This week's questions are brought to you courtesy of [info]jaxita, the letter F, and the number 5...

Aromas

1. What are your favorite smells/scents?

The smell of roses, in particular a perfume called pleasures by Estee Lauder.


2. Do they bring back memories for you? If so, what?

The smell in the air when my uncle got married over 10 years ago. We decorated his apartment with rose petals and the smell just reminds me of summer nights in Pakistan, family and good times.

3. What are your least favorite smells/scents

Gin

4. Do they bring back memories for you? If so, what?

Throwing up after drinking too much gin.

5. What are your favorite perfumes/colognes?

Pleasures, as mentioned above. Stella, which also smells of roses and Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel. It's just so strong and sophisticated. It makes me feel like a lady.

I told Ben that I had been writing whilst he was asleep on my "couch" when I had really been facebook stalking...After I sent him up to bed, I decided to bring some truth to my stupid lie and sit down and actually write. After all it has been forever since I last posted anything and 2009 is well on its way.

I used to be so obsessed with time and its passing that things like New Years and my birthday used to freak me out beyond belief. Maybe it is because 2008 went so well or maybe I'm just getting older and more accepting of the fact that the days, weeks and months melt away so easily but this New Years Eve came and went in a drunken haze that when I awoke around midday on January 1st, the significance of the turning of one year into another hardly even fazed me.

08 started well, with the first ever time that I celebrated NYE and nothing going wrong. I partied with friends after working a hard shift at the restaurant and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Then my Birthday came and went, I turned 25, realised this meant that I was halfway to 50 and drank away the feeling of fear that I didn't know where my life was headed...Early March resulted in the beginning of the relationship I had spent almost a year longing for. From then on, everything seemed bright and full of hope and possibilities. May brought my acceptance to NYU and since then nothing has been the same.

And here I am, January 16th 2009, almost 26 years of age, sitting in the living room of my basement apartment (in a building which was meant to have been the location for Real World, Brookyn) surrounded by wonderful people, awaiting the beginning of my second semester at Grad School thinking, what was I ever so worried about??

I still get those familiar pangs of fright every so often but then I remember that I live in New York City, the place where dreams are made and realised (or so I am led to believe)!!




SO here's to the rest of the year. To a hellishly hard next semester, to good times in the Big Apple and (hopefully) to graduation and the rest of my life...

I'm not too sure what this post was all about, but it feels good to write something that isn't an academic essay. I'm aiming to write a lot more, I need to write more mundaneness in order to write more creatively. But chances are, this good spirit that now lives me in is less desperate to express, screams a lot more quietly than the raging angst that resided previously and I shall continue with my life in the calm and controlled manner that I have been.

Wishing you all the best x

I don't normally write poems like this, with repetitions....but it was written due to the prompt at the NYU poetry club and I think it's kind of cute so I'll post it.

It's not particularly good, but I've been meaning to write it in the past few days and today it just emerged, so I am grateful.

Optical Illusion

Now that you are gone
I see you more.
My peripheral vision catches the corner
of my room where you would sit.
You flash
and are gone.
Reappearing in every drop of water
falling from the shower head
streaming down my body.
You cleanse me,
wash away the disappointment of
waking up alone.

Now that you are gone
I load and reload every photograph of us
that I own.
Staring so hard at the computer screen,
your face is burnt into my retinas.
So when I turn to the wall
your being is projected
in cinema scope.

Now that you are gone
my eyeballs lie to satisfy my
heart.
My brain receives incorrect messages
formulated and sent out
by my desires.

Now that you are gone
every shadow takes your shape
and reaches out.
The bellowing of the heater overhead
encompasses every syllable of your name.
Subway announcements chime your voice.

Now that you are gone,
you are everywhere but where you should be.
Next to me.

Now that you are gone
I see you more.

I want to unfold
I don't want to stay folded anywhere
Because where I am folded
There I am a lie.

Some brilliant words by Rilke, imparted to me by the best professor ever.
Hot damn, I'm loving NYU.

It's amazing how people inspire you.

I have spent the past 2 hours crafting this. After only 4 hours sleep last night and a lot of hugs....


Hearts on fire

Cherry Blossom falls early this year-
rose hued snowflakes.
As I stand beneath, gazing upwards
petals bounce off my nose
giving the false impression of
a winters day.

“Spring is coming, Spring is coming!”
sing the leaves in their
rustley tongues.
I nod in understanding because
I feel it in my bowels.
They churn and slither inside,
a python consuming the fear
and isolation of darker months.
Its vibrating movement translates
into a flutter which rises
gently towards my heart.
A rebellion against the
sinking of this Oriental Snow,
my inhibitions float away.

Surely, the Spring has arrived
and I see it in your face.

This is the first time that I have done this...


