Mirror Mirror

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

I am no fair maiden. I never was. My magic faded almost four years ago. Staring back at me, is a stranger. I feel I once knew her. She was certainly no foe. But the years lost to an illness, hang limply to my memories burning fiercely in my chest. They only seek one answer; who am I? Do you know me?

I have no words that fully capture this feeling. The closest I can fathom is death. I feel in one single lifetime I have died a many times. I died when I was 8. Then again at 19. And again at 26. I completed the cycle at 34. The last time, I was amongst the living dead, comatose in my own flesh. Right in this moment I again die. Alongside the sadness, a beginning is surging amongst the tide of fear and freedom. A battle ferocious.

The fear of unknown possibilities.

The fear of discovering new flesh.

The fear of failure.

All of this uncertainty born from my drunken sleep. A pregnancy overdue. Forgotten overtime. I was not meant to be asleep for such a length. However, though I could not fight my cruel disease because in reality I am that disease. I died because I was the one poisoning myself with neglect. I was the one serving others at the cost of myself. It was, I who decided that the price of altruistic kindness was the entirety of my existence. Me. Me. Me. My selfish desire to serve the greater good, rested solely on my shoulders. Bitch slapped by reality, finally to call it to a halt.

Currently, as I die, my reality has found itself cracking beneath old perceptions. I always knew my purpose. Fulfilling it, is another story. I do not doubt that life isn’t a self indulging feat. My soul breathes only my purpose. My heart thuds to that tune alone. It has no other choice. But the how, forever haunting. I am not afraid to see with my new eyes of perception. I am afraid I won’t like what life has been trying to show me. For what so long now, I wished for appears to be foolish hope. I am no fool. Yet, I have died several times to return to the same truth.

My physical body lives on, whilst my essence continues to shift into new realms. This whole inner life- death loop incredibly tiresome. I am, I think emotionally tired because in the end the truth is unchanging. I cannot live a life bound to attachments and detach from others. This is the time to let attachments be. Not for the greater good but for my own good. With these attachments, I will never know my own truth. I will otherwise be a shell to what others want me to be.

It’s scary.

I am scared that I will not like who I see. Who am I without my attachments to family, belonging, humanity, kindness? I don’t fear being naked, I fear what I will become without my anchors. Is my innate self a good, moral soul? How will I know this without my old value system? My life at present, presents me with signs of moral disharmony. Watching them, allows me the mercy to be different. But am I just selfishly using them to keep myself in line?

You are the fairest of them all my queen.

Somewhere, in my heart, a lick of fire warms my heart. It serves as a poignant reminder. Noisy fear, is merely my ego, clinging desperately to my old self. It is, a wicked trickster, wantonly wanting to live on through my anxieties. It knows, it can win only if I give into it’s cruel intentions. And in its egoic victory, will the death loop continue. Sadly, my anchors on repeat play the same old patterns of negativity. Allowing for no other exits. You see though, this time, I had already decided to not hang myself at the mercy of the ego.

Dear Mirror,

You have always be kind to me but in truth I am not the fairest of them all. I am no fool though. Thank you for your humble service. However, you are now discharged.

Be free, my friend.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

It feels like an elusive misconception chugging through the hard wired perception that no one is really free or trapped. It’s all a matter of perception. I have no idea if this is true or not. However, whilst I stare at my almost translucent reflection, I realise that one must live truthfully to know anything. So, then let’s together shed our skins, love our fear and take this tabla rosa to leap into the ocean of unknown adventure. Maybe we will never fully know who we are. At the very least, in trying to live we may uncover some versions of who we are. And does it even matter if we don’t know who we are?

Why not, let the magic of wonderful life be our guide. We are our own mirrors. Thank you for sharing this moment with me.

Love. Light. Hope.


Midnight mocha

“But he’s a nigger!”

“And you’re a PAKIstani”

“But he’s a NIGGER!”

“At least he’s not a black woman”.

My humour failing the old dears. You would get the irony if you were Asian Muslim. By all means, I was mocking them and not black women.

Yawn. If you have had the pleasure of reading my recent ramblings, you would by now be aware, I am Pakistani. And I so dramatically fell in love and sort of eloped to marry my lover, who is BLACK. Black, that oh so offensive dirty word. It’s a colour not a freaking mutation of a killer disease. But with the way people reacted, I did ponder for awhile.

