Far Away

I don't know how people do it. Even staying busy doesn't help anymore.
Above everything else, above my hopes, dreams, daily routines, there's always this thought at the back of my mind-and it's about going back home.
The feeling is in the fresh breeze, it's in everything I wear-most of my clothes are either made in Pakistan or bought while I was there, it's in most of my music, it's in the snapchats my friends back home send me, and it's even in the pictures my out of state friends post when they're going back home.

Nothing works, not even with the constant reminders that I'll go home one day. Even the struggle to remind myself to be patient doesn't help. For the fifth time today, I looked up a flight home, indulging my fantasy that I'll be booking it sometime soon. I've done this before, I stayed here for a year before going back. I did it again after a year at Rutgers and kept going. It's been two years, two months, and twenty four days since I saw home. I know that number because it's the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I can't even fall asleep properly now; I have to totally exhaust myself or study a lot before I can fall asleep.
In trying to distract myself, I've been working on this short story bit by bit, and here it is. This is a work of fiction and has no relevance whatsoever to any person, alive or dead.


He walks into the bookstore quietly; he's looking for a particular book, and he doesn't notice people around him. There aren't a lot of other shoppers today; it's a Sunday, and sundown is in about half an hour. He walks down the aisle, and he finds what he's been looking for. He smiles and savors the moment; he's waited two year after the second book came out, and the third was finally in front of him. He picks it up, resisting the urge to open it and start reading-that would have to wait until he got back home. He turns, and almost bumps into someone who was texting on her phone and didn't see him until the last second.

She looks up at him; he's still just as tall as he ever was-thinner and grimmer, now-but she still has to look up at him. She stops in shock; she hadn't realized he was in town, and for him to be in this bookstore, at this time, so calmly, meant that he was back for good. It's been years since she last saw him, and when he left, she hadn't even acted like she cared-it was much easier that way. She doesn't know what to do, and the realization roots her to the floor.

He smiles, nods at her, and moves around her. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't want to hear her voice, because he knows that he won't be able to stop thinking about her if he does. The voices inside his head are going crazy, one side terrified that he'd see her again, and the other, angrier side, reminding him that no one gets a third chance. He hurries to checks out and leaves the bookstore, but the cool wind stops him in his tracks, because it's the same breeze he's waited years to feel, the same feeling of being back in his favorite city. It was a moment to savor, to feel happy and proud about everything he had accomplished and the long roads that had let him back here, but he wanted to be far away from her first.

She watches him leave in a hurry, and knows that it was because of her. She frowns; even now, she was able to make him avoid her. She doesn't know what to do, and it makes her angry, and her anger grows when she realizes that her day just went from good to bad-and he caused it, just like he always did. She stalks out of the store, and sees him all the way across, almost out of the door. That's when she smells the fresh breeze and it makes her stop, too.

He's just gotten into his car when he gets the urgent texts on his phone-Code Orange, mass casualties expected, all doctors to emergency wings. He doesn't hesitate, training taking over, and races to the nearest emergency center. He can see the ambulances tearing out of the parking garage as he gets closer. When he arrives, the television is airing the disaster, but he doesn't pause-he's used to emergencies and he knows how to stay calm. Some of the nurses have stopped to stare at the news, but he gets everyone's attention and makes them focus, the same calm way that he always has. He's the most senior doctor, and he reassures the staff. The calmer, firm expressions tell him he's done it right, one more time.

She works with the other doctors, making sure her nurses have everything ready. She's still trying to steady her nerves; she hadn't known that he was a doctor now, and for him to be in this wing, at this time.. she shakes her head, trying to clear her mind. He had totally thrown her off, and the way that he had calmly taken control reminded her of the last two times he had done it, even though it was a long time ago. A waving hand gets her attention; it was him, making sure each doctor was ready, and she can see the focus and-was that doubt in his eyes? It definitely wasn't trust, but she doesn't need him for any of this. She can do this.

