Shall we make this about me again?

Friday 20th February 2015

Sometimes I think of a little word: redemption. Also still trying to make my handwriting seem… eligible. I love my family they’re… awesome. Okay, TWO word banks, nah one word bank filled with critical acclaim phrases and we shall go from there. Chances of attending my choice sixth form are spiking upwards. Also, am slowly getting out of my self-conscious shell. All it took was an American Chinese (Asian?) woman to approach me at Euston Station asking if she’d be able to walk it to Kings’ Cross. And I realised that despite the islamophobia rampant in society I have a very innocent face — that sounds weird but what I’m trying to say is that I’m approachable. There’s something about me that strangers discern as kind and nice and helpful. Also still in love with when you walk to Allah He runs towards you. Life is shaping up once again. I’m stepping out of the fog inshaAllah. I’ll fix up.

Saturday 21 and Sunday 22 February 2015

I’m writing now because I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. Amira, Kadiza, Shamima have travelled to Syria. Spent this morning reading news articles about them. K must be chuffed. My school is making national news. They didn’t even. Just walked out of our lives. Sharmeena as well. Grit. You bounce back when the going gets tough. But what does that mean? Giving no mind to the idiots who won’t ever give mind to me? Amira sat next to me in Latin. I dress the same as them. None of us know what to think anymore. There’s so many different levels of us and them. Who next will turn against us? Ripe for the picking, we immature not-wordly gits. Life will never be the same? I lost four friends to brainwashing regimes. Shall we make this about me again? And to all those people saying good riddance and that there’s only twenty million to go (aye, we seem to have multiplied more than six times our population overnight) I say tough. White Christian Britain doesn’t exist anymore. Deal with it.

Monday 23rd February 2015

I’m glad I have you. I want them back. I’m not angry anymore. I just want them back here and I will show them all my love they’ll never believe ISIS ever again. My head isn’t bursting anymore. I want to treat everyone with compassion. Everyone. Even those I feel I shouldn’t baby, I want to. It hurts inside. To have them gone and never coming back. I want to be kind to all my loved ones. Not just the friends I have online. I don’t want to ever wish for something big anymore. I want the small ordinary pleasures. I like my comfort zone just how it is. But I understand that I will be pulled out of balance once in a while. I want to chop my hair off. I want them back. I don’t care about good-for-nothings. But I will respect. I will respect everyone and treat everyone kindly. Even the idiots are my most wonderful friends. 16 years and 5 months.

(for when I said something big had happened and I had to change the blog because I was hurting | for when I said I had given up | for that conscious list of motivational sources | for that long post on how I felt after they had gone | for not caring about comfort zones anymore)

I’ve met people recently who have been through something similar. Muslim women who have lost their friends to ISIS. You give up – especially if you’ve been fighting so hard. You recede into your comfort zones. But soon enough you realise that the worst thing you can do is give up – it hurts more inside and outside when you do.


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