the grief is never ending but so is the loveeeee
why i'm starting this, among other anecdotal tellings
this entire blog (or whatever this is…if you know me you know i am incredibly anti-label) is going to be in lowercase. no capital letters. i know…how boring and incredibly juvenile. i can sense the eye-rolling from here. in my texas bedroom. a bedroom i am so grateful for but also feel uneasy in. i’ll delve into those feelings in a future post. for now, just know that i am putting off internship applications to write this. i am making perfect use of my winter break solitude.
i am not a writer nor will i ever be one. this is not an activity i wish to pursue professionally. i lack knowledge of the western canon to perfectly articulate myself in academic settings. i used sparknotes in high school. i am not as well read as i should be. while i probably should have looking back, i am not even studying any form of literature in college. however, i do read and write frequently. what i mean by that is whenever i can’t understand my own thoughts, i challenge myself to write them down and articulate the happenings of my mind in the best way i know how. i felt i needed a place to dump all my writings rather than keeping them stored in a disorganized folder on my ipad notes app. i physically shiver every time i think of the chaos within that folder.
think of this substack as a pseudo public journal. but don’t get too excited. i am not sharing everything here. there are things i will never let feel the touch of a piece of paper nor even admit to a google doc. there are thoughts and hopes and dreams and desires and experiences that will never leave my mind. humans are way too comfortable with each other now. especially on the internet. threaten me and i still won’t admit what happened at those doctor appointments in middle school. or the specific inside jokes that were made about me in high school. or what i wrote about in my 8th grade time capsule. you all are special to me. but not that special. i am not even that special to myself. i wasted all my special before the age of 6. now i am just a 20 year old woman whose genetically predisposed to hypertension and is covered head-to-toe in acne scars, among other kinds of scars. ***lmao wait i never thought i would ever admit that to people…i guess this is going be full of surprises***
for my 20th birthday, i was gifted a pinky ring by my parents. it had my name written in urdu (نایہ) and looked so elegant as my name hugged the chunky base of my left pinky finger. i asked baba how he knew my ring size since i usually have a hard time finding rings that fit my oddly shaped fingers. he said “you have my mother’s fingers. so i just knew”. while that was not the first time i had that realization, i thought in that moment how much i reminded my family of my dadi (paternal grandmother). and how much they saw her in me. and how i am an extension of not only her appearance, but her thoughts, her faults, her dreams, her solitude. i find comfort knowing that i’m not crazy because i am like my dadi. i am of her very nature that made her loved by so many. if you look at the url of this blog, you will see it says “flowerlike.substack”. dado’s name was gulrukh. it means “rose faced” in farsi but in pakistan, it’s a name to describe one whose appearance is that of a flower, hence the name of this blog: flowerlike. i might change it later. i have a feeling “flowerlike” is going to annoy me soon. hum dekhenge.
so now you know why i am dedicating this blog to gulrukh. i wish i could write for her so she could read it right in front of me. she loved to read. she loved to go to the public library and pick out english romance novels to read at home when she visited from lahore. in lahore, she lived alone. here, she lived with me. she continues to rest within me. these are songs i have been listening to recently that make me think of her. they also make me think of the love i hold for others. just like how she did. and how the pain we are born with mimics the love and care we hold for others…which is why so often we are hurt by the ones we love and care for.
seigfried - frank ocean
for lovers - lamp
mujh se pehli si mohabbat - noor jehan (lyrics written by faiz ahmad faiz)
ranjish hi sahi - mehdi hassan (lyrics written by ahmad faraz)
i wrote a poem in high school when i was 15. it is to this day one of my favorite poems i have ever written. looking back, some lines sound forced and silly, but it meant a lot to me at the time i wrote it. it was written for an assignment that i took too seriously for my sophomore english class. i later submitted the poem to be published in my school’s literary magazine two years in a row. it was rejected both times. they didn’t understand what i was going through and what i was feeling when i wrote that poem. i had been reckoning with religiously-fueled guilt for years. questioning everyone and everything above, around, and below me. so many people write about their religious trauma. but i had no desire to write about my trauma and let others know how i was feeling. rather, i wanted them to know what i desired to feel. after all, the poem is called…
“dying for joy”
to be at once.
leaping lightly,
saying things
a prize to amuse most.
help me with laughter
to amuse the lord for light,
one time to die in this world
on that day at the highest seat,
there was laughter
comfort privately exchanged
and everyone listens.
joy had a gentler sound;
it would go without stopping.
it took his own way
and takes hold and leads
and thanks the great favor bestowed.
in honoring and gracing spirit
while i live, i shall be better.
i am 20 years old. i am trying to be better. this year i want to be that girl at the club looking for good conversation and understanding (see below)…continuing to make connections with people. i have so much love to give and most of the time i don’t know where it all goes. where to put it. who gets it. it does not all belong in my heart. my heart is too tender and fatigued for that. plus heart disease runs in my family. i live my life with caution but not enough care. my parents bred me as such.
instagram meme, circa dec 2022
there is so much more i yearn to say and share. but i thought i would start small, short, and simple. thank you for reading my words. i know it all doesn’t make sense. and some of it is self-explanatory. don’t be surprised if you recognize some phrases and paragraphs in my future posts. i tend to repeat myself quite a bit. sending you all love as we begin a new academic semester. i hope this upcoming semester and year unfolds with ease and that you all can experience comfort privately exchanged. now i leave you with this, a hard lesson that every queer eldest daughter of immigrants was forced to swallow after watching “everything everywhere all at once”. i continue to live my life this way. or at least try to.
i want to challenge that final phrase of “chasing after love”. i really don’t think that process needs to be ongoing and everlasting. it’s okay to stop. and just be. i find that simply existing today is an act of love. no longer existing is a form of love too. it’s just difficult for most people to see it that way as grief takes hold and becomes an overpowering force. after my nana (maternal grandfather) passed away in november, i realized that “dukh se khushbu aati hai”…with grief comes fragrance…just like grief, the sweetness of love is never ending.
if you made it this far, i appreciate you so much.
hum phir se milenge inshallah (we will meet again god willing). take care.
with love and grief…نایہ (can you tell i love ellipses?)