some of the best things in life

The best things in life: Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you, waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep, first kisses, making new friends and spending time with the old ones, singing in the bathroom, sweet dreams, hot chocolate, making brownies and cookies, holding hands with someone you care about, watching a sunset, sleeping in, taking long hot showers, and knowing that somebody misses you ♥

RelieF

I feel so relieved right now you have no idea.
Yes, my previous blogpost contradicts this one: my friends think I am bipolar. I of course highly agree and disagree (yes, more bipolar traits). I disagree because as all you 90210 viewers have witnessed, Silver and her bipolar-ism is just too sickening a disease for one to claim. I agree because I have the ability to change minds feeling decisions and all that jazz in the blink of an eye. I feel very relieved, bipolar or not.
Contradictory or not.
I feel like I have this major sense of accomplishment surging through me right now I could jump and jubilate. If not for the soreness in my body. I had a whole whop of responsibilities on my shoulders this morening, and I accomplished them all. Successfully or not, you be the judge. I passed in various ways- cleaned up the house, arranged the rooms, made lunch (general lunch and specific lunch), had a guest over (okay it was myra and heebah and they’re family but still), gave out the address to my house almost perfectly okay, survived my toddler of a nephew (some think he is my son), he had so much chocolate and candy and sugar he started cabo snooping everywhere. But I survived it all. I even survived watching a close member of mine weep in pain.
I have a very close blood who is ill. I would do anything. I mean it, anything, to trade places with X. Not because I want to. But because X does NOT deserve to be ill. She has a family, a good better half and a lovely child, and a home, anda job and if not an academic career, that X should be attending to. Not weeping away every night in pain. I feel for X. All I can do is say sorry, and give love to X’s son, who is also my son. I feel compared to X, my life is stupid. I complain about friends who betray me, and people who dislike me, and how I got a C on a test, how I cannot date any boy because they all have flaws that cannot be changed, and how I want the latest gadget, and why people get angry and jealous, and every other unnecessary secondary material/ issue- when there are way more important things out there. Like X, who is sick and would give anything to stop feeling the pain and handle their family. I know I should be praying for X, I do that all the time, believe you me. I also know it is naive of me to want to be that ill. X is the strongest person I know. If I had to be in X’s position, I would not be blogging this. I would be long gone. I am weak, compared to X. no I am not under estimating myself. This is the part where one has to understand, seeing is believing. I do wish X the greatest of recovery, because Kululu needs a loving parent.
I put my son to bed, and now I have finished this blogpost, I did things on time, and I feel close religious wise. All I need to do today is take a hot aromatherapy (lavender in particular) shower, and jump into my pajama dress and maybe watch some south park. Today, was great. Thanks to everyone around me.

that inexplicable pressure from within

I just want to scream and shout and tear my hair and eyes out. Okay that was a bit over dramatic. I am not in place at the moment. I want to just weep and weep and weep and sleep off and wake up the next day. Id have a banging headache of course but inside I’d feel so refreshed. Like I was a few days ago. I’m not in place I’m not in place I’m not in place. Everything is just a haze. Because I cannot talk about anything with anyone. It just hurts. I’m in this position where I cannot think or move. I’m in a cube of ice, in a foggy dessert. That’s what it is. Im frozen, in this blistering cold, and to make matters worse, there is this annoying fog that prevents me from seeing ahead. The stupid dessert is making things worse, I’m at this point of equilibrium where I can’t quite tell whether the weather is nice or not
Ive seen people go through worse. But fuck it I just need someone to talk to. Where the hell is my stalker and my other bunch of friends (you that’s reading this) when you need them.

Alert!!

You're bound to find weirdos in public places. Hospitals too, apparently. This man was wearing uber tight clothes. His pants were that of his brother. Brown office pants, that were about to tear into pieces any second. His buttocks were completely traced out. Each bum was clearly visible- you'd think he was a lady from their size. To make matters worse, he had a walk. Chest out, (but really his protruding stomach was in the lead) and bums flying out. Really, it was a horrific sight. His shirt was flowered and botched with all colors of the warm family. Red, orange, yellow, and even brown. His shirt looked like it was sewn from leaves from the trees of Fall. Too colorful for a man, I tell you. his beard was carved out like that of a typical Mexican druglord. Use your imagination. He was lightskinned, and bore small glassy eyes that looked around ever so often. One look and you would jugde him to be gay. Personally, I think he hung out in the wrong places during his salon. A hair parlour, perhaps. When he should have been busy helping out, I bet he was busy making up and trying dresses, and practicing walking an imaginary catwalk.

the two solutions

The world is not perfect. Ya di ya di ya dah. But it should not be this imperfect. Allah knows best. No buts. And so, amping up one's faith and prayer level could be - no scratch that- ARE the main solutions.
Other soltns include, high blood pressure, intolerance, backbiting and ignorance, hatred, loud voices, "utopian" ignorance and finally Babalawo. Ignore the other solutions. They do not have a positive aftermath. As for the first two solutions, even when you are gone; you hopefully have a space in janna (heaven). And 2. You have left a legacy(or an impact, an effect of somesort).

What a Loser okay fine not a loser just a dysfunctional person who can't love or maybe even feel right now.

and my stalker and i sat there. and streams of tears fell down my face. this was probably the last time i would see him in a while. no, not my stalker: that awesome douche would be seen in fall, and would be heard and thought of every single day hopefully during the summer (sean law yes i called you a douche on the internet, what are you going to do about it? call stan marsh and make a fb ban on my blog? hehehe). him. it was so weird. as dysfunctional as love left me over the past couple years, my heart still throbbed faster for him. of course. he is my first love, after all. it was too late. he was leaving, or in this case, i was leaving.  i would miss the hugs, the cuddling and the kisses. i would miss the movie/cuddling more actually. things won't ever, ever be the same. not here, at least.

Tory Tory

It didn’t make sense. This was the second time I was missing the last prayer of the night. What had gotten into me? This was weird. It was so unlike me. Sometimes I even prayed before time just to feel good about myself. I know it’s bad, but that’s not the point. I was beginning to get really worried. I sat down on the office chair, and revolved around it every few seconds. This was embarrassing. I thrust my upper body forward, which made the chair roll towards my studying desk. A bunch of papers were scattered across the mahogany desk. Most of them were test scripts that been returned to me over the week. Math, Biology, Chemistry, Literature and History. The results were marked at the top right corner of the now crumpled papers. 68, 70, 55, 80, and a whopping forty. My grades had fallen. From straight A’s, my grades had pummeled down to C’s and D’s. How pathetic. But that also was not important. Maybe I was failing cause I was always skipping prayers? I mean, if I didn’t pray, who would help me pass school? Or… maybe it was cause I wasn’t studying. It was all due to these meaningless yet useful distractions. Speaking of distractions… I leaned over and picked up a pink frame that I had recently added to my collection of framed photos at the very edge of my desk. The framed photo was a picture of me and Ahmed, on the party that happened during the weekend. i was wearing my viridian green dress, which was obviously and shamelessly revealing. Aisha said it was ‘sexy.’ And it brought out my curves, and Ahmed liked girls who showed their shape and skin.

But I was too embarrassed, so I donned a pair of black tights underneath the dress and wore my Giuseppe Zannoti lace ankle boots. They cost 500 pounds. Damn. That wasn’t much, really. But as a humans right aspiring activist, now no more, I know what five hundred pounds could do to a bunch of hungry little village children. My cousins, aunts, and uncles back in my hometown that I had not visited in forever could benefit. Was that not 100,000 naira or more in fact ? but I had used that money to buy boots. Oh well, the sad people are only into voodoo and my father’s money. The boots were definitely worth it. Anyway, Ahmed was the problem, I was sure of it.

He was only free from 7-10, so we’d spend time hanging out and smoking shisha doing other fun stuff, and by the time I knew it, praying time would pass, and I would miss it. He never cared, he probably only prayed on Fridays and on Eid. But suspecting him was not the problem. He was the problem. He was so beautiful, and wild, and mysterious, and naive, he made me feel so good about myself and that was all that mattered. By 11, I would sneak back into the house, after having “study dates” with Sharifah and Maryam at their house. Fadil’s mom didn’t really notice, as long as the good grades were coming in nothing really mattered. Besides, she was too busy trying to take care of herself.

Aqila, what the hell is wrong with you? It was just wrong for a Muslim to miss prayers just like that. Of course I knew a lot of people who missed prayers and didn’t practice their religion well. But for that to come from me, it was so… unorthodox. What happened to geeky Aqila who did what she was told to and had pleasant thoughts and prayed? I stood up and decided. It was time to pray. Yes it was past one in the morning, but I was still going to pay the three prayers I had missed consecutively. Asr, maghrib, and Isha. I rushed to the bathroom to perform ablution. Hands, mouth, nose, face, arms, hair, ears, feet. I loved rinsing my ears. It only had to be cleaned once but I just loved tracing my fingers around my ears. I felt so good. Step one down. Step two, to pray.

I went back into the dimly lit room; only the studying lamp was lit and ahmed’s red bandanna was covered on it, the room had a red glow. I literally had to steal the bandanna, a dare from Aisha. Aisha was such a bully, I swear. She could make me do such wrong things. I didn’t even want to think of how I took off the bandanna from Ahmed’s neck. I looked at the blue hijab folded on top of the prayer mat at the end of my corner, right in front of my balcony which overlooked the pool.

I wore it. Unfolding the mat took seconds, I faced the Alqibla and started reciting the iqamatu’salat. I raised up my hands in proportion to my ears. Allahu Akbar (Allah is great) I had not gone past the first surah when Ahmed came into my head. not again! When I missed prayers, I worried. When I did pray, most of it wasn’t reciting the surahs from the holy book, I would stand there and daydream about McHottie. This time around, I was trying to take off the bandanna from Ahmed’s neck. He was on the couch and I was sitting right next to him.

“I like your bandanna,” I giggled. I did not like this. But Aisha was there by the microwave, making popcorn. Although Ahmed could not see her, she was ushering me to keep flirting with him. All I told her was I had a crush on him. I didn’t think things would get to truth or dare and ‘let’s get physicial.’ Seriously, my religion condemns all of that, unless you’re like married and stuff. So yes, we played truth or dare and instead of even doing the dare Ahmed wanted me to do (run around making monkey noises, yes he was a child and I loved it!) I whispered, in quite a husky yet girly tone, ‘let’s tone it down a little. We’re in a monkey jungle alright, but I’m not quite your average monkey.’

‘oh yeah?’ he grinned, he was obviously excited. How unmoving. Childish really. All I said were a few embarrassing words. Monkey? Where did I even get that? Oh, Ahmed brought it up, Aisha was the one making me look at every word in unholy ways. i climbed over him, well I was playing monkey, and reached for his neck and slowly unloosened the bandanna around his neck. With my teeth.

“Whoa,” he grunted, he was liking this. A lot. His hairs on the name of his neck were up, and after a while I was beginning to enjoy this. As I loosened it from his neck Aisha, from nowhere, appeared in front of me and tugged at her ear. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Lick it. I read the words she mouthed. Oh dear lord just cause I enjoyed this unholy game of monkey the bandanna from boys neck didn’t mean I wanted to taste him. Ew. Astagfirllah (God forgive me). I nodded no, Ahmed was busy grunting, for what I don’t know, I was only breathing on him, the bandanna was in my mouth. Aisha was impatient, she crossed her fingers, indicating the dare she had told me to complete. Fine.

Once she uncrossed her fingers she ran out the living room, leaving me alone with Ahmed. One, two three… this wouldn’t be that hard. It’s Ahmed, Aqila, he’s like your dream boy! Okay… once I was done arguing with my self, I took a lick. A very light one. Salty. his big hands were not on the leather couch anymore, he had pulled me closer to him with them. Horny little **** I sighed in my mind and continued. This dare better pay off. Why was I even friends with Aquila?

“Aqila!” I heard someone yell my name. wasn’t Ahmed, he was busy panting and grunting and groaning all at the same time, and possibly even hyperventilating at the time. Fadil. I got back into my senses and saw him standing a few feet from me, I had been stretched on one foot, leaning ahead. I straightened myself up but I couldn’t hide the surprise from my big eyes. Fadil had obviously caught me daydreaming, or in this case late night fantasizing when I was supposed to be praying. I’m sure the angels had cursed my future generations for this act.

“What are you doing?” he asked me with a very disturbed look on my face. That was the end of me. Fadil was going to make me never forget this till eternity.