The Blue Sky Tag!

Ok, so two of the most amazing bloggers tagged me for this. One was Saffiyah, who is a revert MashAllah and is an extremely talented writer. The other is Accidentally Inked who is also an amazing writer and photographer. Please do check out their blogs😊

 So these are the questions from Saffiyah

1. Do you prefer hot or cold weather?

I like the cold weather but I don’t like cold feet. Which is basically what I have the entire winter ( which is usually two weeks😂). But the HOT weather… it’s just so hot. 

 2. What are you most afraid of?

Well. I haven’t really told anyone this. I have lots of fears including walking into a store, dogs, moths, etc. These days, it’s not doing well in my exams. Which start in thirteen days. No pressure though, only my ENTIRE future depends on this… no pressure…

 3. What is your favourite animal?

It would have to be a zebra. I remember when I was small we went to a zoo and the zebra fascinated me the most. Once I couldn’t decide wethar to have an imaginary white horse or a black one, so I had a zebra instead. (I must have been five or six)

 4. What is your favourite smell?

Well, there’s this smell but I don’t know where it comes from. All I know is that it comes at night and it’s from a plant. But it’s so fresh and summery! In the winters, nothing beats the fog….

 5. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

I don’t know really. It changes, time to time.

 6. How many people have seen you cry?

Enough to not want to see more.

 7. When was the last time you laughed until it hurt and what made you laugh?

It must have been a long time. I remember it was my mother and me having a laugh at something.

 8. What book or film made you cry the most?

Well, the theory of everything. It was a great movie. But O don’t usually cry and I guess it’s because I saw this when I was really tired. But it was still a great film.

 9. What is your favourite time of day?

In the morning, when it isn’t hot and the sun is just coming out and the air is still fresh.

 10. If you could have any career or job you wanted, what would it be?

I don’t know. Either I would be in the airforce, or I would be a writer, I guess.

 11. If you were in a room with Donald Trump what would you say to him?

Can I borrow your plane?
And now, for Accidentally Inked’s…

1-What is one small thing that can make you smile?

When someone makes me green tea the way I like it.

2-What was the name of the last book that you read? How was it?

Well, it’s called “Physics 11” and it’s pretty torturesome. I actually memorised it yesterday. The process still continues.

3-Alot of people NEED coffee or tea to begin their day. Don’t you think that it is right if someone says that they should be more dependent? 😛

4-If you were to learn a new language which one would it be?

Pashtu. Or balochi.

5-Are you an early bird or a night owl?

I adjust according to need.

6-What do you like most about blogging?

That I can write whatever and nobody even reads. And everybody’s really nice, for some reason.

7-What’s your best childhood memory?

This is hard.

7-If you hear the word beautiful what comes to your mind?

A waterfall in Gilgit-Baltistan named Madupur Waterfalls.

8-If you think of the word terrible what comes first in your head?

A worn-down, deserted, destructed building with bent steel supports and a collapsed wall.

9-Are you thinking I am out of questions now? 😛

I sure am😂😂

10-Would you rather go the moon or under the ocean? Explain why!

Under the ocean. Because… 

11-What country are you from?

A beautiful country that is often portrayed very negatively. A cousin of mine who lives in the UK was actually shocked I had never witnessed any acts of terrorism🙄
Since I had to answer so many questions, so I get to change the rules. Or maybe I’m just being lazy. So I’m not nominating anyone. Thank you once again for nominating me. It felt nice. 

The Struggle 

A woman gives birth to a child. The child is a son. A son who grows up to have strength, power and dominance in a male dominant society.

The son grows up into a man. But, nevertheless, remains a son. Only he forgets that. And then he becomes.

A son who dishonours the womb that bore him.

I wish I could write this sentence on every book, every blog, every wall. A son who dishonours the womb that bore him.

The woman goes through so much. So much physical pain, long before she ever thought of marriage. So much physical pain, all her life. The son does not realise this, obviously. The son is stupid. So much emotional pain, all her life. Her society makes fun of her emotional pain which is due to her physical pain. The society she lives in, has more women than men. Nevertheless, her emotional stability (or instability, as some would argue) instead of being understood, is looked down upon as a weakness. The weakness which is, eventually, what shapes great men.

But. She lives in agony. Pain, emotional and physical, as already established. Mentally drained. Frustrated to the core. Idiotic sons everywhere. Men who forget they are eventually sons. She sacrifices so much. All her life, not even in just one phase. She lets go of so much. She is patient. A patience that has been enforced upon her. Then, she surpresses her ego. She tries to find shelter, support and security from the same species she needs to secure herself from.

And then the son is born. The son who grows up to be a son. And also a father, sometime in the future. But that is what he remains: a son. And he forgets. Perhaps, one day, when he will be held accountable, he might remember. But until then, he forgets.

A human being is so insignificant. A fusion of gametes. Disgusting. But they forget this, and do some things that are not meant to be done. 

A girl lies in bed, silent tears flowing from shut eyes. Yearning for the strength of a man to be endowed upon her, to cope with the pain she thinks might claim her life. It does not, she lives. Only to experience similar pain, pains that could not be borne by men.

A man has strength. More than a woman, he thinks proudly. A strength that has no equal, he thinks. And so he uses it. Unjustly, to cause pain. Never thinking that the pain he inflicts, whether it is physical or emotional, could come back and take away his strength. Nature is symmetrical, afterall. But it seldom happens, and he gets away with it more times than is fair.

Men are disgusting to an extent which cannot be explained. Gone are the days when there were men of valour, morale. Chivalric men who could be trusted. And now, times have changed. This is a new era. I wish, though, I just wish that they would think at least for a moment that they, too, were born from a womb they disgrace.


Dry and cracked lips. A face already powdered. Two fat fingers dipped into the lip balm, and then smeared all over those lips. Trying and trying to hide. The dryness, the cracks. Anybody could’ve told she bit her lips when she was nervous. Like right now. She took out some lipstick and put it over the lip balm. Her dress seemed to be too tight for the new spots her acne had left on her back. Nevertheless, she walked out the door, feeling ugly in spite of everything she had done not to.


“Ugh look what she’s wearing,” her friend whispered. “Ugly.”

“Who? What?” She answered carelessly.

“Her. Look.” And so she did. Beautiful jet black straight hair. A waist that thin. A face done up to perfection. Even if her lips were a bit cracked. The dress wasn’t ugly, it just made the rest of them feel uglier than their insides. She suddenly felt as if her own jewellery was somewhat outdated and shouldn’t have been worn at all. The earrings were the pride of her family. It was family tradition to wear them at this dinner every year. But maybe her brown hair didn’t complement her jewellery the way her mother’s had.


Well now was not the time to feel so conscious about her lips. Ugly though they did seem, to her. Now was the time to feel proud of herself and show off. That is, until she hadn’t seen those two girls whispering in her direction. A taller one with an amazing jaw line. And the other, slightly shorter one with hazel eyes. And what amazing jewellery. A complete vintage look. The way she wore that chain around her neck complemented her hair perfectly. And one could tell her hair was naturally like that. The shorter one looked away carelessly. And doubt started in her mind. Perhaps her own hair were to plain.


Two arms grasping the bars of an iron gate. A body trying to gather the will to let go and stand without any support. Black spots formed infront of her eyes every time she blinked. Parched lips and a smudged nose picked up the aroma of a feast here.

A black car pulled up. It was big. Bigger than the cars s he had seen in her nine years.

A man came out. Black suit. Red tie. “Out! Out you bloody little beggar! Out with you hideous beasts!”

The will was summoned for one last move. The bony arms that dragged her into the bushes beside the gate collapsed as they found fresh dirt. Her knees buckled as she saw two beautiful ladies inside the gate and a third one getting out of the car. The last thing her innocent eyes saw was the look of disgust and hatred as the man pulled out something shiny from the car.


The woman must have been around thirty. Probably less. A black fur coat wrapped around her shoulders. The air of uncertainty looming around her. The driver had gotten out to get the wheel chair. Some peasant must’ve been blocking the gate. He didn’t seem too happy about that. The door opened and she placed one hand on his shoulder as he helped her in the wheelchair. Even this simple act was too tiring for her these days. She breathed deeply. Not at this party. She would get through it. Her hand instinctively went to the area above her left knee, where her leg had been amputated last year. It still hurt. A year was not enough to get used to being legless. Especially at social events like these. People judged too much. And stared. Like right at this moment, she could feel the gaze of a black haired girl from one end of the lawn and a brown haired girl with hazel eyes at the other end. She wondered what they might think about her. 

And from somewhere, just somewhere behind her, she could feel an accusing glare that seemed to penetrate through her. 

The Blogaholic Award!

THANKYOU first of all to the amazing MuslimahsAblaze sisters for nominating me for this award!


 1. Put the above award logo/image on your blog.

 2. List the rules.

 3. Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog (it can be to the post in which they nominated you or any other post or you can even link to their “About” page.)

 4. Mention the creator: (The Recipe Hunter (Cook and Enjoy)) of this award and please provide a link or pingback as I (Esmé of The Recipe Hunter (Cook and Enjoy) would love to meet you!

 5. Write a post to show your award.

 6. Share a link to your best post(s).

 7. Share 3 interesting and different facts about yourself.

 8. Nominate 5-10 fellow bloggers, or more if you wish.

 9. Comment on each blog and let them know you have nominated them and provide the link to the post you created.

Ok so the three interesting facts about me: 

  1. I would like to buy a bus.
  2. I intensely dislike moths.
  3. I have dissected a cockroach.

And everyone reading this post is nominated. 

    My best post: The River Flows…


    The elders of the masjid sat down in a circle, and the old man they had chosen as their sarbarah (leader) sat at the head. The Masjid committee looked rather worried. It was jummah, Friday. On Friday they held a meeting, and opened the two charity boxes. The old man was old, but rather handsome, graceful in his white hair, a brown safari suit. Though his years had been rough, they had been unable to wither him completely. He beckoned one of the men of the Masjid to begin. 

    The man started. “Our funds have finished. The renovations in the Masjid simply have to stop. We can’t afford it.”

    The old man said:”The funds have finished? But how much money do you need? I’m sure we can cover the cost when we open the charity boxes.”

    Usually, when they opened the boxes, they got fifty to sixty thousand rupees.

    “Sahab, we need at least two lakhs and seventy five thousand rupees!”

    “Let’s not stop the renovations yet. Look here everybody, don’t lose faith! Have tawwakul in the Al-Mighty’s ways. All we have to do is try. Leave the rest to Him. It is His job to do things. Let’s open the charity boxes for now. He will surley do something about this.”

    All though not everybody was completely sure, they felt comforted at the old man’s speech. The boys were made to open and count the money. Out of one of the boxes, came out a taped and sealed package. They put it aside, and continued counting. There were sixty thousand rupees, as expected.

    “What is that package over there?” Asked the old man.

    “We don’t know sahab. We want you to open it.”

    “Oh, hurry up. Let’s just get this over with.”

    “No, no, we want you to open it. Who knows what’s inside.”

    So the old man took the package and ripped the tape. It had several layers to it, but eventually, he got to the paper itself. As he ripped it apart, his eyes widened with surprise. Inside were new, fresh thousand-rupee notes. The committee was surprised.

    “See, I told you. It is His job. All we need to do is have faith. Tawwakul. And look what he does!”

    The boy were made to count the money. 

    “How much is it?”    ” Sahab, it is two lakh rupees!”

    The boys were then questioned. Had they seen anyone put the package there? No, but one of the boys had seen a person put a taped and sealed envelope. Did the package have any names or addresses or phone numbers? No. Then how did the package get in the box? Nobody knew.

    It is strange, the works of God. The imaam thanked the anonymous gentleman who had done such a noble deed in his khutbah.

    So I guess miracles do still happen. We just don’t believe anymore. Perhaps I should mention that the old man is, infact, my grandfather, MashAllah.

    Pious Spouse & A Beautiful Dream

    Zaaday Raah - The Caravan of Faith

    I loved it so much that I am sharing it here. This is written by Imam Omer Suleiman. May Allah SWT grant us pious spouses and may we are able to lead a life in His submission together. ameen.

    “Imagine…sitting with your spouse in Jannah. And then deciding what the plans would be for that day…

    Should we go outside, sit on our thrones, with waterfalls of milk and honey flowing beneath us? And enjoy a cup of Jannah wine, while smelling the sweet scent of Jannah musk?

    Should we go to the souq, the market place, and meet all of our old friends that we used to kick it off with in the dunya, and talk about what dunya was like, and how we all made it here, and how Allah (swt) bestowed His favor upon us?

    And then your spouse says, you know what, how about we…

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