Blood and Soul.

If you're somebody, like me, who's grown up away from your homeland, and rarely visited it, you probably agree with me when I say, "Relatives are like lottery tickets. The emotional outcome of your meeting with them, is as random as the result of a raffle draw." [Aaand if you're somebody from my extended family, you probably hate me for saying that! =D ]
It's a funny concept really, the whole assumption that relatives are afterall more deserving of our love, than other entities like 'neighbours', 'family friends' and buddies in general. And the main promoters of such esteemed thoughts are called the "Auntyjees", in the Indo-Pak Society. The exact definition of these Auntyjees is: females who's existence you discover one fine morning, back home, when you wake to their affectionate "Aslamaliiikuuuuumm!" followed by the-cheek-pulling-ceremony, where the lady checks the durability of foreign cheeks. Their most distinct characteristic is the surprise at how much you've grown from the tiny body running around in diapers. Talk about the lack of expectations!
Studies show that 9 out of 10 Auntyjee's suffer from heartbreak due to the strong bonds between their distant-nieces/nephews and people from outside the family, which the Auntyjees fear effects the nieces'/nephews' priority list. (Okay, there's no real study like that but I bet that would be the result if there was one.)
Now the aim of this post is not to diss family bonds but only to express my view of them.
To me, the essential difference between relatives and loved ones is that of blood and soul. Blood is necessary to survive, the Soul is needed to live. Once your born, you necessarily have some relatives. But if you live a life worth living, you most definitely have people you love.
Who makes it to the top of your priority list is, honestly, less in your own hands and more in the hands of those around you. Yes, the immediate family - your parents and siblings- deserve an unmatched place, that is unquestionably a fact. Above all, of course, the beloved Prophet (SAWS) and our innumerable religious mentors.
But in terms of society, as a strong contender of 'true relationships originate from honest affection', I believe it really isn't in our hands to choose who shall be that genuine with us. Only our definition of 'genuine-ness' comes into question again ..... but that's a different post. ;)
The importance of understanding this lies in realizing that we need to stop taking those around us for granted -  not only in terms of our natural relationship with them but also due to our spiritual connection that they have established with us, be it a sweet neighbor bringing you chicken soup when you've cold or an aunt buying you candy when mom's not looking.

Summary of the above mental ramblings:

"You can stop the Heart that pumps Blood but you can't stop the Soul that spreads Humanity." 

Flickering Faith.

(this was supposed to be posted last night but wasn't - courtesy: dudey's artistic instincts -_- )

My limbs didn't fall off today. My eyes didn't lose vision. I had no inclination to hurt myself or kill somebody else. I didn't get run over by a truck or watch a loved one die. My memory is intact and I didn't have to borrow a cigarette because I am addicted. I did not become obsessed with a celebrity neither did my mood swing into a bad one for no apparent reason. 

I had a genuinely average day which is an excellent experience, safe from all sort's of mental and physical dangers. (considering the odds - all of the above are possible, without prior warning).

Right at the beginning of this very day, I did my best to hurry through Prayer, just so I would get back to bed. 

Do you see it now?

My first gesture to the Source who ensures all remains well, was to hurry through His worship like I was doing Him a favour. 

YET, all remained well.

All remained exactly as it was yesterday or better, the only difference was that I was a little less thankful and a little more ignorant. That was my doing.

And This: Me, being all fine, being able to think articulate thoughts, type sensible sentences, live normally. 

This is His doing. 

Later in the day, as I stood on the Prayer mat a second time, my vision flickered for a moment. I wasn't sure if it had something to do with the light bulb in the room or the lack of healthy 'nutrients' in me but everything would vanish for a millisecond and then return. Again and again. 

Mid-prayer I slightly feared that the bulb would explode (as it once had earlier, much to my fascination) and as I was standing right underneath, I'd be toast. 

On the other hand, if this was my own weakness in health, than I'd be splat(!) on the floor soon, losing consciousness.

What I feared mostly was that, either ways, it was justified. What did I really do or feel to not deserve either of the two ordeals? 

All logic and 'justice' aside, it was My Lord's Unconditional Love and Mercy upon me that I completed my prayer and am still just as normal as ever.

There's a lesson of True Affection right there and I couldn't feel more Grateful to the Almighty to teach it to me, despite my flickering faith.

Confessions of a Betrayed-Love.

Way before the first rays of the Sun trickle through the clouds, Dudey promises to throw herself out of bed. She vows to grab the opportunity to prepare for her Religious Studies class later during the day. She bribes herself with the prospect of a half-hour-breakfast including her very favourite, self-invented, Chicken-Omellete-Cheese-And-Anything-Else-You're-Afraid-The-Family-Would- Finish-Sandwich. Intellectually, Dudey's motivation is to be inspired enough by the morning revision to genuinely thank the Almighty as she shall watch the Sun rise.

With these sincere oaths, her eye lids shut for the night.

The earth is trembling, her leg seems to have panicked and caused electrical impulses to jerk the muscles within. Dudey opens her eyes to glare at a blurred version of her room where every object vibrates uncontrollably, and in the center of it all, trying to become the focus of her attention: The sweet-face of Mother announcing the time, 6:30 a.m.! She continues to vigorously shake Dudey's leg like a wake-up bell perhaps expecting it to oscillate back and forth. 

Or maybe, she imagines the leg to be one of those cords on a speed-boat engine, that you pull repeatedly until the motor starts. Mother has her very creative, customized-for-each-child ways to wake them up. And it works everytime.

Ignoring the Sun's mocking, "You-were-saying..?"- glare from the window, Dudey jumps out of bed, grabs her jet-black-mystery-woman-overall, brushes her teeth as she puts on her watch, packs her bag as she reads the revison chart on the wall and before you know it, she's at the door! 

6:36 p.m. You couldn't get any faster than that at her age. Unless you were NASA's X-43A Jet (the fastest model  in 20 years) . But she highly doubted the Jet had a morning-routine similar to hers. For starters, the Jet didn't need to worry all it's hair antennae were tucked in and it's white, metallic body was covered appropriately, with hinges and knobs made oblivous, for it to recieve due respect in it's journey among male-jet-liners.

Anyway, the door was where the unexpected awaited her. Her world slowed down to real-time and then to further slow-motion. There stood the temptingly-ideal figure, shining in all the right places, brown, almost like tanned to the right extent - A Chocolate Cupcake. It was placed amongst some decoration pieces by the entrance and these were sitting on a little ledge she had recently put up (so much for her ill-timed interior decoration skills.) 

There was no time to grab a bite and as Dudey ran down to the car, she congratulated herself for being so "mature" as to give priority to education over food. Like.. WOW right?

Wrong.

All through the morning discussions and the initial prayer, Dudey could only discuss about and pray for: a Chocolate Cake. Her innumerable mentions of sweet confectionaries as examples of blessings from the Almighty, prompted her Professor to offer her some breakfast. She declined, of course. What if it was some other megre salty-bite like cracker biscuits and in due respect to her Professor she'd have to eat it instead of the gorgeous cup-cake back at home? 

At first, she thought the Cup Cake's image was the usual Satan's tool to lure her away from the Blessings of the lecture but soon, the depth of her feelings made her realise: Dudey was in Love with the Chocolate Cake!

No really, all the signs were there. She couldn't stop thinking about it. The more she was amongst others, the more she wanted to be with it. It appeared to have no flaw and most importantly, it had chocolate. So not only was this Cup-cake Perfect, it was the kind of Perfect that Dudey wanted.

Knowing better, Dudey spent all her time in class witnessing the wrestling match between the two hemispheres of her brain, one concentrating on the class, the other indulging in the Love for the cake.

Her journey back to her house never seemed sweeter, almost literally! For at the end of it, Dudey knew, the wait would be worth it. She could bite every inch of the cake without any distractions or commitments to be else where, doing other stuff.

No, it would just be Dudey and the Chocolate Cup Cake. Her Chocolate Cup Cake. She blushed at the latter thought.

And there it was, in all it's entirety, drawing attention away from all that surrounded it. She couldn't wait to get a plate, she just did it. She bit and chewed and gulped the lumps like a thirsty traveller, in the scorching heat of the desert, would drink water. 

It wasn't for a whole 5 minutes that Dudey took notice. There was something different. Almost - if she could dare say it for such a gorgeous creation - something wrong.

And then she realized it. Her Love had been Betrayed! Betrayed by this megre chunk of flour and .. well, egg, milk, sugar... Point being, it was all a LIE! All it's external beauty held only fungus and spoilt, rotten insides! It had reached that place near the door not because of it's Esteemed appearance but because it was on it's way to being chucked away for it's real self! Betrayed Love, literally, T-o t-h-e C-o-r-e! Infact, now she could see signs on the Crust as well. 

As it dawned upon her that she was gona be sick, Dudey prayed to the Almighty for help to get over a whole morning's deep Love. 

That's when it hit her. Reviewing her devotion in class that morning, Dudey realised that the Cake hadn't been the only betrayer that day.

