Best School Of All

Do you look back at high school and think that it was the best time of your life that you would trade for? For most of you, the answer would probably be in affirmative but for me, it's quite the opposite. I had a miserable time in high school...well there were good days, I'd give you that, but whenever I go down the memory lane, I only remember the bad times and it's not because of fellow students- hell, they're easier to forgive but grown up teachers and house/senior mistresses. My senior mistress might have been a very charming woman to those who she favoured (I was initially her 'star') but if you find yourself on the wrong side of her book, she'd find excuses to make your life living hell. She'd wait till the iron gets hot, only to break it into half. I was given three punishments for one mistake; an illegal cellphone. Demotion ( I was a prefect- against her wishes, I am sure), I was not allowed to go for an IPSC Hindi debate which I probably would have won at my hometown and I was not allowed to represent my ever so prestigious public school in Pakistan. And all through this, my housemistress, who claimed to love me as her own child, was not satisfied with these three punishments for one mistake. After all, tears made her happy. Yes, my school is the best of all in the way alumni often treats each other; it's like a big family outside of the 169 acres of concentration camp where teachers suffocate you with their politics and victimize you. I think I feel blessed I am from that school only because of what you get when you finally step out of that green big school gate but other than that, it just teaches you how bad the outside world is going to be. And who is better to teach you that than teachers themselves? They make you ready for the outside world by not protecting you but actually quite the opposite. Those three punishments did not teach me to not defy rules but actually taught me this feeling of resentment towards my own teachers. One, who taught me Geography and the other, my used to be favorite subject- Political Science. Is it a good school if it teaches you hate? Is it a good school if it teaches you how to resent your teacher that you would never want to see or write to her again? But yes, it is a good school when it gives you strength to deal with all of it. Remembering that I went through so much when I was only 17 makes me hopeful and strong that I can deal with anything that life puts ahead of me. But will I ever thank these two teachers if I become successful in life? Maybe, for making me strong through their torture. Maybe for that.

They say, inspiration can strike you from many things. It can be a moment, it can be a place or it can be a random object. I haven't been writing in a while; it was the only way I found solace in my self. But let's just say I've been too happy to look for comfort the past few months, or just too busy in the monotony of life without the time to think. But if you look closer, I haven't had the time to feel the pain, the agony, that is the source of my inspiration to scribble down. Until today.

You know how it feels when a wooden stake pierces through your heart? When you feel pieces of you ground to the dust? That- that is how you can describe how I am feeling at the moment. Little lost, but then somehow I was looking to come here. Love was never as easy as A B C: love is probably the most difficult 'task' I've ever come across. This time it was love, or so I thought. We fought like crazy but at least we got back together the next day, a break up lasted a few hours. But this time, this time it's different. Girls always think we can change boys, but honestly, it's never realistic. It's the most unrealistic imagination of ours. And trust me on that  one, tried that and found myself broken like a glass thrown against a wall. And that boy you gave your heart to, doesn't care about putting it back together. He has too much of an ego, you know. And refuses to get rid of that. So that day when it's between his ego and you, the former is too dear for him to part with. Would you share, forget 1.5 years of your life, your bed with him? I don't think so you would, especially if you're smart. But I was dumb. I did both. And now a part of me is with him, somewhere. Emotionally, he'll be tattooed onto my skin and that's how difficult it is to let go of him..despite of being treated like trash. Yeah, trash. Trash, you won't take back into your house once you've thrown it away. The same person who asked you not to leave him. 

Okay, since i believe i am going to  be my own audience, I can actually rant out what's within me without the fear of being judged- as a person or because of my writing skills. No, I don't claim to a very good writer but I don't think I'm half as bad for my age. I think I stopped writing because I lost access to my previous blog - which was a rather disappointment, I tell you, and then college started and there was this air of laziness around me that didn't let me do anything productive. Just hanging about - forgetting to eat, because i spent my money shopping or on hukkah. Well, not so much of the latter, but shopping yes. Also there was a new boyfriend that made me feel happy and good about myself that I forgot that my first love is nothing but this skill of writing that I have been bestowed with. So I guess, I might be in love with this man, but my dream of staying alone with a dog in a house on the hills with a warm cup of coffee is still very much in the back of my mind.

And guess will always be.

I think, since I haven't scribbled down in a long time, I was losing my ambition. But since the night my best friend made me realize something so important, I know that this is the only way I'm really happy. And something was nothing but the truth that writing is what comes naturally to me- to keep me happy, to express myself, to bring my attention to my own problems - it is writing what always has been a healer to me. In any form- whether it was an unfinished novel that I would write, or love letters to a boy who I never really gave my heart to. My heart has always been in the act of writing - the sound the pen makes when you write what comes to your mind, the way words spill onto the pages in a fluid movement, the smell of the ink on a fresh sheet of paper, the touch of that new sheet..everything about just the act of writing is so meaningful to me. And if you love just the simple act so much, it is obvious that words flow out involuntarily.

So this blog is not about how much I love someone else, or how life is not perfect for me. Those are secondary things but what this blog really is about is me and how much I love myself. Or i'm going to.