The Road To Nowhere.

Here I am a million thoughts from where I want to be.. I wonder if my destiny is where my heart wants to go or will it be in the opposite direction…

I’ve been out of writing blogs for a good few weeks now, I’m blank as to what to write. So I’m just gonna write what I feel like writing. I usually have a full post in my head before I sit down but today I’m just going to see what happens…

Thoughts have been wondering around as to where I am in life and where it’s going, also what lies in the future. It just seems dead, no direction, no cross roads to contemplate and goals to work for.

For the past few years life is at a standstill, we are still trying to get our heads round the three deaths that have taken place in our family, one after the other, six months apart on each one.

People spend a lifetime trying to come to terms with one and we are trying to come to terms with three, my parents, then my brother’s wife.

Life suddenly changed for me over night when we knew her illness was terminal. I suddenly realised that I was going to have to be strong for eveyone. Little did I know I would more or less end up living her life for her.

As time has gone on my own life seems to have disappeared, it no longer exists. The things I used to do and the people I used to know. Slowly everything has dwindled and her life has become mine. Her house I run. Her kids I look after. Her friends have become my friends… it just goes on and on…

There really is no “me” anymore.

Over night I became a rock and parent to my nieces and nephews, while they mourned the loss of their mother I tried to give them as much stability as possible. We had known 6 months earlier this day would come but nothing could have prepared for her loss.

My parents were elder and we all expect that one day our parents will go, all us siblings are grown up now, I’m the youngest in the family so their passing we could cope with, Her passing away has left us totally devastated, my brother can barely cope without her.

Even two years on he is still in a depressive daze. Communication between him and us is zilch. Over time the kids don’t even ask him for anything or expect anything from him, it’s me they come to for anything and everything. It’s like they don’t need him anymore and that scares me that these young kids have become so dependant on me that one day when I leave them to get on with my life again how will they cope.

The perfect solution would be for him to marry again and bring a step mother into the house, She would look after them all and be there as a permanent fixture and I could move on and be the person I am,not the one I have become.

It would be easy to say get up and go, but for some reason I feel I can’t walk out on them because I can clearly see they need me and have become very attached to me. When I look at their faces and think of what they have been through I know I can’t do that to them.

I know how they feel inside, their suffering, their fears and insecurities because when I was six I lost my own parents in a fatal car accident. I was left in care for years before I was finally adopted at the age of 10. I know what it’s like, I’ve been there. What I would have given for at least one of my aunts to have stepped forward and taken responsibility for me and provided me with some care, stability and somewhere to just call my own. What would I have given for someone to hear my cries at night and to come and hold me and tell me everything was going to be just fine. Just to hear someone say “It’s ok, don’t cry I’m here now” Someone to hold me so tight that it would take my breath away.

Yeah I coped and survived and it’s true I am here to tell the story. I am a survivor but you don’t just become one, it takes a lot to get here. To mentally grasp your situation, to put things into perspective, to live with a pain and emotions that you just wish weren’t there. And just when you think they are gone, you find yourself seeking them out because somewhere deep inside you still need to feel it time and time again. Because it’s a part of you and you fear if you let go you let go of everything and you will forget everything, every dam thought, every dam feeling, every dam pain. You have to be in control and forgetting is losing that control.

Then there are those times, you refuse to let yourself get emotional, you distance yourself from things so that you can cope with it. You get practical rather than emotional, stick to the facts, no don’t think about how much this is bothering you, hurting you or killing you. Just get on with it, it will pass, deep breaths then you will be fine.

If anyone asks how you are, smile, and say i’m fine, That’s it keep smiling.

What is normal?

I met and old friend today who looked at me very closely and said “You’re not looking normal these days!”

I asked her what do you call normal and she was a little stumped for words as I look rather annoyed at her.

I was serious what the hell do you call normal? and when will I be normal? coz when im called normal I don’t feel normal and I don’t want to be normal and when I want to be normal everyone tells me im not.

I remember when I was a rebellious child and boy, did I rebel! It was my mission to defy every authority and every rule that was put in my way. For some reason I wanted everyone to know that I wasn’t going to do as I was told. I mean why should I? Nobody understood me!

The more I rebelled and made everyone’s life hell the more they called me normal. When my social workers and school teachers held this massive meeting in which I was brought in and asked questions, they asked me to wait outside and I heard them talking. ( Note to adults.. if u wish to discuss a child make sure they can’t hear you, it seriously messes up their head! )

They called me “normal” and said this sort of behaviour was to be expected and it was nothing unusual especially considering my background.

Great I thought so why do they go out of their way to tell me off, punish me and have these massive meetings  about me if this was “normal and to be expected”. I was not a happy bunny on hearing this; because for some reason I didn’t feel normal at all, if anything I felt out of place and very angry at all of them.

I wanted to be like the others who appeared normal to me yet they kept saying I was!

So off I set with a mission to prove them wrong that I was not their “normal”. The more I was determined to show them I wasn’t the more they said I was.

To cut a long story short I think I made many people have nervous breakdowns, split hairs and pull nails out with despair but they still kept telling me how I was feeling was totally utterly  normal and it was nothing unusual. I think if I painted myself green and grew horns they would still have called me flipping normal

Now years on when I’m all grown and done all the things that were expected of me and am still doing everything that is expected of me. I have my degree and have become a successful in what I do. I am finally comfortable in my life, heart and soul. I have also come to terms with my childhood and past and I also think I’ve made amends in more ways than one. Yet now I’m told I’m not normal.

According to some, I’m hyper, highly strung, a recluse, unsociable and much more. They now say I am not normal and I look them in the eye and ask, well tell me what is normal? Because who would know the answer better than me?




How poor are you really?