What really is the problem here? My first deduction leads to myself. I made a choice, which evidently challenged my families internal misguided dynamics of brotherhood. You made such a big decision without us? Um, yes I did. Why? Because your so obviously not racist. Hint. Hint. You catch my drift? This ever going, merry go round of hurt feelings and familial betrayal refuses to stop. Again, he is my husband not yours. Now, we’ve been married 4 months and we’re still singing similar tunes. This time though, my safety a concern. I will give them that, temporarily though. As they refuse to see the possibilities rather than just their concerns, I grow tiresomely weary. At this point it becomes less about concern and more about control. Exactly, maybe fear will deter my supposed madness at marrying a black man. I’m writing in black ink, is this also a crime?

So, what is it that derives this unnecessary fear of colour?

Beyond the overcomplicated concerned contradictions, how are we really different? We’re both souls wearing fashionable human pigmented skin. Privileged in our modern, westernised lives, with access to opportunity and dreams. Please, someone clarify this craziness.

You see, I think we’re churning the same old “language“, where the degradation of another is so casually accepted due to recent normalisation of certain “stereotypes” in modern life. “Hey, nigger, nigger, nigger.” The beginning of my new age rap. Although I am no Rihanna.

Why not? It’s no biggie. You do it, I do it. I think this is where some of my problems emerge. My family, isn’t alone the only Asian supremacist, I bet you’ve met others but you really don’t get to indulge in these colours. I though fell in the net of their contradictions. The oddity here is that I love my family, I may have never entirely fit the bill of atypical “Pakistani, Muslim female” but I hadn’t fully pushed any invisible limits. Then, I chose to love him. The vile black man. Love, holds me to both connections. However, I cannot accept the degrading of another soul. Ever. This isn’t a question about loyalty to family. This is about commitment to the greater good of humanity.

Disappointment, ebbs in my heart. It would make some kind of absurd sense if I was born into a white British family, with links to slavery. But wait, my bloodline was born and bred in India. After the partition, we became us. However, before that our forefathers were also ruled by the British. My great grand uncle was actually killed in war, fighting for independence. Today, here we are. Brown skinned people judging others with brown skin too. Our superiority one of an absurd kind too. Do we continue to live in a cycle of interracial superiority? Are we that deprived that instead of one union we fight one another?

My feelings continue to evolve, as where this began as my stupid idiocy, it failed to end there. I came to the realisation that this may stem deeper than just my family. Please make no mistake, I cannot accept this behaviour, these attitudes, this ignorance from my family. I’m outrightly ashamed on their behalf. However, the thoughts linger. What generationally led to this moment where in 2017, two interracial souls cannot be embraced for their love?

I leave in the hope that one day my family will awaken from their narrow mindedness. And also that for anyone on this journey finds peace. Love is within our hearts, we create our differences by choices. I am no better than you. We are one soul. Here to fulfil our own promises.

Dream the reality you wish for, only then you will be truly able to live it.

Our hands united as one.

Enjoy your midnight mocha.

Cosmic Stardust


Love actually, has such an ill fated reputation. It’s proceeded by new age tinder hook ups, expressions of sexual freedom, the quick sand of never lasting. The endless possibilities of greener pastures winking at us from a distance. A world in which the shallow excitement of lust lingers in the air like fragrance.

Then there’s another world, where souls skilfully take charge of their very own destiny. Challenging limitless opportunity, all within their own inner realms. No real need to be seduced beyond themselves. By all means, I am not an old romantic, I didn’t exactly buy into all the love band aid melodrama. I in fact, believed in loving everyone unconditionally without limiting labels. However, whilst floating through this world of seeker souls, I literally fell in the mystical clutches of the cosmic love guru. Not at all wanting a lover of any kind.

He wasn’t teasing me with the idea of love. Hell no. He was offering unconditional love on a delicious platter of all those endearing qualities I ever wanted to find in others. All of it, in one single soul. Hard to believe as it is, one late evening, I found myself window shopping on a website for lonely souls. I was lonely less, bored more. At the time, something told me to stay online. Within moments, my senses tingled as the words on this page became electric. They were alive, singing in an intoxicating chant. My fingers unable to resist, with a will of there own, charging masterfully across my keyboard. Typing a sentence. Just one sentence.

