Diary Without Pages

Trivia I find Ignored


Honest Choices

For the last six-ish months, I’ve been learning Arabic. It’s not one of those side projects, or extra credit kind of deal, we’re talking full time, 5 hours a day, 6 days a week. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve even started thinking in Arabic, however clumsily. My professors tell me that’s a milestone. I don’t know, still feels like a shitload I don’t have a clue about.

Since the first time I walked into a school, to the day of graduation, what I studied, what I learned, what I memorized has been predetermined. Anything and everything that I have associated with the word ‘study’ was what I was supposed to study. I learned what was laid out for me. From a syllabus I had no say over. I didn’t hate it, per se, I was good at it. Didn’t really have to struggle much, took it all in stride. Eventually, it did get kind of old. Don’t get me wrong though, I absolutely loved school. And college. But it didn’t even occur to me, until after graduation, that now I had a choice. An actual choice.

I could become an architect, an aeronautical engineer (I became one in a dream I had long time ago, so it sort of stuck in my mind), a doctor (well, not really, I didn’t go to pre-med) or anything in between. So when I did chose, learning a language, I mean, it was my choice, mine. And that more than anything else, made me want to learn, want to speak it more and more fluently, made me want to be so good at it, that I could be happy with myself.

Usually, I don’t really like to talk about myself, I’m more of a people pleaser, so I try to be funny, end up being sarcastic, because I don’t really know how to be funny. But this is an honest-to-goodness diary entry, that I had to write somewhere down, and since I didn’t really want to get a diary just for this, so there.

To all my old, old friends on wordpress, I hate apologizing over and over and over, but every time I write a post, it’s usually been such a long time since the last one that I feel like I have to, like I owe you guys. Even though you probably have forgotten my name by now, I haven’t.



Before The Dead

Just the other day, I was walking down the street. Blinding car lights everywhere, honking like no tomorrow. Hawkers yelling at the top of their voices, people shoving other people and other people shoving back, and great roadside brawls, everyone cheering for the underdog, heartening, really.

So, I was walking down the street, and hear this, ’cause this is unbelievable!! Like, seriously WOW!! Capital letters and all.

So, there I was walking down the street, and as I was halfway across, I noticed something odd. I tilted my head sideways, just enough to look back, and the realization that hit me was beyond staggering. I came to a halt. Taking in the impact. Maybe the harsh wind was messing with my head, or maybe it was one of those inexplicable moments, but the only thing that I can clearly remember feeling is – giddy. Exultantly, blissfully giddy. I can’t explain it, I just – can’t.

Anyway, as I gathered my wits, I looked back at the street, with a different perspective. Casually, I resumed walking. Acutely aware of everything around me, more so than usual, I closed in on the exit. A steel door, barred, leading to the cemetery.

I took one calculated step across the thin crack on the road, that marked the territory of the dead. Looked back, and stepped into the cemetery. I turned at the spot, gazing at what lay before. And I thought to myself,

Tomorrow is my English test, and I desperately need to write something, anything to get back in the hang of things. And if somebody is still reading this they either really really like me or they’re just a sucker for suspense.


On Stage

Today was my first presentation – ever! And in all the places that it could have gone wrong – it didn’t. How thankful I am for that, few can understand.

True I nearly lost consciousness at the first question my arch-nemesis threw at me beautifully side tracking, as is his specialty. If there is anything he’s good at, it’s making me look stupid (he got his payback – with interest). Lucky for me though, somebody coughed, and the cough sounded a lot like the answer, which, I suspect, was not an accident. The rest went smoothly. Nobody asked anymore questions, maybe they were afraid I’d beat ’em to a pulp if they did, even I wouldn’t put it past myself. Or maybe they were all too nervous, this being there first time too. I go with the latter, for conscience sake.

