe in Allah...anything less than this and truly, the universe may as well implode :O 

Sigh. Ya Rabb, guide me to You, but make this road exceedingly easy, with many pit-stops along the way so I can find my way and get directions when I need to, ameen. 

- in the name of Allah - 


imagine the tears of trees who would weep if they could speak, telling stories of how their sisters and cousins faced bedlam and assassins by the dozens, how much green have they seen fall to earth, endured the leaves as they turn to dust and vanished with time and hurt, such a cruel fate it must have been to stand silent, unable to scream or whisper while axes and death were rampant. just as easily as all those countless leaves fell of their once-wholesome trees, do vanish and crumble the dreams of any who grow old in reality's teeth. I must find again those precious seeds, the essence of life and purpose all rolled into one neatly stacked paper sheet, processed and procured, yes, but its example eminent as a product through hardship refined and assured.

- in the name of Allah -

Sometimes when writing it is easy to forget that not everyone has an insider's perspective, that metaphors or language used with its intended meaning in mind can be interpreted differently or missed altogether by those on the outside looking in. It's a distressing thought when writers have the awareness of it (that is, when they emerge from their thought bubble and remember that in fact other *people* will be reading what they write). It's with this in mind I will try to elaborate my present mindset and give the universe some clarity as to why I insist on being me and nothing else. 

From the outset, it should be obviously stated: I take things, every thing, much more acutely than most people. I "sense" subtleties in language, word choices people make, inflections in their speech, body language, delays in response, and various other kinds of things that may or may not be actually present, and not all things are sensed immediately, some happen after reflection at some later point in time. I'm not some super-genius when it comes to these things, I just process them very much, occasionally too much. 

The best way to understand that would be the expression: "walking on eggshells". If people (white people mainly, I've noticed) walk on eggshells, then I would hear the sounds the cracking makes (metaphor intended). Not only this, I wouldn't ignore the cracking as most people would be prone to do: instead, it would consume me to try and discern the motive behind this reluctance on the part of another, to try and understand why they would feel this way. Most often the case is people are afraid of confronting hard truths, especially in the case of others, but ironically most when concerning themselves (this kind of self-delusion is probably a worldwide epidemic). 

When you have a personality that natively processes things (events, culture, politics, etc) at either an acute or macroscopic level, and then combine that with a desire to comprehend anything or anything deemed mysterious, well you have a recipe for something very, very strange: me! When certain truths are reached in life, every person faces a challenge as to how to react to them. You might deem some of my perceived truths as imaginary or self-created, but they are 99% evident for the most part. I will draw the caricature of a few truths for clarity's sake.

One of my biggest peeves over the years has been the notions of culture, how it forces people into obtuse and obscure and irrelevant traditions simply for the sake of "its how its always been done". To take a personal example, the culture of my parents, who immigrated from Pakistan as first-generation Muslims in America some decades back. Being prone to reading between the lines, it was never really hard for me to see the kind of culture that was, the kind of male-dominated patriarchy where knowledge of truth was relegated below the level of 'political correctness' or what was deemed fitting respective of someone's level (ie someone of status was given more leeway with regard to getting away with things, with the inverse true for the poor or less fortunate = in short, clout and the worth of human beings was assessed by the amount of land/wealth/male children they possessed). If you told someone old school from this culture the color of sky as blue, if they had some interest in the opposite being true, they might try to pull some insane, utterly vague and useless argument to convince you otherwise that they were still right. As if this tendency wasn't frustrating enough, the level of nepotism and societal decay is compounded by this kind of thinking, part of the reason why the Pakistani government is so riddled with corruption and no one can possibly fix it (because the culture itself has been broken, for quite some time). 

Back to the point, how was I to resolve myself (my lineage being irrevocable) with what I saw in front of me? To go even further down the rabbit hole, I had the split of the "East" and the "West", notions developed only by people who couldn't think of any better labels lol. Part of the East was the Muslim part, which tried to establish harmony and take solace in the notion of "take the best of both worlds and leave the rest" - a most beautiful notion if I ever knew one! But alas, reality never plays out as fairy tales. To be able to pick and choose, really as if human beings had such a choice: we will be who we were 'meant' to be, as our personalities always have been, gravitating towards the very things our souls pull us to, regardless if our minds were deluded enough to think such trains would not reach their station. Nope, they will. It is a matter of time before anyone who is truly a liar comes to lying, before a preacher's true skin shows and his pedophilia emerges, before the true colors of the snake reveal themselves. Whether one is truthful or not, whether one would compromise principles for the sake of dollars, whether one would give their own blood and sweat and tears for ultimately futile pursuits, whether the object of true loves was chased in vain, all of these will come to pass for each of us, in spite of howsoever we try to fool ourselves. 

