A Letter to the Martyrs of APS Attack

Dear 142 beautiful souls,

Need I ask how you all are? For I know that you all are in a world so beautiful, earthlings cannot even imagine. Before you get confused about who this letter is from, let me introduce myself. I am an unfortunate, disgraced human being who is living on the earth where you all once used to live. I’m that one distressed human being who remained alive on December 16^th 2014 and saw you all die. I’m someone who has no idea how is it like living in the eternal paradise you all are dwelling in at the moment. I’m writing you this letter because I think I owe all of you something. I think I owe you something so grand I fear I won’t be able to do justice to give it to you, ever.  Let me gather the courage to tell you all how sorry I am for all of you. Not, of course, because you are living in a much much better place than any earthling could ever find on this planet but because of all the beautiful relations you had to leave behind while heading toward your eternal abode. All of you are beautiful, brave, courageous souls.

Every time I replay the whole scenario in my mind, that dark, bloody, episode of December 16^th2014, every little fiber of my existence sends a shiver down my spine. There’s not a single word I can think of which can describe how wonderfully brave I think you all are. My senses cripple at the thought of such inhumane behavior. I assure you the day you all were killed cold-bloodedly was the day when humanity detached itself from us; it stopped talking to us and went to a corner to cry its heart out. The day you all were killed was the day when the humanity was disappointed in us. I don’t know how callous a human can be but I know a human cannot be as callous as he appeared on that wretched day. I know that aggregate of insensitivity downgrades such species, outright, from being called a human being. I don’t know whose mother it was, but I remember her saying that there was only a single pen stuck in your front pocket when those brutes carrying their guns came for you. When those anger laden faces pointed the angry mouth of their cursed guns on your chest, I’m certain that your pen would have screamed for mercy. But do you know why did he still shoot you without hearing you and your pen screaming at him? Because he was deaf. Your voice was too beautiful for his ears to comprehend. I’m sorry that you had to bear the pain when the bullet found its way inside your body. I’m sorry that your blood was running on the floor when it’s your veins where it should have been running. I cannot even imagine what you all must have gone through, and I’m sorry for every single moment of that brutal episode of your life. I’m sorry, my little fellows, I’m very very sorry for all of those dreadful moments of terror. I’m sorry for all the wounds inflicted on your body before your soul departed to the place where there is no pain. I detest guns, and the sound of guns shakes my heart. I cannot fathom the sight of anyone holding a gun pointing toward me. I cannot fathom hearing the piercing sounds of gunshots killing my friends. I’m sorry for you had to hear those intolerable sounds. I’m sorry that you witnessed the summit of brutality at the place where all the beautiful minds learn to devise plans for bringing harmony.

I want to let you all know that you all are precious. I want all of you to know that the space you all left is the space too huge and too deep to get filled, ever. You all are unforgettable. I know that a tear trickles down the corner of your mother’s eye every time she sees your favorite food on the table. Your sister longingly looks at your picture. Your face is nailed to your father’s heart and every beat of his heart sends a pain of your memory to him. Nobody can forget you. Ever since you all have gone, I can’t laugh at a joke without remembering all of you somewhere in the back of my head. Every gun that was pointed toward you and every bullet that pierced your body is feeling contrite. My heart cries when I see the weary eyes of your mother desperate to find her son. I’m sorry that I find myself loss at words whenever I try to comfort your mother with my condolences. I’m sorry that you had to leave before your mother saw you growing into a young man. I’m sorry you had to leave with dreams of future in your eyes. I’m sorry you didn’t have enough time. I’m sorry the time ran short on you.

I know that you all are living in a place where there are no guns, no pain and no cries. I know that you are at peace now. I know that you are surrounded by the magical sounds of beautiful birds singing for you. But the bangs of guns in those few hours of extreme savagery still echoes in my mind and takes me back to the time when your helpless bodies were groaning in pain and you were rubbing your feet on the floor. If all the tears shed for all of you all over the world could take back the pain your family is going through, I’d plead this world to never stop crying for you. I wish I could do more than writing a letter filled with apology to you. I wish I could do more to bring justice in the world.

You all are wonderful, wonderful people. I feel so small looking at how big you all are. You all have cornered a permanent place in my heart. I shall never forget you and if the ongoing terrorism would let me live long enough that I'll get creases on my face and my hair will turn all gray, I’ll tell the story of your bravery to little children. I’ll tell them how 142 beautiful people similar to them lost their lives decades ago and their memory is still magnificent in my head. I’ll tell them to never forget you and I’ll bequeath them to keep forwarding this message of bravery to forthcoming generations. I’ll ask them to never forget you and never let you all be forgotten, ever.

Keep smiling in heaven, little angels. You belong there. Earth is and never would be a place for angels.

Apologetically yours,

Yusra.

It's Hot. Oh-so-hot!

Mr. Sun! Could you please try to contain your hotness?

