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Creative Writing

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Literature

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Travel

A Stream of Incoherent Thoughts.


It’s interesting, the amount of thoughts that run through the human mind. I wanted to document the stream of mine. Read at your own peril.

Thinking about how heavenly the aroma of coffee is. Where does it originate from? Arabia? The Arabic language sounds so beautiful. I remember going to the mosque as a child, playing MASH in the back of our notebooks when the teacher wasn’t looking. How else were we going to find out who we were destined to marry? Remembering the results, I wonder where they are now. Are they already married with children? Holy cow, I’m 25, that’s a quarter of a century. I thought I’d have my life figured out by now. I wanted a child by 25, what was I even thinking? I love children, but only when I can give them back at the end of the day. I just don’t have the patience. I can’t even allow my hands to be still, I just pick the skin around my fingers because they always need to be doing something. I wonder where my purple Tangle Toy is. Did I leave it at work? Oh I miss my Mark-Francis picture. Looking at my broken laptop on my desk here. Why is nothing built to last anymore? Just like damned relationships. Thinking about watching Eastenders as a child and being shown that nobody was ever happy, not even for an episode. Steve Owen and the way that he died in the fire. Mel, Ian Beale. I wonder whether it’s still airing. Do people still watch it? Is it still a thing? Thinking about watching Sister Sister. Go home Roger. Oh Marques Houston and how he blossomed. Thinking about when he sang Clubbin’, thinking about clubs in general. What is the fascination? Although, alcohol is wonderful because of what it does to people and how entertaining it is to be around drunken friends. I remember everything the next day and then have the responsibility of enlightening them. Thinking about the funny things that have happened, about all of the secrets that I’ve accidentally been told. Alcohol brings people to the surface of themselves, makes them do stupid things. But then some people don't experience guilt. It’s become such a redundant emotion. Remembering the feeling of guilt as a child. About being taught that sins were the most atrocious thing in the world and that we were horrible people for committing them. Thinking about the sound of my grandfather’s voice. Recalling moments when I sat in the window of his barber shop and reiterated the details to my therapist. Thinking about therapy and the stigma that is attached to it. Why don’t more people go to therapy? Thinking about how expensive therapy actually is. Thinking about how Asians perceive mental illness, how they go to such extremes in order to remain ignorant. Possession. Jinns. Spirits. Is any of it even real? Thinking about clinical depression, the amount of people that have told me to ‘cheer up.’ Thinking about cartoon characters that may have been suffering from depression. There was always something about Sid in Hey Arnold. Remembering Hey Arnold and his parents. He had such a cool bedroom. Helga Pataki, how much she loved him. Thinking about the way that kids now are so into clothes and makeup, we didn’t even care what we looked like back then. I wonder what their generation will become. Thinking about social media and the selfie era. The impact of it all. Thinking about Twitter and how it is partially responsible for keeping me alive. Thinking about being alive and how good it feels sometimes. Thinking about all of the things that there are in the world to live for. Thinking about writing this now, the way my fingers are moving over the keyboard quicker than I can comprehend. Thinking about when I taught myself to touch type, using desktops and how colossal they were. The time my dad tried to sit me down and teach me how to create buttons on Visual Basics. Encarta 95. The time he bought me an encyclopaedia and I read all about George Eliot. It was a pen name. Do people even use pens anymore? Thinking of my father studying at university when I was born. Thinking about how young my parents were, about my heritage. Pakistan isn’t a part of me. Thinking about the miscellaneous cows that would stroll along the streets. Being able to smell clay as I rode on the back of my uncle’s motorbike. Doctors injecting me at the hospital, examining my tongue for signs of dehydration. An injection for everything. Taking pills that resembled Smarties. Thinking about the time my grandfather dropped his pill and I ate it thinking that it was a pink Smartie. It tasted so bitter. Thinking about the times he added honey to my tea. I can’t drink tea without it now. Thinking about how good honey tastes on top of pancakes. Thinking about IHOP and those godly chocolate chip ones that I ate and couldn’t finish. Thinking about being in Dubai and how nobody judged me for having pink hair. Thinking about the confined tones of my hair now and wondering when my red dye is going to arrive. How do Feel Unique manage to dispatch things so quickly? They’ve spoiled me, made me impatient with other retailers. I’ve just remembered all of the old pictures that I found yesterday, how moody I was as a teenager. Thinking about who I am now and what I want to do with my life. It’s all too stressful. I should watch a new TV series to forget about it all, perhaps Jessica Jones because