Given that inevitability, I cannot express the full amount of disgust and repulsion I feel when I hear about the idyllic sermons and lectures and advices of Muslims with claim to knowledge here in the 'West'. They continue to try and espouse something innately beautiful, Islam, in a manner wholly insulated from the land in which they physically live, pretending that their problems are so easily boxed and shelved, simply by saying a few words, the vast differences between their morally-centered way of life can be rescued; impossible to be so easy! Part of me shudders at the apparent naivete of the "religious" people these days. They keep on living, walking, breathing, laughing, going about their lives as if they have no idea of the chasm that lies at their feet, that what they apparently love so dearly has so much at odds, in some basic levels (capitalism vs morality, who knew), with the very place they call home. I'm no stranger to delusions, having had to fight off my own for so many years (losing a first real love to 'real life' being a primary stimulus), so I can tell when they are being pushed aside rather than dealt with or accepted. 

All of that leads me to my current frame of mind: where or how can I fit in such a world? Few things are as they seem, truth so often bent to fit people's immediate needs and desires, countries led to destruction on the basis of mercurial economic whims that may change from decade to decade (see: Afghanistan vis a vis Russia/US). Is my need for survival for great enough that I can mentally overcome these inconsistencies and forgo them for presently greener pastures? It doesn't look like it, hence the root for all of my recent writings, perhaps the story of my life. 

Alas !

- in the name of Allah - 


underneath the moon

just as passing shadows on a midnight summer's eve, cast forth by clouds finding still their road by heaven's leash, my breath calms to winter's tune, now at last opaque with respite given form both false and true. as prior puzzles procure their pause, sight is bronzed in darkness, with eye each eye obscured by willing gauze. crooks and cheats have such simple paths to follow, either evasion of authority or greed of riches ringing hollow. but those who care not for the means of such labels, nor the sordid deeds of their requisite, find in questioning their staple, an endless search for the unenviable perfectionist. ideals, those grandiose things of fancy, pursued by both kings and paupers, but damned to hell by human fallibility, mistaking for gold mere shiny coppers. how often must cry the sun, to see such potential wasted, as each morning rises, but yet people with its light, move still in patterns aimless. accrue all the coffers and counts, levy the ledgers and lists, but be ever certain to revoke the rights and make rife the rifts. ironic indeed, one that might envy the shadow, might envy the ghost, whose legend is safe in books and histories foretold the most. so much hope, wrapped up in burdens, prayed not to sink its sailor's ship, alas for wisdom lost or never had, that smarter moves were not made than this. not all shores remain as bright as mother's lands, some siren songs turn out too strong, unwrapping from serenity's gift the final strands, as with pandora, hope is all it ever was, or ever had.

- in the name of Allah -


Almost 3 months, yet it feels like much longer since I last wrote. Maybe I can put into words again my present state and fill in the gaps between then and now. 

The inevitable gulf of disillusion between how I see the world and how it is wont to be reflected by a semblance of "Islamic" idealism seems to grow only larger. Just as the conflicts on the world stage, namely middle eastern and african, seem only more grinding and endless. The world just slips farther and farther down the rabbit hole of its own desires and destruction, as selfishness replaces virtue ad inifinitum and ultimately those who care can do little else besides defend their own little corners of the pie. 

It is strange, there is no sense of depression I have in myself, as I might have in times past. There is only a growing sense that the bridge between what I see and what I long for will never be built for as long as I draw mortal breath. This leads me to finding myself almost entirely absent any true wishes or goals of a worldly sense. The irony is, I cannot even long much for a blissful afterlife at this point; the fabric of the heart which allows it to stretch and encompass any or all impediments to its desire's fruition...looks to be ripped beyond repair. For me, if I cannot long for a thing, I find myself unable to follow the road to its acquisition or have sight to see it clearly. The most basic gift in this predicament is the fact that many of my most intrinsic qualities align by nature towards a fairly religious, 'virtuous' tint. So that most whatever good I find myself doing is because it is what I would myself ordinarily do, not a self-commanded compulsion towards a commandment from Allah.

Part of the issue has always been a strong sense of not quite belonging in this place, in a world where not only do injustices roam free uncontested, but also when cultural dispositions are too deeply ingrained with personal egos, so that a previously well-intentioned act or idea is tainted with a baser human-ness. For years past counting, I have been an opponent to culture and the kinds of things it imposes on people who make claim to it. A few times, I thought I had won the war; to my dismay, those small victories were merely battles, and now looking over it all, I see that the vastness of culture will win out far longer than my short lifespan. It will win the war. 

And so, my place as I see it diminishes beyond anything I can share or show others. My little corner of the universe isn't very large or difficult to describe, but when a person's aspirations become so far and distant from those around him, then there is no convergence on the roads of understanding, only a series of re-appearing forks. I have subconsciously (and now consciously) adopted fairly asocial/aloof tendencies, presuming that because the road I take is not one that can be shared, pitstops of socially-constrained visitation are superfluous. There are some inevitable exceptions, such as family and those I encounter in work/life. Epiphanies do still come, though perhaps more rarely now, but it can supposed that such as one to lead me from my disillusion exists and may yet follow.

Still, the name of 'Nomad' could not be any more fitting. 

- in the name of Allah -


?

I am a man of sticks who dreams in stone, often of wishes with sins washed, seeking in gloom a glimmer to gleam like suns in eons past have shone. Sometimes parables and metaphors hide inside my meanings and make understanding as treacherous as trap doors, but such is the beauty of words- some capture light while some shine darkness without reserve, leaving the one watching outside puzzled or perturbed. Still, why write letters in sequence if not to find and bring meaning to their existence? To have an elevation from simple things, leaping past the cosmos and into the hearts of human beings. We look up at the stars, imagine whole other worlds, yet see ourselves in all of these, looking without fail for companions and the divine to fill in the missing parts to our souls. My path meanders more than most, brim with contradiction, at times defeating my own intentions, yet clarity to all this confusion brings closure and serenity pure of delusion. I haven't yet found the dance I must do with this world, how each we must pattern our steps and cajole our turns out of twirls, but mastering my own self seems to have become the best road-map I could ever have discerned. Thorns abound and allies have been left behind, but visions expand and allow me to see what was destined to follow the present in hand. Creatures such as I, who wonder and wander in imagination seeking solution to life's all-to-acidic equation, have not many near to hold close, but the precious ones for certain are dear to behold. Forgive me, old friends of mine, I've gone forward in my time without some of my past to carry on my back, I'd have none of those implicit decrees to concur with some circle's whim on how to be. In this our sight likely differs, each seeing alternate patterns and shades from life's leaves, but as seasons change so do the hearts of men when finding out who to be.

- in the name of Allah -


A new year, yet I see such similar spins on things.



A Fish With No Bowl

while wells run dry and and lake beds turn to fields of dust, shrinks the world from a vast, flowing space to a patch of barely growing shrubs, deprived of life but still colored green, struggling to capture moisture and sun while vultures soar overhead, eyes sleek and gleaming. not every thing living found its path in peace and carefree seeming, many are those struggling to breathe, to lift heads above sand and from storms simply fleeing, no chance to worry about any decade of tomorrows, not enough seconds in minutes to see the sparkle of stars in skies and catch in glee their glimmers. alas for me to find myself in a world of losers and winners, where one consumes another to eat and sleep and stay warm in winters, I question my own tendencies, wondering the source of their ambivalence, whether chemical or neural or something of my soul inherent, where are the next steps if one felt "hell is other people"? if souls are sold without even knowing what made them whole or really in them? looking only with eyes and keeping shutters on hearts, opening doors but keeping from mirrors so far apart? once I imagined this to be misanthropy, but for people I have no hatred, only a sense of sadness and pity, for the world to be so spacious yet with vision so tunneled and specious. ironic words from the mouth of a fish roaming its imagination, lost from the bowl it once called home and now finding many paths to ruination, but it knows that somewhere, far out past the rivers and streams and lakes now all dried in their place, lies its ocean, a beautiful treasure holding safe all the hopes-that-once-had-been.

