The First Word Message from the Editor
Emotions Translated Poetry from the heart
50th Anniversary of the Conspiracy Queen Monroe
7 9 17
Marilyn Monroe Cover Story
KC Inklings Results
27
Flowing Ink
31
Prose
Secrets and Rumors Tidbits of what our readers have shared with us
Book Review The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks
49 53
Ziad Bashir Amna Aslam Sanniah J. Minhas Syed Sameer Rahman Ahmed Zafar Maryam B. Mirza Aniqa Mumtaz Head of IT Department Daniyal Shahid HR Manager Amal Javed Dar Head of Graphics Waleed Waris Member - Aimen Zia Creative Director Nauman Khalid Head of Marketing Syed Faizan Ali Member - Hiba Hassan
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This issue is decidedly more different than any other we’ve taken out. It has a theme that all of you can relate to in one way or another. There were times during compiling this issue that we had tears in our eyes, and then there were moments when we had grins wide enough to crack a face. We really hope it will take you through the same emotions that we experienced. I would like to specially mention the cover story by Aniqa Mumtaz and also commend the team of interns at iE Creative Horizon for their help in this issue. For now, that’s all from me. Instead here’s a teaser of sorts to this issue, written by our regular contributor Noor Rehman. Cheers! Your secrets are safe with us. “Hey you, sitting there with your head flung back in the shadows of the world that leaves you behind as it passes, barely glancing at the girl its breaking down. Yes you, with those swollen eyes, red and hurting. You, with those nails-bitten down and colorless- you refuse to paint them because you’re scared the color will catch their eyes. And if it catches their eyes it’ll draw them to the scars you hide, because that will just start another round of questions and taunting stares and gesture of the holier-than-thou. All those scars, on your arms, in your veins and (as strange as it
seems) through your heart that seem to open fresh every time someone stares or calls you out on yet another story they’ve heard. Another secret, another rumor that you can’t deny because you swore you would never speak out. And it’s times like this you wonder why they told you to back away and bite your tongue, when you know that what you know could wipe those smirks right off their sneering faces and give you some respite. Because, if they knew you could bite back too, wouldn’t they leave you alone? For a second or two- enough so you could catch your breath at least. Because they lied when they said words couldn’t hurt. Because sticks and bones can break your bones, but it’s words that break your heart and it’s been broken so many times, so for once- just once- why can’t you be the one to break someone, some thing, so they’ll know just how much they’ve hurt you? Why must you go on taking the opium of the poor? Why must you be the weak one, always? That is the question you ask, every time you stare back from the mirror hanging across the room. Answer me. Silence observed to hide the flaws of another does not make you weak. If you bear the burden of a million secrets, a million rumors, a thousand
Aspiring novelist, not-really-a-closet poet, blogger; Maryam is a freshman at Kinnaird majoring in Media Studies. She hates being told that she should be studying Literature
and one lives that could be destroyed if you so much as utter a syllable, then you are not weak. You choose to veil their flaws and hide their festering wounds and bury their skeletons so deep even they couldn’t remember that you did it. You choose to be the one who tears a way in to tomorrow as they sit back and wait for it to end. You choose. Never forget that. And because you choose to be the one to stand when the world falls, because you choose to be the one who stays silent when the masses lose their heads and claw at your face, remember that it is only to hide their own puncture wounds and scars. And when you choose to do so, you become the master of your fate- you become strong- and no force on earth can change that. Especially not one borne on the smothered simpering of the weak minded fools, fuelled by the putrid stench of a million priceless puffs of oxygen gone to waste.
The Reality Romanticized Team
Gossip, love of mine, is not for you, because it is not for the strong. It is the ideal past time of the weak, it is the life line of the cowards, those ignorant fools who have nothing better to do with their lives, with each passing day and night then add to the filth in this world with their secrets and rumors. “
By Maryam Mirza | Editor
Editor Maryam Mirza Assistant Editor Aniqa Mumtaz Managing Head Hiba Hassan Designer Ayesha Raees
I am walking through the sands of time, And no matter what, I shall leave my foot prints behind, For all to see; And wonders never cease, As I shall remind them of me, Through the marks I leave behind. I am walking through this desert of time. The desert sand is hurting my feet, And the scorching sun is burning my face. Still, as I drag my legs with me, I don’t look back, And I don’t care as whatever they do, It is me they won’t ever find. The torturous rays are scalding me, And the prickly stones don’t cease to hurt. Yet, the world does not stop and neither shall I, As I shall claim what is truly mine. And the limits of time I shall certainly defy,
As I presume to travel through the depths
I am travelling through these sands of And a cruel place it is for this soul of m But blame you, I will not ever in my Dear friend, for not holding my han To save me from sinking in the san But, if you had done so, Our memories would have been left be As we travelled deep within the sands o
I will go on travelling through the depths As I hear the gusting winds rushing f And I feel my hair swaying like wind ch But all must pay heed to my words as You shall regret the pain you gave to this mine, As my suffering is what words cannot d And my memory shall live on, As I continue to travel through the sands
The Sand of Time by Iqra Khalid
s of time.
f time, mine. life, nd. nd.
ehind, of time.
of time, forth, himes. I vow, s soul of
define.
s of time.
I am travelling through the sands of time The pain within my soul, no words can define, And as I look back, I do not care what I have earned, As I did not achieve for which I yearned, And all must know, no matter what the cost to myself, I shall leave my footprints behind, For all to see, As they shall remember me through the signs I leave behind, But alas! It is me they can never find. For I am lost; my memory buried deep within the sands of time. I have been walking through the sands of time. I have been through much, And a lot I have left behind. Now I am tired and I want to rest. And no matter what they do, It is me they shall never find, As I am lost, deep within the sands of time.
Believe By Arooma Zainab Crack crack! – The life speaks, That little tough egg squeaks, Those small round eyes-innocence, Elegant soft wings begin to dance, Sensitive, soft natured & vulnerable, The young little bird isn’t yet stable, Caring, protective & of course very daring, Mother builds shield against all the glaring, Feeding and strengthening the young life, She helps him in world’s main strife, “Stay strong, keep faith & try” She says: my child, you’re born to fly, “Believe in wind & let it flow smooth” "Believe in yourself, don't let yourself stoop" “Believe in me, I’m here with you” “& believe in Him Who created you so” That little bird flies high in the air, By letting go of all the useless care, He carries some load, the one not heavy, The load is of love, belief & bravery.
She played the song again… minishing into the darkness… It brought back a time long NO! gone… She started the song again… The song was like a wraith… Why did she do that? It haunted her, It brought her pain! Came out from the shadows Reason might not explain it… to leer at her… She might have nothing to To remind her of what she gain… had lost, But sometimes there’s beauty It aimed right at her heart… in pain… ripping it apart… Sometimes when there’s no Until she could feel the blood hope… gushing out, When the love’s lost… Her soul slip away… When there’s nothing to hold And her limbs give away unonto… der the pain, There’s pain, Until there was nothing but The pain makes it real… cold, dark, silence… It makes you feel as if the love As dark as the night of the is still there, first moon… The pain will keep it alive… Ominous, dreadful, ghoulish, Every time you feel it…it will The pain built to a crescencome rushing back… do… And you let it come, And she screamed… It will make you cry and kick Slowly at first… and punch and scream… But then louder…louder… Until there’s nothing left, Louder…. But emptiness, cold, darkness, Until it was in rhythm with silence… the pain… It makes you numb… Wretched…torturous… That is when a smile will play And then it ended and she across your lips… stood there, And you’ll feel, Cold…numb…empty handed… Just like you did before. She could see the wraiths di-
Beauty in Pain By Hina Khurshid
y r a s r e v i h Ann t 50 of the ” n e e u Q y c a r i p s n “Co
“Beneath the makeup and behin wishes for t
nd the smile I am just a girl who the world.�
When you ask people about their ideals they will mostly answer with Princess Diana, Mother Teresa, Albert Einstein, Amelia Hart, and what not. If I were to answer that question, Marilyn Monroe is “the” diva for me. I can easily claim to be her biggest fan on earth. Fan of her hair, her fame, her beauty, her stardom? Well, no! I began to recognize Monroe for the first time when I received my copy of my “Life” magazine from my subscription and saw the pictures from the previous issues of “Life” with Marilyn Monroe on one of the covers, with a quote that said,
“Dogs never bite me. Just humans.” That was the moment I connected with her and from that moment onwards, Marilyn has been my idol not just ideal! A pretty face with a ragdoll side to her life, it felt like we were soul sisters and that is when I started reading up on her life as a person. In 1926 a girl was born in the charity ward at the Los Angeles County Hos-
pital who would become one of the most celebrated and enduring icons of all time – Marilyn Monroe. Norma Jeane Mortenson’s childhood was volatile as she was passed from family members to family friends and frequently stayed in orphanages as a result of her mother’s mental health. In 1945 a photographer took a snapshot of the stunning brunette while at the factory and within months she became a successful model securing dozens of magazine covers and a screen test with 20th Century Fox. Studio executives, directors and photographers immediately recognized her ability to capture and hold the attention of anyone on the opposite end of a camera lens. By the end of 1946 her hair had become a platinum shade of blonde and her name was changed to Marilyn Monroe. What happened then? What led to her devastating end? Why has the death of the most beautiful Hollywood star been a mystery for the last 50 years? Why was this poor, abandoned girl labeled a sex symbol and had so many conspiracies in the air about her when all she was trying was to find her way through all the odds?
?
The fo
MONROE DOCTRIN She was always lat arriving just befor doors. The teache not entering in the cise or, God forbid scene. Slipping in her luminous hai scarf, she tried to m spicuous. She usua the back of one of the Malin Studios smack in the middl trict. When she r speak, it was in a t She didn’t want to herself, but it was students not to kn famous movie star their acting class. A above Loew’s Stat and Broadway, th Marilyn—the one e feet tall, in that infa vertising Billy Wild Itch, a hot blast fro ing causing her whi around her thighs, sion of joy.
Marilyn and her Monsters
When it was her tu exercise focusing Marilyn took the small group of s asked to remembe life, to recall the clo ing, to evoke the s that memory. She had felt about bein years before, when walked in. Suddenl er admonished he Just tell us what yo how you feel.” Ma
ollowing are some excerpts from the “Vanity Affair” about her:
NE te for class, usually re they closed the er was strict about e middle of an exerd, in the middle of a n without makeup, ir hidden under a make herself inconally took a seat in the dingy rooms in s, on 46th Street, le of the theater disraised her hand to tiny wisp of a voice. o draw attention to hard for the other now that the most in the world was in A few blocks away, te Theater, at 45th here was the other everyone knew—52 amous billboard adder’s The Seven Year om the subway gratite dress to billow up , her face an explo-
urn to do an acting on sense memory, floor in front of a students. She was er a moment in her othes she was wearsights and smells of described how she ng alone in a room, n an unnamed man ly, her acting teacher, “Don’t do that. ou hear. Don’t tell us arilyn began to cry.
