The Tin Warrior and the Guru

Follow the light, for you know not what awaits.

Dazzling angels dance with starry light, illuminating from the already bright airy room. Her pearly whites, hurting my eyes. We weren’t used to such brightness. One of them sang in a language I somehow understood, although we didn’t speak the same language.

“The guru will be with you shortly. Be seated, please.”

My stiff hands mutely stuck together without consent they lift into a rather awkward namaste salute. Don’t ask me why, even my hands don’t know. And I’m sure neither did the slightly bemused angels. I hobble to a row of seats, rattling in the quiet.

The angels fade into the clean white walls as I begin to drift into my thoughts. Soft music rolls in my ears, it is jarring. We are not accustomed to such serene calmness. Feeling oddly out of place, I shift in my seat making an unwelcome racket. Tin joints, groan in failed attempts. Sighing I close my eyes, weary. Weathering many storms for the last three years, I was disturbed by the teasing light. Actually, I was uncomfortable. The craving for my dark haven begging insistently. The call of warm familiarity aching inside. The pregnant cocoon of old ways, calling me home. I hadn’t left it in awhile. I was afraid to see the reality behind my darkened gloom.

Trembling, I clutch my tin fingers together. Pressing them against my erratic heart beat. There was something strange about this room full of warm light. It was awake with a life of its own. Suddenly, I was hot all over. Everything still and alive at the same time. This was when the angel cooed again breaking into my trance.

“Room 1, please.”

Her voice smoothly reassuring. It breaks my impending nervous breakdown. I nod. My slow attempt at standing an ugly falter. Rather messy, if I say so. I hesitate. I hear her thoughts and decline her unspoken offer. I didn’t need help or her pity. Spraying rain droplets everywhere, I put one metal foot in front of the other. And finally the motor begins to churn to some version of life. Of course, at no speedy race course. Eventually, I arrive at the elusive room 1. The door ajar, I again hesitate but some magical force wills me in.

Room 1 is dimly lit, casting curious shadows on the pale walls. It’s scent sweet, Room 1 is a floral garden of various delicacies. The window a high one, sheltering us from the peek boo of determined sun rays, play fighting with the grey. It throbs with an unusual electric energy, yet peaceful all the same. It’s tune a slow hum of a drum beat rolling against waves. Tentatively I step forward. One step after another. My shuffling strangely loud for such an alive room. Unexpectedly, I smile at Room 1 and it winks back in a greeting jest.

“Hello, Tin Warrior.”

Chants a gentle voice from nowhere in particular. My nervous eyes quickly dart across the room since my stuck frame can’t. Without any warning the door slams shut. I look up. To my amazement, I find a man floating, his long legs crossed, lean arms hanging loosely. His eyes twinkle with mischief. A halo of light clinging to his wild hair. His pale skin ghostly. My hair tingles, I don’t even know what hair tingling would feel like but it tingled, I swear.

I suppress my gasp, actually I swallow it. It would be rude not too.

“It has been long. I have been waiting for you. We have much to do, I see.”

I don’t know how he did it, he somehow flutters towards me. Just like that, he is standing next to me. I can hear the hum of his heart beat. His soft breathing in my shocked ears. His smile wide. His whole being exploding into tiny fireworks. I shake my head, maybe I had tin cobwebs growing in it. I wished I hadn’t stayed in my hole for so long. It was then, he laughs as if he heard my internal chat. And I laugh with him, it is warmly infectious but I think I am the object of his amusement.

“We have much to do. Come my friend for you are not meant to be stuck.”

With that he takes long fingers that are as if they had been dipped in yellow warm light and places them on my burning neck. Before, I know it, my neck shockingly cracks.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

“I am the Guru.” He whispers back.

Then in a flash of lightening he is gone. This was the moment, I became transformed. My stuck frame, free from centuries old pain. I could never forget this encounter, enchantingly odd. I’m sure neither did he.

I can’t explain this magic, I am no expert. All I know is that I had to see him again. He is the expert.

“Our well being is beyond our narrow understanding.”

Be brave, embrace your bodies messages. They are signs that something is or is not in order. I hid for a long time before I admitted, something needed to change. Armed with that knowledge, I chose a new path. The Guru, a welcome surprise. If you are in the area, why not visit him at Only you can change your life.

Until we meet again, be safe, be happy, be bold. Why not find your own Guru?

Tin Warrior.

“Our wellness is more than our body. “

It is in our beliefs, mindset and attitude.
Let the positivity guide you

1 Maritime Square #03-54
099253 Singapore

+65 6272 0709S

“Dr Sean is an amazing chiropractor and the most wonderful person too. I was privileged to be both a colleague and a patient of Sean’s for over 3 years and both Chiropractic and Sean have changed my life. Before I had been in chronic pain with muscular skeletal problems and degenerative disc disease for over 30 years which blighted my life and restricted almost everything I wanted to do. I relied on strong opioid pain relief to get me through my working day and to be able to sleep. Chiropractic has enabled me to be medication free for the 1st time in 20 years. I know now that my body CAN heal itself and it is wonderful to be pain free. I have little set backs every now and then, but regular Chiropractic ensures that these do not last for long. I cannot recommend Dr Sean highly enough. He truly wants to help everyone he can with his amazing skills. His calm and caring manner and professionalism is second to none. People of Singapore, you are lucky to have him.”

” Dr Lee is an amazing chiropractor. He has helped myself , my husband and my daughter become pain free on many occasions. Many thanks for your help “

“Sung 的技术真的很棒,他帮我检查了整个脊椎,像脖子,背部的问题都解决了。最重要的是我腰那边痛了很久,坐在痛,晚上睡觉更是翻来覆去睡不着,经过Sung的治疗后, 晚上睡上好觉啦。他还很暖心的教我几个保护腰部的动作,我每天都在练习,现在腰痛没了。很感谢Sung的帮助。还会继续定期去找Sung做治疗的”

“I came to Sung as a patient i had limited mobility due to a condition i suffered from which was Fibromyalgia. With Sung’ s help I found my mobility improved and with his re-adjustments i was able to reduce my medication! Sung not only is he an amazing chiropractor who helped relieve the pain i was in, he made me feel completely relaxed and he is genuinely one of the nicest people I have ever met and i would thoroughly recommend him!! “

“I recommend Sean because he is amazing at his art. This doesn’t feel like a job and I was just his patient- a way to make money only. The whole chiropractor experience was beautiful. Meeting Sean, changed my life. I was bed bound with CFS/ME for 3 years before we met. After it, I am able to lead a quality of life that I never thought I was able to have again. Sean didn’t just “adjust my body”, we also shared tips on mindset, diet, energy, pacing etc. I am not saying it cured my CFS but it did allow me to do more. I am in less pain. However, sadly, I am not in the UK and haven’t been adjusted since October as I can’t find someone who I want to work with. Sean set the bar high. I do, still practice the stretching and mindfulness we talked about. Plus, Sean is really friendly, a good listener and incredibly empathic- I always felt heard and could facilitate the adjustment in ways I felt I needed. So, if you need a spine Guru, you truly won’t be disappointed. Thank you for everything. “

Farewell Family



For those who have been reading my recent posts, after nightmarish three weeks, I am ready to say farewell to my sisters. So here is my open letter to a family I feel I lost but the reality is, it is not a family I actually had or wanted. I urge you to also say goodbye to anyone who has held you back in toxic relationships because it may in fact feel normal, however, the truth is this is not. No one deserves to be mentally, emotionally, physically and sexually tortured. And with this, let’s end the cycle of victimisation and shed our old skins, give voices to our silent selves. A chance to be finally heard without judgement and cruelty. Before I begin I want to clarify a few terms that of late have been thrown at me. It is more for my own sanity than anything else. I was recently thrown out of my family home at 10pm in a pair of slippers in my sleeping clothes because my youngest sister recovered memories in flashbacks. Below are her words;

“I do not know where you are in this memory, you could be in toilet but you left me with your friend who used my foot to stroke his penis. You did all of this to punish me because you were hurting about your own abuse. And you are a vile human who is a danger to children and no one should have anything to do you because you are as bad as our older brother. Everyone should cut you dead.”

So here are what these words really mean:

Sex offender: A registered sex offender is a person, male or female, who has been convicted of a crime involving a sexual act where the federal, state or local laws require them to be placed on the Sexual Offender Registry after they have served their criminal sentences or when they have been released on parole.


A Pedophilia: is a psychiatric disorder in which an adult or older adolescent experiences a primary or exclusive sexual attraction to prepubescent children. Although girls typically begin the process of puberty at age 10 or 11, and boys at age 11 or 12, criteria for pedophilia extend the cut-off point for prepubescence to age 13. A person who is diagnosed with pedophilia must be at least 16 years old, and at least five years older than the prepubescent child, for the attraction to be diagnosed as pedophilia. Wikipedia.


An abuser: someone who treats another person in a cruel, violent, or unfair way: or someone who uses something in a way that is harmful or morally wrong. Cambridge Dictionary.


I hope this letters helps my heart to heal and my dreams to return to a calm, idyllic state once more as my sisters are no longer in my life. A choice that I make without guilt or regret.




Dear Sisters,


My heart hurts writing this letter, yet I believe I have buried my truth to let the idea of peace prevail. No matter what I have said or done, in thought or action I have never been enough. Today, again I feel like that 8-year-old who was alone in a world full of hate and fear. A girl who at 20 tried to share her truth but was again left alone to fend for herself. Now at nearly 40, for a moment I was that scared girl who wasn’t believed that she was raped as a child. This time though the hands of fate turned against me, I was being accused of being a child abuser. My crime for leaving you, Little Ms Chaos with a friend who I trusted. A crime that you don’t fully remember and one I don’t recall or understand why I would do so. Yet, I choose to believe you without question. But my letter doesn’t begin with you because I know you are hurting and I feel your pain. I wish only peace for you.

