Millions of silver stars dotted the sky that chilly summer night as I sat cuddled up with my periwinkle-blue blanket on the brass swing, looking out at the neighborhood dollhouses, the soft lights within them, blowing out like candles on a cake. An engine burred faintly in the distance, teenagers drinking and driving their way into oblivion, their crazy laughs echoing in the night. A sudden wave of sadness washed over me then, a lone tear slipping past my cheek, leaving behind a salty trail. A home in the suburbs, a beautiful garden, a nice car. I had it all, apparently. But what use is all that, when you have no one to share it with? I always thought I'd be able to survive on my own, away from prying eyes, at peace in my own little world. Little did I know how lonely life gets when you have nobody to go back home to, nobody to confide in, nobody to lean on when the going gets tough.

I let out a long sigh and look down at my hands. The skin is cracking and I almost start to pick at it, before I force myself to get up and get some lotion from the fridge so I can massage it into the cracks and smooth them over. As soon as the creamy liquid hits my palm though, I shiver from head to toe. It's as cold as ice but once I start to rub it in, body heat comes through.

Looking back up at the shaded sky, through strands of sandy hair, it's a beautiful sight. The moon is back and brighter than ever, illuminating the world with its heavenly light. I almost feel it looking at me, softly. As if it too, understands what's it's like to be alone.

You and me, we're like two peas in a pod, aren't we, mister?

I imagine getting into gardening at the age of 71. Tending to your garden whilst breathing in the warm, fragrant summer air with all the flowers in bloom has a very relaxing and satisfying feel to it. Turn this into a metaphor and it could signify watching your kids and their kids bud and blossom with the passage of time. I also imagine I'd be spending a lot of time in parks. There's this one near my home, it's called Hilal Park and it's beautiful. It's always buzzing with people laughing and chattering away with their loved ones yet it's something about the infrastructure, the way that the park itself is built on layers of rock that makes one feel peaceful and connected to nature. So yeah I think I see myself sitting there with a bunch of old ladies, chatting away about life and what it's become.

Millions of tiny raindrops pitter-patter across my windshield as I drive along the flooded streets of Karachi at 20 kmph. The sky is flashing purple every now and then and I'm seeing blurry but I keep on going straight ahead with my blinkers on, hoping and praying I don't crash into anybody's car or bike. You must be wondering why I'm out and about at this hour. It's cause our generator's running through petrol like crazy and now there's none left.

Finally, the petrol pump comes into sight and I release a shaky breath. I take the dusty blue can out of the backseat and start to get it filled up.

"That'll be Rs.5000."

My eyes almost roll out of their sockets at that but I reign it in, pay the man and start to move back out onto the streets. 20 litres for 5k. Can you believe it? My parents and I could get a 3 course meal for that price. I shake my head and resume driving, making sure to hide my watch and rings under my sleeve so I don't get robbed or something. This is the state we live in.

Oh, how much I miss my bed. I could give anything to fall asleep right now but I gotta keep my eyes wide open so I don't run someone over. In our country, people don't use the footpaths, oh, no. They just think they own the damn road and walk all over the place so you gotta be extra careful, otherwise you'll end up paying for all the damages. Keeping that in mind, I drive along the broken roads of DHA, trying to avoid the many potholes and failing miserably. I hope to God I don't dent the car. It's not the dents that'll get to me, it's my father's disappointment when he sees them.

At long last, I see my home in the distance and soon enough I'm turning into the driveway before getting out into the cold and running to the generator with the can so we can finally have some peace while we sleep.

My bed, my best friend, here I come.

Deep blue waves of aqua waver in the wind for a split second before crashing inwards, foam bubbling and spreading across the sea as they still. The sky pales in comparison as puffs of grey begin to accumulate, ready to burst any minute. The water is wild now, the edges sharp, the air crisp. In the middle of it all, a lone ship makes its way to nowhere in particular. One might think the man had a death wish. They would be right. This man is ready to embrace the raging sea. He is ready to let it swallow him whole and he will do so with a smile on his face, though you can't really tell whether he's smiling or not. Maybe it's just the wind pushing back against the loose folds of his skin. Or maybe he's lost it. You'll never know. Because before you try to decipher it, a giant wave will envelop him and all that will remain, will be the chipped boards of the ship. r what's left of it anyway.

Swirls of grey brood in the sky above my little head, imminent danger lurking in the wind. There's now a strange hole up there, the kind that throws you up into another world: puffy white clouds, sunshine, rainbows, only to bring you crashing right back down. It seems to me exactly how life is. One moment everything can seem perfectly fine and the next you're right back where you started: in your very own shithole. So I guess that's what it looks like. A shithole. Ready to throw itself at the ground and mercilessly devour everything in its path.

I don't know how I came to be here. I guess it was my mind that brought me to this place, though I can not, for the life of me, remember being here in real life. It's a lonely place. I'm picking soft, white daisies growing on moist, dewy grass. The plains stretch for miles, beyond my sight's reach. There's a plateau behind me and the grass on it seems to be freshly cut and shaved. Minty aftershave lingers in the mist that seems to be growing heavier by the minute. It settles in my chest, almost suffocating me. It takes every ounce of energy in me to turn myself around, maneuver past the chubby ducks in the pond, nibbling at pieces of floating bread and lay myself flat out at the top of the plateau. My bones ache, my muscles are heavy, I can't move.

It's when the first few droplets hit my face that I shake myself awake. They feel like bullets, piercing my heart, where it aches the most. I try to get up and run but to no avail. It's too strong, I can't survive it. The annoyance at my lethargy, mingled with this irrational fear makes me twist and turn in bed. With crusty eyes I try to glimpse the face of the clock, faintly ticking beside my head.

3:16 am

I groan softly. Another dream gone by, another night wasted. Will I ever get my happy ending, if only in my head? Probably not. But maybe that's the point. You gotta fix what's out there in order to fix what's going on in there. Or is it the other way around? I don't want to know anymore. I just want to sleep.

When I think of seasons passing by,

My mind goes to puffy white clouds, drifting across the blue sky,

Giving us momentary relief as they still for a while,

Only to disappear, not to be seen again for miles.

These clouds never seem to stay put in one place,

They're constantly shifting, changing their pace,

But when I look at the colors of the horizon, fading into one another, time and time again,

I feel a glaring truth in my brain:I feel a glaring truth in my brain:

The seasons will change and so will we,

Everything is temporary.

My favorite word would be April because it reminds me of hummingbirds in Spring, sucking sweet nectar from the blossoming flowers and of the koel whose beseeching voice signals the arrival of mangoes, ripe and yellow, just waiting to be picked and eaten. The word April also reminds me, strangely enough, of Moringa beans that hang slender on thin branches. Their flowers are often cooked with meat in Punjab and the beans are cooked with yoghurt curry in our home.

My personal heaven would consist of all my favorite sweet treats: strawberries dipped in velvety milk chocolate, mango flavored macaroons, ice cream, butterscotch, with pecan nut and caramel drizzle on top, chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream, bananas and some buttermilk syrup, pretzels, dusted with icing sugar and cinnamon... I could go on and on but I think I'll stop here before I start drooling all over my screen haha. This is my idea of a personal heaven. Just me stuffing my face with sugary goodness all day long. Minus the weight gain.

It was a beautiful, chilly evening when our car stopped at a black gate somewhere in DHA (Defense Housing Authority), an area towards the South of Karachi. I remember wearing a plain white gharara and a long sleeved net shirt with silver bangles that were gifted to me by my grandmother, glinting softly in the moonlight. They came out to greet us, his parents, shaking hands and hugging my parents before letting us in. They led them into their sitting room while I was left alone with him in the dining room. He stood there in front of me, smartly clad in a grey shirt, white coat and grey pants, with black hair slicked back and brown eyes twinkling like stars as they looked at me. We talked but I don't remember what was said. All I can remember is him flashing his pearly white smile at me, making me blush tomato red and that our conversation felt like witty banter because I felt the mental stimulation as I was talking to him in my dream. Then our parents came into the scene and our time alone was up but I still remember feeling giddy at the thought that I'd found my soulmate. Finally. Even though it was just a dream, I'll never forget that man nor our time together. Here's to hoping I'll find him someday.

I love that I'm friendly. I make sure to give a big smile to every stranger I come across.

I love my confidence. Despite my stutter, I keep talking until I get my point across.

I love my mind. I just love the way it works sometimes. It takes me into different realities and opens me up to new possibilities. It keeps me busy with the most bizarre thoughts that it can conjure up and lessens my boredom.

I love my gut. It helps me read people in an instant so that I know exactly what response to give to in order to get what I want.

I love my wit. It makes me keep up with people in conversations, making each and every talk as interesting as the last.

Most of all, I love myself for who I am and I wouldn't want to be anyone else.