A voice waiting to be heard.

"For the young people who are sick of sitting on the sidelines and seeing their country drown in despair, the lynching of the Sialkot brothers acted as a wake-up call." - Karachi Digest.

“The youth will no longer sit at home. We’re now going to come out on the streets and do whatever it takes to bring justice back to this country,” said Faraz Butt.

“All of us are to blame. We need to unite to show that humanity is above all. Aggression and ignorance will not achieve anything,” said Maliha Rao

“An eye for an eye will make the whole world go blind,” Ali Abbas quoted Gandhi.

A mass of more or less than 300 people gathered at Karachi Arts Counsel recently, protesting against the brutal tortures and murders of the two brothers in Sialkot. Television screen actress Bushra Ansari was too on the scene as reported by the Karachi Digest. 

I just have some questions. What took you so long? You needed a massacre to remind you of who you are, and what you can do? You needed public killings to remind you of your strength?

- "Lawyer and television show host Ayesha Tammy Haq said that the police and the existing laws need to be improved. She added, however, that the people first need to improve their own behaviour, before they point fingers at the system"

With due respect, miss, shut up. People do not have cracked sea-shells for brains, miss. They react to what they get. 

It's nice to see people trying to make a difference. Yesterday, it must have been 30 people. Today, 300. Tomorrow maybe a couple more thousand. So whether you're at home or at the streets, make yourself be heard.

http://www.petitionvoice.com/justice-for-mughees-and-muneeb-and-petition.html

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/justiceformugheesandmuneeb/

The things I've never seen or heard.

I honestly couldn't care less if you like the same bands or you've read the same books. Tell me one original thing, tell me one true, real thing that brings me to my fucking knees that I've never heard before and I'm yours

Minute.

You think you’re the only one who feels small. You think you’re the only one who isn’t sure what tomorrow might bring. You think you’re the only one who’s scared the world might eat them.

We suffer together and hold each other tight because when we touch each other, we know.

You are never alone. Ever.

Hope.

(Taken by Moaaz Khan. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=780235991#!/pages/The-Colours/149586711727703)

Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.

The point.

When you're at that point, when you feel it's all pointless... It's not. The trick is to just keep doing it, that's how you succeed in the end. It's the secret to life, do anything often enough, and for long enough, and you get good at it. So keep on. Keep writing. Keep painting. Keep singing. Keep dancing. Keep fighting. Keep. On.

The medicine is the sickness.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people who won’t let me in on the freeway.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s having to let people in on the freeway.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s waking up to 50 assholes pretending to be me.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s waking up feeling like an asshole because I yelled at those assholes.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people who turn the things I say into insipid greeting card messages.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s turning a bunch of ideas into a laundry list.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s that feeling you get when you scratch something new.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s not knowing what’s wrong with someone and all you want to do is make them feel better.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s knowing that my mind naturally gravitates towards the negative and not being able to stop it.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people who become your friend, to become your friends’ friend.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being really busy and using that as an excuse to ignore your email.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s having to acknowledge that my feelings are my own, no one else’s. And, my responsibility.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s forgetting that and taking the way I feel out on the world.

If there's one thing I hate, it's people who criticise things, who can't take criticism.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s going to the same job day-after-day for the same pay.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s not having a job.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s not you.

It's me.

The day you read this.

On this day, you read something that moved you and made you realise there were no more fears to fear. No tears to cry. No head to hang in shame. That every time you thought you’d offended someone, it was all just in your head and really, they love you with all their heart and nothing will ever change that. That everyone and everything lives on inside you. That that doesn’t make any of it any less real.

That soft touches will change you and stay with you longer than hard ones.

That being alone means you’re free. That old lovers miss you and new lovers want you and the one you’re with is the one you’re meant to be with. That the tingles running down your arms are angel feathers and they whisper in your ear, constantly, if you choose to hear them. That everything you want to happen, will happen, if you decide you want it enough. That every time you think a sad thought, you can think a happy one instead.

That you control that completely.

That the people who make you laugh are more beautiful than beautiful people. That you laugh more than you cry. That crying is good for you. That the people you hate wish you would stop and you do too.

That your friends are reflections of the best parts of you. That you are more than the sum total of the things you know and how you react to them. That dancing is sometimes more important than listening to the music.

That the most embarrassing, awkward moments of your life are only remembered by you and no one else. That no one judges you when you walk into a room and all they really want to know, is if you’re judging them. That what you make and what you do with your time is more important than you’ll ever fathom and should be treated as such. That the difference between a job and art is passion. That neither defines who you are. That talking to strangers is how you make friends.

That bad days end but a smile can go around the world. That life contradicts itself, constantly. That that’s why it’s worth living.

That the difference between pain and love is time. That love is only as real as you want it to be. That if you feel good, you look good but it doesn’t always work the other way around.

That the sun will rise each day and it’s up to you each day if you match it. That nothing matters up until this point. That what you decide now, in this moment, will change the future. Forever. That rain is beautiful.

And so are you.

The time it rained underwater.

But nothing is wasted. There's no song you can listen to, no person you can speak to, no moment it takes to see things as they are that doesn't teach you something.

You need everything you know.

The need for honesty every night.

Not the first one in the morning or the one on the TV, the well-meaning phone call on a Monday night one or some you find on the radio - The voice that whispers between your ears before you fall asleep, that's the one you pay attention to

The midnight that lasted forever.

I do not have to look at the clock to know that it's midnight. I can feel the day rushing across the world, as fast as time.

But somewhere, there is a beach that time cannot reach. Where everyone and everything has always been and never was.

In that place, time cannot touch.

The Next Stop.

Only because it's still so raw and real. Soon I'll just be a series of images that sometimes flash through your mind, when you least expect it. And after that, only a few will stay. Then, one. A memory of a memory.

End of the line.

And so your great grandfathers and mothers died working the earth, generation upon generation since the dawn of time, so that one day, you could sit here and be able to read this. To enjoy life. To play. To love.

You owe it to them to have more fun.

The day I've had.

Today, I wrote a pamphlet for you and your family in the refugee camp, letting you know that there is still love in this world.

Today, I got all my old clothes together and put them in the boot of my car.

Today, I asked everyone I knew for help.

And today, it still wasn't enough.

The voice in the machine.

Thank you for calling/standing near me/being concerned. But I am not here right now. I am somewhere else. And you cannot reach me. Please leave me at the sound of the beep.

To: tellus@sundaytimes.co.za

Dear President Jacob Zuma,
South Africa.

Firstly, I would like to congratulate you and your countrymen on hosting an incredibly successful World Cup. When the world’s eyes were upon you, you rose to the challenge.

Unfortunately, my attention has recently been bought to the detention of a reporter named Mzilikazi wa Afrika. I have several questions for you in this regard.


Why were 6 police vehicles required to arrest one journalist?

Why were photographers prevented from taking pictures, by police?

Why was he arrested for a story that was never published?

Why was he not allowed to see a lawyer?

Why did you only begin to question him at 2:30am in the morning?

Does this not remind you of the actions of the Apartheid government?

I sincerely urge you to look into this matter and to provide answers at the earliest possible opportunity. Because, as they were during Apartheid, as they were during the World Cup, and as they are now:

The eyes of the world are upon you.

Sincerely,

Saud Shahid.

Pakistan.

I ought to write more. :/

The truth is born in strange places.

Joan of Arc came back as a little girl in Japan, and her father told her to stop listening to her imaginary friends.

Elvis was born again in a small village in Sudan, he died hungry, age 9, never knowing what a guitar was.

Michelangelo was drafted into the military at age 18 in Korea, he painted his face black with shoe polish and learned to kill.

Jackson Pollock got told to stop making a mess, somewhere in Russia.

Hemingway, to this day, writes DVD instruction manuals somewhere in China. He's an old man on a factory line. You wouldn't recognise him.

Gandhi was born to a wealthy stockbroker in New York. He never forgave the world after his father threw himself from his office window, on the 21st floor.

And everyone, somewhere, is someone, if we only give them a chance.