“Cosmic calling. How do you reply?” 

Sighing in relief, I inhaled. It was as I if had suddenly been compelled to reply. Almost as if I had no choice. It was pure madness. He lived in the US. He wasn’t even looking for anything. Actually, I wasn’t looking for anything. He would never reply. With that thought in my mind, I shut down my laptop. Tonight, I was being stranger than my normal strange. Switching off the lights, I tucked myself away in my bed.

“He will reply.” Whispered my heart.

I fell into a sleep listless. Dreaming of more peculiarity than the norm. It was the 1st of July 2016. This date is imprinted on my soul. I will never forget it, regardless of the outcome. The energy charging my heart was incredibly powerful. I would never forget that feeling.

It wouldn’t be a love story, if he hadn’t replied. But we have a love story, so the cosmic love guru peddled his magic, wielding a wonderous path for us to travel. I feel in love with him, instantly. I think I had no choice. It was as if Cinderella’s fairy godmother had sprinkled magic dust and my Prince Charming, just stopped by whilst searching for the owner of one glass slipper.

His soul is beautifully honest, filled with love and laughter. He is like the rays of sunshine. He is the moonlight, brightening up midnight pathways. The fact that we live in two different countries,  was really no problem at all. Nothing was an obstacle within our unfolding love story. The time difference providing us with creative opportunities to express our gratitude for one another. Honestly, this was an uncomplicated long distance “platonic friendship- romance”. I believe that boils down to the mere truth- that we were individually fulfilled souls, working on our vulnerabilities. We were not willing to check into drama cycles craving to be rehashed.

I am sure the cosmic love guru stood proudly, when for the first time we locked eyes in Barbados 6 months later. Our souls finally meeting in the flesh. We were not strangers to one another. Our physical bodies, only completing our hearts messages. We had met long, long before. We needed no one to tell us otherwise. Three months later, in April 2017, we forged our alliance, in the way of a cosmic marriage. Together, we returned to our one home, our hearts. Now, this is where we live. In each other’s hearts, bursting with this explosive, passionate, crazy self consuming love. Our souls are on fire. Burning in the wander of our magical union.

I wish we could meet the cosmic love guru, to thank him for his blessing grateful. We will forever cherish this gift.

Eternally grateful souls. We look forward to our future as one.


Stardust drifting in the wings of the wind.


Mind matters



Dear Mind,

Thank you for your considerate thoughts. I do not know where to begin this letter. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, bemused at the ever turning tide that my life has become over the last 10 months. I know you do not criticise. Believe me, when I say that I hear your predicaments. Change my thoughts and my reality will follow suit. The problem is that I cannot for some absurd insanity accept that I am unable to help my family. I hear your question, even without you asking. Is this really family? But they are my family. My heart knows no other. We have been tied to each other for years, our resolves unshaken. However, we crumble into disgruntled rubble over something so unnecessary.

I hurt.

A hurt buried underneath a layer that I am unable to reach at present. It is as if my core trembles in the aftershocks of an earthquake inevitable. Surfacing from that debris, all I can hear is the sound of a loss. A loss that I thought I had recovered from. The loss of innocent youth, the loss of familial love, the loss of oneness. I do not deny anything you have said, I know that it is the truth. They cannot change and have not done so for a decade. Here, I cling, right? I wish I could close the door, walk with my head held high. Yet, this festering guilt, burdening my wakefulness. Do I simply do nothing?

I want to unite with you, I promise I really do. But first, I feel I must grieve my loss. The reality of my life doesn’t align with my perceived reality of a better world. I guess, in order to grow, I must turn away to let others find their own morality. I must return shame to its rightful owners. Somehow though, I am saddled with the ugly truth that this is in fact my biological mother, my biological sisters, my blood. I really want to hate them or be angry. Unfortunately, I cannot hate them. My being doesn’t allow for it.

With all that said, I am saddened by the ugly world I find myself in.

My soul weeps in this sadness but with every new moment it finds brightness. I will find you too. For now, my tears flood the rivers. I must let them flow.