- in the name of Allah -


Wow, it's been over a month since I lasted posted. Did not expect that to happen, as there have plenty of higher level thoughts floating around for me to digest, even some to formulate into poetics, but seemed nothing quite materialized since. 

Today is inspired by some of the recent choices I've made, aware of some lasting impact- for when is life possible to be lived without consequence? My present thought: sometimes when salt is rubbed into a wound, it isn't possible to get it out, no matter how flowing the river or how gentle the tap. Sometimes, it happens that this salt becomes part of the blood, absorbed by the skin and embraced by the organs, so that when any sensory function should recieve input...it's generally always taken with a grain of salt (almost literally). What does this mean for people? Can a heart's jaded pains ever truly recover? Are they even meant to? Every consequence affects us in some way, howsoever small. The way we speak to our friends, what we say to parents in anger, the times we let down promises or simply forget them altogether. Perhaps most poignant is the result of love and its loss, the ripple effects that some say will never stop rippling, pouring or trickling through into affecting all subsequent decisions to some degree. How is the loss of these things to be manifested? If the roads of this life are so painted with pain, why do so many (Muslims especially) force others to aspire to self-imagined utopias of pseudo-American dreams? Of course, I am being generous in meaning with the word "force"; few realize it is as such, that cultural and societal norms could ever dare compel a man to do thing he didn't like (perish the thought). Where does one fit in trying to subsist without these particular chains?

While I do not know the answer to this myself, it is similar to a state I find myself in. A state that simply knows I will always be myself, no matter how the weather changes around me. Strange to the utmost it is I should have this kind of perspective now, as once I used to think that I would like to look towards each day as an improvement, were I only able to improve myself in one single way. Alas, life is not so kind as to allow harbour such fanciful thoughts without repercussion. One of the most damning faults of needing this human contact, is that it makes us vulnerable to them by its very nature. As such, retaining a somewhat sparkly outlook remains not in line with the general consequence and consensus of life experience (it is usually hard, whether we struggle knowingly or not). Leaving such floaty thoughts behind, I came to understand that maybe the greatest individual struggle is to remain one's self while bombarded from everywhere and all sides (society, media, family, friends, etc) to be something or someone slightly (or drastically) different. Could different be better, more perfect, more fulfilling than now? It sure could, but there would be a loss of a certain pristine innateness in allowing pervasive external forces to shape one's perspective, a price I would rather not pay. 

I've heard it said people like myself, those inspired to poetry or philosphical thought or simply very keen on intuitive senses, have a hard time finding a place in society- a thought I see now is very accurate. There is just so little resonance, especially when one gets to know another better and better (seeing their worst sides, as well as showing one's own), that the antipathy to ideals becomes just too great without harmony, a thing I think is extremely rare to find these days. So many people and countries have divergent interests, most interested in superceding the other so much so without seeing the fabric of their own countries already collapsing as a result. Is it that worth it to have the money of the 'West', if all it will lead to is moral decay and governmental corruption?

These are my preeminent thoughts of the past month and a half. As always, I would love to know people's counterpoints to me, and more importantly, duas/prayers of guidance are always needed.


     

