I thought it was going to rain today. I was a little disappointed whern it didnt. The Monsoons. I look forward to them all year. They come and they bring with them miracles. They heal. They wash away the caked dust from old wounds, and me, along with Islamabad, is cleansed again. Free. So yeah, Im kinda missing the monsoons right now. I wish they'd hurry up. Then I'll stand in one of the balconies and watch the rain. All night. While everyone sleeps.
I was thinking the other day, that there is a certain kind of magic in the night. It doesnt matter what you do in the day. The night is a whole new world. And its mine. Everybody sleeps, and in their oblivion, Im free.
Yesterday though, mosquitos bit my feet raw. Ususally, mosquitos or "machars" don't bite me. My mother says its something to do with "karwa khoon".lol.(Translation: bitter blood). lol. So im caustic. So who cares.
So anyway, I hadnt been expecting them to attack me since i thought i was so machar-proof(all thanks to my "karwa khoon" , ofcourse). Turns out my feet, for some reason decided to betray the rest of my blood. They turned sweet. And the mosquitos swooped down on them.lol

I should go back to studying. Jane Austen and William Shakespeare. For Literature. Sometimes I think, that the more you study literature, the more disillusioned you get. Not in the case of Shakespeare, he's in a class of his own. I mean, I didnt see the what the big deal about "Macbeth" was, until I studied it properly. Its genius-personified, that play. But in poetry, for example, in Keats, and Shelley, and Byron, and even Faiz. Stripping these poems apart into syllables, and caesuras, and ryhme schemes, and metres, always makes me feel as if im doing something sacreligeous. Almost blasphemous.Maybe I'm just paranoid.