1. How long ago did you join LJ?

My first entry was made on 13th August 2002. Wow. That's a long time ago. I remember I was visiting my family in VA, in the states.


2. How did you find out about LJ?

I'm not entirely sure. I believe Eesha might have had one and told me about it. Or she knew that other people in our "group" had one and showed me. Who knows...

3. If someone introduced you to LJ, is s/he still on your friends list?

Well, if we say that Eesha did, then yes.

4. Have you introduced anyone to LJ?

nope

5. Is your LJ public or friends only, and why?

It is mostly public, but there are some entries that are friends only. I started doing that (when i was actually using it) because apparently, my ex boyfriend was getting his online friend to read my entries and then tell his what if I was talking about him in it. Which I was. So I kept going on about how I hated that we were apart and that I wished he would talk to me and he knew everything...It was unsettling. Plus, you don't want too much of your soul on show, some things are best kept hidden.

I keep eating. I can not help myself. I feel myself expanding by the moment. This is not a moany post. For the first time in my life I am happy with my weight. I have never been this small in clothes sizes nor weighed as little as I do right now. But I have to say that at this precise moment, having only eaten one meal today and a vast amount of chocolate...I feel enormously inflated. urgh. I hate being female and having to worry about things like this and water retention and will I be able to put my skinny jeans on in the morning?? (Not that I wear jeans to school, I prefer to dress smartly...but anyway).

I feel like this is a somewhat useless post, but I want to get myself into the habit of posting everyday again, building up some sort of motions of writing in the hope that it might aid me to write creatively as well.

Well that's all the rubbish I Have to spew forth for now. I am off to the gym.

Last night passed. Thankfully. The last time I looked at my watch it was 1:34am so I must have finally drifted off to sleep sometime after that. I first tried to get to sleep at 10pm. But I was so paranoid that the insomnia that plagued me for so many years of my life would take over again that I jinxed myself. That in turn built up an enormous amount of anxiety. I lay awake willing myself to sleep for hours.

I woke up this morning and hauled myself out of bed. Outside, dawn was still lurking. The sky was dark in parts but in the East the sun was rising and light was overtaking the morning. It was a strange and empowering feeling to be up before the sun and to be driving to work seeing the day blossom in my back mirror. As I arrived at school there were children milling around the playground and it was still not fully light. That made me smile. As if the notion of rising before the sun meant that I was part of some secret club. This band of devoted monks whose sole purpose was to arise early and pass knowledge unto other. But alas, it's not quite as extravagant as that. I am merely a teaching assistant who works with one bad ass kid!!!

Anyway, today at work was strange. When I first arrived and had a chat with the SENCO (Special Educational Needs Co-Ordinator) I was told that the boy that I was working with before I left for the States was still at the school. His behaviour had improved and he had managed to save himself from being excluded. Apparently he had missed me terribly and hated my replacement (despite this, she must have done a lot of work with him because I found that his level of work had massively improved). However, Callum, a boy that I worked with last year and made so much progress with in his final year of infants had been permanently excluded. This made me so sad and angry that nothing had been done earlier to stop his self destructive cycle. I was head hunted to go work in that school when all the kids moved up to juniors, but sadly not to work with Callum. Not that it would have done him any good. That downward spiral started in his last few days with me when his mother banned the father from all contact with the kids. By the time September came around and he started the new school his anger and resentment had already taken hold. And 5 weeks into term when I arrived it was too late. There was little we could all do to control his behaviour and he finally ended up losing his right to stay in school...

The reason it hurts me so much is that this system doesn't help anyone. Excluding him isn't helping him or his family. They all need support and counselling. Callum is such a bright kid with a beautifully caring heart, he just craves love and attention and thrives when he gets it. Argh, it's so frustrating. I feel like I let him down, that I didn't do enough earlier to stop this from happening. I want to go out there and find him and save him. I don't want him to end up as another statistic, he doesn't deserve that and he's far too intelligent for a life of deviantism.

I know I shouldn't blame myself or take this all to heart. But I can't help it. I hate that it has ended this way.

At the same time. My new project's mother told me that he couldn't wait till I got back and would be his helper again because apparently I give a shit, unlike the other helper. (Those were his exact words and please bear in mind that he is only 8) *sigh* It is such a cruel cruel world full of so much heartache.

One day I'll make sure that I make a difference to someone, somehow xxx

The more I try to will myself to sleep, the more alert and tense I get. I've freaked myself out by repeatedly reminding myself that I have to be awake by 6:30am to get to school on time. My body clock is so messed up that I have turned into a night owl and it is going to be so ugly in the morning. I can't go to school and work with children with a fuzzy head and puffy eyes. It just doesn't happen. So why can't my brain understand that, cut me slack and switch itself off?

Sure, it has plenty of things to think about. I always have things to think about, but must they all mill around right now??! Why not in the morning, in the shower or when I am in my car, listening to the radio, stuck in traffic?? That's the perfect time to make a list of things to do or to fret about the future. Not at nearly midnight, when I need to be awake in 6 hours time. ARGH.

At this very moment, my brain is telling itself off for procrastinating, for not having done things that I should have done by now. Basically, I am scolding myself for being me. Which is neither good for my mind (frankly I feel like an insane schizophrenic) nor my soul. The new ethos and rules that I laid down a while back is that I love me. No more hating and most certainly no more scolding. I shan't be beating myself up anymore....only, that's exactly what I am doing right now.

The fact of the matter is that I need to sleep. All of this is just hysteria. I am deliriously tired and have entered that phase of sheer panic and fear that I often wander into. It's not healthy and so wholly consuming that it takes a long while to pull one self out of...time, that I do not have because it is so late...

Hmmm...I am hungry, maybe I should just go and eat some cereal?

Oh lord, I promised myself that I would start to document my life more, like I used to years ago, to actually use my journal, but this is not quite what I had in mind. I didn't wish to start 2008's entries so negatively or in such disarray. I just wish I could close my eyes and drift off to sleep. That is all I need. My mind has been overworked today, it is frazzled and needs rest before it takes a pounding tomorrow.

Positive thinking. I will switch off the machine now, lay my head down on my clean and fresh smelling pillow and think thoughts of gently crashing waves, the manhattan skyline, mikos chattering on a beach somewhere. Anything calm and hopefully, my prayers will be answered and I will succumb to a peaceful REM cycle.

Wish me luck...

Well hello there boys and girls. How are we all doing?

As the title of this note would suggest, I am in Boston and have been for the past 4 days. I haven't really had much time to communicate with anyone so I thought I would post this saying what I have been up to.

Weeellll...Are you sitting comfortably? then I shall begin.

On Wednesday the trauma started at Romford train station, trying to get the tube to Heathrow terminal 3 with a relatively heavy suitcase. Ah, joy of joys...lugging this thing up and down stairs to get to platforms. Luckily a very loverly gentleman in a suit assisted me with this at Liverpool street station and thus saved me my shoulder. However, at Holborn, changing to the Picadilly Line I nearly lost the case when I tried to drag it down stairs. oops. Sadly no nice men in suits to help here, only lots of tourists who laughed because more than likely they had found themselves in the same predicament when they arrived in London. D'oh. Thankfully, the rest of the journey was relatively painless.

I exited Heathrow station and entered the airport, only to receive a textual message from Nathan saying that his flight had been delayed by a couple of hours and he would probably still be in duty free when I got there. Fat chance methinks, the amount of security checks I am going to have to go through!!! However, everything about checking in was smooth and there were no issues there. I'm glad that I had noted down the address of the hostel because they really do ask you where you are going to be staying. After checking in, I went to line up for security checks. This is where the fun begins. To be perfectly honest, I do like to overdramatise things and the security staff were very pleasant and not at all menacing or mean, but it was very annoying having to have my boots x-rayed twice because they weren't paying enough attention. My bag went through as did my coat and all the other tat one seems to have in their hands. I didn't beep when I walked through the metal detector (which is a first) but my bag did get searched. gah. Then boots being x-rayed again. Finally get into duty free.

Nathan's flight is now delayed by 4 hours. It's not looking good. I bum around, we buy floss and water and some other odds and ends and then I emerge from a shop and mysteriously my flight has vanished from the board. eek. where has it gone? Why have they taken it off the board? Oh dear Lord have I missed it? Damn my obsession with cheap Channel! I ran to the American Airlines desk and apparently it's also been delayed. Great. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I get on the flight and we faff around on the runway and we finally take off an hour and a half late. This is good news to me as it means that Nathan's flight is only half an hour behind me and that means we can navigate our way to the hostel together. Nope, it doesn't work like that. I land, go to immigration and find out that they didn't take off till 10pm UK time which means that they won't land untill midnight US time. It was 10 when I landed. grrr. Immigration was not fun. I had a very stern gentleman ask me lots of irrelevant questions and I got bored. But he let me thtough and I picked up my bag.

A stroke of luck meant that I managed to get a lift to my hostel via Shaun, Nathan's friend who got married in Boston (the whole reason we are here). The hostel on first impression is a bit of a dive. Very sparse. But to be fair, it is cheap, clean and in the centre of the city. We couldn't have asked for a better location. and the breakfast (free) is AMAZING. mmm....

Surely I have bored you all by now. So I'll actually talk about the city. It is beautiful. The architecture is quite stunning, there is so much to do and the people are wonderful. We have been so lucky with the weather as well (apart from today). So Wednesday was a right off. Thursday morning we woke early and it was Thanksgiving...meaning special breakfast. Woop. Then Nathan and I headed out into the immense fog to take pictures of buildings and to check out the sites. We left the hostel early and you couldn't really see much, the fog was dense, it was so grey but luckily not very chilly. We headed out to the common and explored that area. Around 10:30 suddenly the sun came out and I could begin to appreciate how beautiful all the foiliage is. There is reds and yellows and gold everywhere. Leaves are falling, the sky is blue, aww it was delightful. At midday we met up with Shaun his then fiancee Rachael and all the others who had come over from England. We walked all over the city, up to the Harbour, Chinatown, through the gardens. It was a very enjoyable day. That evening we ended up in Harvard sq. I wanted to see Harvard itself and possibly "bump into" some Law students, but that didn't happen. Instead we watched an American football game in a bar with the gayest waiter alive and had a very relaxed evening.

Friday was shopping day. Black Friday they call it because there are sales everywhere. Apparently its hell, but I had fun. Bought a few bits and bobs, walked for miles, saw the Prudential building and a pretty fabulous mall. Then at 4 after not eating lunch we decided to splash out on a steak dinner at a place on the harbour. It was such a fantastic afternoon. The food was beautiful, the setting was gorgeous and as the sun went down on Boston next to us I felt very very content. We wandered home through Quincy market, which is somewhat like Covent Garden, but it was frighteningly cold so we watched a man play drums with a bin and some other things and then retired to bed ridiculously early.

Saturday was a looong day. We awoke early and returned to explore Quincy market and then wandered up to Haymarket which is a food and fruit market. That was cool because up till now Boston hasn't seemed like a city that people actually live in. I hadn't seen residents as it has been so quiet with Thanksgiving and just generally organised for tourists. So that was nice. We also headed up to Little Italy and rummaged around a very cute shop with quaint random items. Racheal had organised a stag do for Shaun with all of us. I was invited as an honorary man. It was fun. The boys had lots of beer, I played some pool and kept order! There was a chinese meal after the festivities and it was so inexpensive with the exchange rate that I laughed. a lot. That evening we were invited to her parents house for dessert and I have to say that this was such a beautiful experience. Shaun and Racheal are such a lovely couple. You can see the love and admiration between them and the fact that Shaun has converted to Judaism and is integrated into her family it just made me smile at the perfectness of it all. We met all her family and friends and they talked about the wedding and what would happen and swapped stories. I'm really glad that I had the opportunity to see that.

Sunday was the wedding. I didn't get to go, which is a shame as I really wanted to. However, I did get to lie in, which was nice as with all the excitement and walking I was exhausted. Upon waking at a shameful 1pm I wandered down to Newbury st (it is a very fancy street with beautiful buildings and lots of shops) and occupied myself with taking photos and exploring the second hand shops. I spent more money, oops and had a really relaxed afternoon. I watched the sun go down over the city and then headed off to meet the boys as they returned from the wedding.

Today we had brunch at Rachael's parents house and that was again so lovely to be a part of. It made me think what it will be like if I ever meet someone and get married. To have closeness and community within two families and to be so accepting and welcoming towards each other is essential and touching. I was moved by it all. It's also great because they live in the suburbs and its so gorgeous out there. Leaves, huuuge houses so peaceful and calm. I've just returned back to the hostel and Nathan has left to catch his flight back to London. I'm going to stay tonight and then leave for New York City tomorrow.

I am sooooooo excited. All the nervousness I had before I left is melting and I'm really looking forward to heading out on my own and getting a bus into the big apple. Yay!

I do actually miss everyone. I always miss people when I see something beautiful that I would like to share with others, I think it is a natural human instinct to want to share what you find joy in with others. I have been taking photos and will share those soon. But for now good bye, I wish you all well.

Lots of Love,

Guleraana xxx

So. Here I am in Boston, Ma. woop.

I have wanted to post an entry for a few weeks now, since I had a weird positivity kick but finding time to sit down and time is near enough impossible. I have been writing in my journal though and that is somewhat soothing. I carry it around everywhere and manage to scribble things down now and again. It feels good. Like taking an class that you have already done and knowing all the answers. Therapeutic and nostalgic.

Right now, I am sat in a hostel in Boston, waiting for my friend Nathan to arrive. His flight was meant to land 3 hours before mine, but it got delayed at Heathrow and I left before him. Luckily the timing meant that I got a lift to the hostel by his friend Shaun :D The whole reason we are here is for Shaun's wedding on Sunday. Well, that was the original reason that I decided to come along and now, somehow, as is usual with me, I have turned this into some sort of epic trip. Not that I mind, I'm always up for an adventure!!

I hardly slept last night and am still unsure as to what brought on this attack of nervous insomnia. It's not like I haven't been away before and this trip isn't half as epic as South America, but there was still some reservations in my mind about how I will cope in the US of A once Nathan leaves. I have quite a lot of time on my hands in between meeting friends along the way and I guess the old insecurities and fears come up. Especially after the fiasco of having my entire bag stolen in Argentina. That was horrific and I really am praying that I am never that stupid again.

Ah well. Tomorrow is a new day. Another start in another country with a hell of a lot of things to see and do (as long as the fog lifts from this city) and I intend to pack in as many things as I can :) SO I shall sign off now, but I am sure that there will be many updates along the way full of tales of silly shenanigans and photos of memorable sites. I bid you all goodnight xxx

It's not often that you listen to a song and the lyrics totally make sense. Sure, you empathise often or you get the sentiment that it is portraying. But it's rare that I find lyrics that hit the nail on the head. These aren't overtly profound words, or even very complicated. They are simple and concise and when I hear them I find myself nodding in agreement and wondering how mister Jack got it so damn right.

I get this writer's block; it comes as quite a shock,
And now I'm stuck between a hard place and the biggest rock,
In my own head consume, I sit back in my room,
It's like the tapestries of life get tangled in the loom,
I'm like a butterfly, caught in a hurricane,
My pulse is quickening as my heart plays a new refrain


Sometimes at night I think too much,
About life and love and music and stuff
“I must have, kind of felt that my head was too high.”

I've been thinking, with the demise of yet another 'relationship' that there really isn't any point. I'm becoming more and more disillusioned. Whats the fucking point? I'm not sure how many more times I can meet someone new, go through the motions of opening up, sifting through all the shit that you hold inside you, sharing it, reliving it, rehashing all the pain, only for it to be thrown back at you when the other person decides that they would really rather just be friends.

This time I'm confused and I really want to fight for a fucking answer as to why, but there's no bloody point. Men are so elusive with their feelings.

you said I must eat so many lemons because I am so bitter oh yes...I am feeling pretty bitter at this moment.

I don't need anyone. But the desire to connect with someone is irrational and inexplicable. I guess it's human nature to find a mate, to find someone that you can pass time with and ultimately grow old with. Someone to share joy and sadness with, someone that evokes emotions in you, who holds you up and makes you feel spectacular.

I don't feel spectacular, I'm still recovering from the wreck that Robin turned me into. One day I was his everything and the next he told me he'd been with someone else and would rather stay with her. The things he said to me on occasions made me feel minuscule and pathetic, they made me doubt the person that I am. Maybe he was right, maybe I'm not the person I think I am. Maybe I'm just horribly rubbish in relationships?..I'm not sure what I need to change about myself or my 'tactics' to make the next one work. I'm just scared to think about how many nexts there is going to be..how long I'll have to continue this cycle. It scares me. I'm terrified of more feelings and more rejection.

So that's why I'm giving up. I'm going to gather the broken shards of my confidence, remind myself that I'm not so bad really and just keep plodding on. Plenty of people go through life on their own, loneliness is just a state of mind.

druuuuuuuuunk.
taha will be all. argh.

I have been listening to a particular song a lot for the past few days. It is called rebellion by The Arcade Fire. It is pretty damn good.

It all started last week when my new phone arrived..it is one of those walkman ones from SonyEricsson. I downloaded some random music onto it, including the album funeral and listened to it whilst working out. It was a mixture of the music and the fact that the headphones totally block out any outside noise, but when that song came on, I was just starting my jog on the treadmill. Now, usually I don't like to jog on treadmills, I find that I am not fit enough to run for more than 3 minutes and that it is boring at one speed and one incline. But, listening to this song twice and getting so engrossed in it, I managed to run for 10 minutes straight, at a reasonable pace. There is something about the song that is just so captivating that it takes you away to another land. I love strings in guitar based music anyway, but the use of strings in this particular track are haunting and I was gone..away..

Since then I have listened to it a few times, but I feel like I can't listen to it too much as it is so poweful, maybe I will get overwhelmed and sucked into some distant universe where everything is fucked up and we walk on our hands and everyone moves in slow motion. I love the power of songs.

It is playing now and I am embracing it as tonight I want to vanish. Go far away, escape into another world however topsy turvy it is and I would relish slow motion. Because this life is moving too fast and too much time passes through my fingers like tiny drops of magic liquid that contain hundreds of experiences that I could have had. Things have changed so much from how I remember them and those memories will never be real again. All they are snippets of a life left behind and tonight, just for a while, I would like them to be real again, to be able to feel the emotions that I lost, that were forced to the back of my mind. Only to be unleased tonight, by certain events.

I went to pick up my things from Adam's house. I hadn't seen him since I got home. It has been 6 months since we broke up. So I knew it was going to be weird. There are so many things that I thought I would say. I rehearsed this moment a million times and when it came down to it, it was totally different to what I expected. It wasn't cold as such, there was conversation and it was polite. But it was devoid of feeling, of sentiment, of any sort of realness. It was like watching a really bad performance..something so wooden and forced that it would make an onlooker cringe with embarrasment. I was numbed at first and then, as I thawed out I proceeded to read my old journals, an old entry here and another one there and then I read letters he wrote me...I became aware of so many emotions that I just don't know what to do with them. Funny what words do to us, scribbles on a page, they can make us or break us.

Closure isn't all it's made out to be....or maybe I just haven't got there. All I know right now is that it hurts and I wish it wouldn't. Everyone tells me not to let it hurt, but the only way I can think of making sense of this is to let it hurt, turn up the stereo, acknowledge it, maybe even wallow in it for a bit. Give myself a certain time limit, plunge face first into it and then, once the time is up, turn off the record, dry my eyes, breathe and walk away.

Awake tomorrow.

Don't look back.

I went to the cemetery yesterday and said hello to my granddad. It was so strange to think, that under that pile of dirt and soil lay my granddad, wrapped in white sheets, rotting away...becoming one with nature again. The cemetry is exclusively for Muslims, in Hainault and although it is still being "developed" it is a nice place, peaceful and pretty. My dad watered the grave, and we read a few short prayers and then I left him one of my favourite yellow flowers. I couldn't take my eyes off the pile of earth, I couldn't quite work out how that really could be all that is left of someone, all that we have left to signify their presence. It was mesmerising and even know, when I think of it, it brings tears to my eyes, of course for him, but also because part of me desperately wants there to be something else..refusing to accept that earth is where we came from and earth is where we will return. But then there is the other half of me that snorts at the concept of Heaven and Hell and everything else that my religion dictates....

After that I came home and tried to write. I scrapped the previous idea for my short play and tried to focus on Damian's story. He started talking to me on msn late Friday night, telling me what happened when he went to his birthtown. He is of Bolivian birth, but adopted by Belgian parents. He came to South America to look for his natural family, particularly his mother. He only had the name of the town that she was born in and a very old photgraph, but to be honest, he is lucky to have even had that. He finally located them through an aunt and found out that he has an older sister, brothers and that his mum died 15 years ago.

It turns out, that his mum didn't want to give him up, but instead sent him off with a white woman. Said white woman offered to take Damian to America to find a cure (he was dying from a childhood ilness) His mother thought he was going to the states to be cured and was coming back. But obviously he never went back, as this white woman sold him to his Belgian parents so his poor mother died thinking her ill son had either died or had been kidnapped.

As he told me this, I could feel my heart breaking. I feel so sorry for him. I mean, we didn't spend very long together, but sometimes in short spaces of time you can learn alot about people and I could tell that Damian seemed totally overwhelmed by it. He has looked to this moment with excitement and fear ever since his parents told him that he was adopted. I can't imagine what that must feel like to long for something so much and for it to be everything you imagined and so tragic at the same time. We talked for a while and he gave me permission to use the story and that's when I decided that I needed to write my play for the Queens about this.

But combined with thoughts about him and the cemetery, I couldn't concentrate for long on Sunday and around 4pm, totally agitated, I gave up writing and decided to go see volver. I didn't want to miss it on the big screen, so I jumped on the tube and headed into the West End. I ended up in a very cool Arthouse cinema on Shaftesbury Avenue, just up from Les Miserables. I booked my ticket, went for food and wandered around Leicester Square, watched a Capoeira show and spoke some Portuguese to the hott Brazilians and then walked back through china town to the cinema.

The movie was fantastic. I didn't read the subtitles, I understood the dialogue (a fact that I love)and Almodovar, really did well with every aspect of the plot, filming, characters...everything was great. I loved Penelope Cruz, she is so fucking beautiful. And the concept and plot focusing on deaths was approached in an interesting way. I think, somehow, it was the perfect time to have seen it, especially after going to the cemetery in the morning..It made me think a lot and I even shed a solitary tear. I really enjoyed myself.

After finishing, I left for home, reading my book on the journey. I arrived back in Romford very content having spent an evening in my own company, reflecting and taking in a decent movie.

I went to bed after watching Spooks with my parents, all of us on the sofa, and was seized by a sense of "this is how it should be"...how life should be, full of moments alone and in company, delicately balanced and perfectly placed seconds of warmth and sentimentality.

It made me smile.