He can hear the sirens getting louder, and it takes all of his control to not run outside. The staff needs to see him walking slowly, so they are as calm as possible. The first stretchers are rushed inside, and the ambulances rush off, back to the scene. Soon, there's a steady influx of stretchers and every doctor working quickly with the nurses, some inside the operating rooms, some on the side of the hallway, other doctors rushing in to help and getting straight to work. A nurse runs outside suddenly and pukes, and she calls for an extra nurse. There aren't any available, so he rushes to take the nurse's place. He nods at her. It's a race against time, but they're all working together.

Dare I hope?

Each path that I can take is as treacherous as the next, and no path has a guarantee of success.
It's like jumping into a void without knowing what's at the bottom.

The way down is still going to be exciting, though.
Let's see how this goes.

Sometimes, Goodbye is a Second Chance

It feels weird.
My favorite season is just around the corner, and this is usually the best time of the year.
I've always loved winter, that feeling of cool air, of complete freshness; it's almost as if you can start a new life with every new day.

Everyone needs compassion,
Love that's never failing,
Let mercy fall on me.
(Hillsong: Mighty To Save)

Winter holds some of the best-and some of the worst-memories.
It's like a whole new different with how refreshing everything is.

But instead, my migraines are getting worse.
The last time they got this bad was two years ago, which is why it's so strange.
I've gotten used to having a migraine all the time, but this is different.

On top of that, I'm too busy. I don't get a chance to sit down and relax properly anymore; but I knew that was going to happen when I took so many classes and worked so much-the whole point was to not have time to sit and reflect about life and everything.
Even with all that, I still get a chance to think; while I'm driving, or studying the same type of homework problems again and again.

The whole problem with having time to think is wondering what my plan is anymore.
It's always been the same; graduate, pay off my loans, and move back.
But I don't know if that's what I really want to do.
I've finally stayed in one place long enough to make good friends again, long enough to even start building my mini-library.
I used to have my own library, so having enough books to fill over four shelves is a major accomplishment.

I don't know anymore.
I'm not worrying about it or stressing or anything.
It's a really, really weird feeling to not have a plan for the future that's set in stone.

Maybe I'll travel a bit first; I've always wanted to go to Europe, Egypt, China, Turkey, Iran.

Heaven forbid you end up alone and don't know why,
Hold on tight, wait for tomorrow, you'll be alright.
(The Fray: Heaven Forbid)

The flag, of the crescent, and the star.

My homesickness gets worse with every day.
It's not about the food anymore, or the atmosphere.

It's like.. feeling empty.
Feeling far away.

It's not about any people anymore, either.

It's like a dream, a far off dream, a day that I'm waiting for, but the day isn't coming anytime soon.

I've been listening to the national anthem on repeat for the last few hours, and it doesn't make it any better.

I can close my eyes, and imagine being back home, imagine every step that I take, and almost be able to.. feel the experience.

It's time to go back to being super busy and not having time to miss home.
It's the only thing that works.

Home is behind, the world ahead.

He looks out of the window; he can see the city lights, brightest in the dark just before dawn.
He smiles and takes pictures of the view with his camera, even as the passengers next to him chuckle.
He ignores them; he's the one who hasn't seen his home in years, and his excitement has been building with every passing second.

He keeps taking pictures, even after the airplane touches down and lands. He stays calm and doesn't jump out of his seat, even though almost every one else does. He has waited years for this, and he's patient enough to wait a little bit more, even though his heart won't stop racing.

He looks exhausted, but really happy at the same time; it's the look of someone who is at peace.
He walks through immigration and security; calmly collects his bags and loads them onto the trolley, and finally faces the front doors. He can feel the warm morning breeze, even with the air-conditioning. Every step brings him closer to what he's been waiting for.

He walks through the automatic sliding doors, and through the waiting crowd outside. He's used to it, but it still feels different every single time. There's no one waiting to meet him, but he had planned it this way. He was home earlier than everyone thought he would be. He takes a deep breath; this is what he's been waiting for.

He looks up at the bright sky, and frowns as the world starts turning black. It hits him in a sudden panic, and he wakes up. He's 8300 miles away from home, and it was just a dream.

Happy Birthday, Pakistan. I really miss you.