I know a man who lost his parents but refused to be called an orphan. Man enough to love a strong woman years older than him, worked for her and made her stronger, opened his heart to her, shared his fears to no one but her, was romantic and faithful to her till her last breath. Cleaned after himself and mended his own clothes. He was good looking, courageous, and fearless. He never judged anyone on their pasts or looks. He was moderate, open minded and tolerant. His neighbour was Jewish and his cousin-in-law was a Christian priest. He was beaten and exiled when he was helpless and merciful when he became stronger. Intelligent, wise and a hard worker, he built a long-lasting nation out of nothing during the last 20 years of his life. He had no parents, but loved his daughters and grandchildren. His last will was to “Be good to women”. This man was a dreamer, this man is my Prophet Muhammad, a man worth looking up to – peace be upon him .

Copied from a friend’s Facebook status.  (via rootofthree)

Something that makes me smile – literally witnessing someone finally shrugging off the weight of betrayal and believing in themselves again. Very little else makes me smile these days. But that never fails to put a smile on my face no matter how down I’m feeling. Probably because I’ve been on the receiving end of it so often, that I can relate very intensely to the pain that betrayal brings with it.

Me

✌✓♬ — was it posted? it looks blank, but peace sign, check mark, musical note.

Yeah, it posted. 🙂

Childhood memory – driving in an orange VW bug to the rural area of KwaZulu Natal in South Africa with my uncle on our way to a little farm town where we often spent our December holidays. It was my grandfather’s place. But the most poignant part of the memory is the soundtrack of Staying Alive playing on the cassette player. Till today those songs trigger a strong sense of nostalgia.

Something weird about myself – I was watching Monk with my niece recently, and she exclaimed “Who notices stuff like that???” when Monk described the detail of a particular pebble that he had seen in his psych’s room. And I responded by saying, “Me!” She just said “Oh…” and was quiet after that. I notice these painful details and can work them back into a conversation with such ease that I usually get weird looks from people in the process. 

Song that takes me to a memory – This actually happened last night when I was flipping channels on TV looking for news on what’s happening in Greece, and one of the stations had Ghost on. The theme song Unchained Melody was playing. That was a bitter sweet moment. It reminded me of the person I was intending to marry, who subsequently stabbed me in the back because her parents didn’t approve, despite her intense disapproval of her parent’s views.