So my first message is for Ms. Judgemental, my sister who flew the nest. The one who left home at 18 with dreams of starting over in the USA when our father was diagnosed with cancer. A father, I cared for even when I was troubled by flashbacks and nightmares. Those dreams of yours, which later mother hated me for because I supported and encouraged you to go live your life and be happy. But when you wanted to marry a Shia Muslim, knowing full well that mother would lose her marbles- you asked me to help. You wanted me to keep your secrets, regardless whoever was being betrayed by your actions. It never mattered to you because you wanted what you wanted. Never once did you take responsibility for your actions and their consequences. Even after I told you mother emotionally stone-walled me because she was punishing my trust in you. Yet, here you are accusing me of keeping secrets and betraying the family by pretending to not remember things when in reality you suspect I am trying to hide my guilt. Maybe deep down, you really did want to punish other children because some people do that, right? These are your words no one else’s. But again, you are the sister, I do not hear from much at all. Every other Eid, after I wish you first, you sometimes reply. The same person who is too ashamed to let anyone know that I am married to a beautiful Black man because “my God! how will I show your face to your in-laws and children?”- Again your words.  What really is his crime? To be born in dark skin? Truth be told, you are no royal Arabian princess, you are merely a self-centred Pakistani girl with narrow-minded views and many, many hypocrisies that I cannot believe I consistently forgave. You called after for the first time after years because of your need. The need to have answers you wanted to hear. It wasn’t to hear my side but to make decisions you had already internally made. Basically, you wanted to validate your own feelings and thoughts so you could justify your own narrow-mindedness to yourself. You have a right to be upset, yes, it is wrong what happened to Little Miss. Chaos but I am not the one who ruined her life. Her life was ruined by others who violated her. Not I. I am only responsible for trusting someone else, I took that without memory or hesitation. Come on, who are you really kidding dear sister? You terminated our relationship a longtime ago but really just need another reason to blame someone for your personal feelings of abandonment. So all I want to say to you:

“I forgive you for the hurt you caused me, I forgive myself for the hurt I caused you. I have always wanted to offer you love and kindness, to help you live a complete full life even at the cost of my own happiness. Thank you for this lesson.”

Moving on to Ms. Blind Fury, gosh the last 20 years have been a crazy rollercoaster! I don’t know where to start with you. You were companion, my best friend, the only person as children I ever trusted even when you weren’t the nicest child to grace my path. I worshiped you always, overlooking your temper and nastiness because I truly loved you unconditionally. I believed in you, in the hope you could change one day. Never, in my heart I thought I would be saying these things to myself nevermind to anyone else. I forgave you when you told me to get out of your life, after telling you about the flashbacks. I said nothing when you cut me out for three years, even when my heart broke everyday. Not a word between us but I always loved you without hesitation. I was always there for you, picking and dropping you off from University or keeping your secrets even when I had so many responsibilities. I never complained once. I also forgave you when you so cruelly humiliated and degraded me when I told mum about the abuse. Your hurtful words were like daggers in my already tormented heart. I grieved your loss everyday in my 20’s. I really tried to mend bridges with you over the years- I really did. Even though you claim I betrayed and broke your trust, you didn’t let me into your home purely out of altruism but because you needed help to care for your children. Children who I love unconditionally without any personal gain or reprise. You’re words “I am vile, disgusting human who deserves to die”, don’t surprise me. Neither do your physical threats of violence and aggression because this isn’t the first time. This is your pattern and I finally take back my power. I am done being your punch bag. In the last two years, I disagreed with you and it was no crime. I just saw you for who you really are- a bully. And I do not have to accept or like that. The sad things is like the times before, you never actually asked for my version. You made your mind based on what Little Miss Chaos partially remembered. There was no room for compassion or the slightest consideration that I may have a different side, a simpler more innocent one. You simply became judge and jury, sentencing me the death penalty. I am not sad. In fact, I am relieved that this moment allowed me to sever these ties with you. Finally unbinding myself from my guilt. The guilt you projected on me. A guilt placed on my shoulders because you cannot accept your actions. You needed to justify rejecting me by actually placing the blame of my choice to tell an 18-year-old you that I was raped. You never over the years said you were sorry that you weren’t there for me in my darkest hour. Today at 37, you behaved no differently. This time, I made a choice to trust a friend, which also is not a crime, naive perhaps but no criminal offence on my part. It’s like the time you trusted your brother-in law with your son or the times Little Miss Chao went to stay with you at University or travelled to America alone at the age of 9, or went Pakistan or moved in with you at 18. Anything could have happened then. What if that surfaces in her memories, then what? Are you also a vile human who should die? To be clear with you-  I sexually violated nobody. So I do not accept your punishment or hate no matter how many people you threaten to mentally and emotionally abuse. I am sorry, I do not like the person you became but I am even more sorry that you are version of the man you detest the most in the world. OUR OLDER BROTHER. You are just him in another skin. I am sorry it took me so long to see. I mean you no harm or hate, however, I have no need to fix you or fix our relationship because I cannot change something so deeply broken within you. I can only fix myself and my relationship with a self caught up in your trauma. Finally, I am happy to free myself from this burden and responsibility, with no shame, it does not matter what you see me as because I finally see the real you and the real me. We are not the same. My message to you is:

“I forgive you for the hurt you caused me, I forgive myself for the hurt I caused you. I have always wanted to offer you love and kindness, to help you live a complete full life even at the cost of my own happiness. Thank you for the many lessons, the ones I clearly wasn’t learning. I will always love your children and their memories will remain in my heart. For that I thank you.”

Lastly, my dear Little Miss Chaos. I am so very sorry that you are hurting because of my naive trust in another. Although I do not remember leaving you with anyone and I cannot make sense of why I would do so. I am not even trying to justify it. I simply want to gently point out that I may not be in the line of your vision in your memory and if knowing this helps you, then I hope you can regain a fully memory of this moment. For me, it however no longer matters because I cannot undo the past and this person is from my past so I need no more. I accept that you were violated by someone I trusted and without question you are all that matters. All I have to say now is that never in my wildest dreams, I would put you in a position of harm to punish you for my own suffering. I know, I have said this many times but you cannot hear me behind your own veil of anger. Maybe one day you may, I hope that day will come soon. I would never willingly inflict this pain on an enemy nevermind on a person I loved unconditionally as I would do my own child. My heart bleeds in unspoken pain because I know you really do believe that I am danger to children and that everyone must protect theirs. I have never molested or abused you in way possible. EVER. I would not do so. What’s even more sad is that, when I disclosed my abuse, I did it to protect you, to protect our generations but no one wanted to believe me. You have over the years insisted it wasn’t true and I should forgive him. Yet, here I stand alone because you choose to not forgive me. My ex-friend was no threat to you today or to anyone else, but you decided to share this with everyone so they could cut ties with me. You had already punished me, with cutting yourself and your son from my life. But you insisted that everyone else also conformed to your will. You didn’t even once take my suggestion of reporting the actual perpetrator, yet you so easily disregarded my feelings knowing how much I have cared for our family since childhood. I offer nothing but love. And here I am isolated, unheard and reliving my trauma because you really wanted to punish me. The problem is, in your hurt you never stopped to actively listen to anything beyond your own perception. What’s really hurtful is the lengths you have gone to inflict pain on other. You went to the extend of trying to turn our father, mother and the only brother who took me in. You and our other sisters ganging up on those who didn’t agree with your perception. I can tolerate anything but cruelty to others, I cannot. And I will never ever accept that I am no different to our older brother who is a pedophile no matter what way you justify it. That one comment will never leave my heart, mind and soul. You compared me to the one person who once tore my self-respect, my humanity, my existence into tiny shreds without any remorse or care. I am not him and I will never be able to let that go. I have only wanted the best for you and will continue to do so, however, I have no room for someone who in their hurt cannot consider offering others the benefit of doubt and compassion. I have been in your place, I have felt hurt and confused but I have never deliberately hurt another because I was in pain. You may justify this in any way possible and it is ok that you feel this way. I will never see it from your eyes. A bad choice, is simply that. It is nothing more or less, especially if you take into context ones character and historical actions. Sadly though I will never concur and in the end I have to live with my soul – I live without guilt. To you I want to say, I really am sorry that your mind, body and soul has been violated many times by many people but I am not amongst them. I only hope in time you will heal and be able to live a complete happy life.

“I forgive you for the hurt you caused me, I forgive myself for the hurt I caused you. I have always wanted to offer you love and kindness, to help you live a complete full life even at the cost of my own happiness. Thank you for the many lessons and showing me a mirror to how trauma can blind one. I free myself from this cycle and in peace I let this be.”

My final message is to my parents. I am sorry mother you are losing yourself to dementia, I really do not want you to suffer anymore so I wish to cause you no further pain. Lets promise to leave the past where it belongs and try enjoy what we have in the present. I understand you cannot make sense of this but please make it easy for yourself. I will say it one final time. I made a mistake which I cannot confirm or deny because I do not have the memory. It was though a mistake, like you once made, one I do not blame or hate you for. Or the same mistake father made in Pakistan or the one Ms. Blind Fury made with her brother-in-law and the one your youngest son made with his ex-wife. They are all innocent mistakes. You may not be able to hold on to this but I hope you find peace one day, in the reminder that I am not a vile human. I would never intentionally hurt anyone, if anything I hope you can remember the child I was and how everything mattered to me. I want to thank my father, my middle brother and my sister-in-law for their belief, kindness and love. A reminder that humanity and compassion exists somewhere in this strange troubled world of survivors of abuse. My final gratitude is for my beautiful husband for his patience, love and trust. For the chance to together build a life beyond this chaos where love, joy and peace reside. For now my heart maybe a little battered but I believe together we will heal it, with laughter and love. I want to thank my child self for the reminder that it is not safe and healthy to stay in such environments. Thank you dear kind child for being my companion for so long, I trust our road to recovery has already started with our actions. Every day is a new day to begin again, together we choose life. From here forth, we may never visit this darkness again.

