Yeah. Ouch. Sorry.
In any case, that's not the reason why I've been shamelessly neglecting you. I guess the real reason is that these past two weeks have been blissfully kind to me. Truthfully, I think this is by far the longest I've gone without a screw up. Phone calls on weekends, occasional texting, even the bitch issue resolved! Savouring every moment, like having mint-chocolate chip ice cream on a particularly hot afternoon. You see, it's not rocket science. Ramadhan is like Christmas, except that your wishes come true in a blink of an eye for a full month. No doubt I get hungry everyday from 12-3 p.m. and I have all kinds of cravings and I don't get to eat. But that's not the point. The point is, whatever other stuff on my list is ticked off real fast. Blink. Done. Dusted. Wow.
So for fourteen days, I haven't been walking around like a zombie and being jumpy about irrelevant things. Thank you for putting my mind at ease, dear Lord. And I realise I don't thank You enough. Heck, even I don't even approve of me. Sigh. Not good.
Oh. Hello, you. You know I'm here. You even admitted to it. So why don't you tell me what's really bugging you? You miss your Dad. I see that. I hear it in your voice everytime you lie to me about being okay. Quit playing the soldier in my eyes. I know you're dying inside. Your weight loss just magnifies everything to a hundred-fold. And stop calling yourself an orphan. Everytime she says that word to me, my tears well up and my heart feels like it's being stabbed with a serrated blade. Don't say that, baby. Never say it.
I know we're in a good place right now. And yes, I know for a fact that you want me to stay and you acknowledge the significance of my presence in your life. And thank you for being virtually demonstrative of it. But I ask you, would it literally break your fingers if you texted me now and again? It's free, for God's sake! Yeah sure, all those little statuses and smilies are meant for me. But can't you write to me privately sometime? Is that too much to ask for? Urgh. I'm whining, aren't I? Being ungrateful again. You're growing up. You don't know how grateful that makes me feel.
The new library is uber cool, by the way. You know what would make it cooler? You in it. I can just imagine the smirk on your face right about now. Anyway, the book I picked up is called Sexuality in Islam. Quite an interesting read. Apparently, in heaven we won't have asses anymore since the purpose of it is just for excreting waste. It's got me thinking, what if the likes of Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Lopez and Cristiano Ronaldo decided to embrace Islam? Poor things. Tsk tsk. And another shocker was the kind of rain that comes down in heaven. Everyone I asked managed to get this wrong. Fact is: it rains semen in heaven. Semen, yaw! Like those stains that glow under the fancy torchlights in CSI. I know, it was an epic WTF moment for me too. Good times. Roflol.
You think missing me is hard?
You should try missing you.
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