Another student, an actress named Kay Leyder, recalled, “As she described her clothes … what she heard … the words that were said to her … she began crying, sobbing, until at the end of it she was really devastated.” Was this the real Marilyn Monroe: an insecure, shy, 29-year-old woman? Now an extraordinary archive of Marilyn’s poems, letters, notes, recipes, and diary entries has surfaced that delves deep into her psyche and private life. These artifacts shed light on, among other things, her sometimes devastating journey through psychoanalysis; her three marriages, to merchant marine James Dougherty, Yankee slugger Joe DiMaggio, and playwright Arthur Miller; and the mystery surrounding her tragic death at the age of 36. Marilyn left the archive, along with all her personal effects, to her acting teacher Lee Strasberg, but it would take a decade for her estate to be settled. Strasberg died in February 1982, outliving his most famous student by 20 years, and in October 1999 his third wife and widow, Anna Mizrahi Strasberg, auctioned off many of Marilyn’s possessions at Christie’s, netting over $13.4 million, but the Strasbergs continue to license her image, which brings in millions more a year. The main beneficiary is the Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute, on 15th Street off Union Square, in New York City. It is, you might say, the house that Marilyn built. Several years after inheriting the collection, Anna Strasberg found two boxes containing the current archive,
and she arranged for the contents to be published this fall around the world—in the U.S. as Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. The archive is a sensational discovery for Marilyn’s biographers and for her fans, who still want to rescue her from the taint of suicide, from the accusations of tawdriness, from the layers of misconceptions and distortions written about her over the years. Now at last we have an unfiltered look inside her mind. “I picked up a chair and slammed it ...against the glass. It took a lot of banging. I went over with the glass concealed in my hand and sat.” Most important, this archive, far more deeply than the Inez Melson collection, made public in V.F. in October 2008, reveals a woman in search of herself, undergoing the harrowing experience of psychoanalysis for the first time, at the urging of Strasberg. The key players include Strasberg himself, her three psychiatrists—Dr. Margaret Hohenberg, Dr. Marianne Kris, and Dr. Ralph Greenson—and her third husband, Arthur Miller, whom she confesses to loving body and soul, but by whom she ultimately felt betrayed. These poems, musings, dreams, and correspondence also touch on her great fear of displeasing others, her chronic lateness, and three of the biggest traumas of her shortened life: one buried in her past, and two that took place a few years after she began studying with Strasberg. But they also reveal her growth both as an artist and a woman as she manages to cope with memories and disappointments that threatened to overwhelm her.
Included in the archive are several black “Record” notebooks—the slim, narrow, leather-bound diaries then favored by writers. The earliest of these notebooks begins with the words “Alone!!!!!!! I am alone I am always alone no matter what” in a slender, cursive script that leans dangerously forward, as if about to fall off a cliff. Marilyn apparently began recording her thoughts around 1951. Two years prior, broke and desperate, she had posed nude for photographer Tom Kelley, for a calendar series. After she signed a new contract with Fox, in December 1950, and the calendar photos surfaced, Marilyn deflected criticism by saying she had taken the job because “I was hungry.” The public forgave her. By Christmas of 1954, she was living in New York City. She had already appeared in Niagara and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, where she perfected her signature character, the vulnerable, “dumb,” sensual blonde, and, in How to Marry a Millionaire, with brilliant success. After that, Monroe’s fame was such that she supplanted in popularity the ultimate World War II pinup girl, Betty Grable, who shortly left Fox and bequeathed the largest dressing room on the lot to Marilyn. She had married Joe DiMaggio in January of that year, entertained troops in Korea, and filmed The Seven Year Itch. But the movie’s famous billboard displeased the puritanical “Yankee Clipper,” and the two filed for divorce in October, just nine months after marrying. Between her sessions with Strasberg and with Dr. Hohenberg, she began recording some of those raked-up memories, including a devastating incident of sexual abuse. Described around 1955, in an Italian notebook whose pages are lined and numbered in green, this memory fully emerges, with the humiliating aftermath of being punished by her great-aunt Ida Martin, a strict, evangelical Christian paid by Grace Goddard to look after Norma Jeane for several months from 1937 to 1938. Marilyn wrote:
Ida—I have still been obeying her— it’s not only harmful for me to do so but unreality because life starts from Now And later: working (doing my tasks that I have set for myself) On the stage—I will not be punished for it or be whipped or be threatened or not be loved or sent to hell to burn with bad people feeling that I am also bad. or be afraid of my [genitals] being or ashamed exposed known and seen— so what or ashamed of my sensitive feelings— In one of the handful of sweet and affecting poems included in this archive, Marilyn, still in the first flush of her love for Miller and imagining what he might have been like as a young boy, wrote a poem about him: my love sleeps besides me— in the faint light—I see his manly jaw give way—and the mouth of his boyhood returns with a softness softer its sensitiveness trembling in stillness his eyes must have look out wonderously from the cave of the little boy—when the things he did not understand— he forgot The poem then turns dark, a premonition, perhaps, of how the marriage would end: but will he look like this when he is dead oh unbearable fact inevitable yet sooner would I rather his love die than/or him?
Finest Surgeon— Strasberg to Cut Me Open
Ah Peace I Need You - Even a Peaceful Monster But after she and Miller traveled to England for four months for the filming of The Prince and the Showgirl, with Laurence Olivier, things began to sour. They moved into a magnificent manor called Parkside House, in Surrey, outside of London. On paper, it was an idyll: here she was producing a film directed by and starring one of the most respected actors of his generation, and living in a grand country house with the man she most loved. She couldn’t have felt more fulfilled and vindicated as an artist, until a chance discovery undermined her fragile confidence in herself and her trust in her husband. It was at Parkside House that Marilyn stumbled upon a diary entry of Miller’s in which he complained that he was “disappointed” in her, and sometimes embarrassed by her in front of his friends. Marilyn was devastated. One of her greatest fears—that of disappointing those she loved—had come true. His betrayal confirmed what she’d “always been deeply terrified” of: “To really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really,” as she wrote in another “Record” journal entry. After this discovery, Marilyn found it so difficult to work that she flew in Dr. Hohenberg from New York. She was having trouble sleeping, relying on barbiturates. On Parkside House stationery, she wrote one night after Miller had gone to bed: on the screen of pitch blackness comes/reappears the shapes of monsters my most steadfast companions … and the world is sleeping ah peace I need you—even a peaceful monster. In November 1961, Marilyn met John F. Kennedy at the Santa Monica home of actor Peter Lawford, the president’s brother-in-law. The following year, in February, she bought her first home, in fashionable Brentwood. She began filming her last movie, Something’s Got to Give, directed by George Cukor, in April of 1962. The now famous outtakes from the unfinished film—Marilyn rising naked and un-shy from a swimming pool—show her fit and radiant, at the top of her game. Her chronic lateness and absences from the set, however—something even
Strasberg couldn’t cure her of—caused her to be fired from the picture, which was never completed. Four months later, on August 5, 1962, she would be found dead from a drug overdose in her Brentwood home, an apparent suicide. For those who believe she died of an accidental overdose, mixing prescribed barbiturates with alcohol, the archive contains evidence of her optimism, her feeling that she has come to rely on herself and will solve her problems through work and her capable, businesslike plans for the future. And for conspiracy theorists who have always suspected foul play, there is an intriguing note to the effect that Marilyn might have distrusted and even feared J.F.K.’s brother-in-law Peter Lawford, who was the last person to speak to her on the phone. In the handsome, green, engraved Italian diary, probably dating to around 1956, she had appended this fearful note to a short list of people she loved and trusted: the feeling of violence I’ve had lately about being afraid of Peter he might harm me, poison me, etc. why—strange look in his eyes—strange behavior in fact now I think I know why he’s been here so long because I have a need to be frighten[ed]—and nothing really in my personal relationships (and dealings) lately have been frightening me—except for him—I felt very uneasy at different times with him—the real reason I was afraid of him—is because I believe him to be homosexual—not in the way I love & respect and admire [Jack] who I feel feels I have talent and wouldn’t be jealous of me because I wouldn’t really want to be me. Regardless, Marilyn Monroe’s personal history, achievements and contributions have made her one of the world’s greatest icons. She inspired musicians, writers and artists like Madonna, Elton John, Lady Gaga, Joyce Carol Oates and Andy Warhol to name a few with her timeless glamour and extraordinary character. More relevant today than ever, Marilyn Monroe lived a life and left a legacy that continues to excite fans all over the world celebrating her 50th anniversary memorial: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marilyn-Monroe50th-Anniversary-Memorial-August-5th2012/161495260568631
F I R S T
“I’m not a difficult person to fi He said to me.
I had a strange tingling inside feeling, something was going to knew it the moment I heard heavy, loaded, mysterious, dista so near. He spoke of clouds a tains and rain and travelling to didn’t know he was speaking my heart. I listened, making co the conversation, I couldn’t re out the word saying, but most reveren lost in his voic up. He went of took my cup o my room, sat the TV watch vorite movie f lionth time an watching it. I w my coffee, my zen at the scre mind was wan – into clouds tains and ra voice, resilient ed in my he scared. My h an adventure ing my way. M agreed. And there it was the us the mind and heart. I ignored and went on with me coffee a That seemed like a better opt time.
Stupid! Ridiculous! This couldn pening! I was staring my cell’s the hundredth time in the ing his name would pop u did. I literally jumped! It said n cept “Kia scene hai?” but I told the words he surely meant to sa
igure out...”
e me, a gut o happen. I d his voice, ant and yet and mounmy city. He straight to offee, he led eally make ds he was I listened ntly, I was ce. We hung ff to work. I of coffee to in front of hing my fafor the bilnd yet not was sipping y eyes froeen, but my ndering off and mounain and a t, resoundead! I got heart knew was comMy head dissual fight of them both and movie. tion at that
n’t be haps L.C.D. for day, wishup. And it nothing exd myself all ay.
In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. That was my moment! His voice kindled that inner fire out of nowhere that moment and suddenly everything changed overnight. It was like everything was so bleak and stagnant for so long, and those compressions and refractions stirred up a whole lot of movement in me! “IN” me, yes! For days we planned to meet. Nothing ever worked out. I did the craziest thing ever in so many years. I called up Mac Donald’s one day and ordered a double cheese burger meal for him because that day he said, “I need you here right now” and I couldn’t make it, felt bad about it (The McDonald’s people called him later asking whether he wanted it and well of course he cancelled the order). To be honest, I feared the moment we’d meet. His voice had done too much of a collateral damage. It shook the walls I had taken so much time to build around me. I feared what would happen when I meet him. I never made an extra effort to be honest. “Come and get Me.”, he kept saying to me. (I wish it was that was easy, just go and get him!). And on the most random day and the most random time, I did go to meet him! “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” In the next 10 minutes I got about 9 text messages “aa bhi jao!”, “ai k nai?”, “are you there yet?” Absence sharpens strengthens it.
love.
Presence
I waited on the roadside. We were on the phone. He walked down the road. I would be lying if I said my heart didn’t pick up pace as I saw him walk down towards me.
We met for the first time, on a roadside! Weird? Yes, but then they say “We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness - and call it love - true love.” I nearly got run over by a motorbike that day. Totally insane spot to meet but we didn’t have any choice really! The look on his face – priceless! He had a smirk sticking out yet there was something about that expression that told me clearly he felt like ripping that biker apart. He stared at me without a word. I knew he was searching for a wrinkle on my face, a single twitch that could tell him I got hit and I’ve got pain. I kept smiling. I kept telling him, “I’m alright. Please calm down, it didn’t even scratch me.” He said, “Whenever I have this smile on my face it means...” I interrupted and told him, “I know...!” It was so perfect. Like our silence spoke to each other! We shook our hands goodbye. He pulled me closer with that rascal smile on his face he usually has whenever he gets cheesy asking me to plan for a dinner. For those 5 seconds, everything around us went black! It was like a dark room and all I could see was us. I literally blushed! I pulled away laughing. We went away our own separate ways. DD asked me, “Are you really sure?” and I didn’t even have to think twice before saying “Yes!” The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space. That day I realised that yes, every exit is an entry somewhere. You know how people say “You can't always wait for the perfect time, sometimes you just have to dare to jump.” I couldn’t wait much. And I didn’t! I told him the very next day! Straight away. Amidst a very vivid, lame conversation, I told him, “He’s the ONE!”
It wasn’t too hard for him to digest apparently! That was surprising for me at the back of my head but what the hell? Nothing seemed to matter at that time! I was just too overwhelmed. They said that he walks out of your dreams and imaginations and stands right in front of you. And somehow, even in the most adverse of times, you just know it; the broken heart beats start picking up pace. At that time I could actually feel it! We met again. This time better planned, officially as some would call it. I can’t seem to find words for that day! We kept listening to Nicole Sherzinger’s Right Here ft. 50 cent over and over again for the simple reason that it was the only worth listening song in the track list that day. It was like a dream. I kept calling myself a lovesick buffoon for feeling that way. He seemed weirdly interested in my hands and my nail art and my rings. I thought it was cute. We drove out, literally patrolled roads for no good reason. He held my hand continuously, his eyes on the road, driving, he kissed my hand, many a times, I was looking at him. He was lost in thought as he kissed my hand over and over again. It was like even he didn’t realise what he was doing. We finally took a stop. He pulled me closer. I froze. That day we talked about our past, I have never felt a stronger urge to be more than just honest. I gave all my secrets away, without wincing for a moment. He had a history, so did I. I told him about me, my family, my first and only love before him, and how I’ve always been a controversy queen. We covered the major events of our lives promising we will never talk about all this again. It was on!
He was busy over the next few days with a wedding in his family. There were days when he would insist to meet and I would wait for him all day but he wouldn’t show up. One day while I waited for around 10 hours for him, and was about to go back, he did show up. I was mad beyond words. He said he was sorry and hugged me and all I could manage to say at that time was “Its OK.” I felt like my heart had stopped beating for all the time he held me close to him. I told him how I felt. He had been irritable for quite a lot of days. At times a tantrum would go unnoticed but at times even the smallest thing would earn me all his rage that he was so fond of throwing angry words at me for some unknown reason. One of those unnerving days, he lost control, said a lot! I was too hurt. I had gotten a bit habitual of those when-im-toooverloaded-i-tend-to-let-it-out-on-you-inan-ugly-way-but-i-dont-mean-it-so-please -ignore-it tantrums. That night, when he got free, he called me up, apologised. I wrote a message for him, my first real “letter”, or better call it an e-mail, to him: “So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s gonna be really hard. We’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day. I might even become the only one who appreciates how amazing you are in every single thing that you do. And the fact that I get it makes me feel good, about me. And listen to me, mister !!! You’re MY, I don't know how to put it, knight in shining armour something something! Don’t forget it! Ever! "Don’t forget I’m just a girl, standing in front of a
boy, asking weak a wo you, you kn F’s, yes I ha that it take der a sandw gulp it dow I love that nose when nuts. I love with you, I day. And love tha you are th last person want to tal to before go to slee at nigh And it’s no because I’m lonely. I’m like this be cause, a people sa when yo realize yo want t spend th rest of you life wit somebody, you want t soon as po don't give a happened! things that they mean and be toge the very fir like coming ever known ma).
g him to love her"...Love is too ord for what I feel - I luuurve now, I loave you, I luff you, two ave to invent the word!!! I love es you an hour and a half to orwich and less than 5 minute to wn your hunger-struck stomach. you get a little crinkle in your n you’re looking at me like I’m e that after I spend some time I keep smiling the rest of the I at he nI lk I ep ht. ot m m eas ay, ou ou to he ur th
the rest of your life to start as ossible. And I just love how I a damn about how fast this all It was a million tiny little t, when you added them all up, nt we were supposed to meet ether… and I knew it. I knew it rst time I talked to you. It was g home. .. Only to no home I’d n. You had me at hello (no dra-
Oh and when I met you, I was looking up and you were there too and we were being so lame but the way I felt… it was the nearest thing to heaven! …Wouldn’t it be lovely if we were old? We’d have survived all this. Everything would be easy and uncomplicated, but it was never meant to be uncomplicated...whatever! I don't know where is this all coming from!!! All i know is the t-rex that you are, you look too good to be true wearing my future...and I want to go as far as it takes, to live it with you...!” He replied to me saying how happy and scared he was both at the same time after reading my message, BUT, I need to know a few things before I really decided HE was the ONE! I wouldn’t lie, I was scared beyond words. I had a really bad first experience on love. Something, that literally tore me apart. Something that if I was given a chance to change one thing in my life, I would go back in time and never say “Yes” to that first and only guy I had allowed to enter my life. I was scared because it took a lot from me to recover from that heartache and I was not ready for another. For two days and nights, I couldn’t sleep! Couldn’t eat! The worst thoughts haunted my mind! He was just too busy all the time and I was hanging in between, not knowing if he is really with me or not. Finally, the wait was over. I had been miserable for days! I held his hand in mine as he went through all he had to say. He told me of hardships, struggles, he told me how he wasn’t certain about his future and how he was in no posi-
tion to promise me anything. He also hinted how he did not want to end up having another heartache too just because he might not have anything to give. I have been trained all my life to live through all kinds of circumstances; I told him I have seen the real highs and the real lows. I held his face in both my hands and told him “I love you, and no matter what happens, I’m in it for life.” He smiled and said, “I hope so.” He took “the” ring off of my hand. The ring that I had worn for the past 5 years, never taken it off as a sign of my sincerity to somebody who was no more! He freed my of all those demons that had haunted me all this time. He was my savior! I told myself, if it comes down to this, I’d be with him in every life!!! Forever! He fought with me all the time, like a kid literally, but slowly I was beginning to understand him. He was a lot like me in many ways. I was in love with the way he laughed his heart out and loud every time he laughed. His big white eyes always sad, mysterious, there was so much more to him that I wanted to find out all the time but – time!!! We never got enough time! He was outrageous, all a little bit of this and a little bit of that – just like me. I loved the way his forehead wrinkled and mouth curled up into that ‘:S’ state each time I was being annoying or lame. It was always out of this world feeling when he had his arm around my shoulders. When he loved, it was just too perfect! He really was MY MAN!