And a massive thank you to my amazing 13 nieces and nephews. You are precious and locked safely in my heart, whether we see each other again, I will always be here for you. Sending you love, light and prayers.


Thank you for listening friends. I honestly wish this has helped you as much as it has helped me. I look forward to your letters too.


In loving kindness WildFire.


Photography credit to original artists. Girl in the rain by the magical artist –


The Storyteller



A fierce gust of wind danced with her mocha curls, arrogantly tossing her bangs against the ice grey scrutiny of her almost invisible eyes. Thick eyelashes disappointingly losing  an unprovoked battle with hair wildly determined. However, with an unnerving intensity, she gazed longingly at the “twin-tailed mermaid” hanging precariously above her head.  The Starbucks siren- a proud familiar stranger. An exciting tingle of an old pleasure brimming in her veins. A knowing smile spreads across her wide mouth, as a hypnotised elderly gentleman and his wooden walking companion stops to gawk at her. Briefly closing her eyes, she inhales sharply to stop the music rising within her soul. Even though, mystified by this sudden awakening, she pulls herself back to the present. This was not the time to indulge. She had more pressing plans to pursue without devilishly tempting distractions. Opening her eyes again, she notices the gentleman shuffle into a solitary leather seat with his head buried in the Daily News.

In a quick elaborate toss of her fingers, she finishes printing her messages on her used chai latte cup. Admiring her handiwork, she smiles satisfied with her ingenuity. The proud red lipstick stains, her unique signature winking cheekly back at her.


We all have a story.

What’s yours? 


Carefully placing her art piece on a roundtable, she steps away quickly worried she may change her mind. Hands tucked into her faux fur coat, she walks away. Red heels clicking softly against tan tiles as she quietly reassures no one in particular.

“Someone will respond. They will.”

Now all she had to do was to wait for the eager ping of her inbox.

The time for luring sailors to shipwreck off the coast of an island in the South Pacific, had long passed. This modern world just wasn’t what she was accustomed too but unafraid of the challenge, she found her own way around it.  Although, her twin tail was no longer visible, here she was telling her tale in other words.

The door slams shut behind her as she sings an ancient song with the wind. Anticipation burning in her beating heart.



Waiting keenly to hear from you.

The Mermaid Storyteller. 


18th October 2018: Message 1 left on a plastic cup in Starbucks Texas City with the hope that some kind soul will reply. Fingers crossed.

Mind Matters


Mind Matters.

Does the mind really matter or is it just a noisy storeroom for memories to be discreetly tucked away until further notice?

“The mind is a set of cognitive faculties including consciousness, perception, thinking, judgement, language and memory. It is usually defined as the faculty of an entity’s thoughts and consciousness.” Wikipedia

Gosh, this piece has been so much fun to write! I started, erased and started again, primarily because my mind is a giddy minefield of buzzing activity. The unknown territories a confusing mess between its random wandering and why it chooses to go where it does! Luckily, my little self, operates from an intuitive place. According to the very loyal Myer Briggs, I function from emotions 98.8% of the time. Yup, you read that correctly. I am on a crazy emotional roller coaster to the loony bin without help from anyone outside of my own wacky mayhem. Thankfully, my husband is earning a well deserved break from it. Enough said about emotions- temporarily, we’re getting divorced for the time-being. This will certainly cheer up my INTJ husband when he finds out. Whopeeeeeeee! The current focus on the perplexities of our ever so precious mind and its matters. I can’t promise how this will unravel because I don’t spend much time in the jurisdiction of the mind. I am on a tricky road, slipping down on a slithery unmanned path like Alice lost in Wonderland with no speculation of what I will uncover. This will most probably be entertaining to the thinkers amongst us. However, from the eyes of an “emotive feeler”, it is a new world completely.

Words matter so here are few associated with the “mind”. Brain, intellectual capacities, power of reason, power of comprehension, power of thought, reasoning, judgement, sense and mentality.  So keep this in mind, this will come in handy at some point.

Off we go on this special adventure, with our mind on our mind. Ha, clever. I know. I have many bright spark ones. Without further much ado about nothing, this is what we are doing today. Close your eyes, please. Amongst the floating before your tightly shivering lids and the chatter in your head, I want you to visualise yourself. Once you see yourself, as clearly as possible, then imagine your mind outside of yourself as an entity on its own. Really intimately visualise it, seeing it separate from your body. Then take a long hard look at it, soaking up all the details. I want you to be drunk on this high. You are not your mind right now. For the following moments, it will remain beyond yourself. And you are going to witness it as a silent observer. Nothing more required. Your fate sealed in this scene.

How did your mind present itself? Mine, hoovers above my head as a glittery rainbow cloud, with unicorns dancing around it. It is a neat, fluffy cloud with smooth silky edges. The rainbow is hanging lopsided from the edge, clinging to dear life but unwilling to give up. The glitter sparkles every time it catches the light, it proudly shines smug at its superior glory. Since, its my mind, it appears as I wish and with no one judging it, it can be all it wants. I want it to sing too, however, I am going for a silent mind on this occasion. Next time, American Idol can come out to play. So can you. You can be all you want without judgement or criticism. This is your chance to give your mind, a face of its own without dependency on your physical body.

Excited, yet? I sure am! This is when the fun really begins. I love fun!

Precisely at this moment, your phone will ping. Beep. Beep. Beep. One new Facebook notification stares cheekily at you.

You have a new friend request.

From yourself. Well to be precise from your mind.

Will you accept? 


Whilst on my daily walk today, with every greeting, I imagined everyone as their mind and not their bodies. It was pretty colourful picture, I tell you. Obviously, I don’t know these people so this was my mind’s perception of them. And it was fun until I honed into my own mind. I can only see what my mind is pre-accustomed too. So, there are some surprises waiting for me, as I take a long hard look at it. As it drifts over my head, I begin to wonder what is going on in there. Is the noise a useless radio channel rehashing histories and patterns? I listen, really listen to it because otherwise I am usually preoccupied with emotions to even notice the powerhouse upstairs or where ever it lives. What do I think about? What are my perceptions? What are my judgements? What is my mindset? What are my memories? What are yours? Do you even know or care? I think I know most of the answers to these questions because I am serial reflector and an honourable one. I should have some idea at least. One of the reasons for paying attention now is because my life is full of external chaos. I find myself busy reacting, responding, defending or protecting myself, thus easily checking out from the matters of the mind. Finally, I am ready to go on this treasure hunt to discover if my mind is chatting shit or telling me to wake up and change it up.

Would I accept my minds friend request? Hmm … would you accept my request? Either way, truth be told- I can’t say I would. My mind has many wonderful qualities. I promise, this is no lie my friend. It will make you laugh, tickle your insides with creative adventures and wildly wacky stories. It can be many vibrant characters, all easily catching you off guard and you’d have no idea what to expect next. It also has the wicked ability to intuitively impart wisdom without knowing you. Better still, it can empathise with you, healing you by simply showing you the endless possibilities of light, love and laughter. Its power of positivism and hope intoxicating. You won’t be able to get enough. And you will definitely be seduced with it’s warm charm and cheeky mischievousness of a wonderfully innocent child. Yet, this sexy mistress has an elusive dark side. A side that rears it head when least expected.

As I witness my mind, I know its message matters even though I don’t want it too. I don’t like the idea that my mind knows a truth, I don’t want to acknowledge. Not because we are defined by it but because it defines our actions and inactions. Deeming us responsible for what we may not actively see but subconsciously know. Without the mind, what would become of us? If you have read any of my previous posts, you would know by now I have a checkered history with child sex abuse and it’s side effects. So as I observe my mind, I hear the thoughts I want to ignore the most. It’s like a bittersweet love story, one you can’t outrun in the end. It always comes to bite you on the bum when all you want for it, is to remain a secret. With this knowledge, I want to explain one of the main themes that comes up in my mind. You may have your own and no one is judging you or saying anything is wrong with you. I am only a reflection of what maybe. However, I want you to think about how you can shape your mind to be something that doesn’t have an adverse effect on your life and relationships. I want my mind to function in a healthy way, always and forever because if the mind is out of whack so are the other parts of our selves. You can’t deny yourself that.

Since recovering some of my memories and with the strong desire to not recall anymore, I began a strict regime. One where the locking of doors, essentially bedroom and bathroom doors was a way of keeping the past where it belonged- forgotten and repressed. This subconscious ritual became crucial to my survival. Locked doors meant internal security. Click. Days, turned into years, years became a habit. Click. Years have passed without having flashbacks. Click. Proud moment, right? I effectively controlled my mind from unlocking intrusive memories. Well done me! Well done. I of course have other triggers, which I have mostly managed without too many critical reminders. I was a happy girl. Who wouldn’t be? For those who don’t know what flashbacks or repressed memories are, here is a brief description for your understanding.

When you experience something really traumatic such as a physical attack, your body suspends ‘normal operations’ and temporarily shuts down some bodily functions such as memory processing.  During trauma, your brain thinks ‘processing and understanding what is going on right now is not important! I’ll get back to the processing later.’ As such, until the danger passes, the mind does not produce a memory for this traumatic event in the normal way. When your brain eventually goes back to try to  process the trauma, the mind presents the memory for filing it can be very distressing. The distress comes from the fact that the brain is unable to recognise this as a ‘memory’ as it hasn’t been processed as one. As such,  the facts of what happened, the emotions associated with the trauma and the sensations touch, taste, sound, vision, movement, and smell can be presented by the mind in the form of flashbacks – as if they are happening right now. ” Psychology Today. 

With eager enthusiasm, I readily moved from my abusive family home to my husbands safe loving one. You’d think this would be enough to keep the mind happy and the triggers at bay. Just the change in environment should be enough. Sadly, I discovered this was not at all true. All the years of locked door training to manage my triggers, was wiped clean in one swift moment. Table rosa. Sleeping snugly tucked against my husbands warm reassuring body with the door locked, I slept safely aware that no intrusion was possible. Boy was I dead wrong. Without waking, I heard the door unlock, the sudden sound of it churning triggered something deep inside. Before my mind could comprehend reality or facts, I froze in a terror suffocating my insides. Air choking in my dying lungs. Panic fiercely crawling into every single vein. My poor unsuspecting heart thudding rapidly against its cage. The silent voice inside screaming danger, my whole body alert in fear. Every cell shouting, be aware, you are at risk! Play dead, right now, do not move! Do you hear me? This may not make sense to you but please stay with me.  Life mocked me. This incident unravelled my feelings of security because my minds carefully crafted plan was just an illusion. It crumbled at the first hurdle. And after this moment, the unfolding events were pretty sad. I lost all momentum without fully realising. This one single moment, resetting years of work.

Where’s my mind at?

It is in a strange quandary, not knowing where next because for the longest period of trigger freedom, I became comfortable with the uncomfortable. Nothing in my mind had truly changed just the way I perceived it had. In fact, an unlocked door still creates the same reaction it did when I was child. However, I was in no danger yet my body and mind responded as it was dealing with a real life threat. Therefore, what is my mind holding on to and why do I hold it? Without shame, I admit I am holding on to fear and pain. I believe that I am not safe especially when I am asleep because that is when I am the most vulnerable. I can trust no one to protect me and I am not sure I can even protect myself. However, I am my own responsibility, I relied on my parents to protect me but no more. No one but I am, responsible for my mind, body and soul. I am scared of being hurt and humiliated again. So, I am unable to unlock doors because I cannot let any of this in again. My mind hangs to this, even when I have a positive, hopeful and proactive approach to life. Imagine if you couldn’t hold on to the light, then what becomes of your mind? And is all of this justified because I was petrified as a child so I can continue like this? I don’t have the answer to this. I do honestly believe with work and commitment, we can repattern our minds to behave and think differently. Then why cling to trauma, when a healthy version awaits somewhere?

This glittery cloud of colour reminds me that we cannot ignore the voice of the mind. It may create noise, most of which you should happily ignore. However, our mind also has the capacity to reflect back our thoughts and perceptions, which our memories provide a language for. This language thus creating fixed permanent patterns, possibly which protect us but are not always conducive for a thriving soul. My patterns are shaped by trauma, which are based on no real awareness of healthy coping mechanisms because I was a child at the time. Now, at 39 I am not that girl and her survival tools don’t seemingly suit me. I am as perplexed as you are. I don’t know what to do next or how to safely manage a trigger or recover from it. However, as I am not a shy wallflower hiding in the shadows, I do know that the only person who can change her mind is me. Our mind has the power to shine light on our negative perceptions, our negative voices, our negative stories. It is not necessary that these voices, memories or words are our own. Yet, if you didn’t hear them, how would you begin to undo any of it? I am not my past I fully believe that, however without denial I am sometimes affected by it so can I pretend it doesn’t exist? And if I can how does this serve me? I am tired of running away from the fear. Aren’t you? Although confronting it is in no way or shape a pretty picture but will ignorance help more? My mind is easily distracted with new ideas, so I will not recall these relapses. However, I don’t wish to relive these moments over and over again. By acknowledging what my mind is saying, I can take responsibility for my life and how I am living it. There are no guarantees that I will be able to figure it out anytime soon, I am though willing to try.

I bet a quiet mind = quiet emotions. It doesn’t feel like much fun knowing this but I love to feel everything so rightly so, it won’t be filling me with ecstasy. Whatever floats your boat. In the hope that our quieter minds, create greater emotional harmony, I would like to assert with some work and dedication, we can become an evolved version of ourselves without the sword of fear and shame hanging over our necks. Unless you like swords swinging at you.

Friend request declined for now.


Would you accept? The message here, isn’t to say that you should not accept yourself for your truth. All I am trying to highlight is that the duality of our nature is what makes us unique. But our minds hold the key to our inner stories. This determines the choices we make, which go on to shape and structure our actions and reactions. I think without the mind, we would not be fully able to access all the parts of ourselves. So if we don’t cleanse our minds, like our bodies we are operating from shaky ground. Who wants that? Well, not me. I want you to begin your mind cleanse with me. One day, we will bump into each other. Our powerfully clean minds connected cosmically to facilitate a higher vibrational frequency only accessible to us amazingly magical souls. I wait until we are equally ready to accept each others requests.

My mind is on devouring duty. Currently, we are trying the suggestions of the video below. Please try it and let me know what you find.  Farewell, dear minds. We will meet again. And that’s a promise.

Photography credit to the artists for such beautiful pieces. Quotes referenced from Wikipedia and Psychology Today.

The Guilt Trip

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Are you guilty?

Like me, have you never noticed that you’ve been clinging to the sad comfort of guilt? The ache in the pit of your stomach churning ever so consistently that you no longer can live without it? You see, never before had I really paid much attention to the feeling, that when one day the random penny of connection dropped inside my crystal clear mind; I didn’t know what to make of it all. For the first time in a long time the noise was well simply not there. Instead, there was sharp crashing of reality, which slipped pass through a fragile net of emotional safety. Especially for a “feeler”, the thought eventually was like a rough crack in my mirror. Typically, I “feel” guilt all the time. So how did I get here? I am not one for psychedelic trips, apart from one failed attempt at magic mushrooms, which unfortunately ended my birthday celebrations in a solitary puke purge. However, interestingly, I note that negative emotions suffer the same fate. They also make me physically sick. I know the point here, isn’t the somatization of emotion but I did find it enlightening. Guilt actually makes me sick, rather ironically I have CFS/ME so I am walking a fine line with this self-pity party I am throwing myself. Do you feel this way or does yours manifest in the same way? Perhaps, I am not alone on this sick train of inner turmoil and I have company, I am yet to find.

Before indulging deep into my personal woes, I decided to look up the term “guilt”. Primarily because I am an information whore but more so, I hate to not know the facts. Come on, if the facts are wrong, then so are many other things. The domino effect is critical. This is the one lifeline to end all of this ridiculous misery. I refuse to tumble without valid justifications. Therefore, in case I misinterpreted its original meaning, I went on a definition binge. Unsurprisingly, I conclude that I don’t suffer from lack of guilt.

“Guilt is the fact or state of having committed an offence, crime, violation, or wrong, especially against moral or penal law; culpability: He admitted his guilt. a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offence, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.”

“What is self guilt? Individuals high in psychopathy lack any true sense of guilt or remorse for harm they may have caused others. Instead, they rationalise their behaviour, blame someone else, or deny it outright. A person with psychopathy has a tendency to be harmful to his or herself and to others.”

Without any doubt, I suffer from a guilt complex. One, which has taken root in my heart and refuses to let up. This is no medical diagnosis, it is a personal one from my school of guilt. I have mastered this art without any real conscious effort. I am not even trying to deny it, so that’s saying something.  What exactly is my crime? Or what is yours? Maybe we all suffer from a communal, collective guilt? Who knows? Let’s think about it. When did you last feel guilty about something? In my case, I have spent the last three months in America feeling guilty about my husband overworking. Somehow, I managed to feel guilt about being in the way of his relationship with his son. The son he hadn’t seen for two years. Then, I felt guilty about wanting to spend time with him. Funnily, I also felt guilt about wanting our relationship to be how it used to be not this now you see me, now you don’t. The clumsy emotional decision of my lonely heart, drove me to a snap decision of spontaneously visiting when I knew he had a lot on, also causing so much grief. On overall, I pretty much felt guilt for being in the way all the time. Before, I knew it, I returned to England, where I am guilty of many serious crimes. During my previous visit, I had hurt my mother by marrying without her consent. Outcome: guilt. I damaged my relationship with my sisters. Outcome: guilt. I offended my other sister by marrying a Black man. Outcome: guilt. Worse of all, upon my return, after 15 years, my youngest sister told me that  she was sexually assaulted by one of my friends who I had once trusted her with when she was 12. Outcome: unforgivable amounts of guilt. Now, that’s guilt on another level. I cannot even begin to unpack that for you.

The thing is though, this unravelled a belief, which had so much subliminal power over me. The culprit: guilt. Guilt has played such a significant role in my life and in how I process and receive information. Basically, I feel I am preconditioned to this idea of mistreating others that I failed to notice the power it had over everything. I can actually carry on with all the thoughts that make me feel guilt but it is pointless because I know now, I had no conscience recognition of it. It is like guilt bypassed my awareness and slipped into my subconscious like a date rape drug that had kept me sedated for so long. Would I have realised otherwise? I somehow doubt it. I live in a world where self-responsibility is held to the highest order, so all of my actions demand accountability for their choices. I might as well hang myself right now because it is an impossible standard to hold one self too. But did I relent? Fuck, no. Yet, sitting in front on my laptop screen, I ask myself. What’s the point of it all? I cannot change any of it. I cannot rewind back to 15 years ago to erase that choice where my sister was alone with a child molester. Neither can I undo the moment where as a child, I decided not to say anything about my own abuse. Or as the adult when I decided to tell my family about it. They are all actions in the past. The thought before I type it, is in fact now in the past. Then what is it serving? I mean, yes; guilt can help with our moral compass but when does it go to far? In reality, my husband is busy, it his choice to spend his time as he wills. I cannot change his choices so are my needs justified? Do I have to feel guilty or am I programmed to now feel in such a way that I don’t know how to let go? After all, if I am accountable for my actions, then shouldn’t my thoughts and feelings comply to the same standard?

Guilt appears to be a revolving door, the one I cannot seem to step out of. I am not sure if it’s because I don’t know how or I am unwilling too. It could be very possible that I am confining myself to the negative thought as opposed to my humanitarian values. Perhaps, this isn’t about humanity or morality but simply a precedence for a feeling that has taken root in my early psyche. Is it really unkind to want time with my husband when his son needs him? Or is it just that I miss him and nothing more than that? I won’t lie, I don’t know how to get past my sisters truth. Although, I have started to churn the wheels of process and reflection. I understand and accept that she is entitled to her anger and hate towards me. I don’t judge that. I should have known better and I should have protected her. So, is guilt justified here? Or am I afraid to let it go because I don’t want to feel like a dispassionate psychopath who has no remorse for her actions? Am I as guilty as the perpetrator? Are we two sides of the same coin? The fact that I am questioning it, should be an indicator in itself. I am no psychopath but I am also not narcissistic; this isn’t about my guilt, it’s about my sisters pain. I am not giving myself a get out of jail card yet do I deserve to punish myself even more than I already am? The actions of my younger self are already repaying the karmic price for this violation of trust. My sister wants nothing more to do with me. She can hardly stand to be in the same room and I don’t blame her. I can’t stand myself sometimes. I am not allowed to see her children or my other nieces and nephews. She will never resume a relationship with me. Neither will anyone else, willing want one. All of these facts, lead to this thought; what’s the point then? What function is my guilt serving? Other than confining me to a fate of sorrowful misery, it really isn’t rocking my boat with joy. I know, I made mistakes but the truth is- it is in the past. I am not disrespecting my sisters flashbacks or her. I really am not. I am merely stating that it has happened. We are on that journey already. The path in motion, with or without guilt.

Is it the death penalty for me? Off with her head!

I committed a crime. I betrayed the trust of a child who believed I would always protect her. You may believe it is what I deserve. Do I believe that? Today, my freshly opened eyes, see another reality. If you asked yesterday, I would have agreed with you. Today though, I wonder if it is possible to forgive yourself? Think about it. There are variations in the degree of guilt we feel for each of our actions. I don’t feel the same guilt for everything. And maybe if I began with my smaller crimes, I may eventually be able to recover from it all. Realistically, if we chose to do nothing, then we are holding ourselves in a pattern of self-destruction and dysfunction. Even the thought, “I committed a crime” needs deep reflection. You can’t just consent to your emotions without some rational reasoning. Misery breeds misery, I am sure the lesson isn’t that. Ultimately, if we are responsible for actions towards others, then aren’t we held accountable for the same for ourselves? Then why come last? Of course friends, I am also not a legal professional so none of this would stand in the court of law but if you are the judge and jury, then I say you have some control over the outcome. Is it off with your head for every mistake you’ve made? Inevitably this tug of war between emotion and thought, shouldn’t mean you lose in the end. I have not been thinking, I have been feeling. Instinctively I feel before I think but it doesn’t mean all my feelings are apt or reasonable. The sad truth is our feelings are programmed since birth and thus reinforced by our life experiences and observations as children. Surely we can find psychologically and scientific evidence for this if we wanted. My question to you is- do you enjoy this guilt trip? Is the high – low worth it? I can’t change or regulate something I don’t know exists, until I do.  It’s a fair rebuttal. I agree with you. But now you do. Like I do. What will we do next?

I have one small request, would you be willing to hold me accountable for this deeply rooted emotional evil that’s consuming my existence? I want to practise forgiveness, yet I know I am scared. Until I believe, I deserve it, will you kindly help me? I don’t want to evade responsibility for my mistakes but I want you to remind me that I can let it go because holding it, isn’t healing. I am only perpetuating a cycle of negative emotion, which won’t make anyone happy, especially not myself. Will you join me in collectively dumping our guilt complex and maybe with support, we will move away from a lifetime of subconscious pain. In the end, our life is a journey. We make choices that hurt us and hurt others. However, I am beginning to accept that suffering necessarily isn’t the only way to learn. Forgiveness, healing, compassion and kindness is not only for others. It is also for one self. And wait before you question whether it is selfish or not, I will put you out of your misery. Self care is not selfish; it is self-service, without it we cannot offer true meaning to anything beyond ourselves. I know, these are mere words. Actions. We need actions. What are we waiting for? Start now, with your own reflections.

The cosmic calls. How do you respond?


Photography credit to original artists.

Quotes referenced from Webster Dictionary.

Toxic Waste




Can sunny vibrant flowers grow in toxic waste?

I recently began to imagine myself as a Peace Lily. However, my question today is, can I really be one? Without the sad duet of a broken record, I am going to for the last time, paint a snap shot of my colourful life. Although initially this may appear a tad depressing but please be assured, I did get my happening ending not the elicit massage parlour kind. Almost wishful, I know. There are no dreaded cliffhanger in this Once Upon a time tale. So hang tight dear friends. Before the light there is some ugly we need to weed out as this sets the precedence for my point.

Two years ago, whilst browsing the complicated world of online companionship, I stumbled across the unexpected. After, my recent affair with a chronic illness, I never visualised my entire life being turned topsy turvy by one spontaneous moment of mere boredom. Amongst the many smiling faces, one familiar stranger, many moons away, called out in ways I hadn’t even imagined possibles. His words danced on the screen in a wild electric energetic current, sheepishly pulling me towards the future. If it wasn’t for this magical intervention of the cosmic order, I do not doubt where my life would end. My pathetic tomb stone would read, “if only, she had dared to live”. The meaningless autopsy report signed by a cold stranger, would say, cause of death- toxic family syndrome. The end evidently obvious to the blind. The toxic cycle of my family is deeply entrenched in compulsion obsessed with the various versions of abuse. My whirlwind romance, paving the path for a chance at life I stopped thinking was possible. I cannot recall when I stopped dreaming about a better future. I really don’t.

20 years ago, I recovered memories of child sex abuse by a “supposed” biological brother. I say supposed because I have no desire to be associated or attached to him or our shared history in anyway. Since, that critical incident, I have been dealing with how my family coped with this information. My mother refused to believe it. Of course, Muslims know better. One of my sisters couldn’t forgive me because I ruined her childhood by telling her my truth. And well, I’ve been blamed for pretty much anything possible over the last 20 years. You’re wondering, why talk about it now? Right? You already have your happy ending. Interestingly, the past cannot be left in the past, if other people don’t let it be. Without making excuses or judgements, I want to ask you,

Can you leave the past where it belongs or does it find ways to creep into your present? And if so why?


My recent return to this ugly hell has opened doors to a toxic dumping ground that for some bizarre reason I feel has been left behind, which simply hasn’t. It seems to be thriving here. Please note, I haven’t been back for more than two weeks to be precise. I arrived last Sunday, as I face this new one, I am reminded of how our history seems to have a hold on us. Be it be abuse or anything, are we really ever free from it? I am going to a momentarily flash forward. I married an amazingly gentle soul who is filled with light, love and joy. His beautiful smile lights up my heart with a warm glow. He has shown me nothing but unconditional love, without judgement or reservations. Love that my family has never been able to give me. I was never good enough to meet their expectations or preconditions for love. Yet, here I am, back in 1989, 2001, 2005, 2011 and today, all thrown in one messy chaotic cauldron of bitter hate.

Now, my mother is 68, with early onset of dementia. Her memories a painful mix of regret and sadness. I don’t have the energy or willingness to prove anything to her so I let it be. My sister, still unable to forgive me for betraying and breaking her trust. It’s as if she did me a favour by granting me some version of a relationship, which at the time I gratefully accepted. Loneliness clinging greedily to any signs of acceptance, be at unhealthy or not didn’t matter. It wasn’t remotely on my consciousness. I was hungry to belong to anything. Family was the easiest scapegoat. However, the quite nudging of self respect made a sudden appearance into my awareness. It forced me to witness the reality of my life. I was a puppet on a string in service to a toxic relationship with an angry, cruel person who I didn’t actually like. Granted, I should have said something sooner and acknowledged my needs but I really never had the metaphorical balls to do so. My fear of conflict, keeping me shackled to a place of silence. I was a victim of my own mental health. I believed it was kinder to forgive and forget. So over the years, I’ve been filling a wishful well with my forgiveness. A well with no end.

Today, my other sister reminded me how I was this vile, selfish and nasty excuse for a human for not being able to forgive the “abuser”, her brother. A brother who is a child of illness and mental health issues. A courtesy never once extended towards the real victim of the crime. Yes, it is a crime for those who still may not know- sex with a child is a crime and nothing you say can deter from the fact.

You would think I would be upset by this and if it upsets you, please don’t be. In fact, I am not. I have been accused of so many violations of humanity that you would suppose I was a heinous monster. Actually, I am bemused by the madness of it all. The lengths that people can go to appease themselves is utterly insane. Let’s be logical here. The person who is responsible for this madness, is unaffected by his actions. He inflicted us with a disease that unfortunately no one has been able to find a cure it. I bet on this freezing cold evening in England, he is probably snugly tucked away at home, with his wife and children watching Netflix with no care in the world for the devastation he once left in his wake. Yet, the only people talking about or being impacted by this, are in my orbit.


In my reality, I have nothing to say or understand. What was done, is well done. I am no longer a vulnerable child but here we are again, infringing on that child’s sanity without any care for my well-being. Although their cruel taunts and unjustified justifications for his actions and choices are sad, I feel nothing. I know that in actuality this cycle, places the blame on the shoulders of an innocent 8 year old. However, I am able to recognise that this is not my cycle. I did die with that little girl but I am born again to live without the label of damaged goods.  This toxic waste of abusive histories, that is determined to poison us until we choke to death and die is a mere choice. No one is really willing to choose life, any attempts to escape, only leads back to it. So we are slowly dragged back in and suffocated from the inside out. Where now, you ask?