I went to the cemetery yesterday and said hello to my granddad. It was so strange to think, that under that pile of dirt and soil lay my granddad, wrapped in white sheets, rotting away...becoming one with nature again. The cemetry is exclusively for Muslims, in Hainault and although it is still being "developed" it is a nice place, peaceful and pretty. My dad watered the grave, and we read a few short prayers and then I left him one of my favourite yellow flowers. I couldn't take my eyes off the pile of earth, I couldn't quite work out how that really could be all that is left of someone, all that we have left to signify their presence. It was mesmerising and even know, when I think of it, it brings tears to my eyes, of course for him, but also because part of me desperately wants there to be something else..refusing to accept that earth is where we came from and earth is where we will return. But then there is the other half of me that snorts at the concept of Heaven and Hell and everything else that my religion dictates....

After that I came home and tried to write. I scrapped the previous idea for my short play and tried to focus on Damian's story. He started talking to me on msn late Friday night, telling me what happened when he went to his birthtown. He is of Bolivian birth, but adopted by Belgian parents. He came to South America to look for his natural family, particularly his mother. He only had the name of the town that she was born in and a very old photgraph, but to be honest, he is lucky to have even had that. He finally located them through an aunt and found out that he has an older sister, brothers and that his mum died 15 years ago.

It turns out, that his mum didn't want to give him up, but instead sent him off with a white woman. Said white woman offered to take Damian to America to find a cure (he was dying from a childhood ilness) His mother thought he was going to the states to be cured and was coming back. But obviously he never went back, as this white woman sold him to his Belgian parents so his poor mother died thinking her ill son had either died or had been kidnapped.

As he told me this, I could feel my heart breaking. I feel so sorry for him. I mean, we didn't spend very long together, but sometimes in short spaces of time you can learn alot about people and I could tell that Damian seemed totally overwhelmed by it. He has looked to this moment with excitement and fear ever since his parents told him that he was adopted. I can't imagine what that must feel like to long for something so much and for it to be everything you imagined and so tragic at the same time. We talked for a while and he gave me permission to use the story and that's when I decided that I needed to write my play for the Queens about this.

But combined with thoughts about him and the cemetery, I couldn't concentrate for long on Sunday and around 4pm, totally agitated, I gave up writing and decided to go see volver again. I didn't want to miss it on the big screen, so I jumped on the tube and headed into the West End. I ended up in a very cool Arthouse cinema on Shaftesbury Avenue, just up from Les Miserables. I booked my ticket, went for food and wandered around Leicester Square, watched a Capoeira show and spoke some Portuguese to the hott Brazilians and then walked back through china town to the cinema.

The movie was fantastic. I didn't read the subtitles, I understood the dialogue (a fact that I love)and Almodovar, really did well with every aspect of the plot, filming, characters...everything was great. I loved Penelope Cruz, she is so fucking beautiful. And the concept and plot focusing on deaths was approached in an interesting way. I think, somehow, it was the perfect time to have seen it, especially after going to the cemetery in the morning..It made me think a lot and I even shed a solitary tear. I really enjoyed myself.

After finishing, I left for home, reading my book on the journey. I arrived back in Romford very content having spent an evening in my own company, reflecting and taking in a decent movie.

I went to bed after watching Spooks with my parents, all of us on the sofa, and was seized by a sense of "this is how it should be"...how life should be, full of moments alone and in company, delicately balanced and perfectly placed seconds of warmth and sentimentality.

It made me smile.

I have had a weird day today. Work was very dull indeed, but I managed to get quite a lot done. Then I read my book at lunchtime, which I am loving: Aunt Julia and the Scripwriter by Mario Vargas Llosa.

After work I went to the gym and did about 20 minutes on the treadmill and then a body balance class, which was fucking hard. I didn't realise how unfit and out of shape I am. I used to be a lot more supple and flexible, because just trying to touch my toes was an effort today, I am ashamed of myself *wail* But it felt good afterwards, until I realised that I have pulled a muscle in my arm, which provides a grand dull ache that vibrates from my shoulder all the way to my elbow. And then sharp pangs of pain when I jerk my arm around, like the devil himslef were poking my elbow with his fork. bastard. My aunt then gave me some healing and a lil massage with eucaplytus oil and made it all better :)

Well, why I really wanted to write tonight, was that when I got home from the gym and had all these mad chemicals swilling around my bloodstream due to the exercise, I had this huge rush of energy. I ate my baked cod and veggies with such vigour and then danced around the kitchen cleaning up...Everyone thought that there was something wrong with me..and then I crashed.

My gran has started sifting through my granddad's things. All his clothes, shoes, scarves, ties, jewellery and she began offering them to us. This is a lovely gesture as it means that we get to keep some of his things close to us, but it is also heartbreaking, to have to clean out his wardrobe and see the blatant emptiness that he leaves in our house and hearts now that he is gone.

