Tag: lovestory

  • Torturous love

    Torturous love

    And so it is…love and torture have always been stablemates.

    Sometimes, without warning, someone enters your life and challenges every assumption that you ever made about what’s possible.

    What you thought you deserved was limited to what you were capable of achieving up to that point, and maybe just a quiet desire to acquire some peace beyond it.

    Until they see in you what you thought was your own delusions, and you see in them what you thought were only your dreams.

    Once you connect with that truth, nothing can convince you that anything less is what you must settle for.

    Settling becomes a vulgar thought, and fulfilment becomes incomplete without them.

    When that happens, the distance between love and torture grows, and you find yourself stretched between the two, with only shards of sanity to prevent you from being torn apart.

    Those shards will tear at your dreams and taunt your delusions until their embrace is secured.

    Until then, life becomes a dyslexic dance with insanity, and love remains elusive.

    (From the archives)

  • Turning pain into beauty

    Turning pain into beauty

    Shortly after I published my novel, An Incomplete Love Story, I remember asking if I finally had permission to post romantic, or mushy stuff. The responses were entertaining and generally positive.

    The most common question I get is whether it is based on true life, or is it fiction. Suffice to say it’s a dumbed down version of true life, because as they say, life is often stranger than fiction.

    Besides, where would be the fun if you knew for certain what in the novel is true and what is from my imagination?

    There are people reading this who still cannot believe that I am capable of romance. The bewildered look on their faces will always be a source of entertainment for me.

    Don’t allow the opinions of others to limit what you allow yourself to explore as self-expression, or as life goals.

    Here’s a piece I wrote a year ago.

    “It is my grasp on the subtlety of beauty, or the hints of romance that breathe between her pauses and between her aches that horror has imposed. My subject of beauty focused on the horror, while I, in my romantic notions, caress with care the breaths and the pauses, seeing in her the divine where she only sees the pain.”

    Perhaps this will find its way into the sequel of my novel.

    Perhaps the sequel may never be written.

    Time will tell…since time holds the secrets to many joys that I hope to encounter in life.

    When reading the above snippet, don’t only think of someone else. Consider that this may be how someone sees you, while you’re focused on the heartache and pain from your past.

    And that’s what is important. Sometimes we’re so fixated on the pain, that we don’t realise what beauty it has unearthed within us.

    Until we do, we’ll always honour the pain, and neglect our beauty.

  • That empty bench…

    That empty bench…

    The saddest scene for me has always been the abandoned park bench.

    It echoes with profound intensity the pervasive isolation that too many experience, but too few reveal.

    There is a shame that is carried upon the broken wings of abandonment that anchors us in that space between wanting to create beauty in this world, while believing that it will always be unreachable for ourselves.

    So we birth the martyr within, presenting it as the selfless lover without.

    Being sure to distract others with affection, so that no one notices how achingly we stare at those empty benches.

    Those benches that once bore the hopes and dreams of togetherness.

    Those benches that once were claimed as sacred spaces.

    Those benches that remain available to the next loving embrace between its arms, knowing that once the lovers move on, it will remain, rooted to that spot, waiting to be embraced and abandoned, again.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock


  • 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

  • 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

  • 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

  • Lost moments

    Lost moments

    The pendulum of time brushes ever so lightly against the arc of eternity, and in that very finite moment of its contact, an entire lifetime is lived. Some are deluded into believing that the pendulum will swing back, realising too late that once the moment is passed, it is lost to eternity.

    For some reason, this thought always chokes me up… :'(

    Why do people take life for granted and wait for ideal moments before allowing themselves to embrace life more fully and sincerely?

    Moments pass so quickly.

    The current trends are to catch moments through meditation, long after the moment is lost.

    Or to reminisce about why it could have been different if only something else was in place at the time.

    The most gut wrenching heartache is caused from moments that held the promise of beauty or peace, but were lost to bad timing, or fear.

    I think the secret to living joyfully lies in trusting those who echo the sentiments in your heart.

    But such a trust is daunting when it was abused by another, and thus courage becomes a prerequisite for trust.

    Discovering the secret of courage then becomes the next pursuit of the heart.

    Breathe, beloved…slow deep breaths. And courage will emerge from the depths where it lays dormant after having been subdued by calloused hands.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock