I will begin this by saying that it's raining moderately heavily outside.
I've always said to myself, since November, each day, that it would be murder for me to wake up at 6 or 7 to this cold, enveloping darkness if I had a 9 to 5 job. I've felt sorry for the milkman who drives his float up Templecombe every morning, sometimes at 4, sometimes at 7 but always in the cold, in the dark. I feel empathy towards the train driver who drives the train through South Merton station at 12:30 am and then at 4 and then at 5.
And yet, I feel proud of them; that they hold dignified jobs and work hard to earn their living. Especially the milk float man. I hope I am able to wake up one day to take a picture of the milk float. God knows, next time I'm here, they will have become obsolete.
This is what I wrote to Umair yesterday:
"Also, I'll have you know I don't make it a regular thing, beating up elderly, senile men. I'd tell you how it came to pass, but I'm just not up for it. My counsellor says it's natural for a fight-or-flight response when you're physically attacked by someone, so I guess it was that. Animal instinct. I couldn't flee anywhere. So I fought.
So even though I pretend I don't care, don't think bad of me as a result. I'm thinking enough for the both of us.
I'd probably feel worse about going to Karachi if I hadn't spent 4 years in Canada and two weeks in Cuba. I met people or saw things that made me realise that these Brits have done a magnificent job at (sic) colonising my mind. Reading stupid poems about daffodils in a place where we have jasmine flowers. Or having to do ruddy Shakespeare at A level, when I don't think I've read such an emotionally evocative piece of work as Kartography. Well, Watership Down was pretty good. But that's besides the point.
At least, after spending 8 months of my gap year surrofying in this dilapidated (?) terraced house in Surrey, with a National Express Youth bus pass that hasn't been used once and days spent envying the milkman who drives in his milk float down our street at 5 in the morning because he at least HAS a job to go to, I'll be utilising my gap year by going to the exotic and mystifying subcontinent. Catch a few sights, like the mazar which I have never visited in the 11 years I've been there. Got (sic) to the beach, something I've not done in a decade. Count stars when the lights go out. Wake up each day and see my mum's face and decide, 'no, today is NOT the day I will kill myself, because she loves me'. You know, that kind of stuff."
Why the hell do I subject him to this? Why do I feel confident enough to say such things to him? Anyway, he's replied to it. Let's see what he has to say *dreading it*.
At least I am following Emerson's advice, and saying things as I see them, each day. Forget whether today I feel horror at what was done yesterday. Wait, that doesn't sound really correct. Oh well, I'll get his meaning one day.
*chuckle* Now I know why I subject him to it. He's just so damn sweet. After all, he is a 7 with a 6 wing. Probably like Russell Howard. But again, he was in a rush while emailing me and just ended up saying stuff that came to his mind without censoring it first. So he says:
"and this whole thing you mentioned about reading shakespeare and wordsworth and what not...and ignoring the rich culture we have...ive been going on about it for ages...what can i say. i hear its becoming worse. but there are people who are trying to save us...but its too small a group. anyway. ill suggest some more interesting stuf to do when i think of it...yeah go to the mazaar. go the muesum...go to saddar...that market...empress market...go there..just hang around you know. i dont know..its probably hard for a girl to do it..but i always used to hang around these areas....you know....i'm thankful i can be comfortable and have conversation with people from all walks of life....i dont know....maybe if i ever come to karachi i can take you to these places...i have had really random wierd conversations with snake charmers..and hijras and what not. its fun."
As if.
He also wrote,
i wish you the best of luck in karachi. i hope you learn to love it as much as i do.
and i need to complete this course. so i need to believe i can do it. i am in too deep.
ok ok ok....
i have to go now. my friends have been waiting to eat food. so i need to leave.. they are calling me.
you take care of yourself littaal suki.
ciao for now.
Umair
I still love London. That's the bloody problem. I love it to bits. In spite of everything. But this house, although it doesn't depress me, it reminds me of a life that 'could-have-been-but-never-was'. I've said before, my mother's place is here and there's nothing that can remove that emptiness.
So, I must go to where my mother is. I mean, how on Earth can I forget my vow to always be with her? Although I, thankfully, didn't take a picture of her when she was in hospital and comatose because that would have been a heartless gesture, I have crystallized that image in my brain. So helpless. And I cried when those flipping nurses treated her like a sack of potatoes and began to argue as to who was supposed to change her nappy. How can I just conveniently forget all of that?
I had vowed to myself not to be enamoured by Canada, to come back as soon as I had my degree so I could teach the poor children English and how to aim for the stars etc. Where has that dream been swept away in my subconsciousness? Why did I still think that I'd be able to survive in London? What a preposterous idea.
Look. There is a life to lead in Karachi. That Declan somebody from The Guardian newspaper is in Karachi. There will be hundreds of reporters there for the election. There are the Médicins Sans Frontières there. UN people. Diplomats. The French people in Alliance Française. The Turks or whoevers in the Sunday bazaars and Zainab market.
You still worship white flesh. After everything you have seen in London; the depravity, the stupidity, the nonchalance. You have made the white man your idol. And that is a fact.