- in the name of Allah -



what happens to faint hopes when the sun sets? when dreams devolve into bees without stingers or a place to nest? skies still hold marvels as stars twinkle and sparkle, but my own horizons fade into the blackness, as dawns without light or summers without sweat. the void's been calling, beckoning in ways I'd never suspect, as meaning and worth crumble into dust or earth, too shallow for roots and only fit to be usurped. I wish often these nights that I might act as most people do, how they can walk despite their own insignificance, blind or uncaring of personal ignorance. they've said over and over, various factions that is, that simply one must 'do' in order for the fruit to be brought through, but from where forms their ambitions? what places of delusion shatter their inhibitions, turning them from demons into self-empowering prisons? maybe I'm caught in a stream of self-loathing, lacking in confidence where it should be something I'm owning, but seeing just a speck of the world's imperfections mirrors in me my own recession. a stream now overflows with perception, close to drowning in things unsolved and corruptions escaping correction; where's the lever for this dam to let loose these thoughts, so they might find their haven in some poor wretch who couldn't deserve what he'd sought? if only the whims of life stopped with mine, it remains that singular deeds, both good and evil, can wreck lifetimes made towards opposite designs. actions full to the brim with unknowable consequence, presumed good or at least innocent, but doomed to not knowing its wisdom and thus dissolved utterly in certainty's ignorance. this puzzle, these mazes, replete with U-turn signs and arrows describing progressive phases, seem to serve only as rhetorical punishment for dreams undeserved. when did life become for me so gray and bleak as to muzzle hopes and dreams, coloring them only as rewards for those who challenge and achieve? so what then of the meek, if I'd sought to be counted amongst these darkened sheep? need I symbols of position and power, wealth and status, to find myself not counted with those who's cause is seen as hapless? can I only become what all expect, enabled only thus to life this burden from my chest? so it is that thoughts wrap themselves up, as serpents upon prey, knowing its weakness but still giving chase if only for a sense of play. onward, to the belly of the beast! either to slay or be slain, to give or become, one final, wholesome feast.

- in the name of Allah -



And slowly, almost without notice, another year has passed and I supposed to be one year wiser, one year smarter, one year closer to deciphering my presence on this earth. Hmm, if only such riddles were easily solved..

---

It is amazing to me how quickly some bonds must be broken, even after they took years and numerous struggles to create and sustain. There was such a bond of mine, of a friend I had known very well for almost 5 years now. Neither of us were overly social, but we found friendship through common interests (TV shows, movies, etc), and being of the same religious background, it wasn't difficult to forge something of brotherhood. I valued it for many reasons, mainly because I saw him as one stronger than I in faith, and one who's company would bring benefit in addition to our already common interests. Were it possible to sustain that brotherhood while still unscathed, I would definitely done so. 

To be clear, his nature was completely opposite to mine. I valued emotion and imagination greatly, reaching subconsciously for freedom all the time; conversely, he was a staunch fixture of logic and utter detachment from emotion, in both its valuing and expression. It was amusing to me, then, to hear him describe me 100% matter-of-factly as someone devoid of ambition (of the worldly kind, I would say) and thus impossible to have motivation, but himself as one of ambition but no motivation to reach those ambitions. His caricature became clear to me at this moment: having known me so well, he felt he could so easily and quickly, offhandedly and without reservation, describe me in a few words that immediately pronounced sentence upon my being and would judge me, comparatively, as an aimless amoeba to his being a ship without sail. Obviously, a ship is far more along the evolutionary ladder than an amoeba, poor single-celled organism that it is. But, I did not mind that labeling so much as it was a sense of disdain from him, that he could not respect my lack of worldly grounding, my desire to rebel against society/culture that compelled me to not bend over backwards fulfilling the prescribed outline written by others of how I should live and to what things I should aspire (marriage being one). This person, whom I had respected (sometimes tried to, as it was not a perfect thing), had pigeonholed me, discussed me to others in a way I never would have of him, a manner almost rude though certainly disapproving. I tried to let the issue drop, but it festered in my conscious mind. The pattern of some of the arguments we'd had over the years came to fresh memory, and it was something I knew quite familiar: he had always spoken in a way without emotional/considerable regard for others, so much approaching arrogance in its "I believe I am correct because there is nothing there for me to possibly misunderstand" attitude. He would stick to paths and ideas of his own choosing, even when shown clearly that they were not the best or most ideal, a stubbornness born from something I could not understand, as later his mind would eventually change and he would agree the other way was better. Why should one carry this brazen, proud flag of one's own self, as if it were an indefatigable champion of logical matter-of-factness? People can never be so perfect..

Alhamdulillah, despite the troubles one has with or from friends, there is always a recourse. Family consists of such bonds that cannot be broken, even if they are dismissed, blood cannot be changed or erased. Though it might be harder to sustain them, due to proximity and general familiarity (presumably breeding frustration and contempt faster than any other kind of bond), once a person realizes that these bonds can be relied upon, everything else, the botheration and annoyance, becomes miniscule in comparison. Family is family, and will always remain so in spite and despite everything. And eventually, whether they like to or not, they are where home is, the last refuge from the entropy of everyone else.