So I'm outside a shope here with my sister waiting for it to open so that she could take her money. I know I've short time to write but while I'm free, why not write? I've to post more blogs for I'm in the early stage. And also how good it feels when your blog is published. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna talk here, how good it feels to write. Let's see how did I come to feel it. So today scrolling thru fb, which everyone does, I saw posts that I'm mostly jealous of... what kinda posts?
(Just to update, now I'm in this place called Livestock where I come every evening to read my novel, but first I'm gonna finish off my post)
There's this boy named Basit. A very good boy in every way: looks, confidence, living, studies, fame, friends, and people in his support. All the goods that I dearly miss to a limit and I regret them everyday, then accepting I don't deserve them. There will be a wave of sadness and dark as I talk everytime, so don't mind please. Anyways, Basit posted his eye-catching picture the other day. So cool, so pretty, and there were likes and comments. Before going to the comment that shut me down, I'd take a time to explain the background of his photo. So there were these reddish boats and this beautiful lake with green mountain kinda thing behind them. He wore a blue hoodie and it looked perfect. I wish I had a picture like that, but I'm not that good with looks. So that background is not of where we 'hazara' people live. We live, most of us, in Pakistan and in Quetta city where it isn't that green. So yeah, remember I mentioned that he's good with studies as well, by that I meant he's in Netherlands for studies with all the people from around the world. Most of them girls. God, I can only imagine how would that be to be there around all those girls and people! Huh ): So now to the comment, it was of my ex-gf's sister's, Hameeda, and the comment was 'Noorbandag' which means 'pretty' but in much sweeter way than just pretty. I don't why, maybe because I'm sensitive and vulnerable due to the fact that no one likes me like that or no one is with me or loves me or comments on picture, but it disturbed me a lot. It always does. Everytime. Just think about that people, someone's post and the likes the comments, disturbing this one lonely person... it may not sound a great deal but it really is hurtful. If someone feels the same way, do contact me, we'd make good friends :) So now let me bring all these and link them to my topic for this post... how good it feels to write. So everytime I open my fb, those posts are there because I'd wanna face then than to run away from them. But last time I opened it didn't shook me that much. I felt okay he's that good but I'm doing great myself now that I've started blogging. I write and let all those evil feelings, such as grief, sorrow, jealously and belittlements, out of me and would make the slighest of peace within me. Also when I was taking my sibling to school this morning, I felt that little good again, that I'm actually not a pointless existence. I have this too, the uneasiness when I walk on the road or even when I ride my bike, I feel people are watching and judging me at the same time. Thinking about how I've not been able to do anything this year: I couldn't teach at school, and for the period I did I was a pathetic teacher, and the fact that I couldn't pass out my improvement exams, or that I couldn't secure any admission anywhere for my further studies, and now I'm broke and home all day, ashamed of myself. But this morning when I was riding my sister to school, I felt bit of good and peace knowing that now I'm writing and that it meant something. But still seeing the students of Pentagon school, where I taught for a month or so, I feel judged and ashamed. I assume they must be thinking what a sir we had who was fired just after a month and now every morning his eyes are unwashed and sleepy, meaning he's jobless and probably gonna go back home and sleep because that's the to escape... which in fact I do ):
I can't talk anymore, I'm talking evil... which, I don't know why, I do everytime I talk about myself. I guess I'd just read the novel now.