It is so HOT! I’d probably catch fire from this heat.

It is so hot that if I were a laptop’s battery, I would overheat and stop working.

It is so freaking hot that if I were water, I would evaporate up in the sky.

It is so hot that if I were an egg, I would hatch out.

If this weather were a food, people would spend forever blowing on it before it was palatable enough to eat.

..And if it were an oven, you could practically bake burn a cake in it.

Ok, this is getting lame. Basically, I’m whining and I got a pretty good reason behind my whiny jabber.

The heat is so insanely, outrageously wild therefore I must whine!

This heat looks like it has come all the way from the sun with only one goal; to make all the earthlings pass out with its hotness. Although its mission-swoon-the-Homo sapiens is going pretty well, still, somehow, I’m conscious and surviving with just enough level of energy that is allowing me to type my whiney yap out.

This is the sort of heat that makes a foodie, like me, want to avoid lunches and dinners and breakfasts. Why? You may ask.. Because steaming hot food in stifling hot weather is definitely a turn off for my appetite. Even then, I did not miss my breakfast today and although this same weather-effected unappealing sensation did make me utter this announcement in front of my family that I would not be seen at the lunch table today, even then I was found there. Why? You may ask.. Because I cannot skip my meals. Yes I’m sure it definitely would help you get an excellent idea about my veracious personality. (Ok, don’t get confused, that was sarcasm!) I’m also, most certainly, to be seen at the dinner table tonight, gobbling up my dinner and whining out my weather stricken rant.

My god, it is thermometer-bursting-and-mercury-spilling-out-of-it HOT!

This is the kind of heat that made me want to grab a nail polish remover for my black painted toenails as somehow 46 degrees of heat made that black color look extremely displeasing to my eye.

It’s that weather when you want to follow only one hairdo throughout the season. The bun! And, if you are gifted with the slightest ability of perception, you must have, most definitely, understood at once that I’m not talking about the glamorous bun here. This kind of bun means gathering all of your hair into a super high ponytail and then doing some twisting and swirling until it forms a bun.

Guys are so lucky. Less hair, less fuss!! And if they are bald, that’s even more of a blessing for them. No hair, absolutely no fuss!!

Even the fan above my head isn’t helping much. It only helps in swishing your dupatta and whirling your hair. And that pretty much seems to be its purpose.

Basically this is the sort of weather that drenches you in sweat and you look like a wreck. A weather-stricken wreck. Or a labor that comes home after a long tiring day of manual work.

Dad’s getting UPS installed in our house as the load shedding hours have gone insanely crazy. I didn’t know what this acronym stood for so I looked up for it on Google. Lesson of the day! UPS stands for Uninterrupted Power Supply.

This is actually not true, the power supply does get interrupted when the battery discharges out completely.

I’m living among a misleading throng of liars.

Oh and by the way, the weather is so hot that if it were a guy, I would undeniably fall head over heels for him.

Monotonous Overcasted Hours Of My Life

9:30 P.M, the world is drenched in darkness, everything so still, motionless, omni-quiet & I’m sitting in a corner, seriously annoyed over wapda’s unendurable action. Yes, you guessed it right, I’m talking about the power cut sufferance. How do you spend your time when this time of crisis collapses on you? I go stationary. Exasperated, my mind goes and my soul goes irritable, defenseless, grouchy and gets exposed to even a wee bit of annoyance. My sisters are spending their time talking and gossiping with each other, which actually is a way to keep themselves from using their phones, hence trying to save their phones’ batteries because that’s what any sagacious, concerned about their phones, Pakistani would do, as we have no idea when’s the power going to come back. I’m lucky enough to have 38% battery left in my laptop that’s allowing me to type down what my frustrated brains are commanding me. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to write. Write until the battery passes out and leaves me super annoyed.

My sister just cursed Zardari.

TeeHee.

Summer’s unannounced load shedding season starts today. We were blessed enough to be imprecated with the announced load shedding only but today, the unannounced load shedding is also entrenched upon our distressed lives. My poor being is experiencing power cut since 6 o’clock. My phone’s battery is almost dead so I can’t use it. Laptop battery is just going to last for a good twenty minutes and my life, in a nut shell, is literally over. I just realized that I’m sitting in the same spot for the past 4 hours. These 4 hours, oh I’m never going to get back in anyway. What a life, ahh! As I’m writing this, I pity myself for having such a pitiful life. I must complete this when the power comes back, for now the laptop needs to hibernate.

(The Next Day)

So the power came back at 12:15 A.M, I was in no mood to turn on my laptop at that time. I delighted myself with a good night’s sleep in an air conditioned room. Yes I must show off after receiving the continuous seven hour-ed long misery. I think I should hit the roads and join the hooligans against this power outage crisis. Hmmm, I should seriously think about that as there’s really nothing else to do with my life during those dreary hours of blackness.

For now, enjoy my ‘keep calm’ poster: