There is happiness in socks
I wonder why I plan things.
I’ve got my life mapped out: my year in SCAD, and then moving to New York, working for a few years, returning to Karachi to start my own thing; to my house with the giant neem tree in the front yard and the circular bench around it… to where I want to be buried. How I want to spend middle age and where I’ll throw my 30th birthday party… it’s all been decided on by my heart but I can’t really ask Allah for any of this. I mean, sure He already knows everything that’s going on in my head, but He probably doesn’t want to hear how materialistic and dunya-crazy I am. I think I’d like Him to keep giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Truth is- I know that at best, no matter how hard I try, even if 1/580th of my plans are achieved I’ll be lucky.
But I need to keep doing this. I need to keep telling myself I’m in control somewhere, somehow.
And I need my head to shut up sometimes. I’d rather be brutally honest to everyone but myself.
Tch Hira, relax. When university opens you won’t have time to think along these lines. Just try to focus on happy things right now, like old books, and chocolate and socks