Wednesday, November 3

Red brick wall be gone.

There is a red brick wall standing in my way, not too high but not short enough for me to jump over to the other side. I’ve been standing here for a while now, to be honest I have been standing here for years, soon a decade.
This red brick wall was a hurdle that I thought I’d overcome in matter of hours, but hours became days and days became years. I painted over the red with sunny yellow colour, planted a cherry tree and put a bed close to the wall. I made it my home, even though I know that I don’t belong here and something better lies on the other side of the wall.
Somewhere along the way I’ve stopped trying and have decided to satisfy with less. I made myself believe that this is better than what lies behind the wall, though at nights I wake up to nightmares taunting me of my failure.
I am hoping in vain that someday I’ll wake up to see that the wall has vanished to thin air. But no matter how big the storm gets, the wall remains standing in front of me.
At times I get frustrated; I scream, I kick, I weep. I make myself the victim, treated unfairly by God. No matter how much I lie, I know that I am to blame for my own misery and no one else.

Saturday, July 24

This happens quite often at our home.

While sitting in my room, going through pictures on facebook, thinking no one will disturb me and suddenly...

Sakun, pappa vill att du ska frietera några rolls..

Han är sugen..och mamma ska ut!



han bad dig, right?


Jag kan inte fritera dummer!

Han skulle aldrig be mig!


I suspect that Adiba is craving for rolls and not my dad.

Sunday, May 9

A Favourite Poem of Mine


When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.
Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

- Constantine P. Cavafy

Friday, February 19

03:28 am - The world outside looks like a sepia-toned photography...

I opened up my door and there he was.

I've missed him, I thought he had disappeared for good. But like always, he suddenly appeared from nowhere knocking on my door.

I could sense his excitement by the way he was knocking; there is a story to be shared/heard tonight.

As he steps in, the orchestra in the background starts to play Tchaikovsky's winter daydreams and my room turns into a winter paradise, floor cold as frozen lake and my bed is a pile of fluffy snow, I'm still bare feet in a t-shirt.

He sits beside me on the snow pile and we look up... the night is beautiful. There is no colour to be seen, just sepia-toned white snow and dark night. And he starts his story...

He'll stay beside me rest of the night, keep on telling me beautiful stories. But in the morning when I wake up he'll be gone and like always I'll wait till next season for his tales.

Wednesday, February 17

"...And now my daylight thoughts Are as tangled as my black hair."

Taiken Moin no Horikaw

Kokoro mo shirazu

Kurokami no
Midarete kesa wa

Is it forever
That he hopes our love will last?
He did not answer.
And now my daylight thoughts
Are as tangled as my black hair.

- Lady Horikawa