everyone is talking about it. Thinking about when Krysten Ritter was on the Gilmore Girls. I’m still not over the last two seasons. The new writers ruined the show, I hated Logan. But nothing was and probably never will be as diabolical as the Dexter finale. I remember discussing it with my boss in the midst of my interview. I remember when he told me that he regularly dressed like a hip hop artist. I didn’t believe him until I started the job. Thinking about Tyla and where he is now, whether he still owns that bracelet. Why did he wear a bracelet with his name on? Was it in case he forgot? Maybe I should wear one as a name tag. Thinking about how I never wear things on my wrists, but it would be the perfect placement for a tattoo. Thinking about tattoos and how much they must hurt. Thinking about needles and fainting during blood tests. I have to eat a bar of chocolate beforehand. Thinking about Belgian chocolate. The M&S chocolate fudge cake that I ate for breakfast. Buttercream icing, the ultimate religious experience. Thinking about the cupcakes that my cousin made yesterday. Thinking about the food festival in town and the amazing Victorian cake that I bought. The cathedral, the Germans. I’d like to go to Germany one day. I’ll add it to my list of places to visit. It’s too cold in Europe at the moment. Thinking about the US and my upcoming visit. I should book flights soon. Finally being able to walk into a drugstore, being able to buy all of the makeup I’ve been coveting. Trying to remember the last thing that I bought here. Maybe I should walk into town to get a toffee nut latte. I need to get back into exercising. Thinking about running on the treadmill, I’m too tired to run anymore. Thinking about how drowsy I used to be when going to work. It all felt like a dream. Thinking about my dreams and how amusing they sometimes are. Cults. Wars. Robberies. Heartbreaks. Surrealism. Thinking about the opening of Fight Club when he describes insomnia as everything being a copy of a copy of a copy. I’ve tried to watch the film several times and have still never made it through to the end. The book was better. Why do they ruin books by making them into films? Although The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas is an exception, the film is a million times more significant. I still have the book on my shelf. I couldn’t bear to give it away. I have so many unread books resting beside it. Thinking about the next book I’ll read, the ones I still want to buy. Thinking about the last book that I bought. Warsan Shire. I love her. Thinking about her spoken poetry and how impactful she is. Thinking about impactful people. Fariha Roisin, I love the way that she talks. Thinking about American accents and how much I adore them. Thinking about words that they pronounce differently. The way that they say ‘beautiful.’ Thinking about British accents and hating the sound of my own voice. Thinking about enunciating and how I need to make more of a conscious effort to do it. I’ve been watching too much Made in Chelsea, I keep responding to people with ‘yah.’ Thinking about how my dad just responds to messages with ‘k.’ Thinking about using emojis and wondering what we did before them. I use them so often; they effortlessly summate the things that I’m trying to say. Thinking about MSN and how restricted emojis were in those days. But you could show people what you were listening to and that was what counted. Thinking of friends that I would speak to on MSN. About Mango. I wonder what he’s doing. Thinking about how he acquired the nickname Mango. Thinking about when I last ate a mango. Mango juice, piña coladas. Virgin mojitos, the lemon sherbet drink from Las Iguanas. Thinking about sweet potato fries with garlic mayonnaise. Thinking about what I’ll have for dinner today. I don’t even know what day it is. Thinking about checking. Oh it’s 2016 on Friday. I could have finished my PhD now. Thinking about finishing my novel. I should write more often, it’s so cathartic. Thinking about poetry and Sylvia Plath. Thinking about how he didn’t know who she was. I wonder what he’s doing. Probably writing important emails. Chicken. I wonder if he'll read this. He’s so unintentionally funny. Thinking about funny people, the amount of them that I know. Speaking of funny, I’m thinking about the relatives I saw yesterday and how they all feel like strangers. Thinking about strangers and how remarkable they sometimes are. Thinking about how we sit on a train filled with strangers but don’t exchange any words. Thinking about how busy trains are these days. Remembering the time that the train suddenly stopped and I almost fell onto someone. Thinking about my lack of balance and how I really need to start working on that, along with everything else of course. I should get dressed today. I must also organise my wardrobe. I have such little clothes left because I keep sorting out my wardrobe and giving everything away to charity. I remember how odd it was, walking by the charity shop and seeing the mannequin in the window wearing my shirt. I wonder whether they sold my hijabs. Thinking about the time that I removed my hijab. Feeling the breeze embracing the back of my neck once again. I never thought I’d take it off. I didn’t think I was courageous enough to deal with the repercussions. I’ve changed. But we become so many people in a lifetime don't we? I wonder if I’ll ever wear it again, probably not. I didn’t feel like myself. I’m happy now, I think. It’s all just a state of mind though isn’t it? None of it matters. They didn’t teach me to love myself. We’re just taught to recognise our flaws because otherwise things won’t sell. Consumerism. I'm thinking about how people covet Apple products and how it’s all a cult. Remembering when there was a cult on Home & Away. When they found Tasha on the beach and Max thought that she was a mermaid. Thinking about the time I had mermaid hair. Thinking about how one doctor at the hospital said that he liked it. But the Marcus-Butler-lookalike doctor just stood there. I didn’t deserve his time because I’d been stupid. Thinking about Marcus Butler and how I could never watch his videos after that. Poor guy, it wasn't his fault. Also why do doctors have such atrocious handwriting? Thinking about my own handwriting, practicing to write neatly as a child. Thinking about when we would write in pencil and were promoted to pen in year 5. Those red Berol pens, we felt so special. I still hated my teacher. Thinking about the time we read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in year 6. I remember the day that The Order of the Phoenix was released and we had to go to a party. I took the book with me and read it in the car. Dad’s friend kept asking whether Harry had died yet. Thinking about the way I sat in the garden impatiently waiting for the party to be over so that I could finish the book. I kept going into the kitchen and eating pineapple and cheese sticks to kill time. Thinking about how good pineapples taste. Thinking about pineapple juice, our juicer and whether we still have one. I need to sort out my diet. Thinking about the amount of sugar I consume on a daily basis. I’ll probably get Diabetes soon. Thinking about the amount of medication I have to take to exist. Why are Venlafaxine pills so big? Who thought up the concept of tablets? They’re still better than drinking the syrup, I suppose. I miss the taste of Calpol. I didn’t like the orange version though. My old bedroom was orange. Thinking about my bunk bed, building forts with my cousin. The time we played with cars on the floor, building roads with Jenga blocks. I wonder whether they still make Jenga. What do children play with now? They’ll never know MySpace. The scene era, the joys of being on a MySpace train. The MySpace fringe, hair straighteners. Thinking about the time I burned the side of my face. Applied cocoa butter religiously to fade the scar. It’s not there anymore. Thinking about the last time I even styled my hair. Thinking about my cousin’s child telling me that it was a mess. Thinking about how quickly my hair dries now that it’s shorter. My new shampoo smells like cupcakes. I still haven’t committed to one shampoo. Why is commitment so difficult in general? I need a new piercing on my left ear to make them both symmetrical. It’s been bugging me. Thinking about the woman that pierced my tragus, counting the studs of metal poking out of her face. Thinking about Blue Banana and the time I walked in wearing my hijab and abaya. My wardrobe really isn’t Muslim appropriate now. I struggle when visiting relatives. Thinking about the time I wore a leather skirt to work and someone asked why I was wearing a bin bag. I don’t own a leather skirt now. Thinking about when the weather is going to sort itself out. I’m living in the wrong country. Thinking about longer days and time changes. My birthday, how do I celebrate my life? Thinking about celebrations and people having half birthdays. Thinking about how Silver on 90210 would have one. She was stunning. Maybe I’ll use ‘Silver’ as my Starbucks name. They always throw me into an existential crisis. I don’t even know what I like to be called. Kratz. Qurra. I don’t mind. I should just start walking around with the Tyla bracelet. Although I don’t think my name would fit without curving around my wrist. I’m jealous of people that have four-letter names. Thinking about year 3 and having to write our name in bubble-writing on a sheet of A3 paper. I needed extra but the writing became too small towards the end so it wasn’t even worth it. Thinking about how I had to keep asking for extra paper during my GCSE’s. My hands hurt so much afterwards. I took four pens into the exam out of paranoia. They were my favourite pens. Thinking about university and how I wrote in purple. What did I do with all of those notebooks that I profusely wrote in? Thinking about the amount of literature I read, all of the realms that I discovered. Writing my dissertation on vampire fiction. Comparing Edward Cullen to Lord Ruthven. My postgrad thesis was better. Writing about Varanasi, the ghats, the live cremation, reincarnation. Laila. In my mind, she was Rashida Jones in NY-LON. I’ve never heard anyone talk about the show but she was so amusing in it. I think it’s still on 4oD. Maybe I’ll re-watch it. I’m too tired to concentrate. This medication is stopping me from sleeping and I haven’t had proper rest in two weeks. I should probably respond to the messages that have been making the light on my phone flash for the past hour or at least change the song that I’ve had on repeat. Odesza – Bloom, although it does corroborate the sombre feeling of this Monday morning. I had to check the calendar again, I can’t keep up. I should start adding a third shot of espresso to my morning coffee to restore everything. What was my life before I discovered coffee? Thinking about coffee again. It fixes everything. Yes, coffee. Ah, coffee.

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