------

Humble Request by Dudey: Kindly pray my Love for the Almighty and all His Deserving- Creations, reaches a Genuine extent, undisturbed by all materialistic temptations - Amin.

Run.

Thin ice cold blades scraping your skin - feel the wind rush past you.
Nerves impulses giving jerks to your skull - feel the thumping in your head.
The bones in your toes grind against the ground but bounce back up, in vain - feel the light feet you have right now.
Digging deeper into the soil, your legs wrench your guts along - wow, you're fast.
The ribs swing in half circles, right to left and back, dragging your arms along - feel your body pushing all odds away to move ahead.

It's only your eyes - the betrayers.
Sitting in their sockets, they watch the world glide past. They tell you the rest is only mechanical. A natural part of the effortless endeavour of running.
So you obey them and you run. Run like there would be no end to it. Run like its the genius idea for survival. You run not because your afraid. You run because you no longer want to be afraid.
You think.
Because then you slam into the glass! The sides of your imagination's dome. The bottom to your fantacy's pit. "The reality check."
You hate that phrase, don't you? Because you can't run anymore, you can't glide further away from the burden of existence, the consequence of your being.

It's the cold, dead end to your addiction to illusion.

You slam against it and no matter how deep your legs dig into the ground, your chest just presses harder against the glass.
And then you feel it.
The heart inside.
Stubbornly beating like a mad beast trying to break out of a cage. Over and Over. Crying out loud about the reality of it's existence. Pumping it's pain, to every inch of your body. Forcing you to recognize every cell as your own.
You see it too, as your vision blurs and blood rushes to your head, blocking out all sounds.

And then you feel them.
The lungs, striving to drag out the bad, absorb the good. Breathing in life to push away death.
You hear it too. Your own breath. Deep, hard, cold. Almost like you've got company.

As you regain a sense of the whole of your body, the feeling of existence kicks in.
The feeling like you deserve to settle for a while, rest your aching muscles, warm the pricking skin.

The sense of comfort makes you "realise" maybe it's not the end after all. Maybe it's OK.
Because come to think of it, if existence were really a burden, the Almighty wouldn't torture you with it. It's a Blessing He has bestowed out of His Love for you.
And you love Him too, right? So it's easy to do what you must (and more) out of Love for Him.

And if the Faith is just about as much as you fear it to be, the distance to the other end of this glass dome is a long stretch....
Run.

The Key to Dudey's Writing Zone.

"Can't write? Write about not being able to write then." - The Exception.

"Can't write more? Write about the one thing that's still making you want to write again!" - The Honey Dew.

The Exception and The Honey Dew, real people from a real story, gave Dudey the key to her writing zone. The Key lies in answering the reason of her return without stating it in words, yet through her words.

Ironic and Challenging.

That's Dudey's Story Alright!

Wax Vision.

Gripped by the heat,
It feels the particles drifting apart.
Knowing it's lack of solidarity,
The wax submits, melts just as far.

Poured in to the mould,
It let's the shape define it to the core.
No longer clinging to its soul,
Lo and Behold!

It's a candle.
Standing tall as it's structure will allow.
At the height of it's beauty for now.

The colour, the scent, the glory,
Embracing peace after fury.
Here's where it's begun to belong,
Forgetting this isn't for long.

For here comes the fire,
with poison burning in it's flame.
Taking away all that's to admire,
bringing it to shame.

It melts.
In it's reality it dwells.
The journey from the wick to below
It's humbled and it has to flow.

At the bottom, it waits.
Thinks over it's traits.
Realizes it's destiny: change.
Feels the lack of it to be strange.

That is when the wax justifies,
with what within it lies,
it's reason to be a candle.
The appearance is a mere scandal,
Colour, scent, light - all added to the raw.
No - now on it's true strength it must draw.

Change - it's strength, destiny or chance.
The wax must change to take the stance,
that will return it to dignity and pride.
That will give it a new life.

It let's in the cold air.
laying every particle bare.
till it's settled to the truth,
becoming the solid it could.


......


As I see it, change is a fact.
To it, ideally I don't always react.
For, in change we reflect on what we really need.
With it we plant in our being, a doubt's seed.

I know now. I have no doubt.
Whether I stand in glory or burn out.
All I need, is those eyes,
that reflect what within me lies.
That show me the wax I always had,
To accept change, good or bad.

These eyes, destiny has made me see,
Let the changes around me run free.

In these eyes, not mine,
I see the wax in me shine.
I see the changes I can make,
I see the changes as my fate.

So all I need and all I should,
Look into these eyes,
and I'm good.