Nothing Box

Nothing. Whatever.

During melt downs, sometimes, I type a long post on Facebook and eventually not hitting the Post button and deleting all of it because of who I am as a person. Ha.

But this time, I was able to save it because typing effort counts. Whatever.


This is not a self-appreciation nor a self shaming post but if you decide to give a pak ganern, read until the end.

I am not the best. I am not perfect. I’m too flawed. I am bad. I am tactless on the things I say and on the actions I do. I hurt people. I take them for granted. I am a hermit. My inside walls are black and I have no furniture. I often chant in candle light while rocking back and forth on the floor. I classified myself too far from the people whom I thought were bad for me that eventually I became one of them, on my own, by myself.

You see, I may not be the person some of you have pictured and assumed me to be. My Instagram posts, Twitter retweets, Facebook’s display picture likes, follower counts and merits doesn’t give an exclamatory point to my whole existence. LOL, I was exaggerating on the previous sentence. But HEY! I am a whole lot more. We all are.

I got fireworks within me. Better yet, I got riots within me. I got this whole sharp horns and fangs in me. I have done things that I am not proud of. And I have a mile list of insecurities. I get pissed for no apparent reason. I say No to things and eventually regret everything after uttering N and O. I cry myself to sleep for troubles that are not worthy to be troubled for. I ask myself ‘Why do these things happen to me?’ when in fact those were just the product of the decisions I selfishly took before. I am a mess. A total mess.

My personality is a jungle that if you decide to set a foot on my life and when you can’t handle the rain in me, you’ll get sick and you’d be lost. I am made of body cells and not with porcelain. I am made with cracks and I have mistakes. I have melancholy at the end of every smirk. I am my own kind of havoc. And I am not ashamed of that.

I am a work in progress and I am still learning my way and trying and fighting and keeping my balls in tact. I am learning.

So, to you, reader, I know it’s been hard for you to keep up but you did, and you still is. Thank you. Thank you for walking through thunderstorms and breathing fire with me. Thank you for holding on and for nailing a hard job of staying in my life. Thank you. I appreciate you.

PS. If you happen to reach here, Thank you so much for giving a pak ganern.




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