Seeds of Thought

I currently have zilch WiFi as I’m moving home, so I haven’t been able to generate a post for this week! Here’s some thoughts I scrapped together from a freewrite from long ago.

Freewrite #40

Bloody hell, we’ve come far since the first freewrite. I regret transferring all of them to one document because there’s no way I can recall the exact dates for each of these. All you can know is that they’re pretty much in chronological order (except for In the Winter, which was a brilliant piece of flash fiction).

I’ve been thinking about productivity and feeling accomplished. I walk better, with a spring in my step, knowing that I am a content creator and that this content will one day go on to impact people’s lives. That people will haggle with me on Twitter, like my page on Facebook, send me DMs of dick pics on Instagram…

Nah. I don’t look forward to any lifestyle.

I’ve been thinking about invisible Muslim women.

This happens a lot walking around Central London where nearly all the guys walking down the same street as you are hot, rippled, and foreign as fuck.

It’s definitely alluring. Candy?

Lord. Sweet Lord. Astaghfirullah.


It is interesting how quickly I push away the feeling of, I guess, whatever feeling you get when you look at something you feel is aesthetically pleasing (those eyebrows though, they have to pluck! Most desi people – men or women – do!). It’s attraction, but not solely for people, for objects too. 

I push away the feeling and replace it with the knowledge that they don’t see me. Or if they do, they try their goddamn hardest to ignore me. It’s hard not to stare, I guess, and because you don’t want to be rude (or start a fight with my oil tycoon papa and ten overprotective Prince-of-the-Desert camel-riding tantalisingly “Sheikh” brothers) you might as well keep your eyes to yourself.

(And yet, most of my paranoia when outside stems from just how much people do stare, but if they are then it’s probably because I’m wearing wireless headphones and they’re awesome).


Majority-white spaces like those in literature conventions…

Maria Popova from Brain Pickings writes really coolly. She does a review, fills it with gorgeous quotes, picks out the ideas that resonate with her, drops names like Thoreau and Aristotle, and has all these gorgeous pictures.

I still feel a bit “ugh” when it comes to majority-white spaces like those in literature conventions, or Brain Pickings, or fucking Aristotle. Sometimes it is hard to recognise that we all have a shared human history, that the white person over there is just as Indian as mine, that Aristotle was a Muslim household name long before here and now.

And it seems that white institutions, British institutions…they’re the ones that have the most non-culture ever – striving so hard to fill their blankness with colour. It’s hard, grappling with multiculturalism now. Knowing that white people for centuries had laws and attitudes and words and institutions both literal and figurative that served to implement white superiority and hide just how fucking inferior they were after all. And can I say that? I can’t. I shouldn’t advocate PoC superiority because a) it doesn’t make sense and b) because racism is a lovely umbrella term like most political terms in that it’s a word that’s loaded and ambiguous and does the clever thing of letting people talk about very different things under this one guise). 

The content of White Culture is not supposed to stink of White superiority. It belongs to you as much as it does to them. No stinking superiority attitude is needed here. You’re an equal.

What have I ever actively done for anyone?

The concept of protecting my loved ones comes to mind. They often paint me as cold and unfeeling. Or at best, a dick.

I don’t like being with them. I am surprised when they miss me. Often, when I look at them, my heart breaks with the love I feel for them.

I don’t do anything about it.

I am infinitely weird. I cannot comprehend myself. I feel as though I’m just as Random as the Universe is. I don’t know where better is.

It’s comforting, knowing that at least I can push myself to find the words. It is comforting knowing that I am here for myself. I am learning how to love myself. There is a lot of self-hate to work through. There is a lot I have to avoid labelling.

I must learn how to show my loved ones I love them. And how to punch properly. There are too many people in the world who are living in a world far from mine where all their thoughts when they look at me are all my insecurities projected into real life, and then some.

Wish me luck! Moving is exceptionally difficult, and no WiFi is pretty much a death warrant, right? I also have exams in two months’ time so the stress is unduly adding up. 


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