After three (or four, even) separate occasions, I have finally decided to clean up my act. Being drunk is horrible, and even more horrible are the things you say and do. I remember everyone sitting next to me by the bed and each and everyone telling me that they love me after I stupidly shouted that I wanted to die so bad and that I would live for beauty and beauty alone.
It was the first time even the Iranian guy was there, the last night we were at the house. After a dinner of pasta, I sat down at the couch pouring myself another glass. He just says, M, I cannot believe you, you, you, a muslim, in this hijab, drinking, wine. I should stop you in the name of amal maaruf nahi munkar, as a Muslim. I told him off – that you won’t even acknowledge yourself as a Muslim before, don’t talk about now when you’re holding that beer. Funny how these concepts is brushed away conveniently. I have become completely godless these days, shedding away not faith but rather discipline. It is nice, to make yourself numb at times, to kill all thoughts roaming in your head, if it wasn’t that it would give you a bad day afterwards.
It is indeed… strange, that it is I who have fallen, so easily. F has told me before that after we broke up he was tempted to drink but couldn’t bring himself to. Even E said before he just drank Coke whenever he was at the bar with friends in Chicago. It is I alone who bear this… mark of all forms of prohibitions committed over a weekend.
But I am back on track. Ideas, passions and dreams, believing it as a prophecy to be fulfilled, can be pursued for so long. I love F, and I suppose it is never nice to wake up feeling shitty and hungover and lonely in an empty apartment and have no one to talk to. Exams are coming up, F is coming, the responsibilities are heading along the way, and I have had too much fun.
I shall still live, in pursuit of beauty, but I will remain grounded.
perkaraperkara 