Now I could sit here and pat myself on the back on a triumph well earned, and the fierce pleasure I got upon seeing my rival ashen faced at his frankly pathetic presentation, if I may be so crude, but that wouldn’t be characteristic of the lovable young boy that I am, now would it?! I didn’t think so either…

So, enough about how incredibly cool you people think I am (epitome of narcissism). I have my work cut out for me (movies, 15 in 2 days! this is no laughing matter). So I’ve got to get to work right now, time’s a wastin’.


The Crossing

For two people who couldn’t have been more different and who’ve never met each other at a distance of less than 3 meters – we get along pretty well. As we pass by each other almost every day, me, worked up about one thing or the other. And him, clearly mourning rapid loss of hair – we learn to put aside our worries for a few fleeting moments and admire each other’s punctuality. On time, every time.

He needed a haircut that day – desperately. The first day. I waited for him to catch my eye. I knew my voice couldn’t reach him, and even if it did, he wouldn’t be able to make out what I said over the sounds of engines roaring and horns beeping. He looked over to me; expecting me to be there as I always am, six days a week.

“Haircut!”, I pretended to shout.

It took him a while to understand what I was doing. A little taken aback, “Sick yesterday!”, he mouthed back.

“Tomorrow then?”, quizzically, I asked.

His nod came right before he motioned me to pass. I obliged, followed by an incredulous biker, who wanted to know why I was muttering to myself with such enthusiasm. The thought of stopping the ambulance nearby must’ve occurred to him, there was mental written all over me. But he seemed like a man in a hurry and besides this was rush hour we’re talking about.

Sure enough, the next day the traffic guy looked a lot more presentable than yesterday. I gave him a thumbs-up and he returned with a smile. Followed by a chat on the weather , he, on the middle of the junction, me, at the very start of the lane.

I think we’ve both found the funny in this situation and that’s why we look forward to meeting each other every day at the main crossing that separates the east end from the west end of the city.

Our everyday meeting mainly consists of lip reading and little questions like, “Forgot your muffler today?” , “You heard? Pepsi is now 18Rs. Apiece! And I remember the days when it was 9.”,”It was 5 when I was a kid.”, indignantly, he’d reply.

The most fun part is looking at the bewildered expressions of people waiting patiently for the signal to open. Convinced they had uncovered the communication patterns of secret agents. Our little chit chat has successfully aroused the suspicion of 9 out of 10 people that pass by. Their curiosity. PRICELESS!


Being Blatant

If you are ever have the misfortune of meeting me in person. You’ll find that not only do I set the trend for weirdos all around the globe but also am a complete nightmare to hang around with. Why I have more friends than all my siblings put together, is simply beyond me. This, I suspect, is the reason why I haven’t been allowed to join the introvert club just yet (Regulations state that no more and no less than one friend = yourself).

I mean, OK, am I really that bad? If you ask my closest, most trusted and relied upon friend, my bosom buddy, my chum, my pal –


According to that guy, I promised him that I’d pay half the bill for the paint-balling match we had organized for 10, but I ducked out near the end, complaining I really had to go to the bathroom – and I never came back.

In my defense, I have a tiny bladder – and I felt that back home was the place to be. Instincts, you gotta follow ’em.

A guy at the mall thought I was being an impudent jerk when I told him that if he shows even a hair’s width of more ass he could easily land a job as a gay-magnet.

Truth be told, women would give anything to have a cleavage like the one he was showing off – in a twisted sort of way.

I remember a cousin and me playing billiards once. He was going on and on about something his girlfriend did – or didn’t do, to be more precise (she forgot his birthday, and here I thought girls were supposed to be sensitive about that sort of stuff o.0). I don’t know why but I found it amusing at best. I could sense that he was on the verge of tears. I tried to feel sorry for him, I really did, but I just wasn’t getting that vibe when you know when the situation is serious. So I just kept on teasing him. Again – instincts are everything. In the end, the club manager had to kick us both out. Few people can handle others’ misery (Not me). Fewer still, manage to keep their temper with heartless bastards. Apparently he is not one of them. Go figure.