My aunt and I helped my grandma, I am so proud of her, anything that is not wanted or is not suitable for us is being put in a container and sent to Lebanon to help all the people who have been displaced from their homes due to the war. I think it is very kind of her to do that, she could easily have sold them, but she knows that my granddad was a caring man who always wanted to help and this is a perfect way to honour this part of his personality.

I walked away with one of his silk ties, which I will give to my husband to wear on our wedding day...
One of his silk scarves, in fact the one that he wore almost every day, I feel bad taking this without my other aunts having the chance to see it or claim it, but it is beautiful and they weren't here. So I seized the opportunity, I will adore it and wear it as much as he did. Also, a winter baker boy hat, which is stunning, can't wait for it to get cold, an autumnal flat cap and my gran made me take a silver watch that he had. I also feel bad about that, but it is cute and has an adjustable strap so she wanted me to have it because it actually fits.

I feel wrong 'claiming' his possessions, but at the same time comforted. I like to know that I have been honoured with his presence in material form in the hope that he might bless me with his presence, in the ethereal form. It makes it all very real that he is gone. Even now, a week and a half later, the truth sometimes escapes me and I expect to see him in front of the TV, or at the cooker making halva, or at his burea writing and then I squint and look again and realise that it's just the passing of air and time that caught my eye. But I know he is here, somewhere, I just wish I could feel him...

That is all for now,
my arm is aching again and I would like this pain to remain as glowing cinders and not to erupt in to a raging fire of agaony, so I bid you all goodnight xxx

On the subject of my grandfather dying:

Well, it happened on Thursday and I still haven't recovered from the physical shock of it and the immense exhaustion from having to deal with the amount of people that we had in our house over the weekend. On the mental side of it, I still can't believe that he is gone. It is too weird, I keep dreaming about him, having imaginary conversations in my head with him and keep finding myself sticking my head into his room just to check that's he's not actually in bed, sleeping.

Only this morning did I manage to force myself to shower in our bath; he died in the bathroom anD I was too freaked out to use it before, I couldn't face standing there knowing that is where he stood for his final moments.

I know all these feelings are normal and even though they are floating to me, I am beginning to feel some sort of peace and resolution with the human cycle towards this. I know that we all die one day and that anytime soon, this could happen again...and it will. It was just such a shock because he was the first person that is close to me who has passed away plus the fact that he lived with us...It was just too difficult to comprehend.

There is also the underlying guilt factor that runs through me, the fact that in his last few years he was getting more and more senile and unbearable, he was a rude, mean and nasty man. And I treated him differently for this and I feel like maybe I should have overlooked the way he behaved sometimes, after all, he is still my grandad and it wasn't really him, just his 'illness' talking. And because of this 'wariness' of him, I held back after getting home from South America. I feel like I should have spent more time with him, given him more of my love, my stories...i don't know...just more of anything.

I guess that is also a natural feeling.

On the subject of being home:

I am getting used to it. I am more relaxed than before and a lot of this has to do with the fact that I had a really good week last week (up till Thursday) and this made me realise that it is possible to be comfortable and happy at home with little money and lots of friends. I got taken out for dinner by a lovely Belgian guy, we had food and great conversation and I remembered that you don't have to be on the other side of the world to meet new, interesting and kind people. I won't be seeing him again as he has returned to Belgium, but it was a lovely experience.

On the subject of Adam:

what can I say? The plot thickens...I keep dreaming about him, but after the whole dream where I am willing him to come back to me, I realise that I don't want him back. So this suggests to me that I pine after him at times, merely because I am lonely and longing for some company and good times. Which is fine by me. What I need to learn from this is that it is normal to be lonely and to combat it in a way that doesn't put me through hurt and pain and use it as an opportunity to meet with friends and or make new ones :D

I think I am doing well tonight...

On the subject of the last post. That is Damian, some of you know about him. Another example of needing to be 'classy not crazy' haha. Very obvious the boy doesn't want to stay in contact and I am going to respect those wishes. That photo is there anytime I need to remember how good that time felt and that there is hope yet for something better and stronger.

Do I get a congratulations for my positivity in this post?

My temp job have hired me until December, which is nice of them, they will also be training me up as the secretary so that I can cover her 2 week holiday, which is scary! But it is also great as they are happy to give me a week off in September, which I greatly need to sit down and write..

what do I want to write? Firstly about the trip, all the journals that I lost and that are still un finished. And also, the Queens Theatre have invited me to write a ten minute play to be performed at the showcase in November. So in theory, writing wise I am busy busy busy, I just need time to get it done!

So I am impressed with myself, even if no one else is.
I still hurt and am healing from all the emotional scars left over from the trip as well as new ones created by being back. But I am getting there....got to love that ayahuasca!

I guess I should sign off now, I am tired, spent waay too long infront of a pooter today.
love to you all xxx