Real life

A dry wind blows lazily as you sit with the emptiness, watching your pieces scatter away. You have no idea where they’re headed. They just don’t belong to you anymore. They call out to you and their screams echo in your ears long after you are dead. You savour the moment so that you can then know what the opposite will feel like. You read stories of warriors who have survived the Possible but the Unimaginable, on Facebook pages like The Humans of Pakistan. Your heart shakes hands with those of strangers who know what real life looks like. Yes, ‘real life’. That of difficult decisions, battles of solitude, struggles with your own self, confrontations with your heart, the disdain of insincerity. That’s real life. These strangers have a strange look. It’s not scary. It’s just comforting, and a little bit overwhelming. Because you feel understood, you ask yourself, “So there is someone out of everyone who knows what it is!” And as you stealthily walk away from your shadow, the black image on the ground seems to get ahead of you. You don’t want anyone to get ahead of you! But it does and you scramble after it until you fall and hurt yourself and cry like a baby and look around for your mom. Then you’re okay – just a little – and then you remember that there are things like biryani, and chai, and fish-n-chips, and chapli kabab, and Alfredo pasta, and pizza, and then you feel alright again.
You feel all okay again.
Yeah? Yeah.



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