nce upon a time there was cherubic little fairy, who was not beautiful though just pretty. She had slender body; mellow lips and when she would flutter her wings the world would be a happy place. And then there was a wicked witch, like always, who would curse the little fairy, transformed her into a living statue and placed her on her dressing table as a decoration item.The fairy stood there for decades, unable to move, listening but not speaking, crying blood-tears, enmeshed in the gullibility of life – in faint nuances of living and fading notion of miracles which might happen. Years later someone accidentally hit her and she collapsed on the floor, the fall un-jinxed her but years torment flooded back and she left hope, her pristine heart wrecked and she died of internal bleeding. Dreams swell up in the fizzy drink of life, burst and drain in the gutter.

The fairy was me.

(Ever since I was young I persuaded myself That I was Ariel, I would marry Eric, Rule Under the sea and have Sabastian and Flounder. nothing happened, I didnt have red hair.)

I’m a useless, hopeless, meaningless, purposeless someone who lives in emptiness of this world, in the void of people, the hollowness of life.

I am a ten year old who profusely refused to grow up and gather kaleidoscope of her immaturities, illogic-ness, rebuttals and the broken invisibles bones and knuckles in her lap, flaunts it and is persuaded to love it.

I’m a frog-less princess.

I’m a hen hatching eggs believing they’ll burst into gems.

I’m unfathomable mystery of life, an unsolve-able riddle of self.

I’m no vindication of my being.i’m chaotic misconceptions.

I’m a jukebox of blocks of squares and corcles and myraids of shapes and sizes.

I’m colors, red, yellow, green, blue and blue and blue.

I’m black.

I’m a thaw to your world.

I’m fubared.

I’m a gross silhoutted silence.

I’m a cricket’s crackle, moth of lonliness.

I’m headache, nausea, Insomnia.

I’m letters that form no word.

I’m scattered words of dismay and desire.

I’m incoherent sentences of meaning-less paragraphs.

I’m random paragraphs that fill in the book of life. Sadly, monotonously, gruesomely.

I’m treading in poignant time, trapped in centuries of disgust and crunched in the ironic walls of dismay.

I curl to my fetal position and the world is back to ominous black.

I’m nonchalance that repudiated melting.

I’m broken morsels of myself.

I’m caught up in acute minute of breathing.

I’m a nightmare of dreamer’s dream.I’m a joyless joy.

I’m the little person cocooned in my littleness.

I am the i.

Introduction:I worry alot about explaining something so trivial as Myself.Its not late when I realized that I am nothing else but a mere creation. I was created with mud and water. How can I take pride in my being? How can I Boast of the fact “I”? How can I accentuate “myself”, when I am just another creation. This is the only introduction I have to live my pride.
The fact That My creator is Allah is my whole self-esteem.The fact that I am His creation is my Joy uncomparable.
I’m a sinner beyond comprehensions. But [i] ‘Undoubdtely My Lord (Allah) is kind and Loves His creation. (Al-Hood 90) [/i] Allah Loved me. WHy not I cherish this fact?
And I am listened. ‘there is never a time I am not listened when I called you (Allah)’ (Al-maryam 4) why not I live this Faith?
Please Allah, Grant me success in this world and the world hereafter and save me from the ire of fire! amen.
Allah, forgive all the wrongs that I have done, cleanse me with the sins that I have, and May my end be with the pious people. Amen. (Al-Imran 193)
I’m a follower of someone who is the Most perfect person on the face of this world. This is my self-pride. This is my self-respect. This is my love. This is my inspiration.and I long to become someone My Prophet Muhammad PBUH said to be: ‘We’re the followers, We’re the people who ask for forgivness (of their sins from Allah), we’re the worshippers and we Praise our Allah’.

About Me I’m a girl, if that’s an explanation. I really am. one who breaths, touches, tastes, smiles, gets hurt – and gets hurt most of the time.Writing is my first and foremost love, I can write pages about who I am and Why I am the way I am! But then, what difference can this make?
I’m back to the constricted womb from where I once belonged. From where I cringed and crinkled and wriggle out crying, to a world where men hold sea-secrets in their eyes, where love means physical torture and everyone has their own definition of beauty of which no one is willing to let go or reconsider. where sadly the sun rises and sets and the moon changes its shapes. Where, for few people, rejection is the repeated criterion of living, as a girl, as a person, as a student and as a human-being. I hope/pray my Allah dont reject me as a Creation. Amen
I’m extraordinary, enmeshed in this ordinary world! If I could live life my way, I would’ve grabbed my paints and run away, I’d have added a lot of cool blues and turquoise to my canvas of life and I’d have painted you Red.