One day a father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the firm purpose of showing his son how poor people can be. They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.

On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, “How was the trip?” “It was great, Dad.”

“Did you see how poor people can be?” the father asked.

“Oh Yeah” said the son.

“So what did you learn from the trip?” asked the father.

The son answered, “I saw that we have one dog and they had four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end. We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night. Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.

We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. We have servants who serve us, but they serve others. We buy our food, but they grow theirs. We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them.”

With this the boy’s father was speechless. Then his son added, “Thanks dad for showing me how poor we are.”

Too many times we forget what we have and concentrate on what we don’t have. What is one person’s worthless object is another’s prize possession. It is all based on one’s perspective. Makes you wonder what would happen if we all gave thanks for all the bounty we have, instead of worrying about wanting more.

Quote of the day – A Generation Of Critics

Those who criticize our generation forget who raised it.

I really love this quote, and it reminds of people complaining about kids and how they behave and what their attitudes are like.

The recent riots certainly make a lot of people point fingers and then also made some step back and wonder.. who is really to blame…

We can say it’s the upbringing and the parents but a carpenter can only do his best with what tools he is given. So I do think the blame at times goes further and beyond in many ways.

A very short sentence with a very deep meaning….


What’s the price for your love and attention?

This is a well known short story that I really wanted to share today. Definitely worth a read weather you have kids or not. 

A man came home from work late again, tired and irritated, to find his 5 year old son waiting for him at the door. Daddy, may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” replied the man.

“Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?”

“That’s none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?” the man said angrily.

“I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?” pleaded the little boy.

“If you must know, I make £20.00 an hour.”

“Oh,” the little boy replied, head bowed.

Looking up, he said, “Daddy, may I borrow £10.00 please?”

The father was furious. “If the only reason you wanted to know how much money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you’re being so selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don’t have time for such childish games.” The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.

The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy’s questioning. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money.

After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son. Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00, and he really didn’t ask for money very often.

The man went to the boy’s room and opened the door. “Are you asleep son?” he asked.

“No daddy, I’m awake,” replied the boy.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier,” said the man. “It’s been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here’s that $10.00 you asked for.”

The little boy sat straight up, beaming. “Oh, thank you daddy!” he yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills. The man, since the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at the man.

“Why did you want more money if you already had some?” the father grumbled.

“Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do,” the little boy replied.

“Daddy, I have £20.00 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?”


A mouse in my house!

I have a mouse in my house… now for some of you, you will think that’s bad and advise me to get rid of it.. and for those of you who know me personally will know how upsetting and distressing this is for me.

I really can’t stand them, they freak me out and I think that what I have developed over the years is a phobia of them. It’s so bad that my legs are shaking writing this.

So, how do I know I have one? I went to farmfoods the other day and bought some shopping in. The bag with the cakes and biscuits, the kids left on the store-room floor. Now it’s nothing normal for us to put bags of crips etc on the floor but never open packets of food. It’s carpeted and very nice. It’s like a small room under the stairs. There are shelves there too.

Feeling peckish the other night I said to the my nieces to go and get the bag so we can have some cake. In the bag there was a chocolate swiss roll and strawberry one. So my older niece brings me the bag and shows me that the cake is already half eaten. I’m telling her that that’s impossible as nobody has touched the cakes. She proceeds to tell me that she thinks it was her older brother “the greedy git that has scoffed it.”

While she is telling me this I notice a hole in the farmfoods bag at the bottom and my heart sank… it was clear what had happened. I checked the store room floor and sure enough you can see bits of the bag all frayed and flaked there.

I don’t know much about the mouse as no one has seen it and we have not discovered any mouse droppings. We have no clue how it got in. Now what I do know is that the little shit prefers strawberry swiss roll cake to chocolate, as he never touched that one.

So where the hell is the mouse? Many have advised me to set a mouse trap. That is sound advice as I will set the trap and it will get caught in it and all I have to do is discard it. But how can you tell me to do this when I can’t even bear to look at it. My phobia is so bad if one appears on tv I have to look away and change channels and I can’t look at a photographic image of them either. So telling me to set a mouse trap is my worst nightmare.

It was one of the reasons I left Pakistan. In Karachi they roam freely big massive things. What was really strange was that they never entered our living quarters upstairs, perhaps because of the air conditioners, I’m not sure. But downstairs they would just saunter in and out like they owned the place. My mom would say that don’t panic it will just wonder about and leave and sure enough it did. But I would be petrified and totally freaked out to the point I would be sitting with my feet tucked underneath me.

They found this hilarious until they realised how distressing it was for me. I would actually go around trying to block ways that they were using to get in.. the little mutts would come up from the gutters.. uurgghhhh!! Then my maid would inform me that they can eat and chew through anything even stone, so that’s all pointless… grrrrrr

When I came back I was relieved to never have to deal with them again. I hate the way they startle me… it’s one of the reasons why I hate cats… when they brush against your leg and make you jump.. I absolutely hate it..

Anyways… you can imagine my shock horror when I did see one in the house some years ago.. I was so stunned, shocked and aggravated I started screaming and crying hysterically… I think I shocked myself at my reaction.. I just couldn’t believe that they were here too. Just as it came it disappeared and we have never seen anymore till now.

I hate this feeling, it makes me walk into a room and first I will pause and my eyes will dart around the floor into all four corners… just to make sure it’s not lurking about. The feeling will eventually pass untill I think there is one back again or I suspect there is one lurking about.

Well here is a message to you, you little shit, if I see you I will hound you down (or get someone to) and make you regret ever entering my domain. You will not get out alive, that’s for sure. (I’m gonna get my bro to kill you!) and most of all you will starve to death because I never leave food or rubbish lying about and we are not leaving anything on the floor either. So if you can hear me leave now!