Somebody said that a human being is never a finished product. I sit today and think if that’s true.

Like most twenty somethings, my life is all about my family, my friends, my work and most importantly about myself. Like most twenty somethings, I don’t know which direction my life is taking. Unlike most twenty somethings, I don’t care anymore.

I wrote an autobiographical essay last year, right around this time. My closing sentence was…’everybody writes their autobiography…I am only trying to live a better one’.

Have I lived a better life this past year?

Things is…its not even a question of that anymore. It’s not a question of living better or worse but simply about surviving.

I know that most of my life’s sweetest philosophies have been put to test and have suffered badly. As a cynical twenty something, I don’t believe in love and marriage anymore. As an optimistic twenty something, I believe that life still goes on (most of the time for the best). As an agnostic, I question rules that allow men to hide behind their beards and use religion as a shield. As a believer, I just want to meet someone who embodies all the values I envisioned in a man. In my honesty, I admit that I followed readymade dreams because they were fantastic to believe in. In my hypocrisy, I am still trying to justify them to myself. As an individual, I am more aware of my need to break the barriers I have constructed for myself over the years. As a girl I have mastered the fatal art of believing my own lies.

I am doing things now that I never believed I would ever do, testing my limits everyday…maybe trying to see how far Allah ji will let me go before he calls me back. In my folly, I still believe I am a creation worth holding on to.

As a girl…am I worth holding on to? Frankly I see myself every day and see the plainest face staring back at me. And yet, there are people who have actually wanted to marry me. And what have I done? I have laughed in their faces. Sometimes I wonder if I have done the wrong thing. But my heart’s just not in it anymore.

Love? Yes I believe in love. Makes excellent material for writing poems and articles...it even helps blogging sometimes.

Companionship? Books may not give me warmth but most of the people I meet are a distant second to a warm bath and a good book.

Money? It can’t buy me happiness but it does help in looking in the right places.

Children? Even in my most cynical moods…I can’t say I don’t want kids anymore. I am not that good a liar still.

But I have improved tremendously. I can smile now. My laughter, faiza tells me has changed. It’s hollow and loud. But I don’t care anymore. A few days back in one of my vulnerable moments, I told Nubla how lonely I feel sometimes. As long as I am busy, I am alright. But the moment I find myself with a break in the succession of busy nothings, I am once again weak and tired with my emotional baggage. And she said that even if I were, I give a good impression of being everything but.

Oh the smiles that we wear!

And then I question myself whether this pretense is more out of boredom, of my inability to appreciate just how beautifully effortless my life is. Do I deserve these blessings? There’s nothing extraordinary about me. How did I get so lucky? And why cant I, for once be truly grateful?

Last year I was sinking…this year at least I am floating around and there is some sort of chaotic beauty in that.

Most of what I write is gibberish, the sentiment mostly cynical. But despite everything, my pretenses, my candid confessions, my confidences and slips, I am really only human. And in some rare moments…maybe all too human!