As a child, I believed I was a butterfly without wings. I so badly wanted to fly away from this tortuous death sentence, where joy dared not visit. Happiness was a sin. But sadly, I wasn’t able to float away in the bosom of a liberating brisk wind. Instead, I changed my perception. In my mind, I became a Peace Lily, grounded in mother earth with strong, solid roots. A foundation alive in the many connections it served with the other grateful sorts. I would blossom and flourish into peaceful ecstasy. Now, this experience with my family fills me with self doubt. I’m just not sure that I can survive in this toxic land, where nothing but misery grows. It clings like cancerous cells, trying its best to drain my soul of its light. Until this morning, I remembered that I was born again. And every time I forget, my heart and soul knows the truth. We are not family. We are adults defined by our history. It is not a chance encounter, it is our destiny. Interconnected? I think not anymore. Simply blood running through veins and nothing more than that.

I am afraid that my fragile petals will be crushed beneath violent angry feet who deliberately seek to snuff the brightness out. Where before, I was able to forgive, the ugly side effects of this war stare at me as my reflection. For once where I was patient, compassionate and kind, instead I now find myself irritated with unkind thoughts. I cannot even stand sharing my personal space with them. Where before my words were well thought out, they now care little of the consequences. I have definitely passed the peaceful baton back to a long dead Mother Theresa.

Is the toxic waste killing me? In the end, do contaminated roots really never let the buds blossom?

The truth is I am evolving into what? I cannot fully be sure. All that I do know is that it won’t be too far from humanity so why worry so much about something that I no nothing about yet? I mean we cannot live in the past or future. And in the present, I don’t see myself turning into a vile beast. Will their toxicity kill me? Of course it will, if only I allow it too. And well, damaged roots are damaged that’s no lie. But does it and should it or can it determine us? I would say that all depends on you and what you decide for yourself and your life.

I will not die in this way because I do not want it to have such power over me. My point is simple. Although, the abuse happened a long time ago, it’s ripples appear to not fade with such ease and everyday I realise because we don’t let it. How do we heal when in fact we are igniting the flames and no one is really making the effort to recover from it?Harsh it may seem, yet we cannot also keep one foot in the past with the hope, we will one day move on. To actively move on, we would have to let the past go and be present in today. Temporarily, I am reliving the madness because I chose to be here, for now together with them. But I also made a promise to live. And I am the one facing my soul, no other. So the only barrier in my actual life is my own mentality and inner voice. If I give my power to the noise, then I am abusing myself. I am responsible for that pain, no one else. Thus far, for as capable as I am, I intend to honour this promise no matter how long it takes. All, I have to say to my family is, I wish you the best. I hope you can heal but I cannot help you because you are unwilling to help yourself. With that, I am at peace with myself because their feelings and judgements about me, neither define or describe my truth.

I hope to pass the time in the present, with as much kindness as I can offer. With love in my heart and soul, I forgive myself for the pain I have caused. And I forgive my family, for what they do not see. I have one chance at life, I will not be poisoning my soul at any cost.

Peace Lily or not, I will win. I will remind myself everyday, until it is intuitive that I have control over my life, my body, my mind and my actions.

Today, he has no power and neither does my family. They choose this cycle. I do not choose it. Currently, I am the best version of myself and he will not strip my dignity anymore. Neither will you.

I would like to thank you for your patience and time. I hope these words can help you too. Please share your thoughts, journey, truth or whatever you feel will help you heal from the toxicity in your life. Every day is a new day, remember we are born every moment and we can choose to do something different not simply comply to what we know.

Toxic waste and history doesn’t define your existence. You do. So live in peace, love and joy.


Photography credit to original artists.


Fucked Up Forever?


Behind the dusky glimmer of a mischievous rain dance, the first cheeky rays of a proud rainbow appear as a reminder that the magic of life still lives on. Its pride obvious. The darkness in my soul lifting with this new day break. The harsh familiar voices still stinging slightly albeit a little distant for now, as another day is upon us. A chance to begin again. For the words of those who you share your most intimate self with are probably the most painful ones you will ever hear. Nevertheless in your heart, you only have love for them regardless of the pain they cause. After all, it all began with love. Always love, be it with family, friends or lovers. LOVE was what instantly connected your souls.

Although today, I may hurt, I remember a little story about a girl with unusually curly hair. A girl who only wanted to sprinkle the golden sparkle of love by her mere presence alone. For her, it didn’t matter who you were, or what you did. All she cared about was taking away the pain in your heart and filling it with magical joy. She had the abundant power of love to make you laugh with an innocent freedom that you may have once lost. Or simply to make you dance in delirious merriment with her imaginary friends as one big happy family. But then, one day she met life with its cold shoulder, breaking through her veil of blissful joy. It told her many things, many of which she would never have imagined one would say to another. But they did.

“Yes, you’re fucked up and you never said how badly in fact, you were fucked up”.

“You are damaged goods”.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?”

“You are liar, you made it up.”

“You disgust me.” 

“I hate you. You are a vile human.”

“You should just die.”

The list goes on, I care not to continue in the hope to evade the pity party police.

To all those voices in my past, in my present, in my head– I have a message for you.

It is not my fault, I was sexually abused as a child by someone I loved and trusted. It is not my fault for having triggers I cannot manage at your convenience. It is also not my fault, that I have repressed memories and flashbacks that I cannot control. It is not my fault that my family is broken. It is not my fault, even today, it affects me in ways I may not even know.  It is not my fault, I cannot live up to your expectations. It is not my fault, I cannot heal your pain or hurt. It is not my fault that others hurt you too. It is not my fault you assume everything is wrong because of it.

It really is not my fault.

So today, I change this painfully old narrative. Words cruel, deliberate or not, from herein have no power over my life. Today, I may have lost that little girl, however, in this moment I am a woman who will no longer apologise for her past or how it impacts her life. And you may think what you like, I care no more. Honestly, I maybe fucked up but I can own it. I told no lies to anyone. I sold no idyllic dreams of a perfectly poised saint. I truly didn’t. Only, I will decide what that means, not you, not anyone else because you have not and cannot walk in my shoes.

I walk barefoot in the sand, where no other judges or belittles my struggles. It may not always be a fun filled walk in a sunny park, yet, I trust I will find my own light. I am happy as you walk on your own. I hold nothing but peace in my heart for you because your words will fade and so will the memory. For now, I am looking for that girl and her childish giggles. My story will unfold as it will and until then I will learn to find my own small feet regardless of what labels you hang over my tombstone.

Dear friends, I hereby invite you to change your narrative with me. We can write this story as many times as we desire. There are no limits. The ink on your pages, is yours to determine. Your destiny in your very own hands. You are the author of this wonderfully confusing tale. The invisible hands of comfort reassuringly creating a chain for change. For really, no matter how alone we ‘feel’, we really never are. It is simply finding that voice in the dark who willingly will hear you without judgement and rejection because true love never has conditions or regrets. Even though your heart might hurt, please know, someone else in this blank void, knows how you feel. So please join me today, by writing your new beginning. I wait in anticipation for a new family who I know co-exists behind these blank pages. 

From my heart to yours, we are one. 

Forever and always, fucked up or not. 


Photography credit to original artists.

The Strange Boy

The Strange Boy

He was a stranger. To be honest both of us two shy passersby. We seemed to cross each other in the same place everyday. I was 16, he 18 years old. Then one day suddenly, he broke our silent pact. He stopped his motorbike and waved. His green moss eyes staring at me, as the wind ruffled his long hair. He never seemed to wear a helmet but who was I to point out the obvious. I pushed my glasses back and stared blankly in confusion. I can’t remember if I replied but I rushed off rather quickly. It could have almost been the beginning of Romeo and Juliet but thankfully boys didn’t interest me even when all everyone talked about was the opposite sex. Gross! It was never going to be on my radar. Study and college my focus- nothing could get in the way of my goals. Boys were an unwelcome distraction. I refused to let them in- including green eyed bikers in leather jackets.

Summer 1995 

Dear Diary,

Hey! Captain Puberty! Whoa! Finally, G.C.S.E’s are over and out! My blood and sweat saved temporarily for a short while. Thankfully, no more revision or exams until College. Amma ji, desperately wants me to be a doctor but since I have no idea what I want, I am going along with it for now. I have to get the grades so who knows what happens next? Until then, I worry not! Happy dance with me, please? I promise thereafter, I won’t bore you with anymore study dramas. Plus, I have more interesting news to catch you up on. I bet you can’t wait right?

I have almost overcome the scary truth about how babies are really made. Allah isn’t dropping them off! They are made by my parents. Oh gross! Eeeew. I can’t believe that one day my body will carry another human. I am going to say it again. One day I will carry a human in my belly. Oh God! I feel sick at the thought. No wonder Amma ji didn’t tell me, she really must hate it too! I can’t decide if I should be grateful to biology classes and those secret library books I’ve been stealing for opening this yucky can of worms or disappointed. I kinda of wish, I didn’t know the truth! What am I supposed to do with this? At least Amma ji didn’t have to indulge in the details. I’d hate to see how that would go. Oh! My poor ears! My poor eyes! Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! I have scary images of my parents, which I wish I could burn away from my overactive imagination. I will save you the torment of finding out how the sperm forces it way to a poor helpless egg to have its wicked way with it. What if the egg doesn’t want the sperm? How ever will she repel? Honestly, I don’t want to know the rest. The poor egg, it has my sympathies. 

So, dear Captain, this is how I was conceived.

Perhaps some secrets are better kept than not. Anyway, moving on from the oldies, I have other questions. I don’t really understand how this actually happens in real life. You know, you have to find a boy that you like and then you have to touch each other. How do you even know what to do? Obviously Amma ji and Abba, were married but who told them how to do these things? Will there be a crash course? I will obviously have to get married first. My head hurts thinking about this. Marriage is so far away. I won’t lie Captain, I won’t. The thing is I am a teeny bit curious but not enough to find out for myself yet. Who wants to get married at 16? That’s crazy talk. I am not getting on that train. Amma ji, did say if I wanted I could marry a cousin in Pakistan. I totally said a big fat NO!

