Tag: anincompletelovestory

  • Support Indie Authors

    Support Indie Authors

    Thank you Gallo Images for creating opportunities for indie authors and content creators like myself to get exposure.

    As any indie author will tell you, writing the book is the easy part.

    Publishing it is the next part, which is a bit easier than writing it. That’s if you do everything yourself like I do.

    But the most difficult part is getting people to know that your book exists, and to convince them to want to buy it.

    No matter how amazing your writing skills may be, or how enthraling your story, if people don’t know it exists, it will be a brilliant piece of work that is forever undiscovered.

    So efforts like these go a long way towards giving indie authors a fighting chance in the industry against the traditional publishing houses. Or perhaps even to get the attention of those publishers.

    Support an indie author by sharing their content with credits, and by leaving reviews of their work.

    Your small gesture can make a world of difference.

    Thank you.

    Photo credit : Gallo Images

  • This is going to hurt

    This is going to hurt

    Another excerpt from a manuscript slowly taking shape in my head. From the sequel to my novel, this is Taqdeer: A dance with destiny.

    In this scene, the main character, Zayd, once more finds himself faced with the betrayal of one close to him, but it’s not enough to deter him from remaining defiant against the odds.

    “Eventually, I get tired of dodging the bullet and instead I stand, square-shouldered, facing the onslaught with eyes wide open, my heart gently ticking away in my chest, waiting for what I always knew was inevitable. Knowing that it will hit me hard, but defiantly standing there waiting to see exactly how hard it’s going to hit.”

    Will his love story ever be completed? Or is life only ever meant to be an exercise in fulfilling duty towards those who have rights over him?

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Sometimes, our struggles need us

    Sometimes, our struggles need us

    A line that might make it into the final draft of my new novel.

    “And I think you’ll realise that the struggles of your life were not simply struggles intended for you, they were moments that were in need of only what you were capable of offering to make them better than they were.”

    This is from a scene where Zayd, the main character, tries to comfort someone he deeply admires, and loves, after she has been through a horribly abusive relationship.

    Will his ineptitude at human connections and emotional expression fail him yet again? You’ll have to read the sequel to find out.

    In the meantime, if you haven’t read the first part of this series, you can order your copy now from my website at zaidismail.com or via Amazon or Kindle.

    Taqdeer: A dance with destiny, follows on from An Incomplete Love Story, revealing the struggles of life in a dystopian culture, distorted by classism and the caste system.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Trading your future for your past

    Trading your future for your past

    How much of life is wasted trying to reconcile the bad experiences of the past?

    For every moment that we spend dwelling on an injustice or oppression against us in the past, we impose an injustice and oppression on ourselves and others in the present moment.

    The present moment is what takes care of the future. That’s why we have much hopelessness and little inspiration to create a beautiful life for ourselves.

    When beauty appears, we are more inclined to reminisce about how it was lost or destroyed in the past, so we focus on protecting ourselves from such pain in the future, by discarding the beauty of the present moment.

    When the present moment is lost to the bad experiences of the past, we effectively trade our future for the pain of the past.

    That’s how life slips by while we watch from the sidelines waiting for justice.

    Waiting for fairness.

    Waiting to be appreciated.

    Waiting to be seen.

    Waiting for happiness.

    Waiting…stop waiting beloved. The same way you were able to create beauty amidst the horror, you are capable of creating beauty from the ashes of the life you once invested in.

    You were the source of that beauty, not them.

    Breathe, beloved. Breathe…exhale the toxins of who they were, and inhale the hope of the beauty that you are still capable of creating.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • To tell your story

    To tell your story

    Sometimes, we grow obsessed with finding a receptive heart to appreciate the story of who we are.

    It’s a story that we cherish so dearly that just the thought of placing it in careless hands is frightening.

    It becomes a weight that we carry within us, keeping us anchored to moments long gone, but moments that we dare not forget.

    Such moments grow to define us well beyond its occurrence, holding us back from creating new moments of joy.

    That’s what we lose sight of most. Holding onto the weight of the past prevents us from rising up once more.

    When we tell our story, even if whispering it to the wind, we give our thoughts and emotions a form and a space that allows us to see it beyond the fear and the shame that shrouded it within us.

    We allow ourselves to finally see ourselves beyond the wounds that we thought would forever define our place in this world, because finally, we allow ourselves to see the old version of who we were, through the eyes of the current version of who we are.

    But we must be sure to be looking at ourselves through our own eyes. The moment we find ourselves judging that older version of who we were, or even who we are now, we’re not looking at ourselves through our own eyes. We’re looking at ourselves through the eyes of those whose validation we’ve been chasing for so long.

    Breathe beloved, and look at yourself with kindness and understanding, not with the harshness or intolerance that defined the bitterness of others.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock


  • Rocks don’t bleed

    Rocks don’t bleed

    Sometimes your tears are a mourning of what was, and at other times it’s a yearning for what could have been.

    More than this, it’s a path to the gentleness of your soul that is oppressed by the trials of life.

    When your heart stops yearning for what was, or what you wish could be different, your tears begin to forge a new path. A path towards the hope that you struggle to subdue.

    Just like rocks do not bleed, a hardened heart cannot cry. Beloved, take joy from the gentleness that you still possess despite the horrors of your past.

    Any bitterness that we court denies us the joy that we deserve, and any joy that we court denies them the bitterness that they hoped to share.

    Their bitterness is their heritage of a trial that is not yours to bear.

    Breathe, beloved. Breathe. And know that your tears, if shed for them, holds no value for a hardened heart.

    If tears must flow, let it flow to forge new paths of joy to replace the failed hopes of the past. But celebrate your tears as testament to the beauty of your soul, and not as regrets for having invested in a heart that was closed to joy.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Contortions of reality

    Contortions of reality

    It is my belief in the good that is possible that has been the cause of my greatest regrets when I realised that I was alone in seeing the world that way.

    It’s that same belief that has driven me towards offering myself into spaces for which I was inadequate, or social circles for which I was lacking.

    My inability to recognise the signs of insincerity because I was convinced that it was simply fear, has resulted in some of the greatest lessons I’ve learnt about my place in this world.

    It’s the same belief in the wonderment of life that has shredded the romantic fool in me when the reality beyond my perception revealed the truth of my misplaced fascination.

    There are days when life feels more enchanting than a fable of love that has endured generations of cynicism. And then there are days when it feels like nothing more than a fib.

    My inclination towards flowery language has heaped much ridicule on me through the years, given the uneducated fool that I am. But when you struggle to articulate your experience of this contorted life, knowingly persisting in doing that which earns ridicule after being celebrated, you take an inevitable step towards finally seeing this world for what it is.

    Assuming that such clarity of vision is even possible is further testament to the naivety that always gets the better of my reason, and overwhelms my heart with possibility, even when staring impossibility in the face.

    It’s a recipe for much heartache and even more pain. But the sliver of hope that holds the promise of the remote probability that I may just be right about my perception of what is possible leaves me incapable of living any other way.

    Such is the nature of the fool in me. The one who loves deeply, expects little, and fails a lot. But it was my naivety towards such failure that has been the most incredible teacher of my life.

  • Tainting a beautiful soul

    Tainting a beautiful soul

    Betrayal of trust always cuts deeper than any other wound that we endure in life.

    A trust of the heart is an offering of the most sacred parts of who we are to those whom we believe will add to its beauty, and its peace.

    When it is held sacred by the ones with whom we share it, it explodes into fountains of light, beautifying everything that it touches…including the hurts of the past.

    When it is treated flippantly, it turns into caves of darkness, offering us protection from the shame of having had our sanctity violated by one so dear.

    From deep within that cave, any light that enters threatens to disembowel what little dignity we have left.

    Sometimes we flirt with that light, believing that it’s still possible to have the remnants of light in our soul join in the splendour of the beauty that we know is possible.

    For a while, we grow bold, believing that the sanctity of us may yet be cherished by another. Until we’re reminded that it is that same trust that created the space for the darkness of another to snuff out our light.

    So we withdraw. Any promises made to that point fade from view, and our trust becomes seasonal. Turning us into the darkness that seeks to destroy someone else’s light before they get a chance to destroy our own. Again.

    It’s an unintended vengeance against other than the brute that ravaged our soul. But it carries with it the promise of safety, and the promise of once more being whole.

    Thus, an unfulfilled vengeance, shreds a beautiful soul.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock