The Inevitable. The Death.

DEATH. This word has been etched on my mind since yesterday. As an upshot, my mood remained gloomy the whole day with me, trying desperately to figure out the reason and ending up rather unsuccessful. In the last 24 hours, I heard about the saddening demise of a handful of people, the beloved ones of those I hold dear and also of those, who I don't know but came to know by virtue of news.

When I was a child, I used to be afraid of going near dead bodies. My immature brain was unable to process how could someone, I saw just a few days ago, could lie so still, not even moving a finger, wrapped in all white, 'like a candy' -that's how I used to refer to it in front of my mom. Listening to others cry and weep used to stir a feeling of uneasiness and I could sometimes feel darkness engulfing me. When I grew up a little, and became sensible enough to know what it means to be dead, I realised how hard it was for me to shed some tears at a funeral, even if it was a close relative. Every time, I went to a funeral, I used to satisfy myself by putting on a sad facade and faking to wipe tears off my eyes. 

The time, tears came rushing on their own without having me to try, was when I heard about the death of a distant relative. The person who filled the abyss that was created by the death of my paternal grandparents, even before my parents tied the knot. Deep down I knew I had lost someone who has showered me with immense love without hoping for me to return the favor and so, those tears were shed however, in discretion.

Surprisingly enough, when my maternal grandmother set off on the eternal journey, I expected it to be extremely painful. The pain never came. A few hours after making my way to the funeral, I found myself playing in the garden with other children. 

It took kinda long for the true meaning of losing someone to hit me. It was painful beyond imagination when my childhood bestfriend  B's father died. I didn't know how to confront her, let alone console her. My mother kept telling me how much in need of a shoulder she is to cry on. My senses were completely blocked out to accept the reality and I came up with my final decision. To not go to the funeral. Turned out, my mother's taunts directed at my in-sensitiveness left me with no choice but to take my decision back. Dejected, I made my way towards B's place. I saw her sitting in a room surrounded by a flood of people, and sat next to her. She kept weeping and choking as a relative of hers tried to force spoonfuls of Biryani down her throat. I looked at my mom, who kept nudging me to offer a few consoling words to B. As soon as I opened my mouth, no words came out but the crying. Watching me cry, she started crying louder. I was embarrassed at the thought of how I couldn't fight back my tears, it all came shattering down in a matter of seconds. Next moment, I gathered myself and made a run for my house. I never looked back, knowing that I'd made it all worse for my friend.

To this date, I'm still a coward. I still am oblivious of how to confront those, who have lost a beloved one? For this very reason, I avoid attending funerals for which I might have been taken as an unkind person. 

I would I'm filled up-to-the-brim with pure hatred for the cruel aliens (as calling them humans would be a disgrace to the entire human race), who take lives of others for material and political reasons without stopping to think how many other souls will be lost along with one. However, they all should be totally aware of the fact that one day they'll meet their dreadful fate. As Day of Judgement is as inevitable as death.

(Extra)Ordinary.

Just a few hours ago, upon continuous insistence of my mom, I accompanied her and my sister to a local women's park. It's one of the projects undertaken by Baldia town Karachi, all painted in yellow and green. To my amazement, the park was home to many visitors today. The last time, I passed by, it was newly inaugurated and hence, deserted.I chose to sit on a bench and practise my see-through skills on the people around. Sitting there, I thought to myself how ordinary I am at times, choosing to go with the flow, doing what everyone else has been, acting like I have no brains of my own. I am as ordinary as others surrounding me. I take pride in that. In my head, I have jot down a whole list of things I wanna be in near future. So had others. On the first look, they'd seem different but from within, stems one desire: Quest to do better, be better, live better. My definition of 'better' is very much distinct from others, but in the end it doesn't really matter. We all are in a state of being dissatisfied from where we stand at the moment and want more, more of everything.But then, undoubtedly, I'm different. I choose to be. I might be one ordinary kid right now, but I don't intend to remain being one. My perspectives doesn't reflect those of my parents, I can form opinions of my own accord. I do things I think are 'right', I refrain from the 'wrong' ones. I agree, I disagree or just remain silent. I'm open to new and crazy ideas and let my imagination break through the boundaries holding me in real life. I'm determined and inspired to do something unique, so that when I embrace death, I'm not one of those thousands who die everyday and nobody but a few close relatives pay a heed. I wanna be remembered in good ways. And someday, hopefully, would I be able to make my name. And then I'd no longer be ordinary; I'd be DIFFERENT. If that's a good thing.

A will-not-come-true dream.

Back in the days, I used to be so fond of reading that I'd even pick up random newspaper cuttings I'd found lying on the streets, being run over by several feet and tyres. I'd try to manage reading them before I get home, ending up getting myself bumped into other passers-by in the process and sometimes even putting myself on the risk of being hit by the vehicles.
Those days, our family used to be subscribed to Daily Jung for the weekends. One of those days, I was skimming through  the Sunday magazine in search of something interesting enough for me to satisfy my lust of reading when I happened to read a feature about Pakistan Air Force welcoming their first batch of female Flying Officers, after the completion of their training. The term 'Flying Officer' caught my attention. I pronounced it over a couple of times. It sounded really impressive, filled with a sense of authority and accompanied by an endeavor to unleash your potential and to be able to escape into the sky, extending boundlessly overhead.  That was when I knew this is what I've always meant to be. Before that, whenever I was asked about my future plans, the only answer which used to escape my lips without a second thought was "Doctor" but it was just a matter of time that I realized that all those times it wasn't me speaking, but my elders. My heart always laid somewhere else.
Soon enough, 'Flying Officer' turned from merely a word into a dream for me; a dream which will never be fulfilled. I and my parents mutually decided that I shouldn't pursue this dream of mine. I wouldn't dig into the details behind this decision.
 But my dream hasn't died. On the contrary, it has continued to grow stronger. Whenever, I hear the noise of a PAF plane, I run as fast as I could, just to catch a glimpse of it. Just watching these planes soaring high, inspires me. I'm totally aware of the reality that I wouldn't be able to fly a fighter plane but I won't rest until I set sail onto the skies; one way or the other.
After all; in dreams and in love, there are no impossibilities. None.