No Name

We have casual chats with people we see everyday, like the guy standing next to the hot dog stand every time you are there. Or the cleaning lady at the hospital you visit regularly, or the sweet girl at the canteen whose sneeze is like an elephant blowing its trumpet. They all have one thing in common…


I saw the sky get smaller and smaller as I gasped for breath. Next thing I knew I was rolling on the ground. My hands clenching my stomach. A mixture of grass and mud plastered. I felt my face muscles constrict, my legs thrashing like a man on his death bed…

15 minutes earlier…

I was sitting in the lawn, shading my face with one hand and trying to read something written on a bit of paper with the other. The sunlight was comforting for a while. But only for a while; then it just got plain hot. I shifted to make my back face the sunlight. A reflexive shudder ran down my spine, as if to acknowledge the welcome change in temperature.

My eyes darted around a bit, then settled on the shadow approaching me from behind. I immediately recognized the great hairstyle (bald). A friend’s friend. The bald look suites him, he’s one of few who can pull it off. He settled next to me, his expression, serious.

When he spoke, there was a pleading note in his voice.

“You know that guy who hangs around me a lot after class, the one with the braces still on?”

“Yeah, course, he’s glued to your group 24/7.”

“Yeah, well see, the things is, its his birthday tomorrow….”


“A couple of friends of mine decided to throw him a party of sorts, seeing as how he has no relatives in town and all.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, the thing I wanted to say is, umm….the thing is…”

My back was getting uncomfortably warm by now. I had trouble staying in one spot for more than 5 seconds. Seeing the expression on my face, he thought I was getting tired of the conversation (which I was, truth be told), so he jumped to the point.

“The thing is we don’t know what to write on the cake.” he blurted.

I stopped fidgeting.

“Come again.”

“I said, we don’t know what to write on his cake!!”

“You want to write a witty comment on his birthday cake?!!”

“His name!! we don’t know his friggin’ name!!!!


It took a while, but then it hit me. At first I thought he was retarded or something, but then it started to make sense. The more it made sense the funnier it got.


The Right Way

In our everyday life, there are small things, almost non-existent, so trivial, in fact, that the mind refuses to store this information in the back of the head. This is no philosophy, rest assured, I’m not nearly as boring as that.

Imagine going into a grocery store, meeting an acquaintance by chance. What’s the first thought that comes to mind? I bet you ask the person how the day’s been, how the kids are doing, how’s work and the norm. In short, small talk.

There’s nothing wrong about it right, just a healthy way to kill time. Or is it? – Do you really want to know how his life is as boring as it gets. Or how he is living the happily-ever-after that you dreamed up? When you don’t give a rat’s ass about how he got a gold medal in bowling last Sunday, why, oh why do you ask him how the tournament went?!

If you ask me, this thing makes our lives more of a pain than it has to be. Its the weirdest form of a self-imposed obligation. In which, nobody, absolutely nobody, in all totality and absolution, nobody (I cannot stress this enough!) gets the slightest bit of benefit; no matter how you look at it. Its forced smiles here and forced smiles there.

I’ve been to a store many times. Never actually bought stuff (I’m the escort), but that’s besides the point. I’ve been in plenty of conversations, no surprises there, but never the normal routine chat. I hate that sort of conversations, just not my type. But this sounds a lot more like me on a harmless tour of the mall.

Believe it or not (don’t), I’m a part of a gang called PSF that beats people up because they are ugly looking. You’ll find chains and whips in my room (for violent purposes only!) and a couple of glocks here and there. You know, regular stuff.

And that, people, is how my first conversation with a complete stranger went. The guy was petrified (understatement). PSF is a well known group of students that are often associated with mishaps (Solely rumors, in my opinion) Apparently I fit the description of a gangster pretty well, because this guy did not come back to pick up the bag of chips he dropped by my feet – no matter how loud I shouted that I was just kidding.