Please be patient with me.

With love and kindness,



Racist revolving doors


I am not one for secrets, my spirited heart mischievously curious, has forever and always been open to new adventures. Its cheeky twinkle beckoned to doors unopened. One ancient rusty door, leading directly to my past which was very briefly opened but then promptly closed with firm hands definitively decisive. My colourful, vibrant memories of Pakistani lineage buried beneath dirty layers of racial stereotypes, gender disparity, religious hypocrisy and cultural repression. Yes of course, these lovely labels a cliché unfortunately rather true also. Would you believe the main perpetrators of this shameful distaste were my own biological family? Yes, you heard me correctly. My blood ties, my very own personal execution chair. JUDGE. JURY. EXECUTOR. All running through my gushing veins.

My only mistake: I fell in love. With whom? Should it matter? But, oh it certainly does to some.

My secrets undone today.

The humour behind this story, may not be amusing yet, but in time it will unfold as ludicrously hilarious. The thorns in my Romeo and Juilet-esque love story is no other than my villainous family. I would have thought, living in the United Kingdom in the 21st century would undo old historical ties to barbaric racist ideology but I was so wrong. This was no Hollywood movie where the credits would roll, then I would go on living a happy, peaceful life. Oh no. Not even in my dreams was I ready for this stormy awakening. I invite you into my vivacious world of insanity, to one day hear your thoughts. Unless, I really am the Madhatter and this isn’t reality at all.

Let’s begin with following the footprints in mud.

They will deliberately lead you to open a yellow door. Solidly strong in its silence it will stand. Amongst its breast, you will fall in love with a delightful charming garden basking proudly in mother natures beauty. Within this hidden gem mystical, you will hear the soft whispers of poetry. Undefined by the constraints of religion, culture, gender and beauty, you will meet a soul. Pure love in its heart. Open mindedness its brand unique. Laughter its secret remedy. Simplicity its message. And freedom its only one true desire. Beyond its layers of skin, its colour, its history or its memory. It is naked to its core. It hides behind no labels. It is unashamed to own its vulnerable insecurities. Unafraid of its failures as it is the only way, it knows it will learn growth. Flourishing in the knowledge that it is not defined by its historical disappointments. It can only move forward, one step each moment.

I embody this soul. I need no name.

I am not simply Pakistani.

I am not just a female.

I am not only a bloody Muslim.

I am not British alone.

I am not defined by my education, my employment, my wealth, my social standing, my material accumulations. I am NOT things that you can acquire as your property.

I am existence.

Once you see me, please take my loving embrace in altruism. I offer you only kindness and love. Nothing more. Nothing less. Beyond this honest encounter, you will find yourself standing in front of an enchanting river. The glistening coolness, inviting you with open arms. Don’t be afraid. Jump fearlessly as your journey has only begun. As you swim deep in this magical spell, you will awake to find yourself stood before a grand cherry tree. Open her bark door to grace the wind. He will greet you with a shy, smile small. His gentle nature enveloping your worries, a soothing sinking slowly into your soul. Take his warm hands, listen, breath, be still. He will guide you to light love, fall in love with his inner calmness. Dance to his heart beat, loud in the silence. He is my hero.

He is also another soul, seeking only the greater good.

He is not only Black.

He is not just American.

He is not a simple Man.

He is not a brainwashed convert.

He is not a product of his families past.

When you are fully nourished in his peaceful serenity, gather your strength. I warn you. Build your inner walls, firmly firm. Do not take down your armour as this next part of our star crossed love story is definitely not so peaceful. Hold his image in your heart and close your eyes tight. The whirlwind is coming for you. Even I do not, which door you will open. But open you will. Its just one of those moments. As the wind crashes in your deaf ears and your whole body trembles nervously, I remind you to find love in your heart. Then with a thud noisy, you will find yourself sinking in front of the watchful eyes of an aged oak door. Be quick on your feet, you cannot sink at this hurdle.

Behind this door you will find chaotic noise. It is the centuries old. This terror, stemming from long buried trauma. Trauma of poverty, born in the soil of a village in Pakistan. At the brink of war with India in 1947. Sadly, it began way before this. However, my memory unable to transcend beyond this. Trauma of slavery to the once mighty British empire. Trauma of deeply rooted religious differences. Trauma of separation from families that only forged patterns of patriarchy, power, superiority. Trauma of oppression to society, cultural binds and shameful buried secrets of violence, abuse and hatred. This is my villainous family. Behind its mask of civilities, educated post modernism, it really is an evil that lurks on the surface. All you need is to prod the sleeping beast, it will quickly ink you with its vicious claws. Its poison slowly killing you, yet you wont even know.

It is no secret, I was sexually abused as a child. Incest to be precise. I am mentally, emotionally, psychologically abused even until now. He was my biological brother. We are family. We were always Muslim. We lived in England. We are all educated professionals. Wait, you wonder where I am going with this? Well, these are the blood ties that call me to obey their demands of loyal honour. Yes, that’s my point. Behind this door are the horrors that guilt my heart into conformity. However, they don’t dare look in the mirror to see their inner guilt. An inherent hypocrisy breeding life into wounded souls. Here, we are at cross roads. My heart belongs to a beautiful soul. He is the flame burning my very own light. Then there is my blood song. My optimistic hope desires for their change but with each curve ball, my candle light is dimmed.

We are one of the same.

This is the sad reality that blind eyes fail to see. I was not born a white supremacist. But I was born into interracial racism. My light skin colour is of no significance. I am not above another. Long historical ideology of ‘whiteness’ deeming white as superior also runs in my bloodline. I choose not to ascribe to this. However, familial conformity rendering others ignorant. The serpent of hypocrisy lies dormant until its slumber is perturned by the unexpected. I poked it with my powerful, passionate love affair with a soul dipped in black ink. It wasnt deliberate, it was destined. It was the time to wake up and take ownership of our hideous truth. The polite niceities of religion falling apart the moment its cultural appropriation threatened. God no longer was gracing these paths as viciousness attacked, slandered and accused his character. Our giant mirror of lies cracking further. The earth beneath our feet dragging us closer to burning hell.

The mockery, you ask? Yes. We are stained in our own blood. Bleeding at the hands of daggers that we bury deep in each others hearts. Yet, we still find fault in others, justified with racist ideology, stereotypes fueling fear of the unknown. Choking in the cluthes of assumptions based on untruths unfounded. Drowning beneath pathetic layers of material consumption. And worst of all, living lies for the sake of cultural communal conformity, none of whom in reality give a fuck about us anyway. But you find yourself stained in this filth. The shrill enough to kill anyone. These echoes ring in my ears, even when I pray they fade.

He is not Pakistani.

How do we know if he is a true Muslim?

He does not speak our language.

He does not follow our customs.

He does not understand family.

He is not of high social standing.

He might be a murder.

He is not good enough.

Please take my hand, together we will exit this nightmare. The joke is on them. My soul loves his soul. Nothing else matters.

Let’s close this racist revolving door forever.


Farewell old family. Good day new one.



Little heart

Dear little heart,

I write this in the hope you can hear me. I have been trying unsuccessfully to cure you from your ill fated disease. The disease that you call kindness. It is killing you. I watch you die each time your compassion, kindness, consideration or the need to save the world surfaces. And truth be told it surfaces a lot. Yet, you expect me to stand by whilst you repeat the same old cycle. I’m not tired of you. I worry that this cycle cannot be broken by you alone. Change requires others to evolve. Here, no one else evolves. Unfortunately, I recognise I cannot cure your inflictions unless you willingly join me on this journey.

So, what do you prefer I do? I tell you now, I cannot play your Punch and Judy anymore. In your need to save others, you do not see that you are hurting us. And I can no longer watch slowly fading scars, to only resurface another time. Please, offer us the kindness to let this endless battle end.

Family is where love truly begins. Sadly, our loyal heart has no real family to call its own. We do not and cannot belong to this family. Again, I plead that you let them go so we can breathe as one. We will always love them regardless of their past actions. We will live in hope. But we will not die in the arms of their tiresome battles futile. I know you know this. Please don’t be blinded by the misconception of altruism as it will lead us aimlessly astray.

You are love in your each breath. We need no further validation or cure beyond that.

Your honest companion,


Love poison

IMG_0896It wasn’t as if I had this insatiable hunger for luxurious materialism. It was much simpler.

Unconditional, undeniable, infectious love. All I ever wanted. Why the bloody hell was it so hard for the world to understand this simplicity?


1979 was the glorious year, for all beginnings to begin.

Two embryonic lives nestled safely in a cocooned sheltered in oblivion. Blissfully unaware of mysteries eager to revel in their separate existences. Fates sealed behind invisible doors.

Until, one premature morning in March, under the guise of a stormy torment, a caterpillar nervous crawled from the womb of its disappointed mother. One half of a heart torn apart, beating erratically within its confines.

I am that misfated caterpillar. 

Nine months later, a surprisingly bright December morning, the gentle wings of a shy butterfly flutter to life. It’s search for his missing heart beat, a race against time ticking.

He was alive, unknowingly anchored to my rhythm. 

Waves of an ocean dividing time and space into strangers. We lived our lives, unaware of our co-existence. Determined to forge our own ways. Yet, our destiny stirring amongst sullen, unspoken memories old. Wandering, asleep in our own wakeful daydreams.

All I ever wanted was belonging. A place called home where I could sprout my wings, emerge from being a weak caterpillar to a free spirit. Loved for my existence, for my heart, for my soul. Embodied in my messy layers. However, bound by the blind chains of familial conditionality, I never shone. Unable to fully wake up. The simplicity of my heart, lost amongst years of chaotic chaos. Lost in the depths of misguided altruism, unable to truly “see” the burden ebbing at my soul.

Today, my heart bleeds in a pain unspoken. Watching itself break into fragments tiny. A shattered mirror, scarred. Behind it’s veil, it dies, every time it’s loved ones tear themselves as their savage beasts relish in its wicked delight. The mocking twinkle a stinging imprint on my soul. The greedy hunger happy to feast on distrustful anger. From behind the sidelines I wait. Life in midsummer Manchester continues at a pace abnormally normal.

Soon after my 37th birthday, my disatisfied soul, embarked on a journey that was no longer waiting in a long queue of lost and found. Desperate to explore possibilities beyond my shackles, I stumbled upon a door virtual, nevertheless a  door indeed.

“Cosmic calling. How do you reply?”

Its only indication of existence. To many surprises, someone replied. The once, small butterfly, now basking in his full magnitude, heeding my call. His long sleeping heart, finally, alive.


This is where our love story begins. It is not born here because it was in motion way before we connected on this earth. Nothing could deter us now.

Unburdened by our physical distance. Undeterred by our racial differences. Undisturbed by our histories. Unprovoked by our memories. Nothing would stand in our way. Nothing at all could forbid our hearts from uniting.

A year later, with our hands briefly interlaced as one, we pledged our unbreakable bond. Unashamed to be alive, to be free, we danced amongst the wind. Our silence stronger than our spoken words. A language we understood before our birth. The promise of unconditional love, fulfilled.

No matter what anyone says, we are not designed to live apart. Yet, still many feel compelled to pigeon hole us behind cages. Our biggest mockery, “cultural appropiateness”. I am not milk white, I am a mocha latte born into Pakistani heritage. On the other  hand, he is midnight moonlight born into Black Americanisation. Our differences, really no difference at all. We did not fail the standards of humanity. At the very core of existence, we are humanity. The several faces of my heritage, may wish to silence our unique cocktail into a box of conformity, yet we will not go quietly. We belong in no box of any kind because we are the masters of our destiny. I am no slave to my history, to my heritage, to my culture, or my language. Above all, he is not a sacrificial lamb, dancing to the tune of my families insecurities or unrealistic cultural expectations. I refuse to bend his will, unwilling.

We are wild fire staging a riot beneath the magical glow of the moonlight. We burn light into life itself. For now, I may still be a caterpillar but I am on my way to sweet freedom. We maybe temporarily apart, our hearts still one though. His wings glistening in morning dew. I wait, patiently to hear his soft tune. We will unite, if not in this lifetime, then in any other. I will always find him, no matter what.


His heart beats in my chest, until the shell of this caterpillar succumbs to its death. Even then, we will live on, in the wind, in the arms of starry midnight and in your hearts.

We are love. Unconditional.