Be ashamed. Be very ashamed.
I've always said to myself, since November, each day, that it would be murder for me to wake up at 6 or 7 to this cold, enveloping darkness if I had a 9 to 5 job. I've felt sorry for the milkman who drives his float up Templecombe every morning, sometimes at 4, sometimes at 7 but always in the cold, in the dark. I feel empathy towards the train driver who drives the train through South Merton station at 12:30 am and then at 4 and then at 5.
And yet, I feel proud of them; that they hold dignified jobs and work hard to earn their living. Especially the milk float man. I hope I am able to wake up one day to take a picture of the milk float. God knows, next time I'm here, they will have become obsolete.
This is what I wrote to Umair yesterday:
"Also, I'll have you know I don't make it a regular thing, beating up elderly, senile men. I'd tell you how it came to pass, but I'm just not up for it. My counsellor says it's natural for a fight-or-flight response when you're physically attacked by someone, so I guess it was that. Animal instinct. I couldn't flee anywhere. So I fought.
So even though I pretend I don't care, don't think bad of me as a result. I'm thinking enough for the both of us.
I'd probably feel worse about going to Karachi if I hadn't spent 4 years in Canada and two weeks in Cuba. I met people or saw things that made me realise that these Brits have done a magnificent job at (sic) colonising my mind. Reading stupid poems about daffodils in a place where we have jasmine flowers. Or having to do ruddy Shakespeare at A level, when I don't think I've read such an emotionally evocative piece of work as Kartography. Well, Watership Down was pretty good. But that's besides the point.
At least, after spending 8 months of my gap year surrofying in this dilapidated (?) terraced house in Surrey, with a National Express Youth bus pass that hasn't been used once and days spent envying the milkman who drives in his milk float down our street at 5 in the morning because he at least HAS a job to go to, I'll be utilising my gap year by going to the exotic and mystifying subcontinent. Catch a few sights, like the mazar which I have never visited in the 11 years I've been there. Got (sic) to the beach, something I've not done in a decade. Count stars when the lights go out. Wake up each day and see my mum's face and decide, 'no, today is NOT the day I will kill myself, because she loves me'. You know, that kind of stuff."
Why the hell do I subject him to this? Why do I feel confident enough to say such things to him? Anyway, he's replied to it. Let's see what he has to say *dreading it*.
At least I am following Emerson's advice, and saying things as I see them, each day. Forget whether today I feel horror at what was done yesterday. Wait, that doesn't sound really correct. Oh well, I'll get his meaning one day.
*chuckle* Now I know why I subject him to it. He's just so damn sweet. After all, he is a 7 with a 6 wing. Probably like Russell Howard. But again, he was in a rush while emailing me and just ended up saying stuff that came to his mind without censoring it first. So he says:
"and this whole thing you mentioned about reading shakespeare and wordsworth and what not...and ignoring the rich culture we have...ive been going on about it for ages...what can i say. i hear its becoming worse. but there are people who are trying to save us...but its too small a group. anyway. ill suggest some more interesting stuf to do when i think of it...yeah go to the mazaar. go the muesum...go to saddar...that market...empress market...go there..just hang around you know. i dont know..its probably hard for a girl to do it..but i always used to hang around these areas....you know....i'm thankful i can be comfortable and have conversation with people from all walks of life....i dont know....maybe if i ever come to karachi i can take you to these places...i have had really random wierd conversations with snake charmers..and hijras and what not. its fun."
As if.
He also wrote,
i wish you the best of luck in karachi. i hope you learn to love it as much as i do.
and i need to complete this course. so i need to believe i can do it. i am in too deep.
ok ok ok....
i have to go now. my friends have been waiting to eat food. so i need to leave.. they are calling me.
you take care of yourself littaal suki.
ciao for now.
Umair
I still love London. That's the bloody problem. I love it to bits. In spite of everything. But this house, although it doesn't depress me, it reminds me of a life that 'could-have-been-but-never-was'. I've said before, my mother's place is here and there's nothing that can remove that emptiness.
So, I must go to where my mother is. I mean, how on Earth can I forget my vow to always be with her? Although I, thankfully, didn't take a picture of her when she was in hospital and comatose because that would have been a heartless gesture, I have crystallized that image in my brain. So helpless. And I cried when those flipping nurses treated her like a sack of potatoes and began to argue as to who was supposed to change her nappy. How can I just conveniently forget all of that?
I had vowed to myself not to be enamoured by Canada, to come back as soon as I had my degree so I could teach the poor children English and how to aim for the stars etc. Where has that dream been swept away in my subconsciousness? Why did I still think that I'd be able to survive in London? What a preposterous idea.
Look. There is a life to lead in Karachi. That Declan somebody from The Guardian newspaper is in Karachi. There will be hundreds of reporters there for the election. There are the Médicins Sans Frontières there. UN people. Diplomats. The French people in Alliance Française. The Turks or whoevers in the Sunday bazaars and Zainab market.
You still worship white flesh. After everything you have seen in London; the depravity, the stupidity, the nonchalance. You have made the white man your idol. And that is a fact.
Be ashamed. Be very ashamed.