Category: Musing

My therapist is very weird.

My therapist is very weird.

I’ve always wondered what my therapist would be like if I ever went to one. I’ve also wondered what I would be like if I was a therapist. Well, I guess you could say this piece is a mixture of the two. It also has the cutest ending ever. I hope you like it. Comment and tell me if you did. Enjoy!

“So what is it like – being human and all?” My therapist asked.

“That’s a very weird question.” I answered.

“I’ll rephrase. What is it like – being you?”

“It’s crazy, honestly. But here you go -” and I told her. I told her about my favorite childhood memories like the hundred family long drives with songs and hot chocolate and how they the memories shaped me. “I don’t have coffee anymore,” I told her about my tenth birthday and how I spent it chasing my friends in a ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ game. “It was hilarious. We were in a shopping mall that had these gaming sections and furniture shops spread over three, maybe four floors. I was running, trying to catch my friends who were always on a different floor. I’d take the escalator for the first floor and they would giggle and take the escalator to the ground floor. And then I’d try to run down on an elevator going up to catch them faster and every time I did that, they would do the opposite. Those days,” I said and smiled.

“Do you still feel like you’re chasing things and are on the wrong side of the escalator, Afra?”

“God, no. Chill. So anyway,” and I continued my tale. Eventually, I reached the tough parts of my life. I told her about how my days seemed to be going nowhere and how the nights had promised to stay forever. I told her they were damn good at keeping their promises. I went on and on about weird things like how I was claustrophobic everywhere except in my own room and about Christmas parties that I wish I’d never attended so that I wouldn’t have met the guys I dated. “Everybody keeps telling me about the ways I can make things better but they’re all just shitty ideas. I’m headed nowhere. Me living like this is like a dog driving a car except that dogs don’t drive cars.”

“Well, you clearly have never seen my doggo.”

“You’re a weird therapist.”

“Look!”


Liked it? – My therapist talks too much
Instagram – @myspirals

Cinderella’s shoes.

Cinderella’s shoes.

“Upon the palms of my hand, I have written your name.”  – Isaiah 49:16

Never had he felt the warmth of her fingers before. He had anticipated it to be like the warm sun on a cold morning, something that would make him shiver and smile. He had imagined it to be like hot coffee or the softest quilt, or the rush of caffeine in his veins, and pictured it to be normal, with a shade of love. It was nothing like it.

Late at night that first day, as they looked at each other, too tired to say anything, he touched her face. His fingers trailed on her skin, as he touched her cheeks. They were cold and he would want it no other way. He held her face and looked at her as shivers ran through him. And then she touched his face. Her fingers trailed on his skin. They were cold and he would want it no other way. Everything inside him froze, except where she held him. He felt no rush of blood, and he could feel her fingers getting colder. And he liked it. It was like walking toward the sunset.

He placed his hand on top of hers, and let the fingers intertwine. They fit like puzzle pieces. The cold was slowly ebbing away. The warmth was returning to their fingers, their cheeks were getting redder, and their eyes were locked onto each other. It was 3:04 A.M. and he remembered something. “Nothing good happens after 2 A.M.” And he knew he was screwed. That made him happy.

They say hands are like Cinderella’s shoes – magical.
They say hands are what makes tomorrows.

With her hand in mine, I think I had more than just tomorrows. This wasn’t normal, with a shade of love. This was love, with a shade of insanity. The sun was setting.

“People fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand.” – Ed Sheeran

Instagram: @myspirals
Related post : Midnight.

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The best men can be.

The best men can be.

So, Gillette came up with an advertisement with the intentions of making us better men. It was gender-oriented and asked us, men, to hold other men accountable for their actions. A great move and a beautiful video. But the comments section was flooded with hurt egos of toxic masculinity. Terribly Tiny Tales brought this to my attention, and I’m bringing it to yours. (I’ve never done this before, but I’ll embed the advertisement at the very end of this post. Do watch.)

Can I tell you some stories?

I had a friend named Akbar. We were best friends when I was in fifth grade and he told me about all kinds of things that happened in his life. He was five years older to me. One day, he told me about how his father beat his mother black and blue. Akbar cried as he told me about his mother’s bruised elbows but we didn’t talk for too long about it. I met his mother a week after that and she wore full sleeves all day. Akbar trusted me with his stories and I trusted him when he said he would become a real man. When he told me about his father, he made me promise that I won’t become a coward like his father.

Continue reading The best men can be.

In conversation with: God

In conversation with: God

G: “So, do you have any questions for me?”

Me: “Oh, many.”

God: “Ask.”

Me: “I hear you’re pitching a product in the business meeting. What’s it called?”

G: “Life.”

Me: “Right. How many other gods are there in the meeting with you?”

God: “I don’t know. It’s my first day, too. Maybe it’s just me, maybe there are tens of thousands more.”

Me: “I heard rumors that your product was found faulty in the testing process. Had many mistakes, was known to be unfair and unpredictable.  Why such shitty management?”

G: “Umm.. That was actually on purpose. I can’t tell you the reason, though. You want to hear a crazy fact?”

Me: “Yeah?”

God: “That is how I came up with the tagline! Life isn’t fair. Isn’t that hilarious?”

Me: “Not really. Anyway, here I go. Brace yourself. Why do you give reasons to be grateful to half the world and reasons to hate you to the other half? You give birth to rebellion and jealousy like that’s your favorite pastime. Watch buildings burn down and called history. You give me tequila shots as sleeping pills while a kid in Syria gets actual gun wounds. You give us battles and you give us battle scars. Why do you make my best friend gay and then stop him from talking to the guy he has a crush on, who sits all the way in the back of the class? You give that rich kid across the street Adidas and the poor mother that begs at the kid’s door, stolen sandals. What is your favorite pastime?”

G: “Finding and solving glitches in my product. But I have a feeling you think I am not doing a very thorough job at it.”

Me: “Trying my best to make it obvious. Sometimes, I feel like you are a novel and we, a divided fandom wondering, discussing, arguing about your existence. Sometimes, you seem like a teacher who loves telling kids that she’ll take surprise tests, but never really does. You seem to be a babysitter who is being paid for one thing, but is busy doing another. You’re an artist, no doubt. You made Christmas trees and hot chocolate. But sometimes you seem like you’re an artist gone rogue bringing to life weird things that shouldn’t be. Are you angry because you’re just getting exposure instead of money?”

God: “I’m sort of late for my meeting. It was nice talking to you!”

Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : Roller-coasters and books.
Related post : I have some questions.

I’ve written this and so this is in no way intended to spark a debate between believers and atheists. Give me prompts in the comment section below and share if you liked this!