By the way, everyone at school has a crush on either a teacher or a friend. I have no crushes and I am sure no one has one on me either. To be clear, I don’t want to like boys. I don’t like boys. Actually, I don’t know if I like girls. I am not excited by any of this. It all feels contrived like we’re supposed to like someone because other people do. I don’t need a boyfriend. My eggs want to be left alone. It’s uncomplicated in my head. I have to study to get what I want. I want more from my life than a husband, kids and in -laws. The only way to achieve this is EDUCATION. This is the only way, I can have a different life to the one my parents have. I want to live! Plus, I can’t explain it, anyone other than Abba ji makes me queasy. I only like Abba ji. I don’t know why and I don’t feel like finding out.

I don’t exactly know someone who would tell me about the nitty -gritty details of love-making. And I can’t entirely trust the gossip mill so since, I am not exactly bothered, I have left it alone for now. Surely by the time I get married, I will find out but there’s plenty of time for that. There must be some religious explanation for this precise moment in my life.

Oh! Before I forget, you remember my green-eyed silent biker buddy- he’s not silent anymore. One day, out of the blue, he started to talk. Yeah, he spoke to me. ME! I don’t know why. I didn’t ask him either. I pretty much ran. I mean what was I supposed to say? Anyhow, the next time we bumped into each other, he handed me a note. Wait for it- it was a short story. Funny actually so I wrote one back. You now how much I love stories! Now I had a little audience, so I caved into my creative desires. And this was the start of our story telling marathon. It has been going on for awhile. I promise it’s not meant to be a secret but I’ve got no one to tell so its kinda of a secret, I guess. I thought it was innocent fun. No sperm and egg needed. We were storytelling buddies, I actually liked it until a few days ago he ruined it. RUINED it, I say! I blame his sperm, it must have wormed its way into his brain and sucked his sanity away from him.

We don’t actually talk to each other. We exchange notes! In the last one, he ever so dramatically declared his undying love for me! Really, I mean it. He did! He said- he loved me and would do so until the end. I am surprised he didn’t slit his wrist in his desperate pleas. At first I thought it was a joke. It would have been a funny joke. Oh, no no. It was not! Why couldn’t it be simple?

Urgh! What is wrong with boys? I didn’t want his love, I didn’t ask for it. I wanted to share word art not his love. Yuck! I still don’t understand why he would love me? He doesn’t know me- well in reality he doesn’t, he knows my stories. Anyway, truth be told, he’s the least of my worries because guess what? Amma ji found the notes. Drum roll. I really think she was going to have a heart attack or definitely ready to burst a vein. I wasn’t scared, I did nothing wrong. However, she doesn’t believe me. She thinks he’s my boyfriend and I am going to run away or something ridiculous but I will wait until she calms her little fragile self. I was honest- he was a buddy but I didn’t know his name. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know if I will be able to go college now but if I can’t I will never forgive him! This is all his fault. Why couldn’t we just have had a platonic relationship? Why did he have to ruin everything?

Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. I can go College on the condition I stay away from this green eyed monster. I will happily stay away! You don’t need to convince me. I promise you. I am not sacrificing my future for a boy. However, I am so grateful that Amma ji decided to believe me. I don’t know what would happen if I had to stay at home. I would probably have to get married but I know Amma ji really wants me to study so no more boy trouble. So far, for the time being all my curiosity is sated. Until the day, I get married, I am staying as far away as possible from these good for nothing boys. Captain, this is the only way forward. I am not allowed a boyfriend and I don’t also want one. I just wish Allah doesn’t plant anymore distractions in my path.

Rightio! This is all I have for now. I will of course promise to keep you posted on any developments.

Love you,


Peeping Tom

From behind a veil

In reality, I didn’t wear a veil in the traditional sense. Well not as a child for sure. The tale of my veil begin with puberty. Here, I was a young girl in England living a double life of a secret veil agent. By evening, I was an ignorant shy girl but by day, I was busy hiding behind my secret veil of invisible silence, whilst I listened to the stories of the childish world around me. This was how I began my secret journey. In this way, I was able to find information without actually having to probe anyone. In truth I was on a quest to gather knowledge for what reason, I no longer can recall. Thus, my inner Peeping Tom born. 

This writing experience has opened up some inner doors that were previously hidden beneath the “useless memories” category. Before I indulge into these reflections, I want to mention that I have been on a journey of self discovery for almost 20 years. I started young. However, I bypassed this part of my past. It feels strange to admit this as I have actively thought about many of my childhood experiences and their influence over my own perceptions of self and others. They appear to have gone unnoticed perhaps as they were so normal. However, now as they float in my awareness, my insides bubble with anxiety.

I was born in the late 70’s to immigrant Pakistani parents living a very orthodox way of life. Initially they neither changed or adapted to their new lives, instead they bought their values into this world- my world. As I write, the more I recognise how much of their unspoken value systems influenced my personal views, which I failed to notice. Interestingly, as I look back, I can recant the exact moment this began. It started with my natural physiological changes, in which most of the messages were projections based on my parents personal histories. Our home operated in a secretive silent code, which was somehow understood without any real depth. These were our norms, which were accepted without questions. I accepted because I knew no other way of life. This was my life. Due to the lack of active, useful information, my journey into self discovery, in fact was born. Honestly, no one offered information about anything substantial. I was just not willing to accept this so I found my own way into the surprisingly hidden world of biological development. I needed to know what my body was doing. My observation became my strongest ally. Thus, my innocent Peeping Tom eagerly came out to play. I can’t speak for others, as these are personal experiences but I am sure others would have similar tales.

I realise that even before the veil became a mandatory request in my Pakistani, Muslim household, we were already wearing one. My interpretation of the veil is a simple one. It was to “cover” up beyond our bodies- to be blinded by perceptions. I believe, we were ‘veiled’ so that we could be moulded into obedient, unquestioning puppets of our cultural value system. The reality depressing, we talked about nothing of real relevance other than Islam. I don’t actually recall much talking about anything to be honest. For some bizarre reason, I cannot still comprehend why no one talked about basic things like our bodies, its changes and its purpose. Unsurprisingly, sex and human relations were off the table too. I mean, I had no idea my parents had sex, all I knew was Allah was gifting me siblings as a reward. I am not even sure I wanted those gifts. Yet, their was no backstory to this generous gifting. Truthfully, I don’t believe it was intended maliciously but pure ignorance on my parents part as I doubt they were given any real information either. However, what I now see, is in fact control in the truest sense. Our ability to gain information restricted. We didn’t own a television or a radio. We had no friends beyond ourselves. We didn’t go anywhere in case we became exposed to the haram way of life. And we dare not piss off the non-existing religious police hanging around dark corners waiting to catch us out. Luckily, I only discovered the Taliban later on in life, my God that would have scared the shit out of my younger self. So, our worlds were insular- only ourselves to rely and trust. And reality came as a shock when I no longer had my childlike body. Of course, I didn’t defy nature as I wasn’t exactly Peter Pan. My childhood shaped by blind adults relying on fear- centric, outdated and constrictive perceptions. This therefore, left an imprint on my innocent understanding of myself and how going forward, I was to interact with the world. Until this moment now, I hadn’t acknowledge how I was shackled to silence all those years ago. I was another clink to the chain that my parents were holding on too, without their own knowledge they continued this shackle.

I can only speculate on why this was the case. At the time, I never felt brave enough to ask. Intuitively, I rather quickly grasped that this was not open to discussion. Instead, my incredible shyness and unpopular status in school became the reason I could begin to lift the veil of my own blindness. This happened innocently through observation. The first sign —my mothers sudden persistence about being appropriately covered, which indicated that something was askew. Bearing in mind, she stitched my clothes since I was young. Naked flesh would no way make a surprise guest appearance at dinner. I never understood why this was so important. I simply covered up- it was what was expected. I didn’t enjoy being nagged, it was easier to do it, especially because it was so cold all the time. Now looking back, I feel irritated that no one had the courage to admit the truth. Did they even know the truth? I feel sceptical about it. It was probably easier to project subliminal meanings to my normal biological changes rather then looking within. In truth, until 18. I was all bones and limbs. I don’t even remember when I got past my bud stage, it was like wearing a target on my back for the cruel kids. Thankfully, I now have breasts- real ones. At the time, for God-sake, at 11 I was a freaking child! I am disgusted that I was manipulated and controlled by values that I didn’t even know existed. The limited information and its access, in reality serving sub-cultural conformity so one cannot be questioned or challenged. But who was in charge of this system? It clearly wasn’t my parents because I think they were also blind. I believe that these were ignorant actions of scared adults from a line of terrified generations breeding ignorance and conformity. I don’t know if the lack of education or awareness was the root problem, however, it was a common factor. No one in my parents extended families or village was educated. Those who were either lived abroad or in the cities in Pakistan. I can’t say if those people also complicated the very simple principles of human life. Although, I feel that communication may not be an overall strength. A slow burning anger simmers, at that knowledge that my perceptions were actually controlled without any direct external influences. I was controlled by my parents and I had failed to see it. It feels absurd to be limited by your own family, community and our collective religious beliefs, where my body was given meanings when it need none. I really do wonder how the youth of today navigate through all their craziness as I was limited without all of this. The struggle evidently real.

I wish I had this awareness earlier and maybe I could have done something different at the time. Perhaps, I could have broken the pattern. However, I realise I am here because this is how I was supposed to reach these conclusions. Today, I wouldn’t say I follow fundamental principles of faith or culture, which will always be a point of contention with my family but this wasn’t unexpected. I now have my own perception about how I see the world and the kind of world I want to live in. My awareness, has bought me to a place, where I can acknowledge that faith influenced our family in a really intimate way. Like many other naive children, morality was grounded in religion without any exploration of values outside of that. I was taught that Islam demanded ‘good Muslims’ to cover their bodies from everyone including my father and brothers but no one explained the reasons behind it. For my younger self, it wasn’t unusual. I was surrounded by women who dressed in a certain way. Those who didn’t — simply were outsiders and they did not matter. And as my own knowledge grew, I realised that there was something more to ‘covering up’ then the act alone. It didn’t go unnoticed that mother was always dressed in layers, even today, I have only seen her hands, feet and face. On rare occasions I get a peek of her snow white hair. Other than that, her body has been hidden behind layers of beautifully soft fabric. Sadly, she is a slave to her upbringing but her veil also doesn’t end there. My mother has been hiding behind our generational expectations without question. Her vision narrow, especially when it comes to her understanding of her own body and its role— it is one of obligation and fulfilling her duty. In my mothers case, every girl child believed that Islam expected women to ‘cover up’ from the ‘male gaze’ so Satan didn’t repeat the history of Adam and Eve with his naive helpless young victims seducing them into premarital sex. She would have never challenged this. This was normal in fact no one would question it. It wasn’t only the word of God but also her mothers, her extended family’s, her villages. Everyone followed these rules and if they didn’t, well shame on them. Since, no one actively communicated, who would she have asked anyway? The fact my mother had no voice of her own, doesn’t come as a shock. She was a puppet on a very tight string. This is the ugly truth of how their silent witness continued to play a part in my young life. There is no denying, culturally and historically the responsibility of protecting men falls upon girls. Although men are also warned about the ‘female gaze’, this appears to get less attention. Girls are the guardians of this galaxy even before they become women. Young girls subconsciously made to feel as the weight of men’s desires their sole responsibility. I hadn’t understood this before. As a teenager, all I was privy to was if I didn’t cover myself I would go to hell for disobeying God. The veil of shame and fear that I carried secretly for years, never found a voice until this moment, where I accept this is what had happened. I had been playing hide and seek because that was all I had ever known. I didn’t even know I felt shame until I started writing this.

This pitiful cycle of body shame didn’t end with silent messages and the lack of communication, it was further apparent in our social exchanges. The hierarchy of our family structure reinforcing dependency and strongly rooted attachments to one another. The one key area, I found this to be prevalent was in the way financial responsibility played a critical part in maintaining the carefully structured system. As a girl it was my father and eldest brothers responsibility to meet my needs regardless of what they were. From education to marriage, they were the ones straddled with this burden. There after it would be my husbands. You see, I didn’t also realise that this further tied me to the chains of cultural, familial, and communal expectations. This was the norm too. Who was I to question this? So this cycle of silence was predestined to continue into my unseen future. For years my mother bought my clothes, I am not sure when she should have stopped but I don’t know what propelled me to change my financial dependency but at 18 I started a part time cashier job whilst at college. Without any real awareness, I took responsibility for my own needs, which luckily changed the course of my life. It paid well and I enjoyed meeting people even though I didn’t need the money. This I believe was the welcome door to freedom that I never anticipated opening. But somehow, I did. I think deep down, I hated following rules so this was my subconscious way of undoing childhood conditioning. My small part-time job, was the chance to explore a world outside our insular one. With this financial freedom, I also had the desire to discover myself through the new world of clothes. To my mothers disapproval, I stopped wearing traditional shalwar suits. I couldn’t comprehend the reasons for wearing these clothes in the cold, wet climate of England. More so, these outdated principles didn’t align with my evolving purpose. The process of change was in motion and I was not prepared to remain stagnant in her attachments to history. I couldn’t simply accept that I should be defined by my body or the clothes I chose to wear. I wanted to be warm, clothes meant nothing more than that. It was then, I realised I had freed myself from labelling my body and the functions of practicalities such as clothes. Before then, my mother was the one with the power to decide what was appropriate. So in honesty, I was never given the chance to find my own voice or identity as someone else was always choosing what was best for me. I fell into resistance, without knowledge, however, I am grateful I did. When I decided to own my personal power, I never really fully understood how far I would have to go to hold on it.

This is the sad truth about my childhood where a time of joy and innocent fun was hidden behind secret meanings of unaware adults. In the end, I did learn the facts about our physiological changes but I did it without support and effective resources. I don’t regret my path or the things I have uncovered. Without the same access to information that younger people have today, I still found my own place in the world. Nothing could deter me. I think I was not ever going to accept the ‘way of the world’ without finding out for myself. I am accountable for my actions today. Although I hold none of these views or expectations, writing this piece bought to my attention, that it would have been easy to be ashamed and afraid of owning my own personal power. Yet, I did not believe it was the right thing to do. I never could fully accept that we were supposed to live our lives behind these veils. I am grateful for my young Peeping Tom, without her, I would still be asleep behind historical layers of ugly secrecy, which only serves to confine us to limited existences.

I want to close with the request that — please do not accept others perceptions of you no matter what you were told, you can find yourself in your own way. I believe that access to respectful, honest and age appropriate information is essential to our development in different areas. And those who are responsible for the care of children, please step outside of your own fears and perceptions to gently guide them into the murky world of adulthood. In this way, we will be able to together build a future of well adjusted adults who are capable of fighting old school ideologies. Ignorance and lack of education is no excuse in a time where we are saturated with information. Our bodies do not need labels or emotional attachments, they serve one purpose. They are the homes, where our souls reside. They require love, respect and kindness. Nothing more or less than that. We have nothing to be ashamed about, after all for us God fearing ones- he gave us this gift to enjoy. So, why not relish in our blessings? 

To my parents, I love you for all you could do. For what you didn’t I forgive you. 

With love,


The WildFlower Chronicles

 The adventure continues.



After my very first period, many had passed. It was now nearly 10 months, I hadn’t become accustomed to this new change. However, as I stand in the sweaty changing rooms of high school chatter, I stare at myself in renewed awe. Something had changed my body without my knowledge. I was going to find out what. No matter what, there would be no more hiding from this.





Dear Diary,

Hi! Captain Puberty, it’s been an eventful day like the many others of late! Alas, I am armed with updates. I finally got the courage to find out information that no one else was willing to disclose. Since, Amma ji, banned all sex education related topics, I did my best to develop my new skill- eavesdropping. We have no television or radio. This has always been haram, but I’m not complaining, I can’t see Satan being a fun dude so I’m not getting on the wrong-side of Allah. Hell, isn’t really a playground for naughty children. Well that’s what mother says.

Instead of trying to illicit any possible reactions from Amma ji, I’ve began my own investigations in our schools gym changing room. It is the best place to find out more. Everyone loves to talk! About someone or something, so I have my own juicy monologues. Of course, no one speaks to me, I’m like the kid with leprosy, thus with ease I blend into the walls. Invisibility is fine for now.

Obviously, since you and I only recently started to confide in each other, dear friend, I want to catch you up on the past. Before, the dreaded bloodshed, my body had started its own small invasion. Over the last few years, unexpected changes began popping up here and there. My grand discovery- unruly hair in certain places, there placement rather random. It really wasn’t a sight pleasant. I didn’t like this awkward surprise because hiding it from others became a battle of its own kind. Since, I had no idea about others hair status, I dared not to bare all. No more sleeveless t-shirts for the timing being.

Normality it seems, evolves at it’s on mercy. I didn’t know if this was something unusual or I was supposed to sprout wicked hair clusters. It only dawned, when other unsuspecting girls were buried in their own hair stories and their experimental shaving sagas. So, they were also invaded by the hairy fairy.

It was during these intense moments that weirdly, some random girl pointed at my legs and asked if they had been freshly shaved. My glistening tanned legs, unsure of the right way to answer. To which, I proceeded with aloofness that I hadn’t needed too. I still remember their collective giggles. She thought it was hilarious and spread my news to the rest of the hair factory. So, I took my hairless legs and covered them up with tights. So more hair to look forward too. When who knows? Excellent news, not! Now, we both know that it’s not over Captain! Why though? What will this achieve? Other than being mocked for being too hairy or not hairy at all?

I’ve had to sneak around a lot. Luckily, I’m good at being invisible. It’s taking me a few attempts but I have the full picture. Whoopee! At first I didn’t notice that my tops no longer lay flat. Suddenly two blobs grew. And these were my breasts. Mind you they were on the slow trained compared to others but it was enough for Amma ji to go all Hitler-esque on me. From nowhere, my wardrobe become looser. Amma ji, subtly started to force me to cover up with heavy jumpers and scarves. She never actually said why though. I only realised when I noticed other girls didn’t wear vests like me. They wore shorter ones because they had bigger breasts, which I hadn’t got yet. Whilst others were busy shoving tissue down there so they werent in the baby club. Crop vests, were the in thing. I wasn’t in that club. Apparently, it’s what boys liked. However I don’t care for boys much. I have 3 brothers and they’re no fun.

I don’t know what this means yet. It all seems a bit like a dream. My body is no longer one I recognise. It feels as an alien stepped into my life and completely took over my feelings, thoughts and appearance. My other Pakistani friends don’t say much about their bodies, only that they cover up too. Even when it’s hot, I’m now no longer allowed to wear dressers or shorts. I think it’s because my body has changed and it’s something that isn’t meant to be public. But I don’t really know the truth because no one has directly told me. In my speculation, I’d say this new body has no place in the world. It’s an awkward outsider trying to find a home and acceptance, which seems so hard to find. I really don’t know why it can’t be simple.

For now, I have a hair family, two tiny breasts and one special place, which isn’t to be displayed- ever. My wildflower. All with some purpose, one I am not privy too. I don’t like this new body because I am not allowed to know it. I don’t want to like it because it means my mother treats me differently. And dresses are no longer allowed on sunny days. Instead, I’m supposed to behave like a woman, which is no fun at all. To be fair, my mother is always covered up so I don’t know if our bodies look the same. Although mine is more or less similar to the other girls of my age. I’m not that abnormal then.

Captain. Thus far, I have managed to discover, I have a period because my body is ready for a baby! I don’t want to have a baby. Yuck! And for now I have a body, which has limits for reasons beyond my grasp. I don’t hope I’ll get my answers in the typical ways… We will find our own.

Thank you for your patience on this. I can’t wait to tell you more.











Photography credit to the original artists.