He was angry at me all the time and strangely enough I was beginning to love it, because I saw his love in it. He had his own way of loving. Although all this time I had this gut feeling that something is off. Has been, all along!!! I never brought it up because I never got that “time”! I never got to ask him what was wrong even though it was always on top of my head. He had to go back that day in emergency. I was upset but the only thing that helped me pull it together was the fact that I knew for sure he was coming back. His trip got longer than expected. I missed him more than I expected. I had known a longer distance relationship before but...something was awfully intense. For the first time ever in my life, I hated my city. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be there!!! Somewhere I had never fancied before but I would have given anything to be at that day! It rained. Two days became three and then five. He was coming back the day he was going to have to go the bachelor party. He told me he wanted to meet up. I did not argue for a single second. I was dying to meet him too. I arranged an advance valentine’s day celebration for him because I knew he wasn’t going to be here for it. I was going to cook for him. And I had that cake made. Chocolate cheese cake. He is distinct in his taste for everything. Something I love about him. He couldn’t make it. He didn’t know about my side of the story because well it was a surprise. We ended up fighting of course. I texted him later
telling him why I was so upset and how I had arranged so much and the fact that I was too eager to meet him because I missed him so much. He went to the bachelor party still mad at me. Strangely enough, he didn’t turn off his phone and get lost and blinded in that just-boys’-night. He kept texting me every 15 minutes. I fell all the more in love with him. He was too sincere and honest. He gave me all the world’s security and I could undoubtedly say “He’s mine!” He lost his job meanwhile. I assume I was the first one who got to know. I was in a market at that time when I received his message. I felt like tearing through the crowd and the roads and the walls and running to him. Holding him close and telling him it’s all going to be okay. Everything’s going to be fine. I genuinely felt like I had lost something. That I need to be with him. I felt guilty. Guilty, for not being there with him. Guilty, that no matter how madly I am in love with him and no matter how many times I tell him that, it wouldn’t matter cause right now is when he needs me and right now is what would’ve made all the difference. He isn’t the kind of person who would go on telling everybody that he is in a mess and he is upset or down for that matter. He is the kind of guy, who even when he is all lost, would keep that mad grin on his face and chill out with everybody in the lounge. Not everybody can read his eyes. I loved how he shared everything with me and each time he said, “Tumhe na bataun to aur kis ko kahun?” made my day! Yet all this time I had that sense of push and pull between us.
He was holding on and letting go all the time. Going in and out of love. All this time I waited, I waited for him to get free from all the hassle. Waited, for that moment when I will be able to sit with him in peace and ask him “What’s going on?” I was confused about him all along but never said it out because I didn’t want to ruin it.
I told myself he really has gone back. *FAST FORWARD* We finally talked after a lot of days. The same going-nowhere-conversation. Nothing particular to talk about. He was so fine. He wanted me to tell him about me, things he didn’t know. I thought to myself, what is it that he doesn’t know? There really was nothing except maybe my fave-meter? I started with my likes and dislike in small things, something e had never talked about before. All of a sudden things got serious. He told me somebody from “my circle” told him of a rumour about me. I remember mentioning that rumour to him once before but we never discussed it. It was something around2 years old nearly died out. I did-
n’t even bother to ask him who it was who talked to him about me because well it never mattered. All that mattered to me in the world was that man right there in front of me on the screen at that moment. I took the next 10 quiet minutes to type out all the details related to that rumour. My first stance from the first day was being bluntly honest with him. I never wanted to lose him which is why I would never dare to lie to him! He said why didn’t I tell him all that before. I thought to myself, did I not mention in our first talk that I have always been the controversy queen for reasons that put out so loud and clear in front of you??? He said he wasn’t happy to know all this. He said
that he can not stand the fact that something like this be said about me amongst people. Nor will his family. That it’s not about proving it wrong, he believes me already but some things are just unacceptable. He went on saying that had this rumour been about me, it would have actually been funny but when people talk about a girl things gets real! I choked on his words. He said he didn’t want to ditch me but we can not continue this, all that we had...all that at least I had. I tried to reason out with him for a couple of minutes. I asked him that let’s suppose, any other guy comes to my life, I tell him everything honestly the way I did to you, so what you are telling me is the same is going to happen to me all my life regardless of whether it’s my fault or not? He said, “I don’t know...”
Those words virtually killed me! It means that if I walk down a street, any passerby, that I may have never even seen before in my life, points at me saying I have been all the way with that girl, becomes my fault? Makes me dirty? I should be guilty for something someone said just for the sake of it? It’s not like I care! I still don’t! I lost the love of my life because of some fake nonsense people spread about me just because they couldn’t stand me. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone for I know myself and I have a very firm faith in Allah. I leave everything to Him for justice! I can’t help it if a have a face some people get attracted to. I can’t help it if I am a perfec-
who she/he was! I don’t know and I don’t want know. Because, really it doesn’t matter. I lost him. The only good thing that happened to me ever. My only hope. My reason to be back to life! To fight for! Now I don’t have any ambitions. No interests. No hope for me or for this life I’m dragging myself along with. But I ask you this, is it okay? Is it alright to walk all over someone’s life, someone’s dreams for no good reason? Will it always be like this? Will we never know love just because a tea-time chit chat couldn’t help channeling all the hate out into fictional narrations? So now humans are just homo-sapiens? My life, for the rest of my life will probably remain a question mark...I lost all
tionist at everything. And I’m not being pompous about this! A fact is a fact and there is no use trying to be naive about it at this point! If I knew I’d have to lose him because of all this magnanimity that God has bestowed me with, I would exchange it all for him in return! My gift truly became my curse.
I had...who will be the next?
Morals and ethics about backbiting and gossip and allegations is a separate issue and Islamic teachings on it yet another. But just be human enough to sit back at a time and question yourself, is it funny that just because of a one time story you made up, just for the sake of gossip, somebody might actually give up on their life? Somebody said something about me that never even existed and got away with it. I don’t care
He kept his life private, he kept it under covers. The reason for this secrecy was not any kind of fear. It was just his wish to keep it that way. It was his belief that the revelation of his secret would not result in anything good. He worked in a small company, as an accountant. He was a good employee. Always on time, sticking to what he knew and just being himself. He had no friends, so to speak. Only a few guys whom he considered ‘time-pass’ people. His private life, was always a secret. He never shared much with anyone. Whenever he talked to someone, he made sure that his life never comes up. But there were times when things happened differently. But he was always quick to dodge those questions. But not everyone was convinced. Abraham always had his doubts. He believed that Michael was involved in something fishy. Though, he left no traces of it. There were rumours around too. One of them was that Michael was a criminal once, and had somewhat changed his identity, that’s why the secrecy. Another rumour was that he was a spy or something like that. Abraham didn’t believe any of these rumours. He believed that there was something more sinister. Because of this belief, he always kept an eye on Michael. But each and every time he
reached a dead end. Abraham even tried stalking Michael once, but somehow he ‘vanished’. But he knew he had to know the truth. His passion was becoming more violent. His obsession was reaching insane levels. Abraham had always been a very different sort of character. He was always interested in ‘other’ people. He saw people, he observed their expressions, wrote about their activities and so on. Once, while spying on a very rich man, he got caught. He was put in custody for a while. Time passed, and he evolved as well. He became more obsessed. After causing a lot of trouble, he finally decided to leave behind this ‘passion’ and focus on more normal things. He shifted to a new city, and started working in a small company. That’s where he noticed Michael. A very quiet fellow. Despite his efforts, he failed to control the monster inside him. It was coming back. Becoming stronger. Just like the old days. Michael reached his home quite late. He stopped at a restaurant to have some food. He rarely ate outside, but tonight he felt like eating. He mostly cooked his own food, and did everything himself. He tried his best not to leave any traces behind. He sat on the chair,
which was lying on the corner of his bedroom. His home wasn’t that fancy. A small place, to be honest. Quite cold too. But he didn’t feel that cold, anyway. There was something on his mind. Something about his co-worker, Abraham. He has been keeping an eye on him. Michael wasn’t afraid or anything. He was just very concerned. His secret must not get out. There were rumours too. But he never cared about the rumours anyway. He was very tired. He had to sleep. So he just closed his eyes. Abraham was sitting in a bar. His red eyes were a clear sign of his condition: manic. Only thing on his mind was Michael. You’ll never find the truth about me, Abraham! You are such a loser! You have no life! You have been a failure, you’ll always remain one! I am Michael, you are the loser! Michael’s voice was echoing in his head. He stood up, and left the bar. He knew what was to be done. Next day, in morning, Abraham didn’t come to work. He remained around the workplace, and waited for Michael to arrive. He did arrive. Now it was all about waiting. After spending the whole day outside, he finally saw Michael coming out of the building. He remained hidden for a while. Then he came out of the shad-
ows and started following Michael. He kept following him. He had no idea where he was now. But he didn’t care. Then all of a sudden, he saw Michael enter an apartment. He followed him inside, and finally saw him enter a house. So that’s where this bastard lives! He thought. He slowly reached the window, and peaked inside. Despite the curtains, he was able to see inside. He saw Michael remove his shirt, and then something really shocking happened. His skin’s colour started changing. His body started getting much bigger in size too. Then suddenly ‘it’ turned its head. Abraham saw Michael, or whatever it was. Its face was horrific. Its red coloured eyes were piercing Abraham’s soul. Suddenly his world became dark… Police found Abraham lying unconscious. He was in a state of shock, and was taken to a hospital immediately. Months had passed since that incident, but still there was no clue about the man named Michael. He had left no traces behind. He had vanished. Abraham, on the other hand, never remained the same. The secret he was looking for destroyed him, and now there were rumours about Abraham himself. Rumours, just rumours.
The author is Naireen Asim. She studies at KGS. She is doing A Levels with sciences and wants to become an anthropologist. Naireen loves reading, writing stories (the crazy imaginative they are the better), and drawing cartoon characters. She believes one can do whatever they want if they put their whole mind and soul into it. Rumors follow you from one year to the next, and cause you so much pain and anguish. You don't even know what to do anymore. There's no one to help you, not by your side, at least not anymore. You are all alone, staring into the eyes of two thousand people, all looking back at you. The first day of a new school is always a big deal. You get to shed off your skin and start afresh. Your parents have that annoying habit of murmuring after every two seconds on how much you’ve grown. And you make a face and ask them to stop making a big deal out of everything. They never listen. They never do. Time literally flies as you’re finally ready to get to school. The campus reminds you of a labyrinth, pathways and passageways at every corner, kids everywhere. You pull up your hood and walk carefully. Avoiding eye contact with them, no matter how harmless they seem. No one makes an attempt to say hi. You approach no one. You simply stare darkly at them. Already wondering why you are stuck in this hellhole. But you give it a shot and when the bell rings you rush to find your first class. The only moment you were put under the spotlight was during role-call. And no one could pronounce your name. The class titters with laughter as you repeat it once. Twice. Five times.
You will yourself not to sit in those pits of disap pointment and pull out your notebook, the on trustworthy companion so far. You manage write it all out, so you won’t forget. The day goe by quickly after that, and your parents stand b you later. Ready with the interrogatory question
“How was your first day? Did you make any ne friends? Are your teachers nice?” And you manag to smile at how easily your parents can be foole into believing anything. Soon the days blur toget er until suddenly someone comes up to you and o fers you to have lunch with them. You quickly a cept.
And then you realize that this person is hated b everyone. And you back off. For at this point yo are desperate not to seem any weirder. And the you get noticed by someone else. You quickly b come their friend. You laugh and fit in. Every da they ask you a new question.
You, however, are too naive to realize what’s a tually going on. You manage to tell them ever thing. About all the problems in your famil About how you don’t have friends here. Why yo changed schools. Your self harm.
And they smirk to themselves and drain you your secrets. And you trust them. But one day class you turn around and they're not there. The are on the other side of the room. Whisperin And that's when others start noticing you. And you listen. They are talking about you. An the first rumor slips out. Then it’s another. An when you try to confront your ‘friends’ they pu away. Lying. The cycle begins again.
pnly to es by ns.
ew ge ed thofac-
by ou en beay
acryly. ou
of in ey ng.
nd nd ull
Now is the time to bare all. Reality Romanticized has been on the lookout for Secrets and Rumors. Many of your told us yours. Our form on www.IdeasEvolved.com, allowed for anonymous posting, your identities were and will remain unknown. And as we promised, the best from among those received are being featured in the this issue of Reality Romanticized. So here we are, sharing with you the best of “Secrets and Rumors�
Spiderman: I just want to become a real spider man. I know people will laugh at me if i tell them and i can’t tell this to my mom either.
Not So Proud: Back when I was a kid, and I used to recite the Quran, I was very slow until I finished it a few times. And when I saw my siblings getting done with their "sabaq" very quickly, I'd get worried that I would get off late. So to fix that, I used to skip a few lines on every page. So now that I think about it, I didn't really finish the WHOLE Quran the first one or 2 times =/
Asesino: When I was 9. We were staying at a motel. My father & mother were out for dinner. My 2 cousins were at the motel. We planned on playing some cricket. My both cousins went out to see if there was any appropriate place to play nearby. I was alone in the room. Then someone knocked at door. I was busy watching Rugrats. I got up & answered the door. A man from the motel staff who I had seen earlier in the day was there. He asked me to come out & told me he wanted to show me something. Since I was a kid. I really didn't know what was he up to. So I went out with him. He lead me to this place near parking lot. He was a pedo. He grabbed my back & wanted to screw me. I screamed & told him to leave me or I else I'd kill him. He just laughed. That screwedup evil laugh. His laugh still haunts me. SOB was strong. I was crying. Was hating myself for that as well. Then suddenly I saw a water bottle nearby. I really didn't know what was inside it. I picked it up & threw all the liquid on his face. He screamed & cried. That petrified me. I saw him burn. His skin was burning & so was his neck. Like they were dissolving with the liquid. It was sulphuric acid. His eye balls were bulging & he was screaming. Then he fell down. He became motionless. I ran towards my room. I was crying. After few minutes police arrived. That man was dead. I killed him. I still become upset when I think about it. This is something I've never told anyone.
PlathHead: I once put my head inside the oven just to see what Plath would have seen right before she died.
Jaggymoves: Changed into a burqa in the rickshaw because the world outside seemed unsafe.
The Girl In the Green Scarf: Nearly a week ago as some guests awaited me in the drawing room, my mother gestured me to make them some drinks. As earlier, been I instructed I took out the blender and poured in cups of cold water, down went the ice and tablespoons of Lipton's Iced tea powder. Absolutely, unaware of what on earth was I thinking at that moment, or what thoughts had frosted my mind, I added chunks of ice in the blender and without covering it with the lid, I pushed the button and *splish* *splash* *sploosh* was all that was audible at that moment.My heart sank, as I felt the juice covering my face and spread over the immaculate countertop. Well, I did manage to immediately clear up the mess! Barbie: I have a crush on my class fellow Yousuf
Double D: People can't believe I'm Muslim. It's ridiculous how those who finally decide to bring the question out in the open ask (directly or indirectly, the latter being more infuriating) 'Han ji beta tou aapka naam? Aap Non Muslim hai kya'? I mean so what if I'm not of the same religion? Will you treat me more nicely if I appeased your doubts with what you want to hear?
Silencio: "she's involved in all those extra curricular activities to impress ******" Impress him? With what? My amazing ability to fall flat on my face every time someone passes me the ball? AMZ: Back in high school, girls jealous of me spread a rumor that I got knocked up and had to get an abortion. The Girl in the Green Scarf: My brother, in retaliation to a fight with me text messaged everybody on his phone book, that I have a head full of lice.
PakROXX: They say I can never make it to LUMS on scholarship. Cute: People think I stare at them. They call me Taroo. Taken: I hear people say I bribe my teacher. WW: I am a womanizer.
Flaweda: Some of them believed that I was not as 'simple' as I would seem. They believed I was a playboy (well, so to speak). In reality, I wasn't even close. I have never had a girlfriend, so you can guess. By choice, I must add.
A special mention to SkyIsNeela Rumor: I like to move it. Secret: I do like to move it
g n li
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