| Lahore. Home. The place one has to visit to experience it. The extreme summers with people bathing in the canal all day, forgetting thier existence in the world outside, flowing with the water to have the feeling of bieng eternally free. Cricket, the craze of the country, thier motivation to live, the game they believe they are born to play. Do I miss my home? I miss my wandering on the road while going to school everyday, with a Good Morning wish from every bird that I pass. I miss my home's backyard, the place I have spent years treating those herbs and flowers that I loved. I miss hiking in the mountains of north putting up camps where ever therez hope to survive for another day, collecting wood to build a fire against the cold. I miss the valleys between these mountains, which reminds you of the beauty of heaven, where one may reside for years without any wish to return. I miss the desert of the south, where you could hide in the sand dunes and be lost for days just to rediscover yourself. I miss my friends, with whom I have spent most of my time in all these years, caring enough to be a part of my every emotion. I miss the way I used to share my feelings, and my thoughts. I miss the way I used to live. I miss who I was. I miss what I used to be. I miss my old life. I do miss my home. | Aitchison. Alma-Mater. I still remember a little kid walking through the enterance of the building, down the alley towards his class, afraid to begin his first day of school, afraid to begin a new life, afraid to take this new step. And I still remember the same kid walking towards the exit of the school, putting an end to this life after completing his high-school, confident to face the world outside, confident to tackle any situation, confident to be what he wants to be. I still remember each and every day that I have spend in my alma-mater. Yes, my friendship formed here will ever live, ever influence and inspire me. Through them I shall recollect in years after , the tender ties binding me to the buildings, and the scenes long ago. In the book of Aitchison, i'm just a word; but in the book of my life, Aitchison is definately the first chapter. | Montreal. New Home. A beautiful world of its own. Where the snow rises a couple of feet high, and grapefruit trees grow like weed in your back yard. I love where I live. Nothing can be better than making snowman in the middle of November, or go ice-skating in the middle of June. Or go sking with a group of friends on a Sunday Morning. Or hang out on streets on a Saturday night. Or riding your bike to McGill McLennen library in the afternoon to check out a book. Or to sit and relax outside Tim Hortons early morning with a cup of coffee, breathing in the cool breeze that might make you shiver. The life here is defined to be just perfect. The time spent in barbecuing outside, eating helthy meals, drinking hot chocolate and playing video games or catching a late show. The nights spend in camping, sleeping under the mercy of the stars and the watchful eye of the moon and eternal stillness accompanied by the sounds of the beetles and the darkness filled with peace. And others spend with the passion to succeed, the motivation to lead, the incitement to prosper, the urge for the victory, the hardwork and the fight against time. The experience gained to look around with a new set of eyes, in a new redefined sight. And here I am, stuck in this new world of insanity. | Boredom. An act? Or a feeling? Can one not be bored altough he tries to be? A feeling it is. That makes you wish that you were dead instead living through that moment. That makes you want to cry and weep and make wish for the change of your mind, or brighten your mood to enjoy a moment of complete happiness. It can come as quickly as it goes. It can be shunned, can be contagious. It dosent matter. You get bored when you intend to get bored. Do you intend to get bored? Do you want to do this "act" of boredom? Do you want this feeling to come to u? I believe that an object, phrase, person, act must contain a smallest percentage of boredom. Otherwise how else can you feel the boredom within yourself? Or is it the fact that something that has boredom filled in it triggers your boredom? Do you want to be bored without any reason? Are you bored already? | Smile. Feeling. Imagine the immense beauty of this act. Can it be brutal for someone? How can people use smile to convey wicked messages? How can they be so cruel? How can they play with the loveliness of the smile? Smile that i love. Smile that everybody loves. Smile that can make people happy, solve thier problems, show the caring, create the feelings of happiness for others. Whether invoking a smile streched from ear to ear, or a short one with a twinkle in the eye. But it can be enough to make a person fall in love or change mood with a moment in happiness. The feeling remains forever, so does the hapiness. Its just the magic of smile. Nothing more ... Nothing less. | Man. Perhaps a machine. Sometimes I feel convinced that i'm nothing more than a well-oriented piece of machinery. Which is placed with other such substances. An arrogant thing that has no feelings for the world around. Will spend all his time to do what it is told to do and the way it is told to be done. The machine that would get orders and would fulfill to get rewards and benefits. Thats why I enjoy every moment of my life. Every moment that has been made for me. The need to make others happy has been replaced by the ego that I comprehend. I believe in bieng nice to others if I have the feeling of others being nice. Thats the principle on which i'm programmed to live. And thats the principle on which everybody is living. Get me cherries and barries and you get care and love from me, sugar 'n' sweets and i'll do whatever you want, a bag of swiss chocolate and i'm all yours ... | Women. Do I like them all? I like them tall. I like them short. I like them skinny. I like them tan. I like them smiling. I like them bored. I like them crying. I like them calm. I like them smart. I like them fun. I like them silly. I like them stupid. I like them idiot. I like them genius. I like them blond. I like them caring. I like them shabby. I like them shy. I like them chubby. I like them artistic. I like them funny. I like them angry. I like them wicked. I like them arrogant. I like them touchy. I like them cruel. I like them pretty. I like them bold. I like Women ... yes, I do love them all! |