To Breathe – an open letter to my someday daughter

The days, weeks and months become hypersonic, and before I can pull air into my lungs, the sun sets again.

And again

The most beautiful, precious thing anyone can own is good character. good manners. Good temperament. People wont remember what you wore or what car you were driving or even where they met you. They remember how you make them feel.

Cultivate a habit of kindness

Be a birthplace of joy.

There will be boys. Selfish ones and sweet ones and they will look exactly the same. There will be dangerous ones. I pray you never encounter any dangerous ones. These… boys. The one thing they’ll all have in common is that they will try to assert some unfounded authority over you.

(Sometimes within the first 30 seconds of meeting them, believe it or not)

There will be friends. And sometimes, friends walk in your life, fulfill their purpose, and leave. Take the lessons, and the memories, and tuck them neatly next to your nightstand. Let them guide your new relationships.

There will be assholes. A multitude of them. In every shape and form. They are bitter and crude. Don’t be an asshole. Don’t become bitter. Don’t become crude.

Avoid them like I will teach you to avoid traffic.

Keep people safe from your tongue.

To inhale all the toxicity around you and be able to breathe it out again, takes so much. It takes so much work; my asthmatic lungs struggle to hold it all. But don’t exhale until you’ve forgiven the people that have hurt you, until you’ve acknowledged your own misgivings and stopped belittling your own achievements. Allow your small victories to sink into the diaphanous tissue of your consistently beating heart. They are the roots of all the kind words you have to give, of all the love you have to give, they are the roots to all the success you are capable of, the amount of people whose lives you are capable of touching. THIS is how you achieve self-love and stop looking for it everywhere else. You reach within yourself; you fill yourself with clean, raw content, from all manner of places. Look for it in the smile of someone you love. Find it in

that first sip of coffee.

the sound of waves crashing or rain falling.

a documentary about sharks.

Find it in your chest.

Traverse the arts, the country, the food. Speak to new people or learn a language.

Grab life by the shoulders and ask questions.

The point is to fill yourself so that you have enough to give. More than that, so that you have substance. Meaningful interactions. It creates bonds and love and allows room for growth. So much growth. Be an active participant in society, in your family. And be kind. To your friends, family, to yourself.

and don’t yield, or retreat when things don’t go your way.

A line from Sarah Kay’s poem “Point B” comes to mind, “This life will hit you, hard, in the face. Wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach, but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air”

I’ll be there to remind you of all this 100 times.

hello friends, I know it’s been a while since I last posted.  I do want to start a new series about being a wife and student, so we’ll see how that goes. 

you can watch the spoken word poem mentioned in the blog post here:

Point B – Sarah Kay


Un-sandpapered Edges

September 2017

The problem I have now:

I want to keep things truthful, raw.

Also, I want to keep my private life, as private as a person who loves sharing can.

I’m learning trying flying falling and all that. 
The truth, sans the gory married people details:

Everyone tells you before you get married that marriage isn’t easy. But they don’t tell you WHY it isn’t easy. No one tells you what kind of challenges you’ll face.

They don’t tell you that your spouse isn’t going to do every single thing you want them to do every single day for the rest of your li- what’s that? They’re not supposed to do that? That’s not a thing? That’s obvious? Oh. Sorry. Never mind. Scratch that people, apparently your spouse is supposed to challenge you sometimes and it’s boring if they don’t. Got it.

They don’t tell you that you’ll want to spend time apart and how neither of you will know how much time is the right amount of time to spend apart.

They don’t tell you that they make you insufferably angry or sad and how deeply you can feel your love for them through those things.

They don’t tell you that your body is no longer just YOUR body. They don’t tell you that your spouse is your resting place. That your spouse is the place you’re safe from the storm that is the world.

“They are the coolness of your eyes”

We never scream at each other, or swear at each other, and that is my favourite thing about us: the respect. And whenever my voice raises too many octaves and my face heats up and I throw a tantrum…

I tell him it’s shaytaan (satan) and that shaytaan doesn’t want us to be married and in love and happy. And my husband gives me the smallest smile and takes my hand, I feel forgiveness in his touch.

They don’t tell you that your love language has everything to do with the way you love and the way you don’t love. They don’t tell you that if you aren’t loved in the right way you don’t feel loved at all.

Thank god we’re both physically affectionate people. Maybe the most annoying thing about me – that annoys me, not anyone else – is even when I’m angry upset distraught, I still want to be held. I never say no to his strong arms.

Every argument ends with an “I’m sorry”

I don’t even have any pride to swallow.

I just want to be okay as soon as possible

To fix the mistake immediately

Doesn’t matter whose mistake it is

We’re inseparable [insha’Allah]

Just before September 2017

 This year I learnt a new meaning to the word “petty” I transformed into an old Indian aunty. Well, we both did.

My best friend (Her name is Rafeeqah. I call her Fieka) –

To say that we drifted apart after I got married is a gross understatement. We seemed to be on opposite ends of an ocean of words we suddenly couldn’t say to each other. The distance felt awkward and wrong and …lonely. There was constant underlying thought that things would work out but I missed her and she was missing out on things that I wanted to share with her and I was missing out on things she might have wanted to share with me. we thought…that we both just needed time to adjust

But there was no time to adjust. I had met and married my husband in just over a month. In that month, she and I were closer than ever

I must point out at some point that the reason Fieka and I got along the way we did was not only because we just clicked but also because we had the same kind of strict parents. So when it was announced that just before my wedding that she would be sleeping at my house –We were overjoyed

And this sleepover was exactly what I had been pining over these last eight months of passive-aggressive arguing. What happened? How did it happen? When did I become so stubborn? When did she become so stubborn??

Why was it so difficult to talk to this girl who knew (literally) everything about me? but it’s not like we didn’t try.

Third times the charm though, we met up and

it immediately felt like a mistake.

Until we both admitted our mistakes.

There were tears. A lot of them rolled down my face without my permission. But it felt good to cry with her. Cathartic almost.

She called me names and I laughed. She said it felt good to say those things to my face and I laughed again. And in all this I found my friend again. The one who was more family to me than some of my family.

The middle of September 2017

I turned 21

My husband took my hands and told me I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Ps. I took all these pictures and all the pictures of me were taken by my new photographer: Rafeeqah Hamdulay

love you kid.

Another day to be a writer

I will write about kindness.

I will write about love

I will write about death

I will write about the sun

And the moon

I might write about every individual star

I will write about pain

I will drag knives over your lungs just hard enough to scrape them.

I will take the air from you

I will take your tear- streaked cheeks and tell you

Absolute truths

The ones that have been kept from you

I will write about failure

And what it means to try again. Selfishly.

I will write about the things you forgot

Things that brought you joy

Do you remember joy?

The real kind

I will write about cold fingers

Yours and his

I will write about silk and satin and

how your skin

wasn’t placed on your body

to please anyone on this earth.

I will write about regret

How bitter it tastes at the back of your throat

I will write about the lies you told

The excuses you made

The promises you broke without blinking

I will write about nature

And how we’re are being lied to:

nature is unnatural

I will write about lips

The kinds of kisses you should be receiving

I will write about anger

Steel wool on the ends of your lashes

Scratchy eyes

Red vision

Burning skin

I will write about calamity

And how we know nothing of it at all.

I will write about consistency

I will write about persistency

I will write about specificity

I will make you uncomfortable



I will write about tranquility

And how to achieve it

I will write about being enough being happy being secure

being unapologetic in those things






I could care less.

It’s been my experience, that one of the worst feelings in the world is disappointing the people you love. I’ve never been the kind of person that says “fuck this” or “fuck you” or “I don’t give a fuck” Instead I’ve always been the kind of person that carries their fucks around in their purse and collects more of them as the day wears on.

You ever meet those people that are just instantaneously likeable? They’ve got a pure energy about them. they’re relentlessly optimistic and kind. I’ve spent most of my life trying to be that person. Maybe kindness isn’t a cool thing to aspire to. Maybe friendliness isn’t a quality that everyone loves. Maybe I could care less about the space I occupy in this world and the people I associate myself with. I’m not a very suspicious person. Instead I give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I like that about me. The people that love me hate this about me.

I’m not careful enough. 

I’m too trusting. 

Not everyone has the same heart as I do.

It’s not like I go all over town by myself and accept candy from strangers, for goodness sake.

I’ve come to understand though, that 90% of the time, the people that love you, ultimately want the best for you. More often than not, these people have more wisdom than you do and it would be wise of you (me) to take heed of their warnings.

I guess I could care less.

character sketches



I love how, when you meet someone, they’re just an outline.

a stick-man sketch of a person.

a vacant space to be filled with details.

I love how, when you’re getting to know someone, they’re just an acquaintance.

a vague piece of person that you know by name and face.

unidentifiable except by their recognition of you and how you met.

I love how those holes fill themselves to the brim with characteristics specific to that person. I love the plain, unbidden human reaction to simple information. The days sew themselves together until the days are counted in stitches and the hours are stretched but they don’t last long enough and the only way you kept track of time is by how many times they made you laugh.

I love how you start noticing other, intimate things, like the small smile they give-to you and only you- like the way their hair curls when they’re sweating.

I love how you fall in love with the way they say your name, and the sound of their laugh. and you don’t know why but you need to hear it again or the earth might shatter into a million tiny pieces.



A Tiny Heavy Feeling 

There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a hazelnut vanilla latte right now. I love being a tea and coffee person. Some coconut & vanilla tea would also –  My god how do I manage to digress in the beginning of the post??? 


I like to think that all my bad thoughts and negative feelings arrive in the form of tiny furry monsters. Long nails. Sharp teeth. They gnaw pieces of grey matter in your sleep. 

Currently I’m hosting three of those tiny gluttonous creatures in my head. They’re running circles around my brain and making it hard to think of anything else.

There’s the ominous murky future that I feel simultaneously excited & anxious about. Then there’s the state of myself, as in my soul, body & mind. And the world. I know that sounds really broad but I’m hoping that everyone reading this knows I’m referring to the atrocities that keep hitting country